#because even if I'm asked back because of this

[bruhstories]

touch-starved

summary: dante is touch-starved, and he thinks the only way for him to feel something is to get punched by you

pairing: dante x afab!reader | based on the netflix version but definitely canon divergent

warnings: dry humping, unprotected p in v, creampie, degradation kink, very light choking, lots of swearing, kind of soft dom dante and light pain kink if you squint, idiots in love, friends to lovers, bit of praise, fem bodied reader

w/c: ~3.2k

a/n: this is definitely not my best work but it's a warm up ig. lol anyway i absolutely loved the dmc netflix version, and i'm considering getting the games

"Punch me."

Not a question, but an indisputable demand coming from the demon hunter, which made you do a double take, place the barrel of your M4 carbine on the table, and flat-out refuse.

"No."

He snarled, yes, snarled at you, slamming his pistol against the table with a loud bang. You looked up from your own weapon, taken aback by Dante's reaction, concern written all over your face. Was he high??

"Come on, Y/N, just do it. Just one punch, one tiny little punch. I know you want to." His cocky grin did numbers on your nerves, but you still refrained from giving him the satisfaction of hitting him. It’s been years since you met Dante, by this point you were used to his shenanigans.

"Why, though?" You decided to focus on cleaning your weapon, the sharp smell of isopropyl alcohol filling the room.

"Because," Dante groaned, snatching the bottle of liquid from you, causing you to glare daggers at him, "I'm touch starved."

You blinked once, twice, trying your hardest to process both his honesty, and the logistics of his request.

"Why not ask for a hug, then? Or, I don't know, go to therapy?"

"Hah! I'm sure my therapist is gonna have a field day with me! So, my dad, a demon, disappeared without a trace, then my mother and twin brother died, but actually my brother is alive somewhere. My therapist is gonna need a therapist."

"Okay, okay, you made your point. Still, you could just rephrase it. Maybe leave out the demon bit." You wiped the barrel clean before setting it aside.

"I'd rather get punched. Now, please."

"Dante, a punch isn’t gonna solve it. Are you sure you don’t want a hug? I could cook you something. Or we could grab a few beers and watch a movie, or talk about your feelings." You shrugged.

Both of you had done this before — went out for drinks, danced, cooked together, fell asleep together — it was so intimate, almost like you were a couple. But the reality was that you weren’t. Not by a long shot. Unfortunately for you, Dante was protective of you in the way an older brother was. You thought that, perhaps, he missed Vergil so much that you were the closest thing he had to a sibling in years.

"A punch would be less time consuming. Cooome on, babe, just hit me!"

You hated when he called you babe. He called other girls babe, girls that were hot, pretty, girls that were his type, and it was the nickname that made you clench your jaw and purse your lips.

"Ugh, fine!" You sat up, rotated your wrist and flexed your fingers. "Are you sure this is going to help in any way?"

"Positive. Right here." Dante pointed at his cheek.

"What, in your face?"

"You're stalling."

Without a single ounce of hesitation you swung your arm, hitting the demon hunter square in his face, but it caused you more pain than it did him, and you stumbled back, holding your fist in your other hand.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" You cried out in pain, knowing damn well that would happen. Still, you couldn't say no to him. Ever.

"Are you okay?" Dante was visibly concerned — a rare sight since he was always cool and edgy, even when his own life was in danger.

"Fuck no! Feels like I punched a brick wall!" You practically growled at him, gaze quickly softening when you saw the pure look of terror in his eyes. "But hey, nothing a little ice can't fix, right?"

"Right." He nodded and got up, making a beeline for the freezer.

There was no ice in it, but there was a pack of frozen peas somewhere at the bottom of a drawer, which Dante picked up and brought to you. When you reached for it, he, instead, took your sore hand in his, gently pressing the cold legumes onto your knuckles. You winced, instinctively trying to retract your hand, but he held it in place, his fingers wrapped around your wrist to stop you from backing away.

The pain wasn't gone, but it was becoming bearable, and a relieved murmur escaped past your lips, one that sounded closer to a moan than a sigh. Dante's cheeks burned, tinted red with embarrassment and arousal because you were yet another girl in his life who just didn't want to be involved romantically with him. Not that he tried anything with you, because he always thought you deserved better. Sure, he was cocky and flirtatious, but he wasn't a dick. If no one reciprocated the flirting, he didn't push his luck. It was simple. And he wasn’t the type who did one-night stands, despite the rumours. Dante enjoyed having a connection to the people he took to bed, he became sexually attracted to those he knew on a deeper emotional level. But sometimes, when he was really, truly desperate, he would download Tinder and hook up with random girls.

And he reeked of desperation.

"Dante, you can let go of my hand now."  You told him, part of you hoping he wouldn't.

Who could blame you? He was an objectively attractive man, with a charming smile and a body sculpted by the gods themselves. Why would he ever want to get involved with you? Dante was your opposite — he talked, he sang, he danced, he was obnoxious. You were quiet, most of the time, and shy. In fact, when he first met you, he thought you had some form of speech impediment, with your nose in Boccaccio’s The Decameron, a book you stole from the public library because you were much too young to read. That’s when knew you were trouble, just like him.

"Yeah, of course." Dante stepped back. "How's your hand?"

"Better. How are you feeling?"

"Me? Why are you asking?"

"Hello?" You scrunched your nose and frowned. "You wanted me to punch you because you were touch-starved. Did it help?"

"I'll be honest, it felt more like a tickle than anything." He shrugged. "Are you sure you didn't pull your punch?"

There it was, the one thing that turned you from an introvert to a bat-shit crazy bitch — his stupid little mouth that he opened without ever thinking.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're telling me I risked breaking my bones so you could feel better, only for you to not feel anything? I swear to fucking God, Dante, this is the last time I'm doing anything nice for you."

"Nice? You punched me!" He threw his hands up in exasperation, while your blood boiled inside of you, sending you into a blind rage.

"You asked me to punch you, you maniac! You should've fucked me instead!"

Your eyes widened at the sentence that came out of your mouth without a single thought, mortified at your own stupidity.

"Hugged. I meant hugged. Shit."

"No, no, hold up, you didn't say hugged." Dante tilted his head, one hand rubbing his chin. "Isn't that called a Freudian slip?"

"I- well- how the fuck do you even know what a Freudian slip is?" You tried changing the subject but he didn't bite.

"Google." He closed the gap between the two of you, and for the first time you felt intimidated by him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

The bluntness of his question, coupled with the sudden change in the pitch of his voice made you feel like a cornered prey. There was no possible way he was serious. But he wasn't wrong — the nature of your jobs made it impossible for either of you to have partners, and besides, you've known each other for years. It was only natural that some form of physical attraction would have developed between you two, right? But why you? Why now? And the worst of all your questions, why not?

You didn’t want to think about how this would ruin almost a decade of friendship. All you could think about was the look of pure lust in his eyes as he held your gaze, and how months upon months of sexual frustrations accumulated inside of you, bubbling and boiling and exploding when you dropped the pack of peas on the floor.

"Yes. I want you to fuck me."

Without a sliver of hesitation, you felt him pick you up with ease, hands roaming up and down his back as he slammed you down onto the table, desperately pushing away all the guns and knives. How thoughtful of him. Your hands slithered under his blood red coat while he tugged at your t-shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bare breasts to him.

"No bra? Kinky." Dante stopped to take a better look at you.

"Stop talking." You firmly told him, but the chuckle that erupted from your throat betrayed you.

He was the one person you felt most comfortable around, so much so that you didn't feel weirded out by him pressing his lips onto your neck, or his fingertips bruising the plush of your hips, or his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. No, it felt natural, too natural, like your skin was made to be touched by him.

With his coat on the floor, you tackled his shirt, effectively tearing it off of him because you were just as desperate as he was, and Dante pulled your body closer to his, your clothed cunt accidentally rubbing against the bulge in his trousers. You were aching from the lack of sex, and you uncontrollably moaned at the tiny bit of friction before mumbling a weak 'sorry.'

"Fuck, don't be. That's actually kind of hot." He shamelessly admitted, and you rose a brow.

"Yeah? Then you wouldn't mind me doing it again?" You chewed on your lower lip, but he could see past the fake innocence when you rolled your hips, frantically and feverishly rubbing your clit through the layers of fabric. "Shit, I could come just from this."

For a split second, Dante wondered if this was all real. What happened to your shyness? How was it possible that his best friend, the quiet, nerdy girl he'd known for such a long time, was worse than any demon he'd ever encountered? Not that he was a saint. Far from it, because when you threw your head back, desperate to climax, his is eyes darkened, black seeping into his sclera. It should've made you afraid, but it had the opposite effect. The thought that he could activate his Devil Trigger and quite literally snap you like a twig turned you on.

"Do it, then." Dante's hand snaked behind the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. "Show me just how needy you are."

Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead as you fucked yourself on the half-demon, fog settling in your brain with each breath, each movement, each beating of your heart. Faster. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.

"Oh-" Any sentence you tried to utter stopped in your throat, replaced by a string of whimpers and curses. Whatever you were trying to babble was reduced to incoherent words.

"Well shit, I didn't know you were such a filthy little slut."

"Just- oh- shut up-"

"Hmm, I don't think you really want me to shut up." Dante sneered when you picked up the pace. "I think you like it when I talk like this."

"N-not true!" You yelped as he pinched your nipple, barely doing anything and yet you were a mess already.

"So, you don't want me to call you a fucktoy, then? Bet you're dripping right now. Bet you want me balls deep inside of you."

"Fuck, I'm gonna come!" You proved his point when your entire body quivered under his, mind blank and vision blurry.

"There, there." Dante pressed his lips onto your forehead. "I got you."

The noise of his belt unbuckling made you snap your eyes open, filling you with newfound desire and guilt — poor Dante, his cock was probably aching by now while you had the time of your life. He stepped back, letting his trousers pool at his feet, and you lifted your skirt to peel your panties off. You caught him staring at you, taking the sight in, and what a sight it was — locks of hair fell out of your bun, sticking to your sweaty temples, your legs still shaking from the orgasm, and your cunt dripping wet.

"I'd love to eat you out, babe, but my balls are genuinely gonna explode." He confessed, earning a giggle from you. Even with his eyes pitch black and his Devil Trigger on the verge of activating, Dante was still Dante. And you loved that about him.

"Hurry up and fuck me, then."

"Are you that desperate that you forgot your manners?" He dug his fingertips into the plush of your hips, violently pulling you closer to him.

"Please hurry up and fuck me?" You pouted.

"Good girl, that's better." Dante pushed your leg to the side with his elbow, dragging his cock up and down your slit.

You didn't get the chance to take a look at it, but the tip felt huge, so much so that you gasped, propping yourself on your elbows to see better, and you were not disappointed. In fact, you were concerned. You could not take it.

"Dante, it's not gonna fit."

He shook his head with a half-smile, finding your concern quite cute.

"I'll make it fit."

It was both a promise and a threat, but you trusted him. God, you trusted him with your life. He slowly and gently pushed the tip, your slick more than enough to lubricate his cock, but he stopped every time you looked uncomfortable to make sure you were okay.

"Tell me if it's too much."

"No, you can- it's fine, keep going." You closed your eyes, the discomfort causing you to clench around him instead of relaxing, which made Dande forget how to breathe or think.

But the worst came to a halt when he was fully in, stopping briefly to allow you to accommodate to the size. Your breathing went back to normal soon enough, and the last ounce of pain in your body was swiftly replaced by a surge of electricity when Dante moved, slowly and softly rolling his hips, unable to abstain any longer. And you didn't want him to when his cock filled you up so good, reaching places you didn't even know existed inside of your body. Your fingernails dug into his back, clawing at his skin with desperation and impatience, like you needed more than what he was already giving you.

"See? I told you I’ll make it fit. And you take me so well." Dante said, dragging his mouth over your neck, your scent overloading his senses.

But it just wasn't enough. No matter how painful, you wanted it-

"Harder."

Assertive, demanding, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he pulled back to look at you, as if not believing your request.

"A minute ago, you were wriggling in pain, now you want it harder?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "I want it harder, faster, please-"

You were shushed by two digits forcing open your mouth, and you instinctively wrapped your lips around them, sucking obediently.

"You talk too much." He gave you a taste of your own medicine. "Should've known you were just a dumb little cocksleeve."

The degrading words caused you to moan and drool around his fingers, tears welling up in your eyes. Each thrust had you clench tighter, the tip of his ridiculously large cock punishing your cervix. Pain and pleasure bubbled inside of you, sparking through your body as Dante practically ripped his fingers from your mouth, only to wrap them around your throat. He was a hungry man, and you were dinner — arching your back to get closer, deeper, you fucked yourself on his cock with his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, and he revelled in your worship.

"Shit, you like it when it hurts, don't you?" He whispered, squeezing harder while you nodded eagerly. "Of course you do."

Of course you did. How could you not when he fucked you so good that your dignity and modesty were long forgotten? When Dante stripped you of your decency to bring out the worst in you? You felt your second orgasm build up, causing you to twitch under him, eyes rolling back as you slipped your hands under his arms, holding on for dear life.

"Again- gonna come again, Dante! Fuck!"

"Atta girl." He held your quivering body, his own hips stuttering, brutally thrusting into you with raw, animalistic passion.

You came undone on his cock, fingers carding through his hair, pushing away white locks to look at his pretty eyes while his arm slithered under your lower back to both support you and bring you closer to him. Dante was close, his throbbing cock still stretching your sore cunt out. He bucked his hips, splitting you open while you latched your arms around his neck, tits pressed against his chest and your lips ghosting over his earlobe.

"Almost there, babe." Dante promised. "You're doing so well." He pulled back, nearly on edge, but you squeezed your legs tighter around his waist.

"Don't pull out." You demanded, and that was enough to help him reach enlightenment.

He filled you up, and when he did pull out, watching his cum slowly leak out of you, you could've sworn he whispered 'marry me' under his breath. Surely it was just the brain fog, or the post-orgasm high. Your whole body was numb, and you stumbled into Dante's arms when you tried to get down from the table, muscles sore and aching.

"You wanna get pizza?" He nonchalantly asked, as if he didn't just fuck his best friend.

"I- shouldn't we talk about this?" You avoided looking into his eyes, opting to stare at the floor instead.

"About what?"

God, he was either insufferably oblivious or remarkably good at pretending.

"Us." You sighed.

"What's there to talk about?" Dante's fingers found your chin, and he gently lifted it up, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't make this harder for me, please. You know things won’t be the same now. We’re not in a relationship and-"

"I don't follow." Confusion was written all over his face. "Do you not want to be my girlfriend?"

"Girl- I- hold up, what? Do you want me to be your girlfriend?" You tilted your head, baffled by his question, because of course you wanted to. You just never had the guts to admit that you like him. It was even more shocking that he liked you back. Wasn’t this all just a one-time thing?

"I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious when I fucked you. What, you thought I nut and dip? That I shoot a load and go back on the road? That I cum n go?"

"Wow, please never use those euphemisms ever again." You cringed at his words, trying your best to hide the smile that crept on your lips.

"Christ, babe, you know I don't do one-night stands unless I’m really desperate. And here I thought you were my best friend. Guess I was wrong." Dante gasped, dramatically feigning offence by placing a hand on his chest.

"I’m not your best friend anymore." You said, voice serious and cold, and his charade was quickly replaced by actual worry and offence. "I'm your girlfriend now. And your best friend."

"Okay, I was genuinely concerned. Fuck you." He flipped you off and you sneered.

"You already did."

"Wait, that's my line!"

"Skill issue."

[neeeooon]

my life will be yours if you make a fic about sae with a foreign reader, they met at some random cafe where he was because he wanted some peace and quiet, and he just so happened to see reader, who’s a bit clumsy and accidentally spilled their coffee on him, and so they offered to clean it for him (or buy him the same one.) somehow, he seems so enchanted by reader that he just wordlessly nods, even though he could buy like 10 copies of the same (expensive) sweater he was wearing right now, and he just kind of follows reader around like a lost puppy, and reader finds it super adorable!! he just buys whatever the reader wants, even if they just look at it for one split second, and he’s already checking it out and swiping his card :)) aaaarghfhf i love sae he’s such a cutie +_+

accidental love at first sight

itoshi sae x foreigner!reader. fluff fluff fluff

the meeting went to shit quicker than expected, and after hearing two dozen grown men shouting over each other for several minutes, sae was in desperate need of some peace and quiet.

with the strap of his shoulder bag tight in a fist, sae stepped into the first empty cafe he saw. he’d been back in japan for less than two days and was already sick of it. he wanted nothing more than to hop on a plane to anywhere but there.

he rolled the sleeves of his loewe knit cardigan up to his elbows as he ordered. personally, he thought the sweater was hideous. it’d been a gift from his company back in spain, and his manager insisted on having him wear it to the meeting as a sign of wealth and respect.

sae took his number from the cashier and found one of the empty tables to set his things at. a sigh naturally left his lips as he fell into the booth, not caring if the wood did nothing to cushion his landing. he was exhausted, mentally and physically, and wanted nothing more than to drink his coffee and return to his hotel.

it didn't take nearly as long as it did in spain for him to receive his drink, and sae stood to grab a napkin.

peace and quiet. what a joke.

not two seconds after he stood, a body slammed directly into him, knocking the coffee out of his hand and sending the hot liquid down the front of his cream sweater. sae kept his face neutrally blank, but the breath he let out trembled around the edges.

"oh no, i'm so sorry!" a voice shouted in panicked, broken japanese. when sae opened his eyes, he knew right away that you were visiting from out of town, like him.

your face was pale as you wiped napkins over his chest, pushing the dark coffee further into the expensive fabric. your rambling continued in a language sae didn't speak, and before you could embarrass either of them any further, he clasped a hand over your wrist to bring your nervous scrubbing to a stop.

"i'm clumsy," you scolded yourself, fists balling the napkins now soaked through with coffee. "i will buy you a new drink." you weren't asking, and sae didn't know if you were being assertive or if it was the slight language barrier. no matter the reasoning, he found himself nodding along wordlessly.

"i will buy your sweater, too," you offered while approaching the cashier, but when sae told you the price, you flashed a large, nervous grin. "i will clean your sweater. sorry, i said buy by mistake."

sae didn't know what it was about you, but your words brought a small smile to his lips. he couldn't help but be utter enchated by you as you ordered and paid for his replacement drink before informally asking (more like demanding) for his number. "for the, uh, sweater!"

"we can go now," sae surprised himself by offering, but the way your face brightened made him glad he suggested it. "alright! i have no plans. let's go!"

☆ ☕️

sae hardly remembered offering you his number, but he couldn't forget the feel of your fingers against his palm as you plucked the scrap of paper from his hand.

that was two weeks ago. sae often lost interest in things in two minutes. however, two whole weeks later, and he still jumped anytime his phone made a noise, chest aching at the thought that it could be you. most of the time it was, as you loved texting him about your day and wishing him luck at work.

you: Are you busy today? I would love to see you before my flight home!

sae: not busy. i'll pick you up and we can go shopping

you: Alright! I will be ready to leave in twenty minutes 😄

he couldn’t say no to you. not that he wanted to; sae would follow you anywhere, buy you anything. he learned, after you took his number while beaming up at him, that he would do anything to make you smile like that again.

even if it meant hurting his wallet for the next few hours.

“what do you think of this one? i feel like it is too sweet on me.” you brought your freshly spritzed wrist to his nose, where sae inhaled the scent of peach blossoms. definitely sweet, but he liked it on you.

“do you want it?”

you hummed and took another sniff. “it’s not too sweet..?”

sae nudged your wrist with his finger. “i like it on you.”

“then i will buy it!”

sae followed you around the outlet with no intentions of letting you pay for anything. anytime you tried, he’d give the cashier a death glare and slip his black card across the counter when they lied and said yours wasn’t compatible with their foreign system.

it got so bad that you had to ask sae to stop trying to buy everything you looked at. “i don’t need a solid gold chess set, really! please put the card away.”

though he had terrible financial responsibility, sae followed you around like a lost puppy, and you found that utterly adorable. “i will miss you when i fly back home. are we friends? can i text you?”

“yes,” sae answered without hesitation. his face remained blank, but you noticed the very tips of his ears were slightly flushed and smiled big at him. “to both.”

“then i will text you! and maybe i will return so you can take me on a real date!”

more than just the tips of sae’s ears turned pink when you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “until then, friend!”

an: the friend zone is temporary they def hold hands and kiss in cafes

[yanyannica]

it's not like ushijima wakatoshi to get jealous over anything, but the one time you heavily suspect he does...

"oh? you jealous?"

your tall hunk of a boyfriend stares you down with a mild crease between his eyebrows. you stare back just as intensely with a dopey grin, waiting for an admission from your ever-stoic boyfriend.

it's not everyday you get to see him react like this, so you practically jump the opportunity.

you watch tentatively as he brings up a hand to his chest, clutching his shirt as his gaze drops to the ground — expression stoned not much unlike a rock as he contemplates your words. he never fails to look so serious.

"...am i?"

the blatant confusion on his face couldn't be any more funnier, and you had to stifle your laugh into your hand lest you hurt his feelings.

you really should've known better — of course he wouldn't know what to call it even if it slapped him in the face. we were talking about the guy who went up to you during a random tuesday and confessed that he had an constant urge to kiss you, and innocently asked if you knew anything about it like he was inquiring about homework.

(for an entire week before you officially got together, you had to convince him that no — you were most definitely not hypnotizing him.)

"you're such an idiot, you know?" you nudge his side teasingly, leaning your weight against him as you struggle to keep your giggles at bay.

your hulk of a boyfriend is way too adorable sometimes.

"i'm not quite sure what jealousy feels like. my apologies."

you grimace a bit at his response, now hyper-aware of the way his athletic body feels against your side.

he's never had to be jealous of anything because everyone else is busy being jealous of him!

you pout at him, before poking his side. softly, of course. you might break a finger or two if you went any harder.

you turn back to the matter at hand before it completely derails — you need full details on this rare side of him. "well, what did it feel like when you saw me talking to that guy?"

ushijima takes a moment before his eyes clear up.

"something felt weird here," he gently patted the spot over his heart and your eyes widen in surprise, pulling away to look at him more firmly. "like it got pinched. it didn’t hurt physically, but it made me... sad."

your heart clenches, hard. you swear you heard it crack within your chest too. oh my god. it was one hundred percent your fault! no questions asked!

you reach out to his arms as your eyes turn glassy, "oh, baby. i'm so sor —"

"my muscles contracted by themselves too, like how it feels when i want to hit a spike."

... ha?

your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. the romantic air disperses in a matter of miliseconds, crashing down to earth.

a spike?!

what the hell? well, good thing you kept the conversation short, or else that guy would've had his head blown off...

a shudder runs down your spine.

you sweat profusely at his profound statement, "n-next time you feel bothered by something like that, make sure you approach me first before doing anything, okay?" for safety purposes!

ushijima blinks at you, completely none the wiser to your inner turmoil.

"alright," he pauses, as if there's something else he wants to say, contemplating it for a few moments before speaking up again. "i don't like feeling jealous. is that a bad thing?"

reallyyyyy such a baby. your baby.

"i'm really sorry for making you feel that way, toshi," leaning up on your tippy toes, you coerce him to lean down into your hold — placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "you do know that you're the only one i have eyes for, yes?"

he nods affirmatively, like an obedient child heeding their parents' words like it's gospel.

"you trust me, right?"

another truthful nod of approval. you sigh in utter relief as you let him go for him to resume his practice, satisfied at how you were able to prevent a major crisis from occurring.

"i will make sure to consult you first before spiking."

you feel a tear form.

"toshi — baby, no —"

oh yes */smirks deviously

[stevesgother]

i'm sure this has been said of before but just hear me out

you, who's not quite as close with steve harrington has some of his other friends but still you're still friendly nonetheless.

you had been there when billy hargrove beat him within an inch of his life. you'd driven he and the kids to the tunnels. shared trauma, but that was really it.

steve, who has had vivid nightmares since the fall of 84', decides that one night his house is too empty, and he feels too alone, and he needs to call someone.

robin has an early shift, nancy is out of the question for obvious reasons as well as jonathan. all that leaves is you.

so he dials your number into his landline with shaking fingers just before he starts to really hyperventilate. for it being the middle of the night, you sound much more awake than he thought you would. he can't seem to get the words out, so you finish his question for him:

"you need me to come over?"

he nods before remembering you can't see him, "yes."

so you go over. you get him water and make him drink it. you place a cold washcloth to the back of his sweaty neck and sit with him on the edge of his bed until he feels ready to lay down again. it's a little awkward, you've never hung out together just the two of you. if you could call it that.

shoulder to shoulder on his mattress, you teach him grounding exercises. five things he can see, four things he can touch, three things he can hear, two things he can smell and one thing he can taste. he develops a habit of fidgeting with your fingers until he falls back asleep.

then he calls you again two weeks later, asking the same thing. and then again the week after that. you find yourself staying the night at steve harrington's house upwards of three times a week at one point.

and if you're being honest? it helps you too. he wasn't the only one suffering from night terrors, the difference being that you had people. steve barely did.

it gets to the point where he doesn't have to ask anymore. you start showing up at his house with a packed bag, he just smiles and steps aside once he's opened the door.

sometimes you show up around dinner time with pizza or chinese food and you guys watch movies until your eyelids feel too heavy to continue. one day, doing exactly that, you realize you that you wouldn't rather be spending your time with anyone else.

steve's bitching about his parents a few months later. saying how unfair it is that they want him to move out of a house that they hardly even live in. you feel his pain: living with your parents may be monetarily free, but you're paying with your sanity.

"well, maybe we could find an apartment and split the rent?"

so you do. you don't bother with two bedrooms; you hadn't spent a night not sleeping in the same bed for six months now so why bother with the higher rent?

and all your friends think you're insane and they don't understand the dynamic between the two of you because you're also...not dating? not that you've never thought about it, i mean who wouldn't right? look at him for christ's sake, and he is so thoughtful.

but it's whatever! because you're best friends and you help each other cope with your shared ptsd and nightmares and you cuddle when you sleep and play with each other's hair and designate wednesdays to watch movies and eat greasy food and leave little notes around your apartment for the other to find platonically. duh.

[witchywithwhiskey]

the luckiest bastard in pittsburgh

pairing: dr. jack abbot x coffee shop night shift worker!female reader

this is mostly fluff but there's some allusions to smut/18+ content toward the end so minors do not interact!!!

a/n: i finished the pitt the other night and have been consumed with dr. jack abbot as a character and thinking about what he'd be like in a relationship. because he's such a capable doctor, but he seems like he's kind of a mess in every other aspect of his life, and i love the idea of him being a bit of a bumbling mess while falling in love. so here are some thoughts about all that.

if y'all enjoy this, i'm thinking of rewriting it as a proper series, potentially showing both points of view, and diving deeper into the smutty bits that would come later. so if you're interested in that, do let me know!

Dr. Jack Abbot doesn't even like coffee that much, even if it helps him get through the night shift. Jack finds comfort in the darkness, but on the rough nights, when the horror seems endless, it's your pretty smile that really gets him through till dawn...

it isn't long after he first sees you at the small café next to the hospital that Jack starts getting coffee every night, either stopping in before his shift or ducking out from the ER for a cup of black coffee in the early hours of the morning—if he can pull himself away.

he finds himself making excuses to linger in the coffee shop, asking you whether you enjoy the night shift, his mouth twisting in a hint of a smile when you admit that you do. it's quiet, and you like the quiet.

it takes a while before Jack works up the nerve to ask you for your name, and his knees nearly sag with relief when you give it to him freely.

there's another of your pretty smiles on your face when you tell Jack your name—and this time, it's all for him.

a flicker of warmth trembles to life in his chest, a spark of something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. he feels the need to protect it from the yawning darkness in his chest.

Jack introduces himself to you as, "Dr. Jack Abbot, but you can call me Jack." and you look at him from under your lashes, a teasing glimmer in your eyes as you murmur, "it's nice to meet you, Dr. Jack."

hearing you call him that, in your sweet voice, does something to Jack's chest and he's not quite sure what to do about it. he has half a mind to check himself out for a heart event as he trudges blindly back to the hospital, black coffee in hand.

but then he's plunged back into the chaos of the ER and he doesn't have time to think about the strange fluttering behind his sternum whenever he remembers your smile or your voice or the way you called him Dr. Jack.

he decides it's nice, actually, and that maybe he could learn to live with it.

one late night/early morning—all Jack knows is that it's past 3am but the sun hasn't started to rise yet—he's in the coffee shop, doing his best to chat with you when a car backfires outside on the street. you jump, spilling scalding hot coffee over your hand. the paper cup and coffeepot tumble to the floor, the latter shattering and sending glass flying across the tile.

before Jack knows what he's doing, he's catapulted himself over the counter. glass crunches beneath the soft soles of his shoes as he makes his way to you, moving faster than he has in years to get to you.

you're biting your lip against the pain, tears shimmering in your wide eyes—but there's no fear in your gaze, only a desperate pleading for help. Jack's heart surges in a way it never does in the ER, beating harder and faster, his nerves buzzing to life after so many years spent dormant.

thankfully, all Jack's years of training kick in and he's able to take control of the situation on muscle memory alone.

gently, he takes your arm and leads you to the sink behind the counter, kicking glass out of his way to clear a path for you. he flicks on the tap and checks that the water is cool, but not too cold, before he guides your quivering hand beneath the stream.

with his other hand, Jack tips your chin up to look at him and his chest squeezes with a concerning force when he sees that tears have spilled down your cheeks.

right then, Jack knows he'd tear out his own heart with a pair of forceps if it meant never seeing you cry again.

with fingers shaking in a way they never do when he's working in the ER, Jack brushes your tears from your cheeks. his throat is tight with a panic that feels foreign and overwhelming, but he knows it has everything to do with the fact that it's you who's hurt. through it all, he manages to murmur words of comfort.

"you're alright, i've got you. just keep your hand under the water, sweetheart. you're doing so well, just stay right there. you're gonna be ok, i'm gonna take care of you, i promise."

when the tears have stopped, Jack asks where he can find the café's first aid kit, which he fetches quickly before returning to your side.

he knows he's standing too close, crowding into your space, but he can't help himself. he needs the physical reminder that you're there, that you're going to be ok, and he's going to make sure of it.

when he flips open the first aid kit and quickly takes stock of what supplies are inside, he can't help but grumble roughly. he doesn't even know he's muttering under his breath about everything the kit is missing until a little puff of laughter escapes you and he looks up in surprise.

your eyes are still wide, a tightness around them that tells Jack you're still in pain and are being brave about it, but there's something else shimmering in the depth of your gaze. something like fondness, something warm that reaches straight into Jack's chest and wraps around his heart, squeezing in a way that's both painful and pleasant, torture and comfort.

"i'm sorry about your coffee."

your words pull jack from his scattered thoughts, and before he can think better of it, he says, "fuck the coffee." his voice is low and rough, but that doesn't seem to scare you.

his blunt words draw another giggle from you, and Jack feels practically high from the relief and rapture the sound inspires in him. distantly, he considers booking himself in for a head scan when he gets back to the hospital, but he knows the sudden off-kilter feeling has nothing to do with a potential brain injury and everything to do with the way you make him feel.

your laughter trails off too soon, but you're still smiling, looking at him from under your lashes, almost like you're suddenly shy. "if you have time, Dr. Jack, i'll brew another pot."

"i've got time," Jack says, the 'for you' left unsaid. but Jack thinks you know what he means, because your face softens, your eyes looking at him like he hung the moon, and your lips curving into the prettiest smile he's seen yet.

the two of you linger in that moment as long as possible, like neither of you want it to pass. but, inevitably, it does.

Jack looks away first, coughing to clear his suddenly dry throat. his movements are jerky and awkward at first, as he starts pulling supplies from the first aid kit's meager offerings, but his hands steady as his training takes over, and he's never been more thankful for it.

in no time at all, Jack has your hand bandaged and you tell him you're feeling a lot better. before you can thank him, he's writing down his personal phone number on the back of one of the café's loyalty punch cards and telling you to call or text him if you have any questions about treating or re-bandaging the burn.

you take the card with a gentle smile, your eyes roving over his face in a way that makes him shift his weight from foot to foot. he has to bite back a wince when he feels a twinge of discomfort from his leg rubbing against his prosthetic, but he won't stop you from looking.

you thank him for his help, and seem to hesitate before stepping close to him—so close, his heart riots in his chest and his breath catches in his throat. his entire body is lit up, his nerves feeling like live wires, even as he stands perfectly still, as if any sudden movement could spook you.

your lips brush against Jack's grizzled cheek and it's embarrassing how his body reacts to such a chaste kiss, blood flowing to places he thought were half-dead from disuse. his heart is pumping in his chest and his fingers twitch with the need to reach for you, while another part of him, below the waistband of his scrubs, also strains for you.

he wants to wrap you up in his arms and haul you against his chest. he wants to kiss you, to learn how you taste and how you'd sound coming apart on his tongue, and how you'd smile when you're wrapped up in the sheets of his bed.

he wants to map every curve of your body with his calloused hands. he wants to take you home and cook you breakfast. he wants to protect you from ever being hurt again.

Jack knows none of that is possible, that there's no way a sweet, pretty thing like you would want an old, haggard doctor like him. but he'd settle for another kiss on his cheek...

the first time you text Dr. Jack Abbot, it’s only a few hours later. the sun is high in the sky and Jack wakes from a dead sleep at the vibration of his phone on the nightstand.

he doesn’t sleep well. his body never quite unlearned the training it got overseas when he had to be awake and alert at a moment’s notice—or risk his life or those of his fellow soldiers.

but when Jack sees your name and your innocent question asking him whether it’s ok to put aloe on the burn before freshening the bandage, he calms and smiles to himself. it's a smart idea, and he tells you as much.

after he answers your message, he drops back to sleep as easily as breathing, the ghost of a smile still on his lips and the memory of your eyes in his mind.

as the burn on your hand heals, you keep texting Jack questions even though he’s pretty sure you already know the answers—but he won’t do or say anything to discourage you from texting him.

not when you indulge him by sending photos of your hand during the day. and not when you're patient with him when he checks how you’re healing every night when he comes into the coffee shop for his daily fix (though he hasn't told you yet that your smiles do much more for him than the caffeine ever could).

he praises you for taking care of your injury well, his chest warm with pride, his heart surging at the pretty little smile and soft "thank you" you give him.

eventually, the burn on your hand heals, but you keep texting Jack.

at first it’s superficial questions like whether he’s coming in that night—even though Jack is pretty sure you’ve noticed he comes in every night—or telling him about a strange order or funny customer you had.

but soon you start asking him how his night is going and what he does when he’s not at the hospital.

Jack has to scramble to come up with hobbies that aren’t sleeping and listening to the police scanner, the night shift nurses sharing a judgemental look and biting back laughter when he asks them what normal people do for fun.

when he tells you he reads and watches movies, though, you seem pleased.

everyone in the ER knows something’s going on with Dr. Jack Abbot. he’s going on coffee runs every night when they were only rare occurrences in the past, checking his phone so much it’s practically glued to his hand, and he’s smiling more—real smiles, not just the twist of his lips into the approximation of one.

Dr. Robby has even stopped finding him on the roof. or, at least, not as close to the edge.

the security guards and some of the nurses have a betting pool going for who the new person in Dr. Abbot’s life is. Jack pretends to ignore it, but he can’t keep the smile off his face when he sees the board because it reminds him of you.

it’s a few weeks later when Jack finally blurts out the question he’s been wanting to ask you since the first time you smiled at him.

“you wanna go out sometime? with me?”

your grin is wide and beaming, that teasing gleam in your eye when you respond, “took you long enough, Dr. Jack.”

on Jack’s next night off—which happens to be your night off as well—he takes you out. it’s nothing fancy, just dinner at place where you can get a good beer and burger, then you walk through a park, hands brushing tentatively a few times before he finally laces his fingers through yours. your hand is soft in his calloused one and Jack thinks he’s never felt anything quite so perfect.

he walks you home and you hesitate at your door. you don’t invite him in, but you sway into his chest, your face tilted toward his.

bathed in the golden light of the lampposts, you look like an angel to Jack, all soft eyes and a pretty smile.

the two of you linger in that moment, the hum of tension and desire thrumming in the space between your bodies. Jack is so busy marveling at your beauty and wondering why such a pretty thing has any interest in him that he nearly forgets what it means that your eyes keep drifting to his mouth, your pupils blowing wider in the low light.

but finally, he remembers.

Jack kisses you, his hands cupping your jaw and his mouth brushing against yours in the most teasing of caresses. you exhale a soft puff of air, chasing his mouth as he retreats and Jack smiles briefly before he’s giving you what you want. his lips press more firmly to yours, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

Jack is surprised when your tongue flicks teasingly against his upper lip and he opens for you reflexively. in the next second, you’re licking into his mouth like you’re hungry for him, a gentle sound in your throat like you'll never be able to get enough of him.

the heat of you is nearly overwhelming and Jack's arms wrap around your back, hauling you tight against his chest while he kisses you back just as greedily. he prays you don’t notice how embarrassingly hard he is against your belly, a testament to how much and how long he's wanted you.

but then you moan into his mouth, your fingers carding through his silver-streaked hair, and Jack's mind goes entirely blank.

the kiss lasts forever and not long enough.

when Jack finally pulls away, he’s met with the wondrous sight of your dazed, slow-blinking eyes and kiss-swollen lips. he thinks that if he can’t keep kissing you, at least he can still look at you, your beauty leaving him just as empty-headed as your lips and tongue.

with a giggle at his slow-moving brain, you gently shove Jack away from your door and wish him a goodnight. he waits until you’ve gone inside and locked the door behind you before he retreats.

he walks home with his hands shoved in his pockets to stop himself from texting you to come back outside so he can keep kissing you, maybe even convince you he’s worth a damn—though a part of him suspects you already think he is. for whatever reason.

the next day, you text him that you had a good time on your date and are looking forward to seeing him again. it's accompanied by a selfie of you smiling, your lips still a little swollen from his kiss, and Jack nearly loses himself in his boxers at that simple sight.

his response to you is immediate, telling you he'll see you at the café that evening and he's looking forward to your next date. then he lays back in his bed, and thinks about your eyes, your smile, the pretty sounds you made when he kissed you. he imagines waking up next to you, curling his arms around your soft body and inhaling your sweet scent.

not for the first time—nor the last—Dr. Jack Abbot thinks he must be the luckiest bastard in Pittsburgh, all because of you.

hope y'all enjoyed!! again, let me know if you want to see a longer version of this story—probably broken up into chapters to be a full series. ♡ comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

[screamlet]

hi here's a prompt for you to ponder while i'm teaching my class: ♕ (holding hands)

GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! when i tell you this one prompt in particular has been haunting me since THE MOMENT!!!!! YOU SENT IT!!!!!! why are hands so hard?!?!?! fuck!!!! anyway here's ~650 words of established bucktommy future fic, kid fic, cavity-inducing fluff. AUGH from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

---

It was only when Tommy thought about reaching for a drink that he realized both his hands weren't his own.

It's movie night on the couch and Evan's in his usual spot on Tommy's right side, mile-long legs stretched out on the rest of the couch. For years now, years, he needed something to fidget with in his hands and when it wasn't his phone or his wedding ring or an actual fidget toy, it was probably Tommy's hand: linking their fingers together, stroking the pads of his fingers, idly flexing his fingers, looking down at the light faded scars here and there.

And now Andy, all of four years old, had picked up on the habit and grabbed Tommy's left hand so he could watch the movie, too. Tommy flexes his right hand to catch Evan's attention, motioning quickly to his other side where Andy was fascinated by an animated movie he'd seen a dozen times already. Tommy stays still as Evan slips his phone out and cranes his long arm to get a picture of Andy and Tommy. He gets the shot, but the little shutter sound also gets Andy's attention.

"Pictures?" Andy asks. He clutches Tommy's hand tighter, excited, because Evan always takes the best pictures, makes the best faces and the silliest sounds, and Andy loves to play along. "Dad, smile, pictures." Tommy puts on a goofy smile as Evan gets a selfie of the three of them.

"Andy, hold up Dad's hand for the picture," Evan says. "Look, we caught him, like a big fish!"

Andy holds Tommy's hand to his chest and leans against Tommy. "We're watching movies and we hold hands with movies."

"We hold hands at the movies, exactly," Evan says excitedly. "Our baby's the smartest kid in the world. The smartest."

Andy preens, makes a little yay sound under his breath as he sits down again and cuddles against Tommy's side. Tommy's never getting that hand back; he's never giving that hand back. He leans down and kisses the top of Andy's head, then leans to his other side and gently headbutts Evan. "That means you're on hydrate-Dad duty."

"My time to shine," Evan announces as he scrambles off the couch and into the kitchen.

"Pause," Andy tells Tommy. "Dad's missing it."

"You got it. Movie: paused."

"Thank you," Andy whispers.

His new thing this week is please and thank you; they're not sure where he picked it up from, but he and Evan are enjoying this period where their son sounds like he wandered out of a toddler finishing school or something. It's too fucking cute.

Evan comes back with an ancient relic from their kitchen, a giant sparkly travel cup with a straw stuck in it. "Dad's gonna be the most hydrated," Evan says as he reclaims his spot on Tommy's other side. "Sip, don't slurp." Tommy shoots him a look as he sips from the straw, and gets an evil flick on his earlobe for it.

"Dads, movie, now," Andy says. "Please."

He's about to press play, but Evan has already settled back into his couch groove next to Tommy—that means he's taken back the remote and Tommy's right hand. Their eyes meet as Evan kisses the back of his hand, reverent as he lingers.

Tommy thinks all of this deserves reverence, this moment so quiet and incredible that it's hard to believe he's living it.

"Oh boy, I wonder what happens next," Evan says as he hits play.

Andy laughs with his whole body, knocking against Tommy's side. "We've seen it."

"Well I don't remember," Evan says playfully. "Dad, did we watch this already?"

"Shh, the part with the whale," Tommy says. Andy holds Tommy's hand even tighter, bending back one of his fingers too far until Tommy flexes and loosens his grip. "You love this part, huh?"

Andy sighs, big and exaggerated like both his dads, his arms swinging up and almost taking one of Tommy's eyes out. "I love every part."

"Me too," Tommy says, glancing at Evan.

Evan meets Tommy's eyes and kisses his hand again. "Me too."

[scribblesofagoonerr]

a bit of a wobble | chaos fc

this is an extra one added in because well i'm in the mood to write angst. also big thank you to @wosov for helping me create the idea for this one

pairings: katie mccabe x monkey!reader | kyra cooney-cross x monkey!reader | awfc x monkey!reader

summary: monkey has a bit of a wobble in australia and she needs the comfort of her favourite auntie

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Kyra asked Steph for what felt like the millionth time in the space of ten minutes since they climbed on the bus, “Are you positive? Can you ring Katie? I’m worried about her!”

The bus sat parked out front of Marvel Stadium, awaiting the late arrivals, and Kyra couldn’t stop fidgeting in her seat. Steph, unfortunately, had drawn the short straw and was stuck next to her, constantly hounding her with questions about you.

“I’m sure she’s going to be just fine, Ky. Katie’s got her,” Steph answered, forcing a tight-lipped smile, “Now, will you just sit still and stop fidgeting for five minutes?”

“But… But what if she’s not? What if she’s still upset? What if something’s wrong?” Kyra’s words tumbled out in a rapid stream, her panic growing with every passing second, “She didn’t… She didn’t seem herself back there!”

Steph exchanged a glance with Caitlin, who sat in front of the two of them, and the latter of the two raised an eyebrow, clearly tired of the back-and-forth,  “Kyra, let it go, alright? There’s nothing we can do right now. It’s out of our hands,” The girl explained, trying to ground the younger girl.

But Kyra was far from letting it go. She was bouncing in her seat, agitated, half turning to look out the window and expecting to see you walk out with Katie.

“I’m gonna go to her hotel room and check in on her when we get back,” Kyra declared suddenly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ky, she’s not there, remember?” Steph told her firmly, “Katie has her. You need to stop.”

But that didn’t even phase Kyra.

“Fine, then I’ll just go to Katie’s hotel room instead,” The Aussie girl insisted, her eyes bright with determination, “I’m her bestie. I’ll cheer her up!”

Steph and Caitlin shared a look with one another.

“Look, pest, she’s… she just needs to be with Katie tonight, alright?” Caitlin tried to explain in the best way that she could, “Tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll be back to her usual self, bouncing around and annoying all of us. You just need to be patient and wait.”

Steph snorted in amusement, “Patient? This is Kyra we’re talking about here, remember?”

“I have to go and find her. I don’t see why I can’t go and see how she’s doing! Why does it matter if Katie is with her or not?” Kyra was determined to check on you, and make sure you were okay, and she wouldn’t believe it until she saw it with her own eyes. She stood up suddenly, gripping the rail by her seat as if that alone would get her off the bus faster.

And then the bus started to rumble.

The engine fired up beneath them, and Kyra’s eyes went wide, “Wait, wait—Monkey isn’t on the bus yet! We can’t go! We can’t leave her behind!”

Steph was already out of her seat, grabbing the back of Kyra’s hoodie to yank her back into place, “Sit. Down. Monkey’s fine.”

“Ky, relax, Katie and Monkey are getting an Uber back,” Caitlin said gently, though Kyra still looked panicked, “Just sit down, it’s going to be fine. They’ll be back in a bit.”

“Why?” Kyra asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “I… I don’t get it. Why are they coming back separately? Nothing is making sense right now!”

Steph exhaled a sigh and pushed Kyra into the window seat, keeping her arm across her to stop her from moving, “I know you don’t understand all of it, Kyra, but just trust us when we say that she’s in safe hands with Katie, okay? Like Cait said, wait until tomorrow and she’ll be back to her usual menace-self, yeah?”

Kyra huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t like it, though. She should be on here, it’s not right!”

“I know you don’t like it, pest, but it is what it is,” Caitlin murmured, pressing her lips together, “Katie knows how to handle Monkey when she’s like… this, and it’s better this way.”

“Right, our Uber’s here, little lady,” Katie said softly, crouching down to your level with her voice all calm and gentle. Her hoodie was draped around your waist, tied securely to cover the wet patch on your shorts—not a single word of judgement, not even a look. Just care.

She’d of course seen this before.

You sniffled, but didn’t say anything, still sucking your thumb without realiising. You just stared, your eyes a little too wide, too empty. You weren’t really there.

“Hey, Monkey,” Katie reached out and brushed a bit of hair out of your eyes with the backs of her fingers, her expression nothing but kind, “I know it’s been a long day today, hasn’t it?”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink.

“We’ll have you back to the hotel soon enough,” Katie pressed on anyway, her voice a careful murmur like she was trying not to startle a frightened animal, “Yer can have a bath and clean up, and then we’ll watch a movie in my bed, how ‘bout that? I’ll even let yer pick it.”

Still nothing. But your head tilted a bit towards her hand.

That was enough. It was something.

It was barely anything. But still—enough.

“Atta girl,” Katie murmured, her hand rubbing gently up and down your back as she helped you stand. Your knees buckled a bit, but she caught you without hesitation, steadying you like she’d done it a thousand times before, “We’ll get yer sorted. No rush. We go at yer pace, little lady.”

Katie had her arm wrapped protectively around you as she led you towards the car park. The Uber was waiting just outside the stadium. She helped you into the back seat, buckled you in carefully as your thumb finally slipped from your mouth. Your eyes were still glassy as you stared at nothing in particular.

You didn’t protest, didn’t react. You just… let her do everything for you.

Katie’s jaw clenched for half a second as she draped her arm around your shoulders and tried not to show how worried she was. She let you cuddle in close, your head falling limply against her shoulder while your eyes remained unfocused as the car began to pull off from the curb.

The Irish girl rested her cheek on top of you as she shut her eyes for a moment, “Soon as we get back, it’s warm jammies and a cuddle burrito, alright?” She whispered into your ear like she was sharing her best-kept secret, “And yer can’t be sad in a cuddle burrito.”

Still nothing.

Katie didn’t speak again. She just held you that bit tighter, and pulled out her phone with her free hand, texting Caitlin with one thumb, her heart sinking a little further with every silent minute.

📲 We’re heading back to the hotel now. Can we rain check on our plans later? Monkey really needs me tonight. She’s not herself at all

Before continuing to keep her arm wrapped around you, holding you tightly as if she was afraid of letting you go, “Bet this feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it? I should probably let your ma’s know what’s happened, and that you’re okay.”

She started typing a second message, this time to Jordan.

📲 Monkey’s had a bit of a wobble, but don’t worry, she’s alright, and I’m looking after her tonight for you both.

Before she could hit send, you stirred. Just a little. A sound, more breath than voice.

“M… Mummy,” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Katie froze, and her eyes widened in sheer panic—She’d seen this happen before with her own eyes, “Oh…  shit.”

The message to Jordan stayed unsent.

She tucked her phone away, both arms back around you now. That one tiny word still echoed in her ears, and just like that, all of her full attention was back on you.

Even at the hotel, Kyra was relentless in keeping on going and questioning every little thing.

“We were supposed to have a sleepover tonight! I don’t get why that can’t happen?” The young Australian questioned, confused as she paced the hotel room up and down, “Why is it so important that she stays with Katie? Why can’t I help her?”

Steph and Caitlin shared another look, “She’s not going to give up, is she?” Caitlin asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Steph murmured, exhaling a small sigh, “There’s only one person who can explain this better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Caitlin hummed in agreement, “You’d better get Leah on the phone to have a word with her.”

Steph hesitated. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, thumb hovering over the screen for a second.

“It’s late there,” The older one out of the two muttered, half to herself. But then she glanced at Kyra, who was now pacing the room like a caged animal.

“... She’ll want to know what’s going on anyway, Steph. This is Leah we’re on about here, remember?” Caitlin added, more to justify it.

“Yeah…” Steph mumbled, her thumb hovering over the screen, “Yeah, you’re right there, “ And Steph finally hit call.

After a few rings, the call connected.

Leah’s tired face filled the screen—eyes half-lidded, her blonde hair shoved into a messy bun. But it wasn’t just Leah.

Your 3-year-old sister Buddy was clinging to her, arms wrapped around her neck, her small face blotchy and tear-streaked, “Hey, Leah—Oh no, little miss. What’s the matter?”

Buddy only cried harder, nuzzling into Leah’s shoulder with a tiny whimper.

“Bubba’s not doing too good right now, are we?” Leah cooed, rocking her gently and kissing her forehead, “So we’ve had some Calpol, and we’re having some snuggles while we wait for it to kick in, aren’t we, Buddy?”

“I poorly, Auntie Stephy,” Buddy sniffled, her voice cracking through the phone, “I feel icky!”

“Oh no,” Steph frowned, her voice softening, “It’s a good job you’ve got your Mummy to take care of you. You’ll be better in no time, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh,” Buddy nodded sadly, still curled into Leah’s arms.

“Doing my best,” Leah sighed, “Just what I wanted to deal with today, eh?” She offered a tired smile before glancing up again, “Is everything alright? Please don’t tell me Monkey’s been causing more trouble.”

Steph hesitated, “Oh, no… no, it’s kind of the opposite of that.”

Leah’s expression sharpened immediately, “What d’you mean?”

“Where Monks’?” Buddy asked quietly, rubbing at her nose.

“She’s with your Auntie Katie right now,” Steph answered gently—but the second those words were out, Leah’s face fell.

“... She’s with Katie?” Leah asked slowly, her entire posture changing, “She chose to go with Katie?”

Steph nodded, and Leah sat up straighter, brows knitting together.

“What’s going on?” Leah asked, her voice low and tight, “What’s happened?”

“Well… the thing is, Monkey’s a bit… vulnerable right now,” Steph began to explain, “We didn’t want to worry you, but—”

Leah’s jaw clenched, “You should’ve called sooner. What d’you mean, vulnerable? What’s wrong with her?”

“Le, she’s safe. I promise,” Steph rushed to reassure her, “Katie’s got her. She’s really shaken up, and Katie’s just taking it slow. But the thing is…. Kyra doesn’t understand what is going on, and well, she won’t let it go.”

Leah’s heart clenched in her chest, “Fuck,” She whispered, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, “What d’you mean Kyra won���t let it go?”

“Won’t stop pacing. Keeps trying to leave. Keeps saying she wants to see Monkey. Won’t let it go,” Caitlin chimed in from behind Steph, her voice hushed but exasperated, “And she’s dead set on wanting to have a sleepover with your girl tonight.”

“She thinks she’s helping,” Steph added, “She doesn’t understand. She’s getting really upset about it. Will you try and talk to her?”

Leah sighed and rubbed her temple, already sitting up straighter, “Yeah, alright. Put her on.”

“Thank you,” Steph breathed a sigh of relief, handed the phone off, and Kyra appeared in the frame, visibly frazzled and fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, “Ky? Come here. Leah wants to speak to you.”

Kyra sprinted across the hotel room and snatched the phone out of Steph’s hands, “Leah! Leah, is Monkey okay? She… She didn’t seem right at all!” She rambled her words, trying to get her point across, “She was quiet… and acting weird. And she was sucking her thumb, and she was… she was shaking a bit? That’s not normal, right? I know she’s not okay. I can go and fix it, though, I promise!”

“Kyra,” Leah’s tone softened slightly, but it was still firm–the usual tone of voice that Kyra recognised Leah usually reserved for you and Buddy, “Look, I know you’re worried. I know you care about Monkey. But I need you to listen to me, and I mean really listen.”

Kyra blinked, “But she needs me, I can help—”

“Ra!” Buddy squealed weakly from Leah’s lap, perking up, “Mummy, Mummy, ‘ook! Dat Ra! But where Monks’?”

“Yes, it’s Kyra, isn’t it, Bubba?” Leah smiled tiredly, adjusting the phone, balancing it while still rocking Buddy, “Your big sister is with Auntie Katie right now. She’s not feeling her best, but Auntie Katie’s gonna help her feel better.”

“Otay,” Buddy nodded in understanding, “I wan’ talk to Ra too, Mummy!” The little girl insisted.

“You can soon, Bubba, but Mummy needs to talk to her first, alright?” Leah stroked her hair, “Then you can have a chat!”

Once Buddy had settled back into Leah’s chest, Leah focused on Kyra again.

“Kyra, I know this all seems confusing, and I know you want to help. That’s the difference,” Leah’s voice cut through the room like a knife, “Right now, Monkey doesn’t need a best mate. She needs calm. Quiet. She needs someone who knows exactly how to hold her when she’s too far gone to say what she needs.”

“But I know her!” Kyra protested, eyes glistening, “I can help her! We could… We could do something. And that would cheer her up!”

“I love that you want to help her, Kyra. I love that you care so much about my girl. But that won’t help. Monkey’s got a different way of coping sometimes, alright? She’s… unique, and sometimes, well, sometimes, yes, she does things that seem typical for her age. But that’s just how she copes,” Leah’s voice finally cracked a little, “Monkey’s going through a bit of a rough patch, and when she gets scared like this, her brain checks out. It’s not about cheering her up or playing games. It’s about making sure she’s safe enough to breathe.”

Kyra’s brow furrowed, “Is it ‘cause of her dad? I heard stuff. I know was an ab—well, a proper idiot. That’s why she got adopted by you, and your ex in the first place, yeah?”

Leah looked down for a beat, pressing her lips together, “... It’s more complicated than just that, Kyra. A lot more complicated.”

“But I could—”

“No, Kyra. You couldn’t. And that’s okay,” Leah cut her off, “I know that your heart is in the right place. Do you think I like being on the other side of the world while my kid’s falling apart? No. But I am grateful that she has her Auntie there. She needs someone familiar there. And I trust Katie. Because she knows how to handle Monkey when she’s like this.”

“We were meant to have a sleepover,” Kyra bit her lip, “We… We had plans.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, Kyra,” Leah apologised, keeping her tone gentle and calm, “I know you had plans, but she doesn’t need that. She needs to be with someone who can take care of her in the way that you just can’t, right now. Not because you don’t care, I know you do. But this… this is deeper. Right now, Monkey needs her Auntie. I need you to trust me that she’s safe.”

“But it’s not fair,” Kyra huffed, dramatically flopping down onto Steph’s bed, “What about our sleepover now?”

“There’ll be plenty of time for sleepovers, Kyra. It’s not the end of the world,” Leah reminded her, “I don’t exactly know what has happened, but if Monkey is with Katie, then I really need you to trust me on this. Trust me that Monkey needs her Auntie Katie. It’s important that she has that sense of familiarity around her if she’s feeling vulnerable right now, okay?

Buddy sniffled and looked up again, “I wan’ Monks’.”

“I know, Bubba,” Leah cooed, “Another couple of days, and she’ll be home. And then she can open her birthday presents from us all.”

“When Nana comin’?” Buddy asked, peering up to look at Leah.

“Oh, in a bit, baby. It’s still very early right now, and I think Nana will be asleep,” Leah gently explained, brushing the sweaty hair out of Buddy’s eyes.

Kyra’s voice was quiet now, “I’ve never seen her like that before, she looked so… small, and vulnerable. Kim shouted at her, and she just… shut down. It was like she wasn’t even there—”

“Wait, what?” Leah instantly cut her off, anger quickly taking over her previous worried tone of voice, “What d’you mean, Kim shouted at her?!”

“Oh, umm…” Kyra wasn’t exactly sure how to explain it, biting her bottom lip, “I… I don’t think she meant it, but well, Monkey and I were trying to prank Emily, and it sorta backfired…” She mumbled, turning to look at Steph for her help explaining it.

Steph huffed, rolling her eyes as she reluctantly took back her phone to explain the situation to Leah in better detail, “Right, so Monkey and Kyra attempted to prank Emily, but it backfired, and it ended up that Katie got caught out instead,” She began to explain, “Well, Katie wasn’t too happy about that, and then tried to chase Monkey around the changing rooms—”

“What the hell does any of this have to do with Kim shouting at my girl?” Leah cut the Australian off, feeling immensely protective of you and not liking the fact that Kim yelled at you.

“Mummy, ‘ou swore!” Buddy spoke aloud in realisation, “Dat a naughty word, ‘meber? ‘Ou can’ say dat!”

Leah peered down to look at Buddy, who was lying on her and innocently looking up at her, “You’re right, Bubba. Mummy shouldn’t say words like that. You don’t repeat them, okay?”

“Right, yeah, so Kim walked in and found out what happened,” Steph continued to explain to Leah, “Kim tried to put Monkey in timeout because, well, she’d been pushing buttons a lot throughout the day, and Monkey muttered something under her breath. Kim misheard. It all escalated from there,” She finished filling Leah in on the chaos you’d been causing and the reason behind Kim shouting at you.

“And now Monkey is terrified?” Leah muttered, jaw clenched, “Brilliant. My girl is scared, and I’m on the other side of the world and unable to be there—Great, that’s just fantastic.”

“Katie has her,” Steph reminded her, “She’s got it under control. But… Kim’s really cut up about it. Barely spoke at all on the bus back to the hotel. I think she’d probably benefit from a call to check in as well.”

“Right,” Leah murmured, “I’ll give her a call once we’re done.”

“Mummy,” Buddy piped up, tugging on her shirt, “I speak to Ra now like ‘ou said I could?”

“You can, Bubba,” Leah smiled, gesturing for Buddy to hold her phone as she let the toddler chat away to Kyra–literally about nothing and everything. Her favourite paw patrol pup, the colour of her new juice bottle, how much she missed you, and she couldn’t wait to see you when you’re home.

“Ra! Guess what?” Buddy chirped to Kyra excitedly, “M’ Nana’s comin’ to see me ‘ater! Right, Mummy?”

“That’s right, Bubba,” Leag smiled, brushing a lock of hair from the little girl’s face, “She’s bringing Monkey’s birthday presents, isn’t she? So your big sister can open them when she’s back home with us.”

“Yeah! Monks’ hafta open all da presents!” Buddy squealed, the Calpol finally kicking in as her usual bubbly chatter returned.

“Wow, that’s so cool! Are you gonna help her open them all?” Kyra asked, trying her best to sound upbeat, even though her mind was still tangled up with worry about you.

“Uh huh! Me gonna be the bestest helper!” Buddy declared, puffing out her chest proudly, “Me gon’ rip ‘em all open for her!”

“You’ve gotta save a few for her to open too, you know,” Kyra teased gently.

“Don’ worry, I do dat!” Buddy promised, her whole face lit up with determination.

“Alright, Bubba,” Leah said with a soft laugh, “We’ve got to let Kyra and Steph go now, and get some breaky in that tummy of yours, don’t we?”

“But Mummy, I still hafta talk to Ra!” Buddy insisted, an adorable pout plastered on her face, “I don’ wan’ no food!

“There’ll be plenty of time to talk later,” Leah said, coaxing her gently. She reached out and motioned for the phone, “Let’s let them get on, yeah?”

“Bye, Buddy!” Kyra waved at the 3-year-old.

“Buh-bye, Ra!” Buddy murmbled, waving back as she curled herself back up against Leah.

Kyra gave Leah a wave before handing Steph’s phone back to her.

 You’ll text me when they get back to the hotel?” Leah asked Steph, the worry thick in her voice despite her trying not to show it, “And tell Katie… Tell her thank you.”

“Of course,” Steph agreed with the blonde, “Monkey will be okay, Le. She’s in good hands with Katie.”

With some reluctant goodbyes, Leah ended the call, the smile on her face slipping the moment the screen went black.

The guilt sat heavy in her stomach. She hated not being there with you, especially now, when you needed her the most. You might be grown, but in her heart, you’d always be her little girl. And hearing the way you sounded—small, scared—it nearly broke her.

“Mummy!” Buddy piped up again, suddenly scrambling off the bed, “I wan’ Coco Pops! Cos’ dats da one Monkey likes, an’ I eat dem cos’ I miss ‘er!”

Leah blinked back the sting in her eyes, “I know, Bubba,” She murmured, standing to follow her, “I miss Monkey too. But she’ll be back before we know it.

“That was a quick ride, wasn’t it?” Katie murmured gently as the Uber pulled up outside the hotel, “Shall we get out now, hm?”

You didn’t answer as Katie coaxed you out of the car.

“Cheers, ‘ave a good one!” Katie called to the driver, her arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

You didn’t react, eyes vacant, staring somewhere far away. Katie held you close as she guided you toward the hotel entrance, where the rest of the team had already returned.

“Come on, little lady,” Katie said softly, her tone filled with quiet concern, “Yer gonna feel so much better after a warm bath. Loads of bubbles, yeah? Maybe even chuck in a rubber duck or two.”

But you didn’t respond. Still and silent.

Katie’s heart squeezed as she glanced down at you—so quiet, so unlike yourself. But she didn’t push.

With one arm around your shoulders, Katie led you into the lift, pressing the button to head upstairs, “Alright, little lady. Shall we go to my room or yours instead?”

Silence.

“Where’s yer room key, Monkey?” Katie asked, keeping her voice soft and steady, “Is it in yer backpack?”

You barely moved, just gave the smallest nod—enough for her to understand.

“Alright, let’s see if we can find it,” Katie said, gently slipping the strap off your shoulder and rummaging through the bag, “Here we go—victory, eh? Let’s head in and get yer sorted. I’ll start running yer bath. Yer will feel better in no time.”

Still no words from you.

Katie tapped the keycard against the door and led you gently inside, steering you toward the centre of the room, “Right, yer just wait ‘ere and I’ll go get the water started,” She explained softly, trying to keep things simple and predictable, “Do yer want to pick out some jammies while I do that?”

But you just stood there. Frozen.

Katie let out a quiet sigh—not frustrated, just deeply, deeply sad.

“Or not,” The older girl murmured.

Katie stepped closer and crouched down, lowering herself to your level as she kept her voice barely above a whisper, “Alright, how about this—we take it one step at a time, yeah? Let’s go into the bathroom and I’ll start running that bath.”

With gentle hands, Katie guided you toward the hotel bathroom, just enough to keep you within sight while she moved to the tub. She turned on the taps and popped the plug in, watching as the water began to rise. Rolling up her sleeves, she poured in a generous dollop of bubble bath and swirled it through the water with her hands, filling the room with the soft scent of lavender and the growing froth of bubbles.

Katie kept her movements delicate and careful as she turned to you, a soft smile tugging at her lips, “Do yer want me to leave yer in ‘ere to get outta them damp clothes, now? She asked gently, giving you the choice, not wanting to crowd you.

But you didn’t move.

Katie waited a moment longer, watching you with quiet patience. Then she stepped a little closer, crouching in front of you once more, “Alright, okay then. I know yer probably don’t want me to help yer like this, Monkey,” She began to help you out of your damp clothes with tender hands and feather-light touches, every movement slow and careful so as not to startle you, “What kind of Auntie would I be if I just left you in soggy clothes, eh?”

Your eyes blinked slowly, like her words took a little longer to reach you than they should have. You didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. Just stood there, thumb slipping quietly into your mouth as you stared past her.

Katie glanced over at the bath and tried again, “I think one of them rubber ducks should definitely keep you company in there,” She said, nodding towards the bubbles that were now just high enough to hide the bottom of the tub.

There was a pause. A flicker. You gave the faintest nod.

“Good girl,” Katie whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her chest aching as she straightened up, “Right, do yer want to get in?” She asked gently.

You still remained silent.

Katie helped you step into the tub with the same gentleness she’d shown all along, then knelt beside it, dipping the sponge into the warm water and squeezing it slowly over your shoulder.

“Let’s do a bath,” Katie murmured, voice barely above the sound of trickling water, “Then we’ll do jammies. Then we’ll watch a movie until yer fall asleep, alright?”

There was a long pause—the kind that filled the air with everything you couldn’t quite say yet.

And then, just as Katie reached for the shampoo, your voice came out—small, hoarse, and cracked around the edges, “M’ sorry, Auntie Katie.”

Katie froze for half a second. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, little lady,” Katie whispered, her voice trembling with tenderness as she brushed a warm hand over your hair, “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, little lady. Nothin’ at all.”

Leaning in, Katie rested a steady hand against your back as she gently ran the sponge down your arm, “You’re safe now, Monkey. That’s all that matters.”

“Mummy! I hafta eat Coco Pops cos’ dem so yummy!” Buddy exclaimed with absolute urgency, legs swinging wildly beneath the kitchen table as she perched in her booster seat, curls still sleep-ruffled and as she waited not so patiently for Leah to make her a bowl of cereal.

Leah chuckled softly, the sound tinged with exhaustion as she rustled through the cereal cupboard, “Coco Pops, comin’ right up, Bubba,” She murmured, pulling out a Bluey-themed cartoon plastic bowl—because anything else would just cause a national toddler meltdown–and poured in the cereal,  filling it just right. Not too much milk, not too little. Just the way Buddy insisted on, lately.

The morning light streamed in through the window, casting a golden glow over the room. There was something oddly peaceful about the hum of routine amidst the chaos of everything else.

Buddy grinned as Leah placed the bowl in front of her, immediately grabbing her spoon with both hands, “I gon’ eat ‘em all an’ get big just like Monks’!”

Leah reached over to gently ruffle her curls, “You’re already growing too fast, baby.”

Buddy chewed happily as the milk dribbled down her chin, utterly content in the moment. 

Leah watched for a moment, letting herself breathe and savouring the brief calm, trying to push aside the ache in her chest.

Then, of course, reality tapped her shoulder in the form of her phone buzzing on the counter.

She picked it up, sighing softly as she tapped Kim’s name in her rest calls.

It rang once. Then twice.

Then—

“Hello?” Kim’s voice was small, raw.

Leah didn’t get a word out before Kim broke.

“I’m so sorry,” Kim burst out, already crying, “Leah, I swear I didn’t mean to shout at her, I just—she caught me off guard and I panicked, and I understand if you don’t want me around Monkey anymore. Or Buddy. Or you. I’ll step back. I’ll find a new club. The captaincy can be yours again, you can have it all, I just—I don’t want you to hate me—”

“Whoa, whoa—stop, Kim,” Leah pinched the bridge of her nose and sank into the kitchen chair, “Stop talkin’ for a second, yeah?”

Kim hiccuped and went quiet, save for her sniffles on the other end.

“I get it,” Leah said, softer now, “Monkey can push buttons. Lord knows she’s pushed every single one of mine over the years. These grey hairs aren’t just football related, y’know?”

That pulled the smallest laugh from Kim—wet and broken but real.

“I don’t want you to move clubs,” Leah said, gentler now, “I don’t want you to disappear on me. Or from my girls. Yeah, I was annoyed for a second—until I heard what happened. Kim, come on, let’s be honest… Monkey’s a menace when she’s spiralling. You snapped. It happens.”

I don’t want you to avoid me. And I definitely don’t want you cuttin’ yourself off from my girls. I mean—yeah, I was annoyed at first. But then I heard what happened. And let’s be honest… Monkey’s a menace when she’s spiralling. You snapped. It happens.”

Leah leaned back with a sigh, glancing at Buddy, who was now talking to her Coco Pops like they were people.

“It’s natural,” Leah added, “You are dealing with Monkey and Kyra in the same 24-hour span. That’s enough to send anyone over the edge.”

Kim started sobbing again—relief this time—and Leah let her. Let her get it all out.

Meanwhile, Buddy had finished her Coco Pops and was now standing beside Leah, gripping her knee, “Mummy! Is dat Auntie Kimmy? I heard Auntie Kimmy!”

Leah angled the screen so Buddy could see, “Say hi then, Bubba.”

Buddy squinted at the screen, “Why ‘ou cryin’, Auntie Kimmy? ‘Ou can’ cry. ‘Ou always happy!”

That got a watery chuckle from Kim, who wiped her eyes and waved, “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just bein’ a bit silly.”

Buddy frowned, “No more bein’ sad. I don’ like it.”

“Exactly,” Leah smiled and nodded, passing Kim a soft look, “You have to listen to Buddy on that one, Kim. Now… care to tell me what ridiculous prank my delightful child tried to pull that backfired?”

“Oh, well that,” Kim covered her mouth, half-laughing, “Her and Kyra tried to set it up for Emily to be attacked with silly string, but it ended up being Katie that got caught in the crossfire of it all.”

Leah groaned, rubbing her face, “Oh for f—I swear, she’s dangerously close to losin’ them sweet privileges if she carries on.”

As she said that, she sent a sly text to Alessia to check on Kim.

📲 Lessi, check on Kim for me, please. She’s not okay

Seconds later, Alessia popped into view behind Kim, wrapping an arm around her from behind and making a silly face at the camera.

“Don’t worry, Le, “ Alessia said, smiling softly, “Kim will be fine. She’s got me now.”

“Lessi!” Buddy squealed, seeing the blonde appear on the screen, “Lessi! Lessi!”

“Hi, little miss!” Alessia replied sweetly, smiling at the little girl sitting beside Leah, “You being cheeky this morning? I bet you're missing your big sister, huh?”

“I miss Monks’, an’ she sad right now,” Buddy pouted, lower lip wobbling, “I don' like it when she sad do.”

Leah wrapped her arm around her daughter, pulling her close, “I know, Bubba, but I bet that we can speak to her soon when she’s had a bit of rest,” She reassured her little girl.

“But I wan’ speak to ‘er now,” Buddy whined, not entirely understanding the reasoning that she couldn’t speak to you right now, “Why no’ now?”

“Monkey… isn’t feeling too great right now, Buddy,” Alessia came up with the excuse, as Leah gave her a grateful smile, “You just have to wait until tomorrow and you’ll be able to speak to her.”

“Yeah! I do dat!” Buddy squealed excitedly.

“Right, Bubba,” Leah cooed, brushing a strand of Buddy’s hair out of her eyes, “Let’s let Lessi and Auntie Kimmy go, and we can start our day, yeah?”

“Yeah! Nana’s comin’ to see me!” Buddy shouted with visible excitement, “I ‘cited to see Nana!”

“And I bet that Nana is so excited to see you too,” Leah replied in a playful tone, tickling Buddy, “Right, come on. Say bye-bye and we’ll go find some clothes for you to wear!”

“Buh-bye, Auntie Kimmy! Buh-Bye, Lessi!” Buddy eagerly waved, scrambling down off Leah’s lap, “Mummy, come on. We gots’ to go and look!”

“I’m coming right now, Bubba,” Leah chuckled, shaking her head before she turned back to look at her phone, “Thank you for keeping Kim company, Less. And Kim, I’m not mad with you that you lost your patience and shouted at Monkey—it happens. I know she’s in safe hands with Katie.”

“Anytime,” Alessia replied with a kind smile.

Kim nodded, though there was still guilt in her tone of voice, “I know, I just… I feel so bad for doing it—”

“Mummy! ‘Urry up!” Buddy cut through in a demanding tone of voice, “Ou’ ‘ave to ‘elp me pick out m’ clothes!”

“One second, please, Bubba. I’m just saying bye to Auntie Kimmy and Lessi, and then we’ll go and do it,” Leah told her 3-year-old in a patient tone of voice, “Just give me a minute, and we’ll go upstairs.”

“.... Fine,” Buddy pouted, standing by the door with her arms crossed over her chest, adding a small stomp to her feet to show her disappointment that Leah wasn’t moving quickly enough.

Leah stifled her laughter as she saw her 3-year-old turn extremely grumpy, “Well, at least I know she is feeling better right now,” She murmured, “Listen, girls, I’m gonna have to go before Buddy throws a strop. But Kim, remember? You’re human, and it happens, and regardless of that, Monkey will still love you because you’re her Auntie.”

“I hope so,” Kim mumbled, running her hand through her hair, “I really do. Anyways, I’ll let you go because it sounds like Buddy is getting impatient.”

“Oh, yes,  she definitely is,” Leah replied, half-amused as she turned around to see her grumpy girl looking very familiar to you, “I’ll try and call again when I can.”

And with that, Leah ended the call and immediately started moving again—because stillness, in this house, was a luxury she rarely got to keep.

The bathwater had long since drained, leaving only the faint smell of bubble bath lingering in the air as Katie helped you into a set of fresh pyjamas—soft ones with a cartoon print that you’d insisted on packing yourself.

“I thought I recognised them ones,” Katie said in a soft tone of voice as she noted the pyjamas, the set that she brought you for Christmas, “I did good choosin’ them, didn’t I?”

You didn’t speak. You just gave the faintest nod and crawled into bed.

Any other night, you would complain about it being too early to even think about the idea of sleep. 

But tonight? You were emotionally and physically exhausted. You didn’t have it in you to argue.

“Here we go, snug as a bug,” Katie teased lightly as she tucked you in, smoothing the covers up to your chin before sitting on the edge of the bed, making sure to stay close to you, “Yer want me to put a movie on now, eh?” She asked gently, reaching for the hotel TV remote.

You gave the smallest nod, thumb slipping into your mouth without you even thinking about it.

Katie smiled faintly, “Alright, I guess I know what to put on tonight, don’t I?” She wondered, already scouring through Netflix to find Shrek, “Bit of familiarity tonight, yeah?”

Katie hit play, the familiar DreamWorks opening comforting in a way that words couldn’t manage. You burrowed a little deeper under the duvet, letting the green swamp and silly jokes pull away from the sting of earlier.

But not enough. Not completely.

After a little while, Katie spoke again, keeping her voice quiet and careful, like you were a spooked animal she didn’t want to startle, “Hey, little lady,” She began, getting your attention, “Yer know that Kim didn’t mean to shout, right?” She said, brushing a stray bit of hair off your forehead, “Things just got a bit… heated. It doesn’t mean Kim’s mad at you.”

You blinked up at her, eyes shiny but dry for now.

“And… about the accident,” Katie said softly, “It’s not a big deal. But yer do need to tell yer Ma about this when yer ready. Or else… I’ll have to tell her. Promise me yer will tell her, yeah?”

You scowled slightly at that—your classic stubbornness creeping back in—but after a moment, you gave a tiny, reluctant nod. A begrudging fine.

“Good girl,” Katie smiled warmly and squeezed your hand,  “I know yer don’t want to do it. But she has a right to know, they both do…” She trailed off, a frown tugging at her mouth. She was forgetting something. 

Shit—Jordan.

“Oh shit,” Katie swore aloud, scrambling for her phone on the bed to find the drafted message before quickly sending it.

The movie kept playing, Donkey’s chatter filling the silence, but it wasn’t long before Katie’s hand slipped from yours, her head lolling slightly. She’d fallen asleep, right there, still sitting beside you, one foot tucked awkwardly underneath her.

You watched her for a while, grateful she hadn’t left you alone.

But even with her right there, you were too scared to close your eyes.

The shadows were too long. The silence was too heavy. Every noise in the hallway made you flinch a little. So you stayed awake, eyes wide, thumb tucked in, quietly watching Shrek and pretending you weren’t terrified.

You were so caught up in Shrek’s familiar words that you didn’t notice Katie’s phone buzzing softly beside her, Jordan’s name glowing on the screen.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the hallway, Kyra was having her own kind of crisis.

She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, kicking the hotel blankets off, pulling them back on, sighing heavily, and cursing your name under her breath because she was worried sick about you. It was eating away at her, the need to know you were okay.

Finally, somewhere around 2am, she sat up and scrubbed her hands through her messy hair.

“Fuck this,” Kyra muttered to herself, her voice thick with exhaustion but determination.

There was no way she was getting any sleep. Not with you on her mind.

Her gaze flickered over to Steph, who was still fast asleep beside her, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside Kyra. Carefully, she swung her legs out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor as she tugged on her hoodie. Her movements were slow but purposeful. She crept across the room, making sure not to wake Steph, and slipped out into the hall, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Kyra needed answers. And she wasn’t going to get them while sitting around, waiting for someone else to get them.

At the front desk, Kyra approached with an air of feigned calmness, trying her best to look like she knew what she was doing, “Hello,” She greeted, while the receptionist barely looked up from their phone when she spoke.

“So, uh, you’re not gonna believe this,” Kyra said, a forced laugh escaping her as she ruffled her hair, “I’m so dumb, I’ve only gone and lost the key to my room. Any chance I could grab a new one?”

Kyra’s heart raced in her chest as she lied through her teeth, but with the whole team all staying on the same floor and everything booked under Arsenal’s name, it was easy enough to get away with. The receptionist handed her a new key without a second thought.

Kyra walked away, key in hand, but her thoughts were miles away as her mind still spun with worry about you. There was no chance she was going back to her room, not without answers that she desperately needed.

“No going back now,” Kyra muttered to herself, standing outside of your hotel room for a moment as her heart thumped in her chest. She took a deep breath and slid it in the door, the soft click of the lock releasing. The door creaked open, and she paused for a second, half-expecting the room to be empty, just you, curled up in bed.

But as the door fully opened, Kyra froze and her eyes widened in surprise.

It wasn’t just you in the room.

Katie was there too, curled up on the bed beside you, her head tilted back as she slept, clearly exhausted from staying by your side. Kyra hesitated in the doorway, torn between turning around and slipping away quietly or staying and facing whatever was going to happen next.

If Katie caught her sneaking in like this… she’d be in serious trouble.

But before Kyra could even think about stepping back, she heard your voice. It was small, almost a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the room like a knife.

“Kyra?”

The helplessness in your voice made the Australian girl’s stomach twist. She couldn’t leave you like this, not when you were calling for her, sounding so lost and scared.

“I’m here, Monkey,” Kyra said quickly, pushing the door open further as she hurried inside, stepping softly as she crossed the room towards you, her eyes already scanning your face, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Katie stirred slightly, but she didn’t wake up, and Kyra didn’t give her a second thought. Her focus was entirely on you.

You were sitting up in bed, eyes wide with fear, your thumb still in your mouth as you clung to the duvet—you didn’t have Mini with you. You’d insisted you didn’t need her.

How wrong you were, though.

You wish you had her, but she was back in London, probably sitting on your bed, or Buddy was cuddling up with it.

You just wish you had it now.

The moment you saw Kyra, your face softened just a little, like a weight had been lifted. It was the smallest of gestures, but it made Kyra’s heart ache all the more.

“Hey,” Kyra whispered as she sat beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, “You okay, Monkey?”

You didn’t answer, but you shifted closer to her, your body instinctively moving into her space for comfort.

Kyra wrapped her arms around you gently, holding you close, letting you bury your face in her shoulder if you needed to, “I’m here, Monkey,” She repeated softly, rocking you just a little, “You’re safe now, okay? You’re safe.”

Slowly, the tension in your body started to melt away. Kyra’s hoodie smelled like home, like sun and sea and whatever stupid she’d stolen from Steph. It was enough.

Within minutes, you were fast asleep, curled tightly against her chest. Kyra shifted slightly, letting herself get comfortable with one arm slung protectively around you as she tucked you closer. She pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head without even thinking and then closed her eyes, exhaustion catching up with her too.

The room fell silent again, save for your soft breathing.

Sometimes later, Katie stirred. She groaned quietly as she stretched, her muscles stiff from falling asleep upright. She blinked herself awake, rubbing her face before glancing across at the bed—

And froze.

Kyra was there, somewhat, impossibly, fast asleep in your bed.

You were tucked into the Australian’s chest, thumb in your mouth, looking impossibly tiny and peaceful.

Kyra, the chaotic pest herself, was the big spoon, her face buried in your hair, her hold still protective even in sleep.

Katie’s eyebrows shot up. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Instead, she did what any reasonable person would do—she pulled out her phone, turned the brightness right down, and snapped a quick photo.

The older girl grinned to herself as she typed out a quick message to Leah.

📲 Look who wormed her way into the hotel room for a sleepover. Monkey is fine, promise.

But just as she hit send, her phone buzzed violently in her hand.

Steph.

And immediately after—

Caitlin.

Katie sighed, already sensing the oncoming storm. She answered Caitlin’s call with a weary groan, “Hey, babe—”

“Katie! WE’VE LOST HER! WE’VE LOST THE PEST!” Caitlin panicked, her tone of voice thick with worry, “SHE’S NOT IN HER BED! STEPH WOKE UP AND SHE’S GONE—WE’VE LOST HER!”

Katie winced, holding the phone away from her ear, “Ere’ Cait, before yer say anything else, yer should know that Kyra is here in Monkey’s hotel room.”

“What?” Caitlin questioned, bewildered, “She’s there… In Monkey’s room?” She repeated.

“Yep,” Katie murmured, glancing over at the bed again, “Both of ‘em are fast asleep. Quite sweet, actually.”

“Are you serious?” Steph’s voice appeared on the other end of the phone, clearly taking the phone from Caitlin, “She’s there?”

“Yes,” Katie snickered, “I’ll send yer both the photo. They’re both fine. I guess the pest really did want a sleepover after all.”

There was a stunned pause on the other end, and then Steph spoke up, “That little shit—”

Katie hung up before she could hear the end of it, tossing her phone onto the chair and shaking her head.

“Pest,” Katie muttered under her breath, smiling despite herself.

Katie settled back down into her chair, glancing once more at the two of you bundled up together in bed, and let herself relax again.

Everything was alright.

For now.

[corevibeself]

Let Me Slap You In The Face (PAC)

Not literally... HAHA!

Here is the reality check reading from the recent poll I posted. Sorry, it took so long to post. I have been busy with school. Thank you for voting; hope you enjoy a slap in the face

Let me relay the message: This isn't to hurt you! I make sure my delivery is tinged with a bit of humour, but I will say, this is for people who are open to self-empowerment and won't see this as an attack, because the reality of it is, we've all got shadows; we've all got things we do that we want to change. The key is not identifying yourself with the parts you don't prefer; you are so much more than just what you see as flaws. This is never done to shame anyone; my intent is always out of the kindness of my heart and soul. If I do end up coming across that way, apologies in advance; I'm still learning how to communicate non-aggressively; I have Pluto in Scorpio in the 3rd house, HAHAHA.

I'll be using the Rebel deck for their straightforward messages and looking at some shadow aspects of my oracle cards. Enjoy the reality check, HAHA!

Pile 1

Ooooh girl, okay—"Who Says" by Selena Gomez literally started playing in my head when I read your message. Specifically, the lyric, “Who says you’re the only one that’s hurting?” Go listen to that song—seriously. I think there are more lyrics in there that might resonate with you. It’s a meaningful track because it speaks directly to those negative beliefs we carry about ourselves, the ones that hold us back.

You know—“I’m too fat to wear this,” or “I don’t think I can be as good as them.” That’s the kind of energy I’m feeling. But here’s the thing: those thoughts don’t matter. You’re not competing with anyone else. You’re only ever competing with who you are right now. The best version of you—it’s real, it’s possible, and it’s yours. But you’ve got to stop making excuses.

That doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. They 100% are. But sometimes our emotions are rooted in beliefs that just aren’t true. And we don’t want those beliefs to rule our actions. Just because something feels true, doesn’t mean it is true. Every human being is worthy of love, of going after what they want, of being who they are. No exceptions. You were born on this planet as a good person. Anything negative you feel about yourself? That came from someone else. So start letting go of what isn’t truly you.

You already know who you are—because what you are feels good to you. Do you like crochet? Then you’re creative. That’s beautiful. That’s part of you. Maybe you’re sensitive and cry when you hear music—that’s a stunning trait. To connect so deeply with sound shows your open heart and your incredible receptivity. These are just examples, but what I'm trying to say is: change your perspective and see your worth, pile 1.

I do feel like there might be some victimization energy here, not because you’re weak, but because you don’t fully believe in yourself yet. It feels like you don’t think you’re capable of what others can do. But that’s not true, and that’s not the energy we want. What we want is self-empowerment. The universe isn't against you, Pile 1, and if it feels like it, shift your perspective. No, this isn't toxic positivity; we can acknowledge our sufferings and the negativity of the world, our pains and feelings, whilst still choosing to see the light. I choose to see the glass as half full, because I'd rather savor what’s there than mourn what’s missing. Do you realize that every setback or negative experience has shown you more of yourself? Yet you choose to run away from what it's shown you, from what needs healing, to hide in the comfort of what feels safer. At some point, the pain isn't even about the situation anymore; it's just self-inflicted. A shift in perspective is all it takes to change your entire worldview. If you think it will be hard, then it will be. If you think facing yourself, changing yourself, and being authentic and vulnerable is hard, ask why. You will start to see all the limitations you put on yourself.

It also feels like you might be someone who people-pleases. Maybe you hide your true feelings to avoid conflict or because you’re scared of being abandoned. I get it. But here’s the truth: you can respectfully express your feelings. It’s totally possible to communicate honestly and kindly. And if someone still walks away after you’ve been real with them? Then they weren’t meant for your honesty and vulnerability. But others will be. I promise.

Oh—and I got a specific message for someone who’s a tarot reader: if you tend to sugarcoat your readings because you’re afraid the truth will hurt someone, or they won’t want to hear it—don’t do that. You’re dishonouring your intuition and your craft. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to want to protect people. But when you filter your truth too much, you make it harder to be authentic—and you deprive others of the real magic of you.

Pile 2

I’m going to suggest you stay open-minded, Pile 2. I know you think you know everything down to the tea about a specific subject or situation — but babe, you don’t. And that’s totally fine. Sometimes, you need to make space for other perspectives.

And this is specifically for my chronically online babes: please, go outside and touch some grass. We are not meant to be consuming this much negativity every single day, and I feel like it’s messing with how you view the world and the people in it.

I fully believe we create our reality through our thoughts, emotions, intentions, etc. Maybe you don’t believe that, and that’s okay — but you have to admit that constantly taking in content that makes us feel like shit… dealing with people who dump their trauma on us… reading toxic comments… listening to fucked up internet stories… all of that affects you. More than you realize. It affects your brain, your thoughts, and your emotions. And yes, all of that spills into how you experience life, whether you are conscious of it or not.

And no, I’m not saying you can’t be sad, or angry, or human about things that are happening in real time in the world, or that you have to be ignorant, it's great that you care, but living in constant hypervigilance or walking on eggshells isn't fun either so there needs to be a balance.

I’d also say to bring awareness to your emotions. Are you growing from them? Or are you being suffocated by them and using them as a reason to act a certain way?

Social media creates a fear-based, warped version of reality that makes it hard to feel safe being yourself. Yes, there are dangers in the world. Yes, we should be aware and protect ourselves. But assuming the worst in everyone? That just creates a constant state of anxiety , you start to believe that’s what life is. That’s all there is.

You might even be someone who unintentionally projects that negativity onto others. One example I’m getting is like… an online debate or argument. And I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid — they are — but make sure you’re not matching someone else’s energy if they’re coming at you sideways. It’s not worth it. Not everyone’s going to believe in what you believe in. Not everyone thinks the way you do. It sucks, but people are the way they are for a reason.

If we were all the same, we wouldn’t grow — we wouldn’t even know who we are. And yeah, that includes the “bad” people we meet. But what if you started seeing those people and situations as an opportunity to learn more about yourself, instead of trying to change them or control how they think? You’d be helping your own growth, and naturally attracting the people who do vibe with you.

Life’s not about changing others — you can’t force that. But you can become the highest version of yourself. And when you do that? You’ll inspire others just by being you. Through your kindness. Through loving yourself and forgiving others, not for them, but for you.

People hate when I say forgiving, as if I'm asking you to forgive their actions, no. I'm asking you to forgive yourself for letting their actions take a toll on you.

So yeah. Be more open-minded. Not saying you’re not, Pile 2, but on certain things… you’re kind of closed off. And when we really believe we’ve got something all figured out, we stop ourselves from growing.

I’m picking up on this mindset: “I’m thinking this way because it’s right. This is wrong. These people are wrong. I know I’m doing what’s right.” And trust me, I’m all for following your inner compass — but ask yourself:

Does it feel light? Does it drain me? Do I feel empowered?

That’s your real answer.

Pile 3

Like, literally, stop obsessing. It doesn’t matter as much as you think it does, and you’re just purposely making your life harder than it actually is because of some unhealed shit that you're aware of — but you either distract yourself or lie to yourself to make yourself feel better. When in actuality, your body and mind and heart are begging to be in sync with each other.

I think you tell yourself things to make your situation feel better than it actually is — like, not delulu in a good, empowering way — you're delulu in a way that is controlling and limits your potential as a person. You like things to be your way, which is fine, but has your way been working out for you? Or are you still dealing with the same old habits or situations, and emotions that keep popping up?

It just feels like the energy of someone who thinks they got their shit together — and you do — but it’s too much. You're not letting yourself breathe. You're not hearing your heart out. You're afraid of facing all of what you've pushed down, in fear that it will be too overwhelming to feel.

Like, please, feel your feelings and emotions instead of intellectualizing them and telling yourself that everything is fine when it's not. It's okay not to be okay. It's okay to feel like you don't want to plaster a smile, or do that assignment, or show up to work with the best energy. It's okay to not be as confident in your situation. It's okay to just be in a state of shitty emotions — because they are there to be acknowledged, not pushed down or told that there's a solution.

Your emotions don't need a solution; they need to be felt.

Find a moment, close your eyes, and feel. Where is the emotion? Is it a physical sensation — a tightness in the chest, heavy shoulders? Focus on it. Breathe in it. Let yourself be present.

I just remembered this quote, so maybe this is for you: "When we constantly think about the why — why did this happen, why, why, why — we’re trying to regain a sense of control over situations that were never meant to be controlled." This is a coping mechanism, a fear of failure, a fear of not doing enough, not being enough. BUT YOU ARE. No amount of external shit will heal the internal, NO AMOUNT. You don't have to do certain things to be seen as worthy, you don't have to have a whole load of money, or perfect confidence or whatever it is you tell yourself you need to have or the way your life needs to look. Ask yourself, when I think of my life and what I want, is it from a place of fear? of lack?

"If I don't have this, I won't be whole."

But you are whole as you are, and you struggle to see or feel that.

You need to become more comfortable with not having your shit together, because most of it comes from major anxiety issues that will impact your health, babes. Like, seriously, consider sitting with chaos a bit.

You also have great intuition, so I already know that you know you're not treating yourself the best. You're aware that you're controlling — even if just subconsciously — and I bet you can just feel how tired and exhausted your body is. So listen to that.

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

FINALLY I'M SO GLAD I COULD FINISH THIS POST., Hope y'all enjoyed my hand swiping across your face in the most brutal manner possible, jkjk hehehe

[ruusawa]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Mark Grayson pregnant reader headcanons₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

♡➔ he won’t admit it, but he absolutely shit himself when he found out you were pregnant. ♡➔ he was definitely more panicky than you about the happy accident ♡➔ he held your hair back when you got morning sickness (“It’s not morning, why are you puking up?!” he’d ask frantically, the glare you’d reply with would promptly shut him up) ♡➔ he attended every appointment, even if it was just a simple blood pressure and weight check (“you don’t have to come, Mark.” “What do you mean? I’m going to be there every step of the way.” “What if the world ends?” “Sounds like a Cecil problem to me.”) ♡➔ he cried at the scans, seeing the tiny baby inside you was truly magical ♡➔ his phone wallpaper is now the ultrasound, he stares at it all the time ♡➔ he spent hours with his ear pressed to the swell of your stomach, simply listening to the baby inside (super hearing is weird) or just talking to the bump ♡➔ he would recommend names from his favourite comics and shows (“I think Dinah is a great name!” “I’m not naming our baby after a comic book character you have the hots for.”) ♡➔ his hands are always on the bump, he’s able to hold his whole world that way ♡➔ he was so excited when he first felt the baby kick that he started floating (“Mark, come back down,” you’d laugh at him.) ♡➔ sometimes he would look at you, heavily pregnant, and his eyes would get all misty because how amazing are you? Growing a whole new life? You’re incredible. ♡➔ he nearly missed the birth due to a kaiju attack (“I really don’t have time for this!”) ♡➔ he made it before you reached active labour (thank god), he apologised so much for not being the one to drive you to the hospital, he swears there and then he’s not leaving your side for anything at all, he’s here with you and your baby ♡➔ it was simultaneously the best and worst time of his life, because wow, you’ve grown a whole new life and that’s amazing, but oh my god, you’re in so much pain, and he hates that ♡➔ he cried when he saw your baby, full on choked up tears in complete disbelief at how perfect the little bundle in his arms is ♡➔ he’d place the softest kiss on your forehead as your baby is placed on your chest, murmuring how proud he is of you (“You’re the Invincible one today.”) ♡➔ he is on it, you need a nap? Hand him the baby, he’ll wake you when they need feeding. Dirty diapers? Let him do it, you need to rest. Stitches itching? He’s already got ice wrapped in a soft towel ♡➔ he’ll just stare at you when you feed the baby, because wow, you grew that baby. A little bundle of you and him. He looks at you both like you’re the most precious things in the world, because to him, you are. ♡➔ “Hey babe?” You look up from your newborn’s face to Mark, who’s looking at you with the most adoring look you’ve ever seen on his face. “Yeah?” “I want another one.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

this was supposed to be dad!mark hcs but the idea got away from me. i'm thinking of turning this into a drabble at some point but i needed to word vomit the headcanons first. i will write girl dad mark one day, i promise!!

[nanamisgirly]

fould we possibly get more womanizer sugu :3

this looks more like a fic than a head canon...oooops. I hope you will enjoy it !!! MWAHHHH :333 part.1

cw chubby reader, masturbation, jealous geto, reader fingers herself in front of geto while being in couple.

womanizer!geto thinks he's about to catapult that engineering major boy out of the solar system. right. now.

geto is sitting across the room, arms slung over the back of the couch, fists clenched so tight the veins in his forearms pop. his eyes are glued burning to where that poor nerd's hands are gripping your waist, pushing you back against the edge of the kitchen counter during some half-assed apartment party. 

the guy's mouth is low against your ear, whispering something pathetic (he's sure of it) that makes you blush and push at his chest. but apparently not enough for him to back up completely. 

womanizer!geto repeats the same sentences like a mantra “he doesn't know her. he doesn't stand a chance. it's not some pinterest-date plan he probably has in his mind that are going to make her flinch. he doesn't know how she is when her stress hits a fever pitch or when she cries over bad grades. he doesn't even know she chews her pens' cap until they're useless. he. doesn't. stand. a. chance.”

“you let him touch you like that in public?” womanizer!geto leans against the doorframe, smirking lazily, letting his voice drip with mock-casual venom—watching you read some dense academic paper, hoodie two sizes too big. he couldn't restrain himself from asking once you both got home.

you don't even look up as you say, “excuse me?” suguru shrugs, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, heavy with something darker than amusement. “the way the prop-on-him-self-boy was holding your waist earlier. pretty bold move by the way. thought you were shy.”

you blink, slowly lowering the paper. “i am shy.” he chuckles under his breath—low and unkind. “could've fooled me. guess you get real friendly when someone finally shows you attention, huh?” your lips part in shock, jaw going slack at the nerve—the venom hiding in his fake nonchalance.

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he doesn't bother answer, he just keeps looking at you—daring you to do something of it, mouth still curled in a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. you hold his stare, mouth tight, throat dry. “if you have a problem with who i'm seeing, suguru, be a man and say it.” his jaw ticks at your words, “i don't—”

“good," your voice cuts him off, "then no problem, right?” he nods once, and pushes off the doorframe, leaving you sitting there, heat crawling up your chest and hands trembling in your lap. 

what you miss to see is the way his fists clench the second he turns away. of course womanizer!geto had no problem, why would he? because his mind was spiraling at the girl he had earlier that night, lips wrapped around his cock while his mind conjured the shape of your mouth instead? because his body refused to come unless he imagined your big soft body squirming against his? 

the next week womanizer!geto is sure he's going to catapult the engineering boy out of this fucking solar system. he's halfway through some miserable cafeteria lunch when he hears your friends whispering too loud few tables away. “her boyfriend said she came twice” one of them giggles. another leans in, dramatic “she told me he gave her a massage and it turned into, like…a whole thing. .” and the final bow, “she even said he was the best she ever had.” suguru's hands curl into fists under the table, knuckles popping loud enough to make heads turn.

even gojo stops yapping mid-sentence, blinking at him, but geto doesn't hear a single word. his ears are ringing too loud, blood pounding behind them like a drum. all he can think about is you, your possibly messy moans, your pretty face, your fat thighs locking someone else's waist.

it rots him from the inside out.

womanizer!geto goes home right after that and jerks off twice. back-to back. once angrily, under cold water, cursing your name like a prayer. and again, this time slower… worse…because now the image in his head is you under that stupid stem boy. your soft hips rocked by clumsy fingers, your plush thighs spread wide for a cock that doesn't deserve you. geto shouldn't be hard for that. shouldn't want to watch it like some deranged freak.

but here he is—balls aching, cock leaking in his palm—jerking himself through gritted teeth, groaning low in his chest as he imagines your soft belly rippling under the weight of another man's body. he cums with a guttural snarl, forehead slamming the cold tile, imagining your tits bouncing, your glasses sliding down your nose as you whimper for someone who isn't him.

womanizer!geto tries to fuck someone else the next night—some hot girl, tight waist, full lips, half-dressed and panting all over him. but his cock seems stubborn. dead weight in his jeans. not even a twitch. she moans against his neck, grinding her hips against him on the couch, whispering that she wants to ride him all night—

but all he can do is thinking about you. 

you, in your stretched-out pajama shorts. you, soft and plush everywhere, a little roll of tummy peeking when your tanktop rides up. you, mouth parted around your pencil when you're focused.

and the next time you're all alone with womanizer!geto in your living room, a late night study session for the upcoming test, he doesn't even try to act normal at the sight of your thick dimpled thighs tucked under you. you're rambling about something, showing him your notes—unaware of the way his eyes devour you. you look so sweet. fuck, he bets you taste so sweet.

he's staring at the half-faded bruise blooming across your collarbone when your voice pulls him back, “suguru…?”

“do you moan for him?” it slips out. you freeze at the sudden question. “wha—”

“your little stem boy,” he says, eyes dark. “when he fucks you. do you moan for him?” the silence is brutal. you open your mouth, close it again, cheeks burning, “that's none of your business.” 

he smirks, leans in like a viper. “you sound like you could.” mock sympathy is dripping from every word. and nastier, “if he had a better dick than, what, three inches hard? maybe you would." his eyes glint, "be honest, nerd. he never makes you come, does he?”

the slap cracks across the room, hard enough your hand stings. hard enough to whip his head to the side. his cheek blooms red, but all he does is breathe hard—cock aching, swelling mean against his zipper. your heart is pounding, shame and rage boiling under your skin as you shove your notebook off your lap and storm toward your room.

womanizer!geto probably isn't thinking with his brain anymore as he follows you to your room. he stands in your doorframe just like he did two weeks ago, except this time, his eyes are pure fire—a mix of anger and hunger.

his eyes piercing yours, challenging you. his jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful and you should scream at him to leave your room, should shove him out. . and you're about to—but when your eyes fall down to the heavy, swollen bulge in his jeans, you loose all your rationality.

“get on the bed.” the words split the air, hot and final. you blink at him, confused and furious…soaked. your eyes following his every movements as he goes to sit on your desk chair, drops into with all the lazy arrogance in the world. his hand drapes over his thigh, just inches from the thick imprint stretching his pants.

“i won't repeat myself.” the mockery is thick on his tongue. “you can hate me later. you can even hate me forever if that's what you want. but right now?” his voice drops. “right now, you're gonna listen.” something deep inside you twists—dizzying. and before you realize what you're doing, you clim onto your own bed—like some pathetic, brainless thing. you glare at him, trying to save whatever pride you have left.

geto leans back further into the chair, his fingers thumbing the thick ridge of his cock. he tips his chin. “show me.” your stomach flips. “show you…what?” you whisper, already knowing—already burning. 

“don't play dump, nerdy. you're too smart for that.” his voice is syrup-thick, fingers taping against the desperate strain against his rough denim. “show me how wet you got after slapping me like a brat.” your throat closes. “no,” you breathe out, a pitiful little sound of defiance but your thighs are betraying you, pressing tighter together. geto grins, “you're already soaking through those dumb little shorts, might as well let me see the mess you made."

womanizer!geto watches like a predator trapping his prey. his chest rises, slow and deep, extremely controlled compared to the raging war breaking inside you. his hand squeezes his cock through his jeans. he licks his lips, hungry. “touch yourself for me, pretty thing. show me how desperate you are for me instead of that useless fucking loser you keep calling your boyfriend. go on. be good.”

your traitorous hand slips under your waistband. the second your fingers brush the sticky heat between your thighs, your breath shatters from your lungs. your fingers tremble as you press harder, rubbing desperate little circles into your clit. you're trying to be quiet, to pretend you have a shred of dignity left—but the wet sounds are obscene and unmistakable. 

geto's groan rips through the room—raw an broken, a sound like he's been punched. “tell me, pretty girl," he rasps, “is it dripping already? just from me talking to you?” your whimper is an answer enough, high and shameful, your cheeks burn under his gaze. ”get your shorts off," he commands, voice shredded. "and the panties too. now."

your hands shake so badly it takes two tries to peel your shorts down your thick thighs. your panties stick wetly, peeling away from your messy pussy with a filthy noise. the cold air hits you, your cunt gleaming under the soft light. geto leans forward in the chair, forearms braced on his knees, his stare burning between your legs like he's trying to sear it into his skull.

you try to remain a bit more decent, and close your legs shut together. “nuh-uh." he tsks. "what you doin', pretty? keep them open for me. don't be shy. lemme see all that messy pussy you were hiding.” tears are prickling behind your eyes from how exposed you feel as your legs fall open. geto's pupils blow wide. “fuck,” he mutters, dragging a rough hand over his face. “you're leaking. that's such a mess. and all i did was talk.”

you can't speak—can't think—your whole body is shaking as you rub yourself faster, chasing some kind of release, slick noises filling the room. every tiny touch feels too much and not enough at the same time.

geto is fighting everything in him not to move from the chair, watching like a man starved, squeezing his cock hard enough to hurt. “go on, pretty.” he croons darkly "put a finger in." your fingers fumble, slipping through the wetness before finally pushing inside. your walls flutter around your own digit, too tight, too needy. he lets out a brutal, bitten-off moan, grinding his hips against his palm—matching your pace.

“stop biting your lip,” he growls, “wanna hear you, pretty.” your moans breaks free—small and shameful at first, then louder when you start fucking yourself. “that's it,” his eyes are locked between your legs, “nice and slow, sweet girl. let me see how desperate you can get for me.” it's humiliating, disgusting, how fast you're falling apart, how quickly your hips are starting to chase your own fingers, trying to fuck yourself deeper.

sweat drips down his temple, cock throbbing and leaking so much in his boxer. he shifts again, rutting his hips shamelessly against his palm—chasing friction he desperately wanted you to give him. “bet you never do this for him,” he sneers, “bet that poor stem doesn't know he packed a slutty cunt. a needy one.” you gasp, a pitiful sound.

“does he, at least, get you this wet?” his words whip across the room like a lash. “when he touches you. .” your fingers speed up frantically, thighs quivering “when he fucks you. .” his smirk is vicious as he read through you, “quiet little good girl," he drawls, stepping closer. “saving all that greedy cunt for him, hoping he'll know what to do with it.” he's on you before you can process he even got up—looming over you at the edge of the bed, huge and terrifying and perfect. one big hand cups your jaw, tilting your flushed face up to meet his. his thumb smears sweat and tears across your cheek. ”pretty thing," he hisses, voice shaking with how hard he's holding back. “all soft and sweet. spread out so nice for me.” 

if you dare glanced down, you could've seen the soaked patch growing bigger. “i should be disgusted,” he whispers, “should leave your desperate little fat ass begging. sobbing for it.” he presses in closer, nose brushing yours, breath hot and heavy. “you're close, aren't you? fucking yourself stupid in front of me. can't even help it.” his forehead tips against yours. “come for me, sweetie." he murmurs, almost lovingly this time. "make a mess all over that pretty cunt. prove he's nothing.”  the filthy command punches the air out of your lungs.

you cry out, loud and shameless, thighs shaking violently as your orgasm crashes over you—drenching your hand and the sheets, rinding it out belly trembling and hips bucking helplessly.

geto watches it all—breathing ragged, knuckles white against the bedspread—but he never touches you. instead, he leans down and presses a filthy, tender kiss to your sweaty forehead. his cock still twitching violently in his pants, he's never been this hard his whole life. not even when he got onto threesome with twins.

and then—still hard, still starving for you—he stands.

he leaves you there, panting, twitching, soaking the sheets. your hand sticky, your cunt fluttering around nothing. your mind a ruined mess of him and only him.

he doesn't look back.

the door clicks softly shut behind him.

you lie there, empty—knowing no one else would ever make you feel so filthy, so wanted, so his.

ᖰ⌯'▾'⌯ᖳ

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Hey, so sorry to come back to beat a dead horse but. that last comment got to me

If you take care of the smallest detail in your fandom art, that's incredible. It's still free. Should be. Should remain. The comments and kudos and engagement are so, so great, but, and I don't know how to stress this enough,

YOU NEED TO ENJOY WHAT YOU ARE DOING WITHOUT THEM.

You need to be okay engaging in fandom without guaranteed feedback. Is it fair? No. Was fandom created by freaks, for freaks, who wanted to make things for each other anyway? Yes.

I 100% understand the people saying they are writing/creating for the passion and posting for the engagement, but ao3 has already changed so much that this isn't guaranteed anymore.

A lot of newer users think something's going to come out of their work... recognition, validation, opportunities, but anyone who got any level of "fame" are worse for wear: the moment your cringy (I say with love, fandom should be cringe, fandom must remain cringe, praise cringe) fandom work goes boom into the world and outside of the bubble of freaks it was meant for, it becomes content.

That content gets treated with the same terrifying detachment everything else online gets, and it's a nightmare.

I understand the (now deleted) comment comes from a place of frustration, but you're misunderstanding the point.

I am talking about the space, not about devaluing art or labor. I'm saying "this space where things can just exist for free should be protected," not "artists should never be paid."

Not everything online that requires labor should be monetized.

Ao3 (a platform for sharing should happen without forced monetization) is important and rare because it doesn't force anyone into the consumerist mindset. The only goal of ao3 is to share. That's it.

Artists absolutely deserve the choice to ask for compensation. Outside of fandom. Inside fandom? Nope (imo).

Fandom is supposed to be one of the last places where you can give something without it instantly being turned into a product or a target, and even this is dying.

But still, I fight for this stupid, amazing, NECESSARY website. Fans (whether you're makers or readers or lurkers) deserve spaces where they can enjoy and share without being trapped by algorithms and ads and money.

By the way, a lower number of engagement doesn't reflect the quality of the work.​ It depends on the fandom size, the subject matter, how dead your dove is, how alive the fandom is.

If your mindset is, "The truth is: the problem is not who wants to be paid for the work they do, because even the fan's work remains WORK, you worked on that work, you used your time, your skill, you spat blood etc… Nope, YOU are part of the problem, normalizing free work instead of normalizing a salary for artists", then as I so eloquently put it before, it's NOT FOR YOU. Go seek money elsewhere.

GO seek money ELSEWHERE. Go to Tiktok, Youtube, Instagram, Google ads, the REST OF THE FUCKING INTERNET IS THERE FOR YOU TO MAKE MONEY.

Leave my free ao3 and my thousands of hours of free written creation alone.

And god forbid if I ever see you lurking in my comments again saying you have seen "embarrassing works against some noteworthy works" you don't deserve an ao3 account you don't understand what fandom is at all and I'm sorry for you.

Fanfic is a free hobby.

It's one of the last few things we can have as a society that's free. You can engage, for free. People give you things (art, stories, etc), for free.

Don't buy into the consummerism just because it's everywhere else.

You don't have to consume everything you interact with. You don't have to use things, just because they exist.

You're allowed (still, for now), to have things that are enjoyable for free.

Do you realise how insane the world is? We don't have many places where we can just be, for free anymore, but ao3 is. Did you notice we don't have ads in ao3? We don't have pop ups? Where ELSE do we not have that?

Where else can you just go and not have to wait for a commercial to be over or for ads to be on the sidelines?

I don't think the younger people understand, but the whole of internet used to be like this. YouTubers would do Youtube for free, just because. You couldn't monetise your internet presence before.

Ao3 is like a little preserved corner of the internet where the old internet used to be, and it's being attacked by people who do not understand that free things are allowed to exist without judgment.

Please don't ruin this for us.

Some of us need it.

[1d1195]

Buttercup - Extra II

Read Buttercup here and Extra I here ~3.3k words

From me: centered around this ask entirely. Thank you SO much for the idea. I'm a little too obsessed with the idea 😍🤭

Warnings: SEXTRA, oral (she (me) is a little obsessed with his dick, sorry not sorry), smut smut smut

Summary: Harry's so good to her. For her. She just wants to give him as much pleasure as she gives him and as much he deserves.

Harry was the best boyfriend. If she had been told how good of a boyfriend he would be when she moved in and was subject to his pranks and his constant, irritating presence, she never would have believed it. But instead, he was truly the best. He was so thoughtful, so gentle, and every time he saw her, the smile on his face grew and it was truly heart stopping.

He took care of her and worried about her. He cooked her food and helped her with whatever task she had around her house. Never did he complain or care about what she asked. Everything he did was done with kindness and seriousness. Nothing was too small or too large for him to do for her.

It was so sweet and so different than what she was used to. It was overwhelming at times for him to love her so much in the best kind of way.

But one of the nicest and best bonuses about her new relationship was sex with Harry. The first time she saw him naked in her bedroom, she practically drooled like a cartoon character. How could she not? He was all lean muscles and green eyes. It was impossible to focus on anything for too long. Her primal instincts took over and she wanted him all over her.

“Do y’want me to take y’clothes off, Buttercup?” he hummed, his body radiated with heat. He was so close to her, his dick pressing against her leg as he leaned in and kissed her lips so gently but eagerly. It was hot and made her body vibrate. He slowly moved his lips down, nipping at her skin, pressing kisses along her neck and across her collarbone. His fingers fiddled with the hem of her dress just above her knees, but he waited ever-so-patiently for her consent. Because he always waited for it.

Jus’ because y’give me permission once, doesn’t mean I always have it. But she couldn’t fully explain to him that by saying that specific phrase, he did always have her permission. It made her weak in the knees to hear something so sexy and safe come from his mouth. She nodded. “Please.”

He slid her dress over her head quickly and he pushed her toward her bed. “So pretty, Buttercup,” he murmured and kissed over the swell of her breasts. He reached beneath her as he laid her down unhooking her bra and ridding her of the fabric that kept him from her nipples aching for his mouth.

“May I?”

“Please,” she whispered again.

He lapped his tongue against her left nipple and then kissed across her chest to the right one. He moaned softly nipping and sucking it expertly. For half a second, she thought of all the practice she witnessed as he flaunted the women leaving his house to make her jealous. But experiencing it firsthand, she couldn’t blame the women before her or Harry because he was really good at what he did, and it would have been cruel if he didn’t please them this way. Fortunately, now, she was very happy to know she was the only one receiving this kind of attention—his attention.

His dick was still pressed against her leg, and she was overcome with wanting it in her mouth so badly. She wanted to give Harry a fraction of the pleasure he gave her on a regular basis. “Kneel,” she pressed on his chest, gently pushing him away from her. He smirked so cutely—devilishly, even. She guided him back to kneeling on her mattress, sitting on his heels. The tattoos on his thighs flexed along with his muscles ever so slightly. The movement made her throb between her legs, and she could feel her mouth ready to fall open in preparation for what he wanted.

“What d’you want, baby?” He mumbled. She repositioned herself; the front of her body pressed to the mattress. She arched her upper back slightly, falling onto her elbows so that she was eye-level with his hard dick. It was downright pretty; thick and veiny and she all but licked her lips in anticipation. She gripped the base of it causing Harry to hiss quietly. “Y’want t’suck it?” She nodded, glancing up at him. He was already gazing at her, his eyes hooded, as he watched her with lust-filled eyes. “Go on,” he whispered. “Suck it up, Buttercup,” he encouraged.

She smiled, her cheeks burning at the nickname and the way he sounded already completely gone for her. It was reassuring; in that, she didn’t need to be embarrassed by how bad she wanted him in his mouth. She licked her lips then, a little too aggressively perhaps, but if she did, Harry didn’t say anything. He was watching her every movement very closely. It made her a little self-conscious, but he gently cupped the side of her head. “Y’look so pretty, Buttercup,” he sounded a little spaced-out already.

She wrapped around her lips along the side of his dick, dragging her mouth down the length of the side from tip to base. Licking every inch as she went along. “Holy,” he murmured, and she glanced up to see his head tilt backwards. “That feels so good, baby,” he whispered breathlessly. She followed the same path on the other side getting him thoroughly, completely, and soaking wet with her mouth. As she returned to the tip, she took no time to swallow him down in one movement. It made him gasp and moan. The hand on the side of her head tightened ever so slightly and his other hand went to the back of her head. “Fuck, Buttercup,” he groaned.

She felt immense pleasure from making him moan like that. It was good for her psyche and all the noises he made further encouraged her sucking. She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose as she relaxed her jaw as much as possible. Harry was big and felt heavy on her tongue as she strained slightly to get her all the way in her mouth and what felt like half-way down her throat.

As able as she was, she moved her tongue around his length, doing her best not to gag. He grunted quietly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. It was like music to her ears. She moved her mouth up and down him, alternating between shallow and deep bobs creating an insane amount of pleasure that was indescribable to his blissed-out mind. She sighed dreamily from the feeling which made Harry all but whimper. “Baby, baby, baby,” he croaked. “Oh my God, please,” she moaned quietly hearing how pleased he sounded. But the vibration, the wetness of her mouth, the hollowing of her cheeks and lips wrapped so tightly around him was nearly too much.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled her off him quickly. She gasped, a string of drool clinging to the end of his dick and her mouth as he did.

He gently pulled her toward him, turning her in the process so she was no longer laying on her stomach. Instead, he cradled her. Cupped the side of her face again, this time without his dick halfway down her throat. He examined her face quickly for any sign of discomfort or overwhelming emotions. Satisfied he hadn’t hurt her, he kissed her deeply, his tongue tracing her lips one at a time. He rested his forehead against hers pressing the most chaste little kiss to the tip of her nose, before he bent lower and peppered several kisses along her jawline.

He blinked slowly, a smile stretching across his lips. “Do you like doing that, kitten?” He asked.

She nodded. “I like making you feel good,” she whispered.

“Well fuck Buttercup, y’do a hell of a job,” he mumbled rubbing his thumb along her lower lip. His eyes were so wide and green as he gazed at her, leaving only the smallest amount of space between their faces just so she could see him without his face being altered from being too close. “I love you,” he kissed her sweetly.

“You’re just saying that because I didn’t gag on your dick,” she giggled.

“S’absolutely false, kitten,” he chuckled and kissed her again. Harry enjoyed the way her body relaxed into the kiss. “Let me return the favor,” he suggested.

Harry pushed her backwards this time, gently moving her so she was seated with her back propped against the pillows and headboard. He slank down her body, placing kisses along her skin and warming her from the outside in. His fingers deftly hooked around the waistband of her thong, and he slipped it off in seconds.

“Y’want me t’lick you the way y’licked me?” He asked his mouth right at her belly button. He slowly kissed across her stomach.

As much as she loved the way Harry’s tongue felt on the most sensitive parts of her body, she wanted his dick inside her again and now that her mouth had been quenched of it’s thirst for him, there was only one other place she wanted him. “Not now.”

“No?” He frowned. “Not good enough?” He asked, his question muffled into her skin.

“No,” she laughed and cupped the side of his jaw as he peered up at her through while he kissed down her ribcage. “It’s by far one of my favorite things you do to me,” she admitted. “But I’d really like to come on your dick.”

He groaned, dropping his head down to place a kiss lower. “Y’sure, Buttercup? S’hardly fair... nearly made me finish in your pretty mouth, y’know...”

“No,” she whispered shaking her head. It wasn’t going to be a fair fight if his tongue dipped much lower. He spread her knees apart, settling between them.

“A real no?” He asked, pausing his kisses right as his breath fanned over her clit. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. “Or is this a shy no, baby?” She knew if she actually said no, he would stop instantly.

He was too good. Too hot. Too sexy.

“No thank you,” she whispered feeling a little unsure only because she was so conflicted by what she wanted but Harry watched her intently and made her feel like she could decide with just her eyes.

“Another time,” he winked and worked his way back up kissing the path he started on his way down. “Y’jus’ want m’cock, hmm?” He asked instead. Undeterred and still way too pretty for words.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”

He groaned. “So polite, Buttercup... But y’don’t need t’beg, baby,” he whispered. “You’re gonna torture me,” she smiled sheepishly. “Condom?” He asked, reaching for her nightstand drawer.

“Um...” she noted that they were out while she was cleaning the other day. She also realized they had been together for a little over six months. Harry had himself tested, for ease of mind and full transparency. She’d done the same. Granted, she figured Harry was clean, but she was little worried still of all other factors from her past relationship. She preferred to be safer than fully necessary, and Harry was extremely supportive and kind about it.

“Um what?” He asked, immediately alert to her hesitation. His eyebrows pinching together. “Are we out?” He frowned. “If we are, you’re gonna have t’let me go down on you, Buttercup. S’no way m’letting y’out of this room without coming.” His selflessness was almost enough to make her come without him even touching her.

She smiled, blushed, and shook her head. “Um... no, but it’s...it’s just it’s... it’s been a while, yeah? And I feel like it’s... well, we... we don’t need a condom if you’re okay with it because we got all the tests and if you would like to do it witho—”

He shook his head quickly. “Don’t even finish that sentence, kitten. M’gonna come all over you, embarrassingly.”

“Well, that could be kind of fun too,” she admitted, looking away from him.

“Jesus,” he moaned softly and took a moment to breathe. Gently he turned her chin to face him again. “Are you sure, Buttercup?” He asked. His eyes held a look of seriousness, but they were soft and comforting too. There was no lust in his look, but one of pure adoration. “M’more than comfortable with—”

“I’m sure,” she nodded confidently. “I can beg if you want,” she shrugged.

He chuckled and the wicked glint in his eye reappeared as he dipped forward and kissed her sweetly. “Another time,” he offered. “I love you. Very much, Buttercup,” he whispered.

“Because I’m letting you do it without a condom?”

“It’s so much more than that, Buttercup baby, and you know it,” he shook his head at her joke. “I don’t want t’be mushy right now because m’only going t’last long enough t’make y’come all over me and I don’t like making y’emotional because s’harder t’make y’come... but you know. You know why I love you and you know it has nothing to do with your pretty pussy about to be wrapped around me with nothing in the way.” She swallowed believing every word he said wondering how he could be so sinful and sweet in the same breath. That should be studied. By whom, she wasn’t sure because she wasn’t going to allow anyone close to Harry like this ever again to witness it firsthand. “You’re sure, you’re sure?” He repeated lightly rubbing the tip of his dick against her clit and making her moan. He responded with a gasp and groan of his own.

“Yes,” she nodded confidently.

Harry sank into her. She made a noise she never heard herself make before. She wanted to feel embarrassed but God it felt too good for her to really care. “Oh fuck, yes,” he held one hand on the outside of her hip and the other onto the headboard for leverage. “That’s so good,” he groaned. She felt herself clawing at the sheets beneath her, trying to find purchase to cling to her sanity but it was long gone. Harry slowly slid in and out at a tantalizing pace. His eyes closed and his brows pinched together in concentration.

“Harry,” she whimpered.

“Oh God, don’t say m’name like that, kitten,” he begged.

“But—”

“No, no, baby, please jus’ a minute. Jus’ one minute t’get m’bearings,” he pleaded. “Please, please, please,” he groaned. “Y’feel so good, so, so good, I’m not gonna make it if y’say m’name like that,” he admitted. Harry made it feel like sex with him lasted for only twenty seconds and also thirty hours in the best possible way. It was some weird time dilation that she only witnessed in movies about space.

And apparently when Harry had his dick in her so deep, she thought she would seriously split in two. He tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling for an answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. “Can I talk yet?” She asked quietly.

“Yes, baby, of course,” he turned his attention back to her and his eyes found hers instantly. “M’sorry, s’it to much? Do y’want t’stop?” He slowly slid backwards his gaze unmoving from hers, and he was so ready to just stop it made her heart flip over in her chest.

“No, never, ever,” she shook her head and grabbed at his hip to pull him back toward her. “I just, want to say your name,” she said sheepishly. “That’s all I really meant.”

He smiled, a breath of laughter escaping him. “God you’re perfect,” he moaned and slowly pumped himself back into her.

“Back at you, Harry Styles.”

He groaned and his fingertips dug into her hip and he dropped his head lower as he leaned against the headboard on the wall for support. “Go easy on me, Buttercup baby. M’seconds from coming, I promise,” he warned. “Y’feel so good. M’starting from scratch on m’stamina and y’heavenly mouth didn’t do me any favors today in savoring this,” his hips continued a delicious push and pull of stretching her without anything between their skin. He alternated between small pumps where he barely exited her body and just pressed the same perfect spot inside her over and over again making her head spin. Then he followed it with long torturous strokes, snapping his hips so all but the tip of him was inside her followed by a deliriously hard and fast pressure built in the pit of her stomach.

“So good, kitten. So, so good,” he mumbled as he thrusted and pumped into her like it was his job. God she wished it could have been.

“Harry,” she whimpered and began meeting his thrusts with her own, her feet digging into the comforter for more stability while she clawed at his hip and the bedsheet. “Baby,” she croaked. “I’m so close,” she pressed hard against him.

“I know, Buttercup, I know. Can,” he choked off speaking as her walls fluttered around him in warning that she was about to tip over the edge. “Can feel you so good,” he mumbled doing everything in his weakened, pleasured state to maintain the pressure and everything she needed to come. “Can I touch you, baby?” he asked.

“Anything, please, anything you want,” she whimpered and Harry moved the hand on her hip to settle between them so his thumb pressed small circles onto her clit gently but perfectly. “Oh yes, yes, yes,” she cried and felt the euphoria snap through her in waves she was certain she briefly went blind and deaf. Harry groaned, thrusting in and out of her faster than he had before while she clamped around him.

“Baby, I’m gonna—” he moaned and pulled from her afraid to come inside her while she wasn’t full coherent and they hadn’t discussed it. She sat forward and wrapped her lips around the tip of him without much warning and he groaned again as his own orgasm wracked his body. She swirled her tongue around the tip of his dick licking every last drop of him from his skin. He twitched for what felt like hours while she sucked him again, her lips wrapping perfectly around him. She slowly pulled away swallowing and looking up at him with the sweetest smile that contradicted everything they just did. “Y’didn’t have to do that,” he cupped her face and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

She shrugged. “Well... You said suck it up buttercup.”

He chuckled. “Naughty,” he murmured and kissed her softly on the lips. “That was really lovely, baby.”

She nodded eagerly in agreement. “I thought so too,” she blushed as she looked at him.

“I’ve never done that with a girlfriend before,” his voice was gentle as he looked over her face with so much... adoration. It made her stomach flip.

Her heart sparked with hope that there was something she encountered with him first. Something good and would always be theirs. “No?” She questioned quietly.

“Nope,” he brushed his thumb on her cheek. “I’ve never trusted someone this much.”

She felt her chest swell. Like her heart was going to burst. He was too sweet. Just like her favorite candy. “That’s very sweet, Harry,” she grabbed the hand holding her face and brushed a kiss into his palm.

“I know,” he shrugged with an impish smile. She shoved his hand away with an eye roll but couldn’t help but smile at him all the same. “I love you, Buttercup.”

“Thank you,” she giggled. He snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Say it,” he ordered dropping his face to her neck and kissing her what felt like a hundred times over in a matter of seconds.

“I love you,” she responded.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

He dropped to her side, pulling her close to his chest and she traced the outline of his face. “Hey Harry,” she mumbled.

“Yes, baby?” He answered instantly sensing the slightest amount of insecurity in her tone. He frowned as she refused to make eye contact with her.

“I think maybe now it’s your turn to ‘suck it up buttercup,’” she glanced at his eyes quickly and then darted her gaze to across the room. Harry groaned and began his path of kisses south along her body.

“Anything for you, Buttercup.”

--

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[ama3003]

A Pawn Once More (3)

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: Again Sorta??? Lol I've been seeing all the love it's been getting and had to continue. Plus I love this story.

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: The final moments leading up the 75th Hunger Games.

Part 1: Here

Part 2: Here

I'm not going to lie, this was the most fun I had writing, and I'm lowkey very proud of this. Let me know if you wanna read her her being in the games.

A.N: I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader. Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

***************

Your nerves hit like a wave the second you stepped into the waiting room.

The air was tense—heavy with the kind of silence that only comes when everyone is pretending not to be afraid. The tributes were scattered around the room, each lost in their own thoughts, their own strategies, their own quiet dread.

You felt your stomach twist.

Last time you were in this position, you scored a seven. Clean, precise knife throws. It wasn’t spectacular, but it got the job done—just enough to earn some sponsors without making you a threat. It kept you safe.

But this wasn’t like last time.

This time, you were older. Sharper. Tired in a way you didn’t know how to explain. And despite all of it, you had no idea what you were going to do in there. No plan, no performance. You hadn’t let yourself think too hard about it, because thinking meant caring—and caring meant fear. And you were so tired of being afraid.

The Capitol had already taken everything. Your home. Your peace. Your sense of self. And now they were back for what little was left.

Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on the District 12 pair, sitting quietly in the far corner. They weren’t speaking, just watching. Watching you. Their expressions were unreadable—somewhere between wary and curious. You offered them a small nod and the faintest smile. They didn’t return it, but they didn’t look away either. That felt like enough.

Then, you saw him—Mason, cutting through the room with that quiet steadiness he always carried.

He slid into the seat beside you without a word, his presence warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low. “You ready?”

You nodded automatically, but your fingers betrayed you—tapping anxiously on your leg, tense and restless. Mason noticed. He always noticed.

Without saying anything more, he reached over and placed his hand on top of yours. It was steady. Grounding. You immediately stilled.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said, soft but certain. “We both are.”

You looked at him—and just like that, something inside you loosened.

Those eyes. You remembered them. The same ones you met when you were sixteen, standing awkwardly at your Victor’s party, trying not to be seen. He hadn’t mentored your Games, but he found you anyway. Quiet, lost, and not ready for any of it. He’d seen you for what you were—another broken kid trying to survive something you weren’t built for.

He knew that look. He’d worn it once, too.

And from that night on, Mason became something steady in your life. Maybe even something safe. He couldn’t stop the Capitol from throwing you into another nightmare, but if you had to go back in, you were glad it was with him.

“It’s going to be fine,” you murmured, offering a small, tired smile. And for a moment, you let yourself believe it. Mason would follow you anywhere. You didn’t have to question it. His loyalty wasn’t loud or showy—it was just there. Unshakable.

“Y/N. Mason.”

You turned at the sound of your names and saw Cashmere and Gloss approaching, their movements smooth and practiced like they were walking a red carpet instead of waiting to face death again. Behind them, Enobaria and Brutus stood from their seats, joining the group.

Cashmere slipped her arm around your shoulders like it was second nature. “You ready to make some jaws drop?” she asked with that signature smirk. Confident. Stunning. But under it, you could see the flicker of something else. That same tension that lived in all of you now.

“Always,” you said, letting the corners of your mouth lift. “I think I’m just gonna wing it. Do whatever feels right.”

Cashmere raised an eyebrow. “That’s either brilliant or reckless.”

“Maybe both,” you replied.

“As long as you scare them a little, you’ll land at least a nine,” Enobaria said, cracking her knuckles and flashing her sharpened teeth. “I’m thinking of stabbing a dummy and barring my teeth at the Gamemakers.”

Brutus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and they’ll send you straight to the Capitol psych ward.”

Enobaria grinned wider. “Sounds like a vacation compared to what’s coming.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh before turning to the siblings.

“What about you two?”

Gloss shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “Spear work. Something fast and clean—show them I haven’t slowed down. I’m not there to impress them. Just remind them what I can do.”

Cashmere spun a knife lazily between her fingers. “Knives, obviously. Hit the vitals, maybe throw in a flip or two if I feel like showing off. Nothing too wild—we’re aiming for tens, not twelves.”

She looked at Mason, nudging his leg with her foot. “What about you?”

Mason tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not much I can do solo. Might ask to use the moving targets—simulate a real fight. Or…” he glanced sideways at you, smiling faintly, “maybe someone here’s brave enough to volunteer.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Keep dreaming.”

But before anyone could say anything else, a sharp voice echoed through the room:

“District One, Gloss Tanner. Report for individual assessment.”

Silence fell instantly. All eyes shifted to Gloss.

He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders once, then turned to his sister. Cashmere reached out and touched his arm, her expression softening.

Gloss gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then he looked at the rest of you, smiled like it was nothing, and said, “See you on the other side.”

And then he was gone.

No hesitation. No second glance.

The moment lingered in the air. Thick. Heavy. Real.

Enobaria was the first to break the silence. “We’ll head back to our seats,” she said, giving each of you a quick hug like she didn’t want to think too hard about it. Brutus did the same—no words, just a quiet presence—and then they were gone.

“We should, too,” Mason murmured, giving Cashmere’s shoulder a squeeze.

You turned to her and wrapped your arms around her tightly.

“He’s going to do great,” you whispered. “And so will you. Okay?”

Cashmere gave you a watery smile, blinking fast. “Good luck, Y/N.”

“You too.”

She held you for a second longer, then let go and sat down, folding her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the door Gloss had disappeared through.

Before heading back to your seat, you squat down in front of Finnick and Mags. Grinning, you greet them with a playful, “Hello, my fishies.”

Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically, but there's a smile tugging at his lips. Mags, ever the nurturing figure, pats you on the head as if you were a child, her touch gentle and warm.

“I swear, before I die, I’m going to need a new nickname,” Finnick jokes, sounding far more serious than he probably intends. “I can’t die with ‘Fishy’ on my tombstone.”

You nudge his knee playfully. “Oh, don’t worry, Finnick. I wouldn’t do that to you. But I would say, ‘Best Swimmer in the Mighty Seas,’” you add with a wink, your tone light.

Mags laughs softly, her eyes crinkling with kindness. You turn toward her. “Ready to blow them away with your rope-tying skills?” You can’t help but tease, excited for the elderly woman you admire so much.

Mags gives you a thumbs up, her smile all the answer you need. Then she points to Finnick, mimicking the movement of a trident with her hands.

“Oh, yes. Finnick and his big fork,” you tease, ruffling his hair affectionately. You and Finnick had always been close—almost like siblings, really. You won your Games right after him, and to say you leaned on each other would be an understatement. There was an unspoken understanding between you two, born from the shared experience of surviving this hell.

You hear Cashmere’s name being called, and as she rises, she shoots you a reassuring smile before heading toward the door.

Turning back to Finnick and Mags, you see the stress hanging heavy on their shoulders. Without thinking, you rise to your feet and give them both tight hugs. “It’s going to be fine,” you say, your voice firm but kind. “I’ve never seen anyone handle a trident as well as you, Finnick. And no one—no one—can tie a knot as tight as you, Mags.”

Both of them smile up at you, their faces softening. They know exactly what you’re doing—trying to ease their tension, give them a little comfort. That’s why they love having you around.

“I’ll catch up with you two after, okay?” You give them both a final squeeze. “Good luck out there.”

They nod, their smiles a little more relaxed now. You return to your seat next to Mason, feeling a brief moment of relief as you settle beside him.

“You’re being a great motivator. I’m feeling inspired,” Mason says with a half-smile, his tone teasing as he nudges you lightly.

You can’t help but scoff, shaking your head. “These are our friends. And we’re supposed to kill them like it’s nothing?” You laugh softly, but it’s a bitter sound.

Mason’s smirk fades, and he turns to face you more seriously. “We all know how this is going to play out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and practicality. “And we promised we weren’t going to take it to heart. Quick and painless, remember?”

You exhale slowly, your chest heavy. “Doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. And let’s say… in the off chance that we both make it to the end. Then what?” You meet his gaze, both of you silently acknowledging the truth between you. Neither of you would be able to kill the other. Not after everything.

Mason’s eyes soften, but his voice is firm as he shakes his head. “That’s never going to happen. You know that,” he says, his tone heavy with certainty. “It’ll be someone else, or… it’ll be me.”

You can’t argue with that. It’s the cruel reality you’re both facing, one that feels too dark to even consider. You drop your head into your hands, the weight of it all pushing down on you.

Mason doesn’t have any comforting words—he knows they won’t help. He just reaches over, ruffling your hair lightly before pulling you into his side. His presence, solid and steady, is the only thing that’s keeping you from shattering in that moment.

You watch the District Three pair go, followed by Finnick, and then Mags. Each one of them stepping into their fate, and each one leaving a piece of their heart in the room.

Time passes slowly. Your own thoughts are heavy, weighed down by the same unspoken question everyone in this room is carrying.

And then, you hear it.

“District Five, Mason Cover. Report for individual assessment.”

Your body freezes. Your heart skips a beat.

Mason feels it, too. The weight of the arena, the uncertainty of what’s to come, the fear—it’s all there, hanging between you two.

“Darling, it’s going to be fine,” he whispers in your ear, his voice calm, steady. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, the warmth of his lips a small comfort in the sea of tension.

You try to return the reassurance, offering him a soft smile. “Good luck,” you murmur, even though you’re not sure if either of you believe it.

He meets your gaze, his smile small but sincere. “You too,” he says, his voice softer now. He ruffles your hair one more time before standing up. “See you on the other side.” His words are light, basically mimicking Gloss. But you still teared up.

You nod, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as you watch him leave. He glances back once, offering you a final wave, and then he’s gone, heading toward the door with that same quiet confidence he always carries.

Now, the fear was real. The anxiety had a tight grip on you, and no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing, it was a struggle. Your chest felt heavy, each breath an effort.

You closed your eyes, trying to center yourself. Ten minutes. That’s all you had. Ten minutes to somehow find a way to push past the panic, to focus, to prepare yourself.

You were so far inside your head that you didn’t even notice someone sitting down next to you until you heard a soft voice.

“Are you ready for your assessment?”

You jumped, startled, and turned to see Peeta sitting where Mason had just been. He gave you a small, sheepish smile. “Stupid question, I know. I’m sure you’ve been asked by everyone else. Should’ve said something else.”

It wasn’t what you expected—Peeta of all people sitting next to you. You glanced over at Katniss. She was watching you closely from a distance, eyes trained on both you and Peeta, her protective instincts sharp.

You turned back to Peeta, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m ready enough to just get it over with,” you replied, your voice steady, but you could feel the tension coiled deep inside you. “Are you?”

He nodded, though his smile was a little strained. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy, you know? I was doing this exact thing a year ago. Not much has changed.”

You shook your head slightly. “Everything’s changed, Peeta. You’re a Victor now. That means something.”

Peeta met your eyes, his gaze serious. “We both know I wasn’t supposed to be one.”

“I could say that about all of us,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “None of us were supposed to be Victors, but here we are. And it’s important, Peeta, that you start believing that. It’s the only way you’re going to make it out of the arena.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, just looking at you like he was weighing your words. Finally, he broke the silence, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve. “Haymitch says we should team up. I know enough to sense how important you are to him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to recruit me?” you asked, teasing but also a little touched by his honesty. You could tell he wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was heading, but he was trying to find his footing.

He looked uncomfortable but pushed on, “I’m not saying we should be best friends or anything, but you’re important to Haymitch. I think you’re important to Katniss, too, even if she doesn’t show it.” His voice softened. “I’m just doing what I can. You know, trying to look out for her… and for us.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think your fiancée would agree,” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge to it.

Peeta let out a small, dry chuckle. “And I don’t think your partner would be thrilled, either, but here we are.”

That made you smirk. He had a way with words, even when he was hesitant. “I’ve always been on your team, Peeta. I just need you to accept that you’re on mine, too.” Your voice was quieter now, more earnest. You met his gaze, not backing down. “I’m behind you a hundred percent. And I know Mason will be, too. But you have to trust us. Just like you want to protect Katniss, I do too. I’ll do whatever it takes to see her come out of this alive.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “If you don’t trust my words, trust Haymitch’s. I’m on your side.”

Before Peeta could respond, the loudspeaker crackled, cutting through the tension.

“District Five, Y/N L/N. Report for individual assessment.”

You tensed, your heart skipping a beat, but you tried to keep your breathing steady. This was it. You stood up slowly, then turned to Peeta. With a light touch, you patted his leg.

“I’ll see you later, Peeta. Good luck to you both,” you said, your voice more confident than you felt.

Peeta watched you as you turned to leave, his eyes following you until you reached the door.

Once you were out of sight, Peeta made his way back to Katniss, who was still watching him closely, waiting for him to speak. He sat down beside her, his expression thoughtful.

“I think we should team up with District Five,” he said, his voice low but sure.

Katniss looked at him, skepticism written across her face. “Are you sure about this?”

Peeta met her gaze, his eyes steady. “Trust me.”

After a long moment of silence, Katniss finally nodded, her resolve firming. “Okay,” she said quietly.

************

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection a ghost of someone you used to be. The makeup was heavy, transforming your features, and for a moment, you looked like you did nine years ago—before the Games, before all of this.

Tomorrow, you would be thrown back into the arena. Tomorrow, you’d have to fight your friends, leave your husband behind, and maybe die. And the weight of it made everything seem so much heavier.

You were scared during your first Games, but this fear—it was different. It was paralyzing. It settled deep in your chest, like something solid and cold, and you couldn’t breathe.

The sound of cheers rang out as Caesar Flickerman strutted onto the stage, his perfect, rehearsed smile beaming across the crowd. Your pulse quickened.

"There, absolutely perfection," your stylist said, patting her face to dry the tears you hadn't realized had begun to fall.

"Thank you," you whispered, blinking the haze from your eyes. You stepped onto the line between Mags and Mason, trying to steady your breath, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

"Breathe," Mason whispered, his voice low but steady. "You look beautiful."

A small, trembling smile pulled at your lips. "Thanks," you murmured, looking at Mags. "You look pretty," you added, hoping it would ease the tension in the air. Mags smiled, a soft, knowing look on her face. She pointed to your dress. "Thank you," you said. "It’s supposed to mimic my first Games."

You swallowed, looking around at the others, trying to block out the tightness in your chest. Nervous energy swirled around you. The others could feel it, too, but everyone was doing their best to keep it together.

You saw Gloss take his turn, then Cash, and then Brutus. One after another, they walked past you, their faces filled with the same mix of dread and determination.

"I can’t believe tomorrow is the day," Mason said, jumping up slightly, the nerves evident in his voice.

"You're telling me," Finnick said, giving a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m about to perform my best acting yet—pretend I’m not already dead inside—and then I’m gonna die. Sounds like a real blast."

Mags shot him a disapproving look, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile tug at her lips.

"We just have to get through tonight. Tomorrow’s a whole other day," you said, trying to sound reassuring, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. "We’ll figure it out then."

The others fell silent at your words, each one lost in their own thoughts, the realization of what was coming settling in.

Finnick went next, followed by Mags. Then Mason.

"Wish me luck," Mason said, winking at you before stepping onto the stage, the Capitol audience erupting in applause.

"Good luck," you said, smirking, watching him stride out with the swagger only Mason could pull off.

"It’s annoying how charming that guy is," you muttered, half to yourself.

Johanna let out a short, dry laugh. "Do you think, before I die, he’ll grant me a death-wish kiss?" she joked, her usual biting humor still intact.

You nudged her with a grin. "Hey, I think the probability of that is extremely high."

Mason’s interview went off without a hitch. He played the ‘I’m about to die, and I never loved anyone’ card, and the Capitol ate it up. The single women in the crowd swooned as he strutted off the stage, bowing to his fellow tributes.

"And now, for one of the Capitol’s favorite girls, let’s hear it for Y/N L/N!" The announcement was loud, and the crowd roared in excitement.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you walked onto the stage, the eyes of Panem on you. You knew how to work a crowd, how to present yourself as the confident, charming Victor everyone adored. But tonight, it felt like more of a mask than ever before.

Caesar Flickerman’s smile was as dazzling as always, his voice smooth as silk. "Oh, my dear girl, how are you?" He leaned in for air kisses, his theatrics just a little too perfect.

"Well, I’ve had better days," you said, a soft smile curling at the corner of your lips.

"Today is so emotional and hard for all of us, isn’t it?" Caesar continued, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. "But you—good news for you—you scored an eleven! Absolutely amazing!"

"Thank you," you replied, trying to keep the flatness from your voice. "Since I’m probably going to die tomorrow, I wanted to go out with a bang, I guess."

You saw Caesar’s smile falter for a moment, unsure how to handle your bluntness. But he recovered quickly, ever the professional.

"Well, a bang you did," he said, voice still upbeat. "Now, my dear, we’ve heard so much about those waiting for you back at home. Who’s there for you? Anyone special?"

You forced your gaze to drift across the audience, your eyes scanning the sea of faces before finding the one that anchored you—Haymitch. His eyes were locked onto you, steady and unwavering, like a lifeline in the chaos.

"I have my parents back at home, taking care of my younger brother," you said, your voice a little softer now. "It was definitely a surprise when these Games were announced."

"I’m sure they’re watching you now and cheering for you back in District 5," Caesar smiled warmly, his eyes glistening with false compassion.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. "I doubt they will. They promised me they won’t watch. Who would want to see their child get slaughtered?" The words left your lips, cold and harsh, but they were the truth. The crowd grew silent, and Caesar struggled to regain his composure.

"Uh…" He coughed awkwardly, glancing toward the camera. "Well, that’s unfortunate, I’m sure they’ll be missing a good game. Is there anyone else waiting for you? Maybe a man? A little boy toy?"

You didn’t even need to think. The words felt right, even as they left your lips. Your fingers moved instinctively to the necklace around your neck, slipping it off with a deliberate motion, and you looked back at Haymitch. His eyes widened as your fingers found the ring you’d been wearing around your neck. The same one you’d both always kept secret.

"I do, actually," you whispered, barely above the noise of the crowd. A ripple of surprise ran through the room. "I have someone waiting for me."

You slowly slid the ring onto your finger, letting it shine under the Capitol lights. For a moment, the crowd was dead silent. The world seemed to hold its breath. And then, the cheers exploded.

You could see Haymitch in the crowd, his expression unreadable at first. But then, something in his eyes softened. He didn’t hide his emotions, even if you couldn’t hear his voice. It was in the way his hand shook as he reached for his flask, eyes never leaving you.

"You’re married?" Caesar’s voice was full of excitement now, a gleam in his eyes. "What a surprise! Tell us, who is this lucky man?"

You met his gaze again, locking your eyes with Haymitch's. "I’m afraid I’m keeping that information to myself," you replied, your voice calm but firm. "Just in case I die tomorrow, I want him to move on, to find happiness. Obviously, without all the cameras and media .That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him."

You glanced down at the ring, your fingers brushing over it gently as you spoke. "My death will not be the end of him. He will mourn, but he will live. Live for me. Live for us. Live for the world. My death won’t erase our love. Our love will live on. These Games may take everything from me, but our love? That’s something that will last forever." You blinked rapidly, tears beginning to blur your vision. "I’ve loved and been loved in these few years more than some do in a lifetime," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. "I’m one of the lucky ones."

The audience was silent for a moment before an overwhelming wave of applause broke through the air. You could see the tears welling in Caesar's eyes, his voice shaking with emotion. "That… that was beautiful," he said, his tone sincere. "I’m sure he knows how deeply you love him. And he’s lucky to have someone like you."

"Thank you," you said softly, your heart pounding.

The audience cheered again, but you only had eyes for Haymitch now. You blew him a kiss, a simple gesture, but one that felt like it carried everything you couldn’t say aloud.

"That was amazing," Mason said, wrapping you in a tight hug the second you stepped off the stage.

You cried in his arms, the weight of everything threatening to swallow you whole. "It’s going to be okay, darling girl," Mason whispered, his voice warm and comforting. "He knows you love him, and you know he loves you."

Johanna was next to you, rubbing your back. "You really did a good job. I think all of Panem’s crying right now."

You stopped crying, and only the sound of the following interview filled the room until Johanna spoke again, her voice annoyed.

"Really? A wedding dress?" She raised an eyebrow at Katniss’s dress, which looked suspiciously like a wedding gown.

"Snow made me wear it," Katniss said, her tone flat, not caring much for Johanna, but glanced at you. Haymitch trusted you, and so did Peeta.

"Make him pay for it," Johanna smirked, causing Katniss to smile faintly.

"Come on, let’s get you cleaned up," Mason said, wrapping an arm around you, guiding you away. But then Katniss reached for your wrist, stopping you.

Mason tensed but you turned towards her.

"You did good," Katniss said quietly, nodding at your ring. "I know he appreciates it."

"Thank you," you smiled at her, though it was strained.

"Plus, I’m sure you made Peeta cry," Katniss added with a rare smile.

You laughed softly, your heart lighter despite everything. "Good luck," you said, offering her a smile before following Mason out.

"So, we’re really teaming up with District 12, huh?" Mason said, rolling his eyes.

You nudged him, a small smile playing at your lips. "Yup."

*********

You found yourself staring out the window of the living area in your suite, the stars twinkling distantly in the night sky. Mason was sitting across from you, nose buried in a book, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the vast darkness outside.

After the interviews, you all held hands, the gesture simple but filled with power, as if, for a brief moment, the Games could be stopped. But an hour ago, Abigail had come in and crushed that fragile hope, informing you that the Games would go on as planned.

You sighed, the weight of the news heavy in your chest.

"I know you're not reading," you said, breaking the silence as you turned to Mason. "You've been on the same page for the last six minutes. It usually takes you three."

He looked up at you, a sly smirk tugging at his lips before he closed the book, setting it down on the table with a soft thud. "True," he said, the humor gone from his eyes. "But it's hard to focus on anything when death is looming over us."

You didn’t respond. Instead, you stood and moved to the window, resting your hands on the cool glass. He followed you, his footsteps soft on the carpet.

"Did Cash seem fine when you told her we weren't joining the pack?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Your shoulders tensed slightly, "She wasn’t happy, but she knew," You said with a nod. "They all knew we were going with District 12. Expected it, even." Then you turned to him, your heart pounding slightly. "Are you mad at me?"

Mason shook his head instantly, his expression softening. "No. Never." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I just hope we're not making a mistake. That’s all."

You hesitated, then spoke the words that had been in your head. "You could always go with the Careers, you know."

The words barely left your mouth when Mason shot you a glare, his eyes darkening. "Shut up," he said, his voice sharp but filled with the raw edge of care. "I've been saying the whole time—it's you and me, always. If you want to team up with the newbies, we do it. If you want to team up with the Careers, we do it. Hell, if you want us to be on our own, we’ll do that too. I’m with you, partner, okay? You can't get rid of me that easily." He paused, a small, teasing smile creeping onto his lips. "I’ve been taking care of your ass for almost a decade. I’m not about to stop now."

A lump formed in your throat at his words, and you smiled, fighting back the emotions. "You're my best friend," you whispered, and he chuckled.

"Don’t let Cash hear that or she’ll make it her mission to have my head tomorrow." His voice was light, but there was something deeply affectionate in it.

"I’m serious, Mase," you nudged him, a little more forceful now, your voice cracking. "You’re my best friend. And this… this fucking sucks."

Without another word, Mason wrapped his arms around you tightly, his grip firm and warm. "Darling," he murmured into your hair, "no matter what happens tomorrow, know that you're my best friend. You’ve always been. And, I can’t really be mad at you. They're an alright team. The girl is good with those damn arrows. Plus, we get Finnick and Beetee. It could be worse."

You stayed like that for a long while, holding onto each other, the silent comfort of a friendship that had weathered more storms than anyone should ever have to. Then you heard a soft cough from the doorway, and you reluctantly pulled away.

You turned to see Haymitch standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mason rolled his eyes dramatically, his tone mockingly offended. "Dude," he said with a grin, "I just got told I’m her best friend, and you couldn’t wait five minutes to swoop in? That’s crazy."

Haymitch raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. "Ouch, I thought that was me." He turned to you with a feigned look of hurt on his face. "Sweetheart, you wound me."

You shot them both a tired, amused look. "Quiet, both of you." You turned to Mason, giving him a small, pleading glance. "Mase, can you leave us, please?"

He groaned, but there was affection in the sound. "Fiiiiiinnnneeeee." He dragged out the word in a mock pout, but then he wrapped his arms around you one more time, pulling you close. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you." He kissed your forehead softly, the gesture comforting despite the weight of everything.

He pulled back, moving toward Haymitch. Before he left, Haymitch stopped and whispered, "Take care of her in there, and I’ll take care of you both out here."

Mason nodded, just slightly, so you wouldn’t notice, before giving Haymitch a firm hug. He stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to leave. "Good luck, Mason," Haymitch said softly, patting his shoulder as he went.

Mason gave a small nod, trying to keep the tension from showing, and then he left the room.

The door closed behind him, and for a brief moment, the room was silent.

Haymitch walked toward you, his steps slower than usual, more weighted. You didn’t need him to say anything. You already knew.

This was goodbye.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly like he was trying to memorize the way you fit against him. You buried your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of him—whiskey, pine, and something softer, something that always felt like home.

You wouldn’t see him tomorrow. As soon as you woke, the Peacekeepers would be there—no time for goodbyes, no time for holding each other like this. They’d tear you away from your bed, from this room, from him.

So this… this was it.

The two of you settled onto the couch in silence, your body curled into his, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around you like armor. His hand moved up and down your back in a slow rhythm, steady and calming, though his heart beat loud and uneven against your cheek.

You could die like this, you thought.

God, you wished you would die like this.

"You know what I was thinking?" you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Haymitch hummed in response, low and thoughtful, his fingers gently threading through your hair.

"I think we were meant to be with each other. In every universe. It's always you and I,” you breathed. “And I know... I know in another universe, we got to have a beautiful, long life together."

His lips twitched into a smile, pained but sincere. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so," you said, the corner of your mouth lifting. “We have three kids. Two girls and one boy. They're perfect—just like we always dreamed. We live in this beautiful home with a white picket fence, big porch swing. You finally grow tomatoes that don’t taste like dirt. We grow old together. We see our kids have kids. We'd be cool grandparents."

"The best grandparents," he said quietly, still stroking your hair, his voice strained and cracked with longing. “Is it weird that I'm jealous of that us?”

"No... because so am I." You closed your eyes, the fantasy a cruel comfort. It felt so real. It should have been real.

Your voice broke as the grief crashed over you like a wave. “This isn’t fair.” The words came out as a sob, and you shoved your face deeper into his neck, clinging to him like he was the last safe thing in the world.

"I know, sweetheart. I know," he murmured, holding you tighter. His hand moved slowly over your back, as if he could rub the pain away, ease the break in your heart. "But I'm going to help you. You and Mase. It's going to be alright.”

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze sharp and urgent. “I just need you to stay with Katniss. No matter what—stay with her.”

You blinked, confused for a moment, but nodded. There was something in his tone, something just beneath the surface. You didn't know the full story, but you trusted him. You always had.

"I promise, Haymitch. I’ll try to protect them... for as long as I breathe."

He stilled. Completely.

His jaw clenched, and his grip on you tightened again.

He hadn’t meant for it to come across like that. God, no. He never wanted you to think you owed him that—your life for theirs. That wasn’t what this was.

"I just need you to breathe," he said, his voice rough and trembling. “That’s all I need, okay? Just breathe. Protect yourself. I’ll take care of the kids. I promise. But you—you look after you. No playing hero. No playing mama bear.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, your heart thudding. “You care for those kids, Haymitch Abernathy,” you said, voice firm. “I’m going to protect them as much as I can. Nothing’s happening to those kids if I’m there.”

He stared at you, the pain behind his eyes shining like glass ready to crack.

"And I care about you, Y/N Abernathy." His voice hitched. “So you're going to make sure you survive.”

Your bottom lip trembled. You looked at him—at the man you loved more than anything—and whispered, “Only one comes out alive, Mitch.”

Your voice cracked like a brittle bone.

“I’m not even in the top five of who should win.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, hot and burning, and his face crumpled just slightly as he pulled you back into him, his breath stuttering.

You could see it. The way he was unraveling. The storm brewing behind his eyes. He had been holding something in, and it was clawing its way out of him, ripping him apart from the inside.

You’d been accepting your fate quietly, trying not to make it harder for him. But he needed more from you now.

He needed you to fight.

He needed you to live.

He needed to say the thing that had been killing him since the moment he knew. There was this plan. A plan to get Katniss and all the other victors out of there. A plan that could save your life. And he wishes he could tell you scream it out.

But Plutarch didn’t want you to involved because of your close relationship with the careers. He said it could compromise the whole mission. But he needed to tell you. He needed to guarantee your safety. Plutarch be dammed. You’re his wife. You’re the only thing that matters.

"I—" he started, voice hoarse, his hands twitching at his sides. Just spit it out he thought to himself.

You turned to face him fully, one brow raised. He was spinning in his own mind, fighting every instinct. You could tell he wanted to say it, to scream it but there was something holding him back.

"There's thi—well, there's this... this plan... Plutarch—" Why couldn’t he just say it? His heart was screaming at him to spit it out.

You stepped in before he could finish, your heart stalling. You knew that look, the flickering indecision, the desperation caught behind his teeth.

"You're not supposed to tell me, right?" you asked gently, already knowing the answer.

He faltered, looking at you like you’d read the last page of a book he hadn’t finished. He wanted to tell you. So badly. And that’s what terrified you.

"There's this plan—"

"Stop." You raised your hand, voice quiet but firm. A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Don’t tell me."

He stared at you in disbelief, his brows furrowed like you’d just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. "What...?"

"There's a reason why you can’t tell me, right?"

He hesitated… and nodded.

"Then it’s probably a good reason.”

"It can save your life," he whispered, and that was when the first tear slipped from his eye. He was screaming at himself to tell you to save you. Why the hell isn’t he saying anything?

Your chest tightened, but you held your voice steady. "But it jeopardizes Katniss, doesn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The silence was loud enough.

"Then don’t tell me."

"Sweetheart..."

"Don't tell me, Haymitch." You stepped closer, looking up at him with as much reassurance as you could muster. "I’m telling you not to tell me. You were going to—and now I’m saying no. So if anything happens, it’s on me. Not you. Never you."

You could already see it in his eyes—the guilt building like floodwater behind a dam. You couldn’t let it break him.

"You need to protect Katniss," you said softly.

His expression cracked as tears finally spilled freely, his voice breaking under the weight of his helplessness. "I need to protect you."

And that nearly broke you.

You had to look away, just for a second. "You’re putting her first," you said, your voice catching. "And that’s okay. You need to put her first. Always. You and I both know that. It’s for the greater cause—something bigger than just you and me."

He clenched his jaw. You both knew it was true. If the rebellion was going to work, it had to be Katniss. It had to be the Mockingjay.

"I need you safe," he said again, like if he repeated it enough, the universe would listen.

"And we need her alive." You were already shifting, already planning. Your voice quickened, desperate to be useful, to give him something to hold on to. "Both of them. Without Peeta, Katniss won’t want to do anything for the rebellion. Okay, I’ll look after Katniss and Mase can look after Peeta. Well of course I’ll also look after Peeta, but—"

You rambled, words spilling from you as your mind raced, building walls to keep the fear from crashing in. And he just looked at you.

God, he looked at you—like you were made of light and heartbreak and everything he could never deserve.

Then suddenly his hands were on your face, steadying you, grounding you. He needed to tell you. It was eating him alive.

You froze under his touch, your voice softening to a murmur. "Don’t tell me, Haymitch. I’m not mad. I won’t be mad. I’ll never make you choose between them or me. I care about them too."

He pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours, his breath trembling.

"It’s always been you," he choked, tears falling freely now. "It’s always going to be you."

You closed your eyes. If you could bottle this moment—this closeness, this certainty—you would have. You’d carry it into the arena like armor.

"This is more than just us, Mitch," you whispered. "If she survives… the districts' hope still lives."

He let out a bitter, shaking breath. "Damn it, woman, I want to tell you. I need to tell you."

You touched his cheek gently, tears stinging your eyes. "But you're holding back for her. And I'm telling you it’s okay."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and straightened your shoulders. "I told you since the beginning—I’m getting her out of that arena. Now you need to promise me you will too. Over Mags. Over Beetee. Over me."

Your voice didn’t shake this time. Not when it mattered most.

You looked into his eyes and saw the war in them—saw him silently screaming I can’t lose you.

But he knew you were right.

"I promise," he whispered, barely getting it out.

"It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears as you pulled back, giving him a smile that trembled with hope and heartbreak. "And then one morning, you’ll wake up back in District 12… and you’re going to look out at the sky and feel it. Feel the peace. The Games will be gone. The children will be able to be children again. It’s what we’ve always wanted."

You smiled as you spoke, but he could see it—you weren’t just comforting him.

You were saying goodbye.

And Haymitch felt it. In the hollowness in his chest. In the way your voice cracked just slightly when you talked about a future you didn’t believe you’d see. You were accepting your death. Quietly. Gracefully. Willingly.

Even when the cause didn’t trust you enough to let you in.

And yet, here you were, dreaming about a life beyond the war—knowing you wouldn’t be part of it.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I feel like I’m making a mistake,” he said, voice raw, like it scraped his throat on the way out. Damn the cause. Damn Plutarch. Damn those District 12 kids. Damn this plan.

“You’re not,” you said gently. “You’re a mentor. We give our lives for those children. If I could’ve saved my tributes, I would’ve.”

You smiled through your tears, and it wrecked him.

“You’re the best mentor known to man. And an even better husband.”

That was the final blow.

“I love you,” he whispered like a confession, like a prayer. “So, so much. More than the moon loves the stars. More than the sun loves the ocean. I love you, Y/N.”

You cupped his face like he was fragile, precious. Like he wasn’t the broken man the world always thought him to be.

“And I love you, Haymitch,” you murmured. You nestled yourself back into his chest, fitting there like you were made for him. And maybe you were.

You both stared out the window as silence wrapped around you. Not a single word for an hour—just hearts beating in sync, like this moment could stretch forever.

But it couldn’t.

Eventually, you sat up slowly, blinking back the heaviness in your eyes. “You have to go check on the kids. The elevator locks soon… and I doubt you want to walk up seven flights of stairs.”

He clung to you a little tighter. “I’ll be fine. Come back here.”

You gave him that look. The one that always shut down every argument. Soft, patient, immovable.

He sighed. He knew. You were doing it for the kids. For him. If the Peacekeepers found you both here, alone, asleep—it would be over for him. You’d never let that happen.

“Fine. Fine.”

You walked him toward the elevator slowly, each step a thousand pounds heavier than the last.

Then you paused.

“Tell Effie I say that I love her… and that she needs to take care of you. No more than three whiskey bottles a week.”

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

He just pulled you into his arms like he was afraid you’d disappear the second he let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he meant it for everything—for the plan, for the Capitol, for the years wasted, for the future he couldn’t give you.

“I’m not,” you said softly, holding his face like a lifeline. “I lived a beautiful life… with amazing friends and a perfect husband. I meant what I said. I felt more love in the years with you than most people ever feel in a lifetime. You made me happy. You make me proud. After everything you’ve been through, we’re finally going to be at peace.”

He was breaking. He didn’t care how pathetic it looked.

“I need you,” he choked, like the words themselves were ripping something loose in his chest.

“And you have me,” you whispered, “forever.”

You kissed his cheek, pulled him close again, memorized the shape of his body, the weight of him in your arms.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied. “Remember your promise.”

You stepped back, slowly pushing him toward the elevator. Your hands were shaking, but your face was steady. Because if you faltered—if you gave in—he would stay. And that was too dangerous.

The doors slid open.

And he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

But you gave him a little push.

Because you had to.

He stepped inside. And as the doors started to close, you saw the panic take over his features.

"I love you," he said, the words tearing from his chest like a final breath. His heart physically ached. Like it was collapsing in on itself. Like maybe, just maybe, a person could die from a broken heart.

"And I love you too," you replied, the softest smile breaking through your tears. How could you smile when you were walking into your death?

Haymitch didn’t know.

But you always found light, even at the end of the world.

“I’ll see you in the next lifetime,” you said, and your voice cracked on the final word.

The doors slid shut.

And as the elevator descended, the last thing he heard was the sound of you sobbing.

And that was it.

That was the sound that shattered him.

This felt extremely long lol anyways thank y'all for reading! I also live for your comments they actually make my day.

Let me know what you want to see!!!!

Previous Chapter

Taglist (If I'm missing you I'm sorry still new at this)

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[minh907]

Foolish?

(Yandere?) Obsessed!Jinwoo x Fem!Reader.

In which Jinwoo was too blind in love....

_____________

The Hunter Association headquarters buzzed with activity as you submitted your latest mission report. Your team had finished clearing the B-rank dungeon successfully when you returned exhausted yet satisfied with your victory. The pleasurable feeling vanished when you sensed the distinctive skin-prickling sensation at the base of your neck.

He was watching you again.

Without turning your head you could sense Jinwoo watching you from a hidden spot because his eyes tracked your every step. The stalking had continued for multiple weeks since you were assigned to work together on that joint raid. At first, you tried to be polite about it -he was, after all, the infamous S-rank hunter, the strongest hunter in Korea. But his initial flattering behavior shifted into something intimidating.

He remained in the same spot after you finished your paperwork while leaning against the wall with a smile that made you feel uncomfortable.

"Having a hard day?" he asked, walking beside you.

"Hunter Sung," you said stiffly, quickening your pace. "I'm really tired. I want to go home. Alone."

His smile didn't waver. "I'll take you home. It's dangerous for someone like you to be out alone after dark."

"Someone like me?" You stopped, anger bubbling up. "I'm a A-rank hunter. I can handle myself."

In Jinwoo's mind, Igris felt uncomfortable. "My liege, it's obvious she want to be alone. Maybe we should respect her boundaries."

But Jinwoo saw your glinting eyes and flushed cheeks as signs of passion rather than anger. He reached toward your arm to say "You're fierce. The thing that I appreciate most about you is your fierce nature."

Your body pulled away from his attempt to reach out. "Don't. I told you, I'm not interested. Please don't follow me anymore."

Behind Jinwoo, the darkness rippled as Bellion emerged just enough for his king to see. "My liege, this pursuit is getting worrying. The human has rejected your offers multiple times."

But another shadow darted excitedly around Jinwoo's feet - Beru, almost vibrating with excitement. "My liege! My king! She's acting unapproachable! Humans sometimes show their concern this way! I've seen it in a drama!"

Jinwoo's smile widened. "You can be genuine with me" he said to you. "I know how this game goes."

"This isn't a game!" You almost shouted, drawing the attention of the nearby hunters. "I want you to leave me alone. How much clearer can I be?"

Some of the hunters stopped, watching the confrontation with concern. You felt a twinge of confusion mixed with relief at having a witness. Jinwoo noticed too, his expression darkening slightly. "We can talk about this in private" he said, shadows curling around his fingers.

"There's nothing to talk about." You backed away. "Please, just stop. Stop following me. Stop waiting outside my apartment. Stop sending your shadow to follow me. It's not romantic, it's creepy."

"My liege," Igris tried again, more forcefully. "They're really uncomfortable. This isn't love."

But Beru was louder, more determined. "My liege! The human is  testing your devotion! You must prove your devotion! In the play, the male lead follows the female lead everywhere until she admits her love!"

Jinwoo's eyes softened as he looked at you, completely misunderstanding your fear and frustration. "I understand. You need time. And proof of my intentions."

"That's not what-" You tried to clarify the situation but he chose to leave.

"I'll leave you alone." He promised to leave you alone even though his understanding of space was completely different from yours. "For now."

You remained standing while frustration caused tears to burn your eyes as he disappeared into darkness.

_____________

You discovered a small box outside your door after you opened the front door the following morning. An elegant amulet lay inside the package which appeared both valuable and hard to find. The amulet arrived without a note yet you understood its sender without any doubt.

You threw it in the trash.

That afternoon, as you trained in the Association's practice arena, you felt it again - the feeling of being watched. A quick glance up at the observation deck confirmed your fears: Jinwoo stood there, arms crossed, watching your every move with such intensity that you missed your target completely.

"He's here again?" your sparring partner asked, following your gaze.

"Always," Your words were weak as you let your weapon fall to the ground. "I cannot endure this situation any longer."

With determined steps, you advanced toward the observation deck, rage driving you forward. Jinwoo's expression lit up as he saw you approaching, as if your direct confrontation was a positive development.

"Stop," you demanded without preamble. "Stop looking at me. Stop sending me gifts. Stop pretending you don't understand what 'no' means."

Inside Jinwoo's shadow, his shadows were moving restlessly.

"My liege," Igris pleaded. "Her words are clear. She doesn't want your attention."

"My liege," Bellion added, "this behavior dishonors you as the Shadow Monarch."

But Beru rushed between them, seething with excitement. "My King! She's coming for YOU this time! This is progress! The human are acknowledging your presence! In episode fourteen of 'Love's Dark Embrace,' this is exactly what happened before the confession scene!"

Jinwoo's smile was soft, indulgent - the smile of someone indulging a child's tantrum. He asked in a soft amused voice "Did you come all the way to simply instruct me to leave? It seems counterproductive."

Your hands clenched. "Are you even listening to me? I don't like you. I don't want your attention. Please stop paying attention to me."

His genuine admiration in his voice during that moment sent a chill through your veins when he said "You're beautiful when you're angry. People are afraid to speak to me in such an aggressive manner."

"I'm not afraid of you" You pretended to be unafraid while moving away from him. "I loathe you."

A brief flash of pain and confusion appeared in his eyes together with a possible instant of awareness. But then Beru's shadow stretched between you, invisible to your eyes but whispering eagerly to his owner.

"My king! She says she's not afraid! That means she acknowledge your power but stand as your equal! The perfect mate for the Shadow Monarch!"

The moment of doubt passed, replaced by new faith. "You will be afraid," Jinwoo said softly. "Afraid of me, I mean. Before the end. But not in the way you think."

A terrifying instant passed when you thought he would reach out to touch you as he displayed his hand with shadowed fingers. His palm transformed into a small shadow creature which precisely duplicated your favorite flower through dark life.

"I will wait," he promised, handing her the shadow flower. "No matter how long it takes."

You slapped his hand away, the shadow flower dissolving into streaks of darkness. "Don't wait. Don't hope. There's nothing here for you."

As you walked away, you heard him chuckle softly. The sound followed you down the hallway, along with the faint feeling of shadows gliding across the floor as you passed.

________________

In the days that follow, Jinwoo showers you with 'gifts': rare potions left on your desk, dark creatures guarding your windows at night, even monsters attacking other hunters who work too close to you - only for Jinwoo to show up in time to 'save' you.

In Jinwoo's shadow, Igris and Bellion grow increasingly desperate.

"My liege, this has gone too far," Igris protests as Jinwoo watches your apartment from across the street, rain soaking through his coat. "She has rejected you clearly and repeatedly. This behavior is unworthy of you."

"Human is afraid of you now," Bellion adds. "Is that really what you want? To be feared by someone you supposedly care about?"

But Beru, always enthusiastic, has a different perspective. "My king! I've studied more about human courtship rituals! In the drama 'Midnight's Embrace', the female lead ran away seven times before accepting her destined love! We're only at the fifth rejection! Two more to go!"

Jinwoo smiled faintly, his eyes never leaving your silhouette through the curtain. "She doesn't understand yet," he whispered. "But she will understand."

"My king!" Beru exclaimed excitedly. "What if we demonstrate your power more clearly? Perhaps eliminate a rival for their affection? In episode twenty-six-"

"NO!" both Igris and Bellion shouted at the same time, their voices blending together in panic.

Igris immediately stepped forward, bowing his head in his armor. "My liege, with the utmost respect, eliminating potential companions is not a recognized courtship ritual. In fact, it is considered highly illegal."

Bellion added, "My liege, human feelings cannot be forced through fear. This is exactly how villains in human stories are created."

On the contrary, Beru was practically shaking with excitement. "That's what the weak humans say! In the forty-fifth episode of 'Midnight's Embrace', the hero defeated seventeen opponents, and the heroine fell in love with him even more because of it! We just need a good soundtrack and rain!!"

Igris slowly turned his head, glaring at Beru with the tired eyes of a man who had seen too much nonsense. "My liege, please stop listening to Beru. He has been corrupted by human dramas."

Bellion nodded seriously. "We need a different approach. Or better yet, no approach at all."

Jinwoo paid no attention to their questions as he continued to stare at the dim light coming from your apartment window. His lips curved upward as he slightly turned his head. "She is lonely," he whispered. "She acts strong, but I can feel it. Her heart is screaming."

Beru gasped dramatically, placing both hands on his chest. "MY KING! What an unparalleled sensitivity! The bond between you two has formed!"

Igris, face cold "My liege, what you're feeling is fear. Terror to be exact."

Bellion, voice old and exhausted "My liege, if you continue, I'm afraid the only constraint you'll create is a ban."

The rain continued to fall, lightly hitting Jinwoo's coat as he stood there, motionless.

Beru continued to whisper encouragement like a mother on stage at a toddler beauty pageant, while Igris and Bellion exchanged a look that said something very clear 'We're really doomed.'

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jinwoo turned back to look at them, his voice soft but firm. "Prepare a small guard tonight. I don't want anything to happen to her."

Igris hesitated. "As small as...?"

Jinwoo's smile widened a little. "Just a dozen shadows. Stealth units. And Bellion, assign two knights to track any humans who come near her."

Bellion opened his mouth to protest, but then gave up completely, slumping slightly. "Yes, My liege.."

Beru saluted with ridiculous enthusiasm, almost rolling backwards "BY YOUR ORDER, MY KING! FOR LOVE AND VICTORY!!"

As the shadows dissolved into the storm, preparing to keep silent watch around your apartment, Igris whispered to Bellion, "Do you think it's too late to surrender to the Rulers?"

Bellion stared blankly at the rain. "It's too, too late."

____________________

Jinwoo:

Reader in this story:

Repost this 'cause my lovely darling said they can't read on wattpad......

[screamlet]

hi hellooo for the intimacy prompts: ♟ Patching up a wound

well hello i'm back and it turns out i did have another one of these! in the same urgent care/dr. donna universe as the other patching up a wound fic. 1.2k, established bucktommy, future fic, set about a year+ after 8x15 (so canon compliant for 8x15). from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

and this is the last one!!!!!!!!! thank you all for the prompts!!!!! they're all available here and i'll post them to the ao3 at some point.

---

"Hey, you're back!" Dr. Donna says cheerily. "They should have told you at the front desk, though: I don't do loyalty cards. The 10th visit isn't free."

"No offense, but let's not see each other eight more times," Tommy says as politely as he can manage. (He can't manage much.)

Dr. Donna shoots him a wry look. "I don't just do stitches. I showed up for other parts of medical school, too, I promise."

"It's okay, it's me this time," Evan says, proud of his several-inches-long gash for some reason. "I was fixing this wooden post in our garden and, I don't even know, this happened."

Dr. Donna checks out Evan's bicep and winces. Tommy hasn't looked at the wound since Evan yelled in pain from the yard; they immediately covered it with some paper towels before jumping in the car to urgent care, but it's still too vivid in his imagination. "Jeez, it sure did happen. Shirley already gave you a tetanus shot so I'm just here for the fun part, huh?"

"Let 'em rip," Evan says. "Or not, since they're stitches. Hey, do you use the same kind of stitches for everything you sew up or do you mix it up? Like is it your choice or do you have to use a different kind of stitch for—"

Tommy's been doing a great job, he thinks, of Saturday afternoon moral support here at their local urgent care, but he's still not great with the stitches thing, with the doctors thing. People would think, pretty reasonably, that seeing as much trauma and outright carnage as he does on a daily basis for the past 20 years would mean that he's used to it, he's seen it all, and that's true—except. This is someone he loves getting a needle and thread jabbed through their skin several times because he let a particularly large bird distract him from repairing one of their raised garden beds. It's not the same thing.

"Evan," Tommy interrupts. "I love you so much, I do, you're the love of my life and there's no one I'd rather share all of this with, but you have got to stop talking about sewing your skin together before I throw up everywhere."

"Ooh, that'd be messy," Dr. Donna says. She looks away from Evan's arm and asks Tommy, "Do you want to lie down in one of the other rooms?"

"Yeah, Tommy, it's okay," Evan says. "Seriously, she's so quick."

"I'm so quick," Dr. Donna, Evan's new best friend, assures him. "Shirley, get him a compress and some smelling salts, and put him in room 6, huh?"

"No, I'm fine, I am," Tommy says, even though lying down sounds amazing right now. "I'm here for moral support and I'm doing it, right? I'm being so supportive. I just—"

"Tommy," Evan says, his voice gentle. "I promise, you'll be a lot more supportive if you're okay in another room, alright? You're making me nervous."

"Okay," Tommy says slowly. "Okay, I'll go, but I'm not abandoning you, I promise, I'm just—"

Evan tugs on the front of Tommy's shirt and pulls him in for a quick kiss. "You're not abandoning me. I know that. I'll be right out to get you, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy says. "I'll be right in—that room she said. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"I know you're not," Evan says. "I know you're here."

---

Shirley takes him to another room and helps him to lie on the exam bed. The lights are dim, he's got a cold compress, and for one reason or another, he's trying to remember Ian McKellen's monologue from The Two Towers. Through fire and water, from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth…

"Something something, smote his ruin upon the mountainside, ugh, I know that's not all of it," Tommy grumbles under his breath. Suddenly there's a quiet knock at the door and it's Evan, smiling like they're anywhere else doing anything else.

"Shh, you're good, don't sit up," Evan says as he pulls over a stool. "I'm all set. You wanna hear how many?"

"What'd you bet, 12?"

"I guessed 12 and I got 15! Same as you!"

Tommy closes his eyes. "You're so excited about that."

"What? We have matching scars. That's pretty cool." Evan pauses. "I wonder if she gave me an extra so we'd have the same. Dr. Donna wouldn't do that, right? Is that malpractice? I guess it was just a coincidence. I don't really care."

It's a short rolling stool, so Evan stands up and leans over Tommy. He lifts the compress so he can press a kiss to Tommy's forehead, then puts it back. "I'm sorry I got all carried away with gross stuff. How are you feeling?"

"Stupid. Really stupid." Tommy sighs. "I've popped shoulder joints back into place, tied off bleeds with tourniquets and t-shirts and whatever I have, literally held someone's guts together once, and I just…"

"Hey, hey." Evan leans down again and kisses Tommy's lips. "Stop apologizing, you don't have to prove you're a big tough guy. I know you are. Everyone's got their stuff. I can make myself a little sick just thinking about cutting up raw chicken breast. It's gross as hell."

"This isn't gross kitchen stuff," Tommy protests. "You needed me for something serious and I—"

"Chickened out?"

"Once I can stand and open my eyes for more than five seconds, I'm kicking you in the shin."

"Yeah, that's fair." Evan kisses him again. "Tommy, it's okay. When haven't you come through for me when I needed you?"

Tommy tries nodding without making himself nauseated. "Let's make a list of acceptable urgent care conversation topics on your phone, I'll keep some good noise-canceling headphones in the glove compartment, and neither of us will ever get injured again, okay? You heard Dr. Donna, she doesn't do discounts."

"Actually, since she teaches at the medical school, too, she's giving a talk next week or so about some new research in—" Evan catches himself. "Research in medical stuff. I'm gonna go to that and you have the house to yourself."

"Sounds like a blast, send her my best."

Tommy opens his eyes to the dim room and Evan standing over him, looking so soft and concerned. "I'm okay."

"I know you are," Evan says. "And this doesn't count, okay?"

"Doesn't…"

"You didn't leave me," Evan whispers. "I know you never will."

Tommy doesn't have anything else to say, so Evan kisses him again, then presses his ear to Tommy's chest, right over his heart. Tommy lifts his hand and rests it on Evan's head, fingers flexing gently in his curls until Evan stands up again.

"Oh, wait, actually," Evan says.

"You're too excited, please stop this ride."

Evan digs into his pocket and holds up a handful of lollipops. "She let me take one of each of the citrus ones, and a strawberry one. They're all yours."

Tommy sticks them all in his shirt pocket for easy access later. "When you run off with Dr. Donna, remember that I tried to be a good boyfriend, okay?"

"Shut up," Evan laughs, kissing him again. "Redheads… are a little my type, but not as much as you are."

"Are you helping or hurting, Evan? Helping or hurting?"

[hopeyoufindalovelikethis]

Hello! After gathering my courage, I’m excited to share my first piece of writing here. I prefer a love that's warm and homey, not rushed — something slow and real. I hope you enjoy it and that it resonates with you.

Synopsis | Your first time — where Sylus tries so hard to be gentle, even when every part of him is burning with need, because he refuses to scare or hurt you.

The world outside didn’t matter. There was only Sylus — and the way he looked at you, like you were something fragile and precious he had no idea how to hold without breaking.

He hovered above you on the bed, his tall, broad frame almost eclipsing you completely. His white hair, usually so perfectly in place, was a tousled halo around his fierce, too-bright eyes. His tailored suit had been tossed aside, shirt half-unbuttoned, clinging to him like a second skin.

He could crush you without meaning to. And maybe that's why he moved like every breath was a war he fought against himself. You reached up — hand trembling — and brushed your fingers against his cheek.

He flinched. Not away from you — never from you — but from the tenderness he found in your touch. As if he didn’t believe he deserved it.

“Sylus...,” your voice came out small, breaking, but it made his whole body shudder.

He leaned down, so slowly, giving you a lifetime to pull away. You didn’t. You never would. His lips met yours, feather-light, trembling with restraint.

His hand — massive compared to yours — cradled the side of your face, thumb stroking a line just under your eye. You were so small beneath him and he was so painfully aware of it. Every move he made was hesitant, asking permission without words, terrified of hurting you even by accident. You felt the strength coiled under his skin, barely held back. The shivering in his shoulders. The quiet, desperate way he breathed you in.

The kiss deepened when you rose up slightly, pressing closer to him. That small, instinctive motion cracked something inside Sylus.

He let out a low, guttural noise, something helpless and broken, and gathered you up against him — hands sliding down your sides, so, so carefully, like he was touching something sacred.

He kissed you harder, but still shaking, trying to anchor himself. You could feel the tension in him — the way he trembled from the effort of holding himself back.

His knee nudged your thighs apart almost without thinking, but the second he realized, he froze, forehead pressing against yours, breathing ragged.

"Tell me to stop,” he rasped.

You opened your eyes — wide, dark brown, shining — and shook your head.

"Please, don't stop, Sylus.”

Sylus swore under his breath, voice low and guttural, and kissed you again, this time deeper, slower, almost reverent. His hands roamed over your body, mapping every curve, every tremble, with aching tenderness.

Every time you gasped, every tiny whimper you couldn't hold back, Sylus paused, shuddering, checking you were okay. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, the small of your back, everywhere but where you needed him most — afraid to rush you, afraid to ruin this moment.

You finally had to reach for him, small hands fumbling at his shirt, pulling him closer, grounding him.

"I'm not glass," you whispered, voice cracking with emotion.

At that, Sylus broke.

He kissed you like he was starving, his body pressing more firmly to yours, surrounding you. He shifted lower, carefully easing you back onto the bed, his weight a heavy, comforting presence. Even then, he bore himself up on his elbows, not daring to let himself rest fully on you, not wanting to overwhelm you.

You felt every second of it — how carefully he aligned himself with you, how his big hands framed your hips, almost reverently, thumbs stroking soft, absent circles against your skin.

Sylus stilled above you, his breath ragged, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. His ruby-red eyes were soft, studying your face with a mixture of concern and reverence, as if trying to read every flicker of emotion there.

He could feel it in the way you tensed, in the delicate tremble of your body beneath him. He needed to be sure. Needed to make sure this was something you wanted. Something you were ready for.

“Are you okay?” His voice was rough when he spoke, barely a whisper.

His fingers gently brushed the side of your face, a question in the touch. His thumb stroked across your cheek, eyes locked onto yours, checking for any flicker of hesitation. His tone both urgent and tender.

“I need to know, if you need me to stop... just say the word.”

His body remained poised, controlled, a silent promise not to move further unless you were ready. It was as if every inch of his being was focused on your comfort, the intensity of his usual self-control now wrapped in a gentle restraint.

You could feel his heart beating beneath you, wild and frantic, but every part of him was waiting — waiting for you. He leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

“Do you need more time?” His voice was softer now, his words a reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere, but I need to know you’re okay.”

Sylus’s gaze flickered down to your body, then back up to your face, never once breaking his careful watch. He didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to overwhelm you. The weight of his desire was tempered by a raw vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see.

“Please, just tell me what you need.” His words were thick with emotion, and it was clear: He’d do anything for you — but only if you were ready.

Sylus’s hands trembled slightly, though his touch was steady as it traced the outline of your jaw, lingering near the curve of your neck. It was almost as if he were memorizing the feel of you — every inch, every soft curve — as though afraid to break the fragile moment.

His gaze was unwavering, locked onto yours, his red eyes filled with something so much more than hunger. There was love there, a tenderness that clashed with the fierce reputation he wore in the outside world.

“Let me know if I’m pushing you too far,” he murmured, his voice a deep growl of raw emotion. “I’ll stop if you need me to. I won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”

The words were both a promise and a plea, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of causing you pain, emotional or physical. Even as the ache in his body grew stronger, he remained still, his body poised in a perfect balance of restraint. He wanted you so badly, but more than that, he needed you to feel safe — to feel wanted for you — not just in the ways he desired.

“I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. You’ve never done anything wrong. If you need a moment, I’ll give you all the time in the world.”

His thumb brushed across your lips, a soft, reverent gesture. There was no question in his voice, no uncertainty. Only the raw devotion that he had for you — the willingness to move at your pace, to honor your body and your feelings in the way he had promised.

He waited for you, reading your face, looking for the tiniest shift in your expression. His own breaths were coming in shallow gasps, but he held back. He had to be sure. He couldn’t risk moving any further unless he knew you were ready, even if the burning desire inside him made him feel like he might break from the weight of it.

You could see the conflict on his face, the way he fought against his own instincts, his own overwhelming need for you. You could feel the weight of his desire, but it was tempered with something far deeper — respect.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice steady, though laced with longing, “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze, your breath coming faster now, the uncertainty still gnawing at you, but the reassurance in his eyes began to calm your nerves. You knew he was being so careful with you, so patient — and something in his touch, in his gaze, made you feel like you could trust him completely. You were scared, yes. But in his arms, it didn’t feel like fear.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, your voice small, tentative, but full of longing.

You wanted this, wanted him — and yet, there was still a part of you that feared he might change his mind. Sylus smiled softly, the edge of his usual sternness softening as he lowered his forehead to yours.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” His voice was steady now, calm but full of deep emotion. “This is you and me, and nothing else matters.”

He let his lips hover just above yours, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The world outside disappeared. There was only him, only the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You could feel his care wrapping around you like a blanket, pulling you closer to him.

“Are you ready?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, the tenderness in his tone making your heart flutter. “We go at your pace. Always.”

There, in that moment, you knew — with him, it would never be about rushing, never about expectations or pressure. Sylus would never push you. He was waiting for you to decide, for you to choose, and that small action — giving you the control — made all the difference.

With a soft exhale, you nodded — shy, vulnerable, pulling him closer, feeling the safety and love in his arms. The moment of hesitation melted, replaced with the quiet heat of desire, and Sylus pressed forward so gently, inch by careful inch, it almost broke your heart.

When he finally entered you, it was with a broken, whispered groan, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of holding himself back. You clung to him, burying your face against his neck, holding your voice, breathing him in, feeling the stretch, the pain, the fullness, the heat, the trembling, the love that were brought by him in waves.

He lifted his face and now was inches from yours, his breath warm and shallow against your skin. His lips brushed yours with an almost reverent touch, and the kiss was soft at first, lingering, as though he were savoring the moment. When he deepened it, it was still slow — tender — as if each second was a treasure, each caress a reminder of what they were building together.

You gasped softly, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sensation — the intimacy, the reality of him being inside you, a slow, burning stretch that made your chest ache.

Sylus froze the moment he heard it, panic flashing across his face, his voice cracked, “Am I—?”

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling where they cradled you, still fighting to be impossibly gentle. You shook your head quickly, pulling him down, and your hands caressed his ethereal face.

“No... please, don’t stop,” you whispered, voice breaking with emotion.

He kissed you then — so tenderly you thought you might fall apart — and continued moving, slower than the ticking of time, easing into you with painstaking care. Every shift, every small adjustment was deliberate, carefully timed — he made sure you felt no discomfort, only the slow, steady pressure of him, pushing and pulling with a tenderness, giving you the chance to breathe, to guide him as much as he guided you.

His eyes never left yours, constantly checking for any sign of discomfort, any trace of hesitation. Every shallow breath he took was laced with restraint, as if he couldn’t bear the idea of hurting you, even by accident. And with each glance and breath, his red eyes softened, the intensity of his usual gaze replaced with something gentler, something that only you could inspire.

Suddenly, a dark thought crawled into your mind. Your body — soft, curvier than the women you knew he had always been surrounded by — tensed under him at first, old insecurities bubbling up, unwelcome. You couldn’t help but wonder — if he noticed, if he compared.

But, as if you speaked your insecurities out loud, Sylus shifted slightly, framing your face between his hands, his red eyes burning into yours — not with lust, but something rawer. Deeper.

“You don’t even know, do you...” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion.

You blinked up at him, confused, trembling.

He pulled back his face — his gaze softened unbearably — to whisper, “Only you,” he said, voice cracking, “Only you.”

Tears welled up behind your eyes, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from relief. From the kind of love that could see every imperfect part of you — and cherish it like it was the rarest thing on earth.

Sylus rocked into you again, still painfully slow — cradling your body like something he couldn’t bear to lose, pausing every few seconds to brush your hair back, to kiss your forehead, to murmur your name like a prayer. His hands, so large and strong, mapped your curves with almost desperate reverence, fingers splaying against your hips, your waist, your back — not to control, not to claim — but to worship.

The deeper you sank into him, the more you realized that this — this slow, loving rhythm — was what you’d needed all along. It wasn’t just about the physical act. It was the quiet, aching connection between two souls finding their way toward each other.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your hair. “You’re mine.”

You were overwhelmed — not by the physicality, but by the depth of emotion. The way he worshiped you with every touch. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world and he was terrified of ruining you. Tears slipped from your eyes — not from pain, but from something far deeper.

Sylus felt them immediately. He pulled back just enough to see you, panic flashing across his face again. But when he saw your smile — trembling, tearful, utterly happy — he made a broken sound, held you tighter, and kissed you fiercely, again and again, like he could taste the emotion between your tears.

As the night wore on, Sylus’s steady movements became more familiar, and with that familiarity came a deeper understanding of one another. You both moved together, a dance of trust and tenderness, of soft gasps and shared warmth. There was no rush, no moment of doubt — only the slow, steady building of something undeniable.

The world outside of the two of you ceased to exist. There was only the space between your hearts, the soft press of your bodies together, the heat of your connection radiating in every touch. Sylus’s movements were deliberate, never hasty, as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of his affection, every ounce of his love.

When the two of you finally found stillness, when his body rested against yours, and your limbs tangled together under the warmth of the blankets, there was no need for words. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you protectively, pulling you closer as if to keep you from ever drifting away.

“You’re mine, in every way,” he whispered, his lips against your forehead, as if he needed to remind you that this moment, this love, was real. “And I’ll spend every day making sure you know it.”

His voice was thick with the weight of his emotions, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You didn’t respond immediately, not needing to, because in that moment, you knew. You felt it. The bond between you was unbreakable, forged not just in the intensity of the physical, but in the quiet tenderness that only the two of you shared.

You curled into him, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath you, the soft warmth of his skin against yours a constant reminder that you were loved. Not because of how you looked, or because of any expectation, but because of who you were — the woman he’d chosen, the woman he would never let go.

Sylus held you close, his breath slow and even now. You buried your face against him — listening to his heartbeats, breathing in the smell of his skin, feeling his warmth. As you drifted into a peaceful, contented sleep, wrapped up in the softness of his love, finally you let yourself believe:

You were safe.

You were loved.

You were understood.