#been cracking up at this sitting in my inbox for days

[narutocharacterpolls]

Propaganda: Kakashi wants you to vote Tsunade

Source: trust me

[ID: A screenshot of post from bakashikashi that reads “When I was training to be Hokage lady Tsunade told me she puts xanax in the Elders’ tea before meetings so they’ll wrap things up quicker. Proud to follow in her footsteps #feminist” END ID]

[abbotjack]

Put Him on Speaker

summary : Jack gets home from a long night shift, exhausted and unreadable as always. When Robby calls for a quick update, you decide to test his patience—climbing into his lap and pushing until he breaks.

word count : 1,518

a/n : this is for the one anon in my inbox! a bit shorter than usual, expect something with more substance once finals are over next friday unless I procrastinate studying, then you'll get something sooner

content/warning: explicit sexual content, reader giving oral while jack is on the phone with robby, bratty teasing, silent/dom jack, power dynamics, spit/slick/throatplay mentions, phone call tension, implied punishment sex, language, 18+ only MDNI

It’s a few minutes past 7:00 a.m. when Jack finally walks through the door.

You don’t need to check the time—you know it by the rhythm. The precise click of the deadbolt, the hollow knock of his boot hitting hardwood, then the softer drag of the other. Not a limp. Not pain. Just the quiet, practiced gait of a man who’s used to carrying more than he should. He moves slower after shifts like this—like the night didn’t end, just rearranged itself and followed him home in silence.

You listen from the couch as the weight of him settles into the apartment. Keys hit the counter with a dull clatter. His backpack lands against the back of the kitchen chair, the sound muted but final. Then the crack and hiss of a beer bottle opening, followed by a long, scraped-out breath like it’s been sitting in his lungs since midnight.

You don’t get up.

You’re curled sideways in the corner of the couch, legs bare, the hem of one of his old Penguins shirts skimming the tops of your thighs. The blanket’s twisted somewhere near your feet. You’re scrolling absently through your phone, pretending not to track every move he makes with your breath.

You don’t look at him. “Rough night?”

Jack grunts. The kind that says everything and nothing. “Watched a kid try to clamp off an artery with a fucking Kelly.”

You wince, lips twitching. “Oof.”

“I earned this beer.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes catching on the strain in his jaw. “It’s not even light out. You starting early with the day-drinking and trauma-dumping?”

He snorts, dragging the bottle to his mouth. “Only if you beg me for it.”

You tilt your head, faux-sweet. “Why are you grumpy? I waited up.”

That gets a flicker of softness in his eyes. “You always do.”

You stretch, slow and easy, your shirt riding up your thighs like it has a mind of its own. “I didn’t say I waited nicely.”

His gaze drops. Tracks the length of your legs like a man committing the lines to memory. “Should’ve known.”

You shift, tuck your legs beneath you, chin tipped with interest. “Was it the post-op guy from yesterday?”

Jack rolls his shoulder, still rubbing at the back of his neck like the shift’s clinging to him. “Yeah. McKay was ready to page IR, but Dana stopped her. Mohan flagged the labs hours ago—picked it up before it spiraled. Saved the guy a ton of unnecessary bullshit.”

You smile—just enough to be smug. “So you’re saying Dr. Mohan was right.”

He exhales hard through his nose. “I’m saying she wasn’t wrong.”

Jack crosses the room and drops onto the couch with the kind of full-bodied heaviness that only happens after an overnight in hell. His scrubs are creased, collar damp from scrubbing out, and he smells like antiseptic, cold metal, and the hollow sterility of trauma bay walls. There’s a settled tension in his body, like exhaustion and adrenaline are still playing tug-of-war under his skin.

He leans his head back. Closes his eyes.

The quiet stretches long enough to start sinking in—until his phone buzzes against the armrest.

Jack groans, already bracing. “If that’s Gloria, I swear to Christ—”

He glances at the screen. Jaw flexes. “Robby.”

You raise a brow. “Your work husband calling for pillow talk?”

“He’s covering days,” Jack mutters, already lifting the phone. “Wants to know if the patient made it through the night.”

“You’re off the clock,” you say, sliding easily into his lap. “Can’t it wait?”

He flicks a tired look at you. “Five minutes.”

“You said five minutes last time.”

“This time I mean it.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He smirks, but it’s faint. Tired. “You always say that.”

Then he answers, voice shifting in an instant—cool, even, professional. Doctor mode.

“Yeah,” he says. His grip finds your hip as you settle in. “Vitals held. He coded once overnight, but charge caught it early.”

You roll your hips. Just enough to make sure he feels it.

His fingers tighten.

“I left instructions. Hourly monitoring,” he says, like nothing’s happening. Like you’re not already winding him up.

You press your lips to the side of his neck. “You’re really gonna do this whole call while pretending you’re not already hard for me?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. His grip answers for him.

“She’s covering now,” Jack adds, voice sharp, eyes fixed straight ahead.

You slide off his lap, slow and sweet, and kneel between his legs.

Jack’s eyes drop to you. His pupils darken.

He mouths: Don’t.

You mouth: You shouldn’t have answered.

You palm him through his scrubs—feel him twitch, thick and eager under your touch. When you tug the waistband down, he falls heavy into your hand, hot and hard and already leaking against your skin.

“No, I’m listening,” Jack says, but his voice hitches, subtle.

You stroke him once—just a tease. Then lean in and lick a slow line along the underside.

“BP held. No fever. No new complaints,” he grits, every word controlled. Distant. Like you’re not kneeling between his knees with spit on your chin and a grin in your eyes.

You hum around him as you take him into your mouth.

Jack’s voice stumbles. “Still stable. Same overnight.”

You suck slow, deep, obscene. Your hand works what your mouth can’t reach. You pop off with a wet sound and a smirk. “Put him on speaker.”

“No.”

“What, scared he’ll hear how good I make you feel?”

Jack doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t answer. Just grips the phone like it’s the only tether he’s got.

You take him deeper—messier, filthier. Your spit coats everything, dripping from your lips, your chin, your fingers curled tight around the base. He twitches on your tongue, every breath he takes more ragged than the last.

“No,” he says into the phone, voice thinning at the edges. “I’m fine. Just—tired.”

You gag around him on purpose, let it echo wet and obscene. Then pull back slowly, deliberately, looking up through your lashes, mouth shiny and wicked.

“Gonna come with him still listening?”

Jack's hand lifts, covering the phone’s speaker. “Shut the fuck up,” he whispers, barely audible, like it’s carved straight from the edge of control. “Keep going and I swear to God—”

But he never finishes the threat—because you don’t stop. You go harder, meaner, your mouth a mess, your hand slick and ruthless at the base. His cock twitches against your tongue, spit coating everything—your lips, your chin, your fingers. Your throat tightens around him, your jaw aching, but you don’t let up.

Jack’s other hand fists the cushion, knuckles bone-white. His chest is rising fast now, breath sharp and uneven, like he’s losing the fight he won’t admit he’s in. Like you're dragging him under, and he’s letting you.

“Yeah,” he bites out. “Just send the labs—I’ll deal with it later.”

He looks down at you, jaw tight, breath shallow, eyes dark with a fury that barely masks how hard he is for you.

“Robby—I’ve gotta call you back.”

“Everything alright?” Robby asks.

Jack’s voice drops an octave. “It will be.”

He hangs up.

Then he looks down at you.

And everything in his face is wrecked.

"You’re in so much fucking trouble.”

You moan around him, smug.

He thrusts once—deep, sudden, overwhelming. You choke, recover, and go harder.

You’re a mess—slurping, gagging, swallowing around him like it’s the only thing you’ve ever been good at. He’s pulsing now, hips twitching, mouth slack.

“Shit—baby—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You suck him deeper. Tighter. He breaks.

His whole body jerks forward. He comes down your throat with a raw, guttural groan. You swallow every last drop.

He breathes like he’s just come up for air, chest rising in sharp, broken pulls. You don’t stop—not until his thigh jerks beneath you and his hand clamps around your wrist, firm and final, forcing you to still.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Catch your breath.

Then you crawl back into his lap, smug as hell, lips swollen and slick, like you didn’t just make a mess of him on purpose.

Jack doesn’t speak. Just grabs your chin in one firm hand and drags you into a kiss—slow, punishing, laced with quiet vengeance.

Then, low in your ear, deadly calm: “If he calls back,” he growls, “I’m putting you on speaker. Let him hear how desperate you sound when you’re acting like a fucking brat.”

He shifts beneath you, hand sliding down to grip your waist tight, grounding himself.

“You think you’ve won,” he murmurs, voice dark and steady. “But you’re not even close to finished.”

He leans in, breath searing the shell of your ear. “Get up. Strip. Face down on the couch.”

Your breath stalls. Heart pounds. He hasn’t raised his voice once. Doesn’t need to.

“I let you have your little game,” he murmurs, all quiet. “Now it’s my turn.”

[luvergirl-535]

clean up nice

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 2.3k

c/w - fluff, no smut sorry :( but no not forget that daddy!paige is still on its way so you’ll be getting smth spicy soon.

a/n - got a random burst of creativity, and what did i decide to do with it? work on finishing one of my many wips, you ask? no. instead i dug into the depths of my inbox and found an old ass prompt to write for, lol. you can find the prompt here.

azzi is, quite frankly, over it.

the weight room had been brutal, the team group chat has been blowing up with nonsense, and her econ professor had assigned a surprise pop quiz that was neither surprising nor a quiz—just a pure academic crime. by the time she trudges across campus toward paige’s dorm, her shoulders are tight, her jaw hurts from clenching, and she’s two seconds away from chucking her water bottle at a freshman just to feel something.

all she wants is to shower, collapse into a hoodie, maybe read the same page of her book eight times before giving up, and fall asleep next to her girlfriend. preferably with her favorite pillow—paige’s arm—cushioned under her head.

she lets herself into the dorm, ready to ignore any of her other teammates who might be lurking and head straight to paige’s room. she gets inside and toes off her shoes, pulling off her hoodie to try and cool down—

but then she stops cold.

paige is on the floor.

and not in a playing-video-games, or making-a-ridiculous-tiktok kind of way. no. she’s kneeling in a sports bra and loose basketball shorts, scrubbing something on the floor with determination. her hair is up in a messy bun. the speakers are playing slow r&b, the window is cracked open, and light is streaming in just right to make the whole thing look like a thirst trap with cleaning supplies.

azzi blinks once. then twice. her lips part slightly.

“yo,” paige says without looking up, “watch out, i just mopped.”

azzi stares. she might have stopped breathing.

“…what are you doing?”

paige’s head pops up at the sound of azzi’s voice. “oh, hey, mama. sorry, thought you were jana.” she gestures around the room. “it was gettin’ gross in here. and since nobody else fuckin’ cleans, figured i should probably take care of it.”

azzi looks around. the place is spotless. floor shining. sheets changed. even the window track—the window track!—is wiped down. azzi looks at the sink and swears it blinds her.

paige sits back on her heels and wipes an arm across her face, leaving a streak of sweat—glistening and enticing—on her forehead.

azzi’s soul leaves her body.

“you okay?” paige asks, going back to her scrubbing. azzi looks closer—she’s cleaning the baseboards. and her back is flexing as she does it.

azzi inhales sharply. “uh-huh.”

paige shifts, glancing back over her shoulder. “you look surprised.”

“i…did not know you got down like this.”

“yeah, well, last week you saw me make a protein shake in a blender bottle that hadn’t been washed since pre-season. so consider this redemption.”

azzi opens her mouth to respond and then pauses. she has nothing appropriate to say, to be honest. not when she’d walked in expecting a nap and is now watching her girlfriend crawl across the floor like a navy seal.

“how was your day?” paige asks nonchalantly. sun streams through the windows, hitting her arms in such a way it perfectly contours her muscles. “you wanna snack or sum’?”

“no,” azzi says slowly, settling herself down onto the couch without taking her eyes off paige’s back. “i want you to come over here.”

“yep,” paige says without hesitation, dropping her washcloth into the bucket and walking over to azzi. azzi reaches up, prepared to pull paige down and never let her go again, but paige doesn’t give her the time—just goes in for a quick kiss before leaving again.

“paige!” azzi says. “i want you to snuggle me.”

paige smiles, sweet and oblivious, as she kneels back down. “we can snuggle all you want as soon as i’m done. i just gotta hit the closet first.”

azzi blinks hard. “how long have you been at this?”

paige shrugs—shoulder muscles. “i’on know. a couple hours? but i haven’t cleaned my closet in forever. there’s, like, dust on some of my shoes. it’s nasty.”

“wow. okay. you’re really…” she waves a hand at paige’s whole situation, “doing the most.”

paige beams. “you noticed! i even used vinegar on the mirrors. no streaks. drew’s mom taught me.”

azzi just stares at her. “cooool, coolcoolccoolcool. that’s super cool.”

paige stands up and stretches her back with a groan, revealing an infuriating strip of boxer below her waistband. “shit, my back is killing me. i’ve been crouching for like two hours.”

“i can help with that,” azzi says, far too quickly. “you want a massage?”

“nah, i’ll do some stretches after this,” paige says casually, walking to the kitchen to grab some clorox and wiping down the counter. “you look exhausted, though. go lie down, i’ll be done soon.”

“or,” azzi says, getting up and trailing her, “you could stop cleaning now. and we could do…other things.”

“like what? i already asked if you wanted a snack.”

“jesus christ,” azzi whispers to herself.

“huh?”

“nothing, babe.” azzi plasters on a smile. “i’m just… really impressed by your…cleanliness.”

paige snorts. “what does that mean?”

“it means watching you clean is making me…feel things, paige.”

“ohhh,” paige says slowly, like she’s catching on. azzi perks up.

“yeah?” azzi asks, hopeful.

“you’re saying you want me to clean your dorm next time, right?”

“no!” azzi shouts. “i’m saying i want you to push me up against a…” she gestures wildly, “very clean wall.”

paige frowns. “you okay? you seem, like, really high-strung.”

“i wonder why,” azzi deadpans.

“bad day?”

“you could say that,” she mutters. “considering i walked in on you looking like a really hot mr. clean commercial.”

paige makes a face. “is that a compliment?” then, “you’re being weird.”

“i’m being turned on, paige. i feel like we’ve been together long enough that you know what me turned on looks like.”

paige raises her hands in surrender. “okay, okay. sorry. i thought you’d be cool with the cleaning.”

“i am! it’s impressive! and hot! i love it, actually!”

paige pauses. squints at her.

“…wait. are you into this?”

azzi massages the bridge of her nose. “oh my god.”

“i just thought you were being supportive,” paige says. “like, ‘oh yay, my girlfriend’s being productive.’ not ‘oh yay, my girlfriend’s making me all wet with the windex.’”

“you are so fucking stupid.”

“am i wrong?”

azzi pretends to consider this, then turns on her heel, marching toward paige’s bedroom.

“hey,” paige calls, following her. “where you goin’?”

“somewhere i can protect my peace,” azzi calls back. she turns to close the door, but paige gets there just in time, sticking a foot in between the doorframe and stopping her.

azzi opens the door slowly, met with paige’s smug grin. “you’re enjoying this.”

“maybe a little,” paige leans in, voice suddenly lower. “you want me to keep my hair up?”

azzi lets the door swing open the rest of the way, smoothing a hand up paige’s shoulder. “you don’t get to tease me after getting me all worked up.”

“baby, i was just cleaning.”

“exactly!” azzi says. “you were on your hands and knees, paige.”

paige takes her by the waist, backing her slowly into the bedroom. “so what—you were suffering that whole time?”

“i’m two seconds away from wrecking your perfect little chore schedule.”

paige’s eyes darken slightly, like the teasing has officially run its course. she pauses when the backs of azzi’s knees hit the mattress, then pushes her down, a hand around her back keeping them connected as paige follows closely after.

“well,” she murmurs, hand settling beside azzi’s head on the pillow, “room is clean.”

“uh-huh.”

“laundry’s done.”

“mm-hmm.”

“guess there’s only one mess left to make.”

azzi rolls her eyes, but wraps an arm around paige’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss. “hair stays up,” she demands, urging paige into the crook of her neck.

paige obeys, licking a short stripe up the column of azzi’s throat, all heat and thin restraint. “yes, ma’am.”

[holyblonded]

other mother | stargirl

pairings: olga rios x teen!reader, alexia putellas x teen!reader, jenni hermoso x teen!reader

summary: jenni is in town and your closeness with her has olga feeling insecure as her position as your mother

notes: my inbox was flooded with people asking for this so here yall go 😀

“It’s Jenni Day!” you cheered as you practically skipped down the stairs, nearly tripping over your own feet in excitement. The smell of your favorite omelet filled the air, and when you entered the kitchen, you saw Olga at the stove, expertly flipping an egg while Alexia sat at the breakfast bar, sipping her tea.

“Jenni Day, Jenni Day, Jenni Day!” You chanted, throwing in a dramatic spin before moonwalking across the kitchen floor.

Alexia chuckled, shaking her head at your antics. “I take it you’re excited?”

“Yes! Do you know why?” You grinned, pointing at her like a game show host about to reveal the grand prize. “Because it’s Jenni Day!”

You launched into another celebratory dance, arms flailing, feet shuffling, completely lost in your own little world. Alexia laughed into her tea, and even Olga cracked a smile as she plated your omelet.

“You have way too much energy this early,” Olga mused, setting your plate in front of you.

“Of course I do! Jenni is coming, and it’s been forever since I last saw her!” You threw yourself into the stool next to Alexia, bouncing in place. “We’re still going to the airport to pick her up, right?”

Alexia nodded. “That’s the plan.”

Before you could respond, a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. You frowned, confused, whoever was here was intruding on your special celebration.

Alexia stood to answer it, but the moment the door swung open, a familiar voice rang out.

“¡Mi pequeño diabla!” (My little devil)

Your eyes widened in pure joy. “Jenni!”

Without hesitation, you bolted from your seat, sprinting across the kitchen and launching yourself into her arms. Jenni caught you with ease, laughing as she lifted you off the ground and spun you in a circle.

“My diablita, look at you! Have you grown? Or am I just getting old?” she teased, pressing loud, exaggerated kisses all over your face.

You giggled, squeezing her tight. “You’re ancient, Jenni.”

She gasped, feigning offense. “¡Qué mala!” She set you down only for you to immediately latch onto her side, practically glued to her as you dragged her toward the breakfast bar.

“Okay, okay, come sit! I have so much to tell you!” You pulled her into the seat next to yours, eyes bright with excitement. “You missed so much! Oh my god, wait, did you see my last match? And also, you have to see this new trick I learned— oh! And guess what? I have a girlfriend now! Her name is Soleil, and she’s the best, and I need to show you pictures—”

Jenni listened with an amused smile, nodding along as you spoke a mile a minute, gesturing wildly with your hands.

Meanwhile, Olga, who had turned back to the stove, found herself oddly quiet. She glanced over her shoulder at the way you clung to Jenni, the way you looked at her like she hung the moon, and something inside her twisted.

She knew Jenni had been in your life for years, had played a huge role in your childhood, especially when she and Alexia had been together. She understood the excitement, the affection— but still, as she stood there, spatula in hand, watching you practically vibrate with happiness in Jenni’s arms, she couldn’t help but feel like she was standing on the outside looking in.

Alexia noticed the shift in Olga’s demeanor, the slight slump of her shoulders, the way she suddenly seemed overly focused on the eggs she was cooking.

“You okay?” Alexia murmured, nudging Olga gently.

Olga forced a small smile. “Yeah… just not used to being replaced so quickly.”

Alexia sighed, wrapping an arm around Olga’s waist and pressing a reassuring kiss to her temple. “She loves you, you know that.”

“I know,” Olga admitted. “But right now, I think I’m just the lady who made her breakfast.”

Before Alexia could respond, your voice rang out again.

“Olga, come sit with us!” You turned to her, waving her over with an enthusiastic hand. “You have to hear this story Jenni’s telling!”

Olga hesitated for a split second before schooling her expression, pushing aside the small pang of insecurity.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” she said, finally taking the empty seat next to you.

And when you instinctively reached for her hand, squeezing it without even looking as you continued talking to Jenni, Olga felt some of that uncertainty ease.

The bell above the door chimed as you bounced into your favorite café, your hand wrapped around Soleil’s while Jenni strolled beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders like she never left. Alexia and Olga trailed behind, already making their way to the counter to order drinks while you led Jenni and Soleil to a cozy booth near the window.

“You’re gonna love this place,” you told Jenni, excitement bubbling in your voice. “They have the best pastries, and they always write little messages on the coffee cups.”

Jenni smirked, sliding into the seat across from you and Soleil. “I trust your taste, mi diablita.”

You turned to Soleil, eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe I haven’t introduced you two sooner! Jenni basically helped raise me. Like, she taught me how to ride a bike, took me to all my first pro matches, and—” you leaned in, stage whispering—“everything I know about being a striker? All from her.”

Soleil smiled warmly, looking at Jenni with clear appreciation. “That explains why you’re such a menace on the field.”

Jenni grinned. “Ah, so you’ve witnessed her chaos firsthand.”

Soleil laughed. “Every day.”

You laughed too, leaning into Jenni’s side and hugging her tightly. “She’s the best, Sol. When Ale and Jenni were dating, she was always around, always looking out for me. And even after… you know, they broke up, she never disappeared. She’s family.”

Jenni pressed a fond kiss to your temple. “Always.”

Across the café, Olga stood in line, watching the interaction with a tightness in her chest she couldn’t quite shake. You were radiant, so full of joy, clinging to Jenni like she was your lifeline. The way you looked at her, the way you spoke about her, all of it made Olga’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

She knew Jenni had been a part of your life long before she had. She knew Jenni had played a big role in raising you. But knowing it and watching it were two different things.

Alexia, standing beside her, caught the shift in Olga’s expression immediately. Without hesitation, she bumped Olga’s shoulder gently. “You good, amor?”

Olga plastered on a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, fine.”

Alexia didn’t buy it for a second. “You’re watching them like they just stole your puppy.”

Olga sighed, glancing away. “I just… she clearly loves Jenni. And I get it, Jenni was there when she was little, she taught her all these things, helped raise her—” she exhaled sharply— “but I’m supposed to be her mother now. And sometimes, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fill that space the way Jenni did.”

Alexia frowned, reaching for Olga’s hand and squeezing it. “Olga, you are her mother. She chose you, we chose you. That doesn’t change just because she loves Jenni too.”

Olga’s grip tightened slightly, her jaw clenching. “I know, but it’s different. She looks at Jenni like she’s the person who made her who she is. I just… I don’t want to be second place in something that means everything to me.”

Olga’s fingers curled into fists at her sides as she watched you practically drape yourself over Jenni, your eyes shining with admiration as you told Soleil story after story about how Jenni had shaped you. Every time you hugged Jenni, every time you laughed at something she said, every time you looked at her like she was one of the most important people in your world— it chipped away at something deep inside Olga.

She wasn’t jealous, not exactly. It wasn’t that she wanted to erase Jenni’s role in your life. It was the fear that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much love she gave, no matter how fiercely she protected you, she would always be playing catch up to the people who had come before her.

Jenni had been there for your firsts. Your first bike ride, your first professional match, your first real football lessons. She had guided you, shaped you, made you into the player, and person, you were now. And Olga? She had come in when you were already a teenager, already formed, already carrying years of love for people who had been there long before she was.

Would you ever look at her the way you looked at Jenni? Would you ever talk about her like that, with that same effortless fondness, that same unshakable attachment? Or would she always be the afterthought, the one who came later, the one who did the daily work of being your mother but never quite felt like she had earned the title?

She tried to shake the thoughts away, but they stuck, clinging to her like wet clothes. The café was warm, but suddenly, she felt cold.

The room was dark except for the dim glow of the bathroom light spilling in through the cracked door. The sound of running water filled the silence, Alexia still in the shower. You padded in quietly, rubbing your tired eyes, ready to burrow under the blankets and curl up against Olga like you did every night. But as you climbed onto the bed, something felt… off.

Olga was facing away from you, curled into herself, her shoulders rising and falling in uneven breaths. The second you got closer, you heard it— a soft sniff, barely audible, but enough to make your chest tighten.

“Olga?” you murmured, shifting closer, pressing against her back. “What’s wrong?”

She stiffened, wiping at her face quickly. “Nothing, nena. Just tired.”

Liar. You frowned, resting your chin on her shoulder. “You’re sniffling.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Allergies.”

You huffed. “You don’t have allergies.”

She didn’t say anything, just reached for your hand and squeezed it, like that would be enough to convince you she was fine. But you weren’t convinced. You could feel the sadness radiating off her, pressing into the space between you.

You lay there for a moment, racking your brain. What could’ve happened? She’d been fine earlier at the café. Or at least, she’d seemed fine. Maybe something happened after? You were deep in thought when you caught movement from the bathroom door.

Alexia had stepped out, her hair damp, her towel wrapped around her as she glanced at Olga and then at you. The moment you made eye contact, she raised her brows and nodded toward Olga, then dramatically mimicked wiping away tears.

You squinted at her. She nodded toward the door, signaling that she was leaving you to it, but not before she started her silent charades. She made a small motion, pointing at herself, then at Olga, then at you. Then she held up one finger. First? No. She repeated the movement, then mimed kicking a ball, then pointed at you again. Your brain worked through it. First. Football. You. It was about Jenni. Everything clicked at once, the way Olga had gone quiet while you were talking to Jenni, the way she lingered at the edge of the conversation instead of joining in. She was feeling insecure.

Alexia gave you a knowing look before slipping back into the bathroom, leaving you alone with Olga.

You exhaled softly, tightening your grip on her waist as you pressed your forehead against her shoulder. “Is this about Jenni?”

Olga’s breath hitched for a second before she let out a small laugh, watery and tired. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

You didn’t respond, just curled further into her, letting the silence settle before you spoke again. “Olga,” you started softly, “I need you to hear me, okay?”

She didn’t answer, but you could feel her breathing, steady but fragile, like she was waiting for you to say something that would make this ache in her chest go away.

You took a deep breath. “You are my mom.” You said it plainly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Jenni was there for me when I was a kid, yeah, and I’ll always love her for that, but that doesn’t take away from you. It never could.”

Olga stayed quiet, but you felt her relax just a little.

“You have been there for me in ways no one else has,” you continued. “You were there when I signed my first contract. You held my hand through that whole process because I was freaking out. You were there when I made my debut. You were the first person I looked for when I got subbed on. Do you know that?”

Olga swallowed. “Nena…”

“No, listen.” You sat up slightly, resting your weight on your elbow as you looked at her. “You were there the first time I got called up to the USWNT. You were there when I scored my first international goal, screaming like a crazy person in the stands. You were the one who stayed up with me when I had that awful stomach bug last year, even though you had training the next morning. You always carry snacks for me in your bag, you know exactly how I like my tea, you check in on me even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Olga wiped at her eyes, her lip trembling.

“You do all of that because you’re my mom, Mama.” Your voice softened. “You are the one who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I had a home, who made me believe that being loved wasn’t something I had to fight for.”

She let out a quiet sob, turning in your arms to pull you against her. You felt the dampness of her tears against your shirt as she buried her face in your shoulder, and you held her as tightly as she held you.

“I love you,” you whispered. “So much. I don’t care how many people were there before you, you are my mom. No one could ever replace you.”

Olga squeezed you impossibly tighter. “I love you too, mi niña.”

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, until the sound of Alexia clearing her throat from the bathroom doorway made you both look up.

“If you’re done making me cry from the other side of the door,” she said, voice thick with emotion, “can I get in on this cuddle session?”

You laughed, tugging Olga down with you as Alexia climbed into bed, wrapping an arm around both of you. And as you lay there, safe in the warmth of your family, you felt ii, Olga’s steady heartbeat beneath your palm, the rise and fall of her breath, the silent, unspoken promise that she was yours and you were hers, and that would never change.

[nhmkhnh]

Nerdy/Perv amab Ellie?

nerd + perv = 𖹭.ᐟ

pairings: ellie x fem!reader

preface: ass, tits or thighs? to ellie, all of them, as long as they are yours.

author's note: i can be a freak when i want to be <3 alright i thought about cooking this baby tomorrow but my honry ass wouldn't accept it.

wrn: lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) list: horny!nerd!ellie ;; amab!ellie ;; oral (r. receiving) ;; oral fixation ;; semi-public sex ;; risky quickies ;; morning wood ;; dry humping ;; shower sex ;; cum inside ;; breeding (implied) ;; overstimulation ;; phone sex ;; dirty talks.

navigation.

ellie gets hard so damn easy

you so much as touch her thigh under the table and she’s done. fully hard. sweating. trying to pretend like she’s not losing her mind while your nails trail higher. her voice cracks when she says, “can you not do that here?” but she’s not stopping you. she’s spreading her legs under the table.

later she fucks you so hard against the dorm wall that you’re moaning into her hoodie sleeve. “wanna tease me in front of everyone, huh?” she growls against your neck. “then take it like a good girl.”

mouth fixation of the century.

she’s obsessed with your mouth. lip gloss, gum, popsicles—you name it. she’ll just watch you. silently. boner in her jeans. once, you sucked the tip of a lollipop and looked her dead in the eye. ellie visibly twitched. later that night she texts:

“i jerked off thinking about that. 3 times. fuck u.”

next day you find her sketchbook. page 47: a drawing of you sucking her cock. notes scribbled around it:

“fuck she’d look so hot drooling”

“would literally cry”

“wouldn’t last 2 seconds 🧍🏻‍♀️”

horny morning ellie

she wakes up hard. like, painfully hard. it’s a problem. especially when you’re in bed next to her, wearing a crop top and no panties. she tries to be respectful. she does. but when you roll into her with your thigh brushing her cock, she whimpers. low. embarrassed. you feel it—hot and stiff through her boxers.

“just ride it for a second,” she begs, gripping your waist. “just a little. please, baby. i’ll be so good after, i swear.”

spoiler: she’s not. she’s feral. she pins you down and fucks you until you’re shaking.

nasty sketchbook edition

you find the secret sketchbook. not the one with normal art. the one under her mattress.

inside? drawings of you.

tied up.

bent over her desk.

on your knees with spit on your chin and hearts in your eyes.

every page has little scribbles like:

“pretty little cumslut”

“wish she’d ride me like this fr”

“drawn from memory 🫠”

you call her out. she goes red, but then gets bold. “like what you see?” she smirks. “i can make it real.”

ellie’s obsessed with your ass

like actually obsessed. can’t stop staring. touches it constantly. pulls you into her lap just to grind against it. you wear leggings one day and she deadass says:

“i’m gonna get kicked out of class if you don’t sit down and hide that thing.”

later she has you face-down, arching for her, your ass up. slaps it once—just to watch it jiggle. groans: “god, look at that. fuck. this is all mine, yeah?”

she fucks you so deep you can feel her through your belly, her hand gripping your waist like she’s staking her claim.

phone call sex

she calls you late at night, her voice low and rough. “wanna hear what you do to me?” you hear soft rustling. her breathing. then the wet sound of her jerking herself off. “been thinking about your thighs all day,” she pants. “wanna fuck ‘em. wanna cum all over your tits.” you moan, hand between your legs. “touch yourself for me,” she whispers. “say my name.”

you both cum together. messy. breathy. and when you hang up, there’s a new voice memo in your inbox: “for when you miss me.” (she’s moaning your name in it.)

eating you out like it’s a challenge

she’s cocky about it. but she backs it up. spreads you open, tongue dragging slow and filthy. “gotta taste how wet you are, baby,” she murmurs, licking deep. uses her fingers too, curling them just right while her tongue flicks your clit.

you try to close your legs—too sensitive—and she pins them open. “oh, you’re cumming again? that’s crazy.” keeps going. relentless. leaves you shaking, twitching, overstimmed and soaked. then kisses your thigh like:

“you okay, sweet girl? wanna go again?”

quickies in risky places.

library bathroom.

her car.

back of a classroom after dark.

you sit on her lap, facing her, while she rocks into you with her cock deep inside. one hand on your mouth to keep you quiet. the other gripping your ass hard. “stay still,” she grits. “god, you’re so tight. so fuckin’ warm—baby, i’m gonna cum.”

she fills you up, moaning into your shoulder. then helps you clean up, flustered but smug.

the shower thing

she loves seeing you all wet and slippery. especially when your tits bounce as you wash your hair. she gets hard immediately. you pretend not to notice. bend over to shave your legs. she growls behind you.

next thing you know, she’s fucking you against the shower wall, one arm braced above your head, the other gripping your thigh around her waist. the slap of wet skin, her low moans, your breathy cries. “gonna cum inside you, yeah? gonna ruin this sweet little pussy.”

the “i love you” fuck

it happens the first time you say it. she goes quiet. then gentle. then needy. “say it again,” she whispers while sliding into you. you do—and she melts. holds your face while she rocks into you slow, worshipful, lips on your throat. “i love you,” you breathe.

she loses it. moaning. shaking. kissing you like she’ll never get the chance again. cums deep, with a soft, broken whimper:

“fuck, baby… i love you too.”

then she just holds you. whispers it again. over and over.

[slytherin-pen]

Rained Out

pairing: Eris x Reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut, mdi, 18+

tags: one bed trope

a/n: for the 500 follower bingo! this request was sent in via comment by @lomahdu . i actually panicked for a second when i was going through my inbox and couldn’t find it like did i make this up?? but thankfully i took screenshots of the comments i received lmao

You should have known the storm was coming. The birds had gone silent and the woodsy critters vanished as if they sensed what you didn’t. But you had been focused on the task at hand—stalking game alongside the Heir of Autumn, your bow strung, footsteps silent and careful.

Eris Vanserra walks ahead of you, red hair dampening from the rain, shoulders broad and tense beneath the layered furs of his hunting cloak. You’d been assigned to assist him today and perhaps the little “he requested you specifically” murmured by your colleague before you left had something to do with how distracted you were.

You have feelings for Eris, but who wouldn’t? He is the prince of your court. Handsome and charming as he is lethal. But you are just a huntswoman working out of a small cabin on the edge of the capital village, trailing behind hunters all day and skinning animals by night. You are nothing like the pretty courtier females he sees every day. Your clothes are dirty with blood stains you gave up on removing and you don’t even want to imagine what you smell like.

The sky cracks open with a strike of lightning. Rain pours in heavy sheets, turning the earth beneath your boots to slick mud.

“We need cover,” Eris calls over the rain.

You don’t argue.

He knows this forest like the back of his hand, and without hesitation, turns left through the thickest part of the glade. You follow in his wake, heart hammering harder with each icy drop that soaks into your clothes.

Between an opening in the trees you can barely see it, nothing more than a darkened shape in the distance, but it’s a cabin Eris is leading you to. He ushers you through the door without a word.

Inside, it’s cold and dark. The living room, bedroom, and kitchen are all squished into one large room, and Eris snaps his finger to light a fire in the hearth before peeling off his soaked cloak and hanging it on the hook by the door.

You do the same, peeling damp gloves off numb fingers. You’re dripping wet, hair sticking to your face, and water trickling down your spine.

Eris glances over his shoulder. “There are towels in the closet,” he says pointing to the door behind the couch.

You grab one, toweling your arms and neck before sitting in front of the hearth. You sigh at the warmth, relishing in the way your hands grow hot, but you’re still shivering.

Eris crouches beside you, face half-lit by firelight, eyes scanning you. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“You’re practically turning blue.”

You scowl. “I wasn’t prepared to get soaking wet today, or else I would have worn thicker clothes.”

He huffs a laugh. “You should start carrying a bag with you. Stuff a coat in it for the next time this happens.”

He stands again, shedding his jacket and revealing a white, low v-neck tunic. You try not to stare at the pale, freckled skin peeking out, the way you can see the indent of his muscular pectorals.

“There’s only one bed,” he says eventually.

You look over. There is, in fact, only one. The couch is threadbare and barely big enough for a hound, let alone either of you.

“I’ll take the floor,” you offer.

“No, you won’t.” His tone is sharp. “We’ll share.”

Your throat dries, but you nod and take your boots off, then hover near the bed, wringing your hands.

He goes to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulls out a red tunic and black pants. “Here,” he calls, tossing the tunic at you. “You can change in the bathroom. You’re not getting my bed wet with those clothes.

You nod mutely and walk to the bathroom, locking the door behind you before you begin to remove your clothes. Eris’s tunic comes down to your knees, nearly the length of your usual night gown, modest enough that you don’t feel too exposed. When you emerge, Eris has already changed into the pants and…is wearing nothing else.

You gulp, your eyes roaming over his freckled and scarred abs before snapping your eyes back up. “I—uh—I just left my clothes hanging on the tub, if that’s okay.”

Eris dips his chin. “It’s fine.”

You both crawl into the bed, Eris using his magic to dim the fire without putting it out. The bed is too small for the both of you to keep a reasonable amount of space between an employee and an employer. You try to keep your distance, curling near the edge, but the chill seeps into your bones. You may have changed clothes, but your hair is still dripping. You can’t help the trembling. The only sound in the cabin is your chattering teeth.

“Come here,” Eris murmurs.

You freeze.

“I can warm you,” he says. “And I can’t sleep with that incessant noise.”

You hesitate only a moment before turning.

He’s already watching you.

Carefully, you scoot closer. His arm opens, inviting, and you press against his chest. One of his arms curls around you. You bury your face against him, breathing in cinnamon and wood smoke. The warmth is blissful. But then you feel it. The brush of his fingers against your spine. The way his chest rises, tense. The steady drum of his heartbeat just below your ear.

And something else.

A coil of need tightening low in your belly. You should move. You should ignore it. But you don’t. Instead, your hand slides up his chest, slow and curious. His skin is hot to the touch. His breath catches, and you feel it the moment he notices. The scent of your arousal hits the air, subtle and sweet—but not subtle enough.

Eris growls. It’s low, guttural. His arm tightens around you, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “You smell delicious. Is that for me?”

You swallow hard but don't deny it.

His nose brushes your jaw. “You’ve been tempting me all damn day.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you protest.

“You exist,” he snaps quietly. “You breathe and I want to burn the world for a taste of you.”

His fingers tilt your chin up. His eyes blaze like twin embers. “I can’t pretend anymore,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Can you?”

“No,” you whisper.

His mouth is on yours before the word has fully left your lips. You don’t even try to stop it. His kiss is all heat and hunger, devouring and desperate. His hand tangles in your hair as he presses you down into the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You arch into him, every inch of your body aching for contact.

You don’t even notice him take his pants off or pull your panties to the side. You only care that his skin is searing against yours, that his hands know exactly how to touch you. When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow. Deep. Like he’s trying to memorize how you feel around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel divine.”

You can barely breathe. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he swears, voice cracked. “I could live inside you.”

His rhythm starts steady, building heat between your hips, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist. You claw at his back, chasing the fire building inside. He thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re gasping, incoherent. He murmurs praises against your throat—beautiful, perfect, mine. Each word sinks deeper than his cock, and it undoes you.

Pleasure shatters through your spine like lightning.

You cry out his name, and he follows with a strangled sound, spilling into you as he holds you through it, shaking with the force of restraint broken.

The storm outside howls.

Inside, there is only your breathing, tangled limbs, the scent of sex and sweat, and something more dangerous blooming in your chest.

Love.

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips softer now. Reverent. “You’ve always been mine,” he whispers.

You turn your face into his neck, warm and full and content.

“I know,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the flame-marked skin of his back. “I was just waiting for you to realize it.”

Bingo 500 taglist: @nocasdatsgay

[unholyhelbig]

Can we please please PLEASE have part two of Brackish?

Title: Brackish [Part Two] | Read Part One Here

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanov/Romanoff

Word Count: 3454

Warnings: Mentions of torture, mentions of mind control, mentions of ice baths, cannon typical violence, nightmares, physical testing, murder, KGB conditioning, Horrible grammar I don't proofread!

Summary: Agent Romanoff is sent into an interrogation room to break the only prisoner they pull from a Hydra compound, but things don't go exactly as planned.

[A/n: Totally wasn't expecting the response the first part got, thank you so much! Truthfully this ask and the draft was sitting in my inbox for months. This is just a bunch of fluff. I don't know where to take it from here. Hopefully you enjoy!]

You’d woken up screaming, something that never bothered Daniel Whitehall. There were stretching corridors that were damp from broken pipes and water buildup. It smelled thickly of metal and never offered any kind of warmth. It carried your agony like a music box, or a greeting card. It had amused him- his men. So, you did your best to swallow your distress. But sometimes it was impossible to tamp things down in the bridge between sleep and alertness.

It had been three days and you still expected to be jerked back into the reality. A frigid tub of ice and metal under Whitehall’s hand. You must have lost your grip on reality and the Avengers Tower, Agent Romanoff and her rigid kindness, was all a mental tactic, to account for the trauma. You’d finally been broken.

But no: Right now, as you woke up screaming as the hours rolled into the fourth day, she was there. The bed was too soft. You’d learned, and sleep did not come easy. But you drifted off in spurts and woke with air caught in your throat. Never yelling. Never in such a panic.

You didn’t remember what had startled you, but there was a cool hand against your cheek and another one splayed against your chest and worried green eyes peering into yours. You moved to fight back, wanted to push the limbs away until you realized who they belonged to. Until you breathed in that polished scent.

“Sorry, I’m sorry” You whispered, your fingers ghosting over her wrists.

She was a busy woman. You’d realized that over the past 72 hours. Agent Romanoff was in high demand, her signature was required on countless documents and many with downturned eyes stalked up to her with a nervousness that you didn’t quite understand but, you were beginning to.

After some persistent pushing from Natasha on the second day, you’d agreed to blood tests, to EKG’s and other medical trials to make sure you were relatively healthy after years of captivity. She’d promised to stay, and she did. While a certain heat and embarrassment colored your cheeks at the unspoken request, she saved your dignity that morning by not brining it up.

Natasha frowned, didn’t say anything but applied a short pressure to your jaw with her thumb before guiding a glass of water to your hand as she lowered herself to the bed. “Sip this, all of it until it’s gone. Don’t gulp, it’ll hurt your stomach.”

You nodded, doing as you were told. She watched you carefully until you finished the glass. You wanted to cower under her scrutiny, but your heartrate had slowed by the time you’d drained the water and she’d taken it the moment it was empty, her hand on your knee as a grounding source. She was like that, you’d learned, attentive and able to read what you needed though you’d not found your voice to ask.

There wasn’t a clock in the guest room. You didn’t know what time it was, but no morning light seeped through the crack in the door and sleep still clung to you like a heavy blanket. You let out a deep breath and pressed your head against the wall behind you, tempted to let your eyes droop shut, but stopped from the fear of another scream ripping through you.

“The nightmares won’t go away. They’ll come less and less, but they’ll always be there.” She swallowed audibly, ran her fingers over a raised pink scar from a blade, or a bullet, or some type of metal that could easily tear skin against her exposed muscle. “What you went through isn’t easily forgotten. You can manage the symptoms, push it to the back of your mind during your waking hours but it’s hard to fight that kind of thing when you’re asleep. You’re guard can’t always be up.”

You nodded, working your hand through your damp hair. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“You didn’t” Natasha assured “Would you like me to stay?”

More than anything. It felt like crossing a line. There wasn’t a chair in the guest room. It was fairly sparce. A bed and a nightstand and lamp that had bathed you both in a soft golden glow. It would be easier to tell her no, to ask her to leave. But your chest wouldn’t forgive you for that.

So, you scooted over, looked at her expectantly, going as far to peel back the duvet. Natasha huffed out something akin to a laugh and laid in the spot that you had just vacated. You could feel the heat of her skin, the closeness of her as you lowered yourself down next to her. She paid you a mercy by turning the lamp off.

The two of you lay, shoulder to shoulder, breath synchronized. You couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t. Your entire body was wound up. While Agent Romanoff’s presence was a balm, it also wound you up like a spring. You were conscious of every movement. Every twitch of your finger and tense of a muscle.   

“It scares me that I can’t remember things.”

You could hear Natasha turn her head in the dark, the shift against the pillow. Her breath was warm against the side of your face. Your fingers curled against the fabric of your shirt, a stone on the center of your chest. You couldn’t remember feeling this comfortable- this at ease- in a long time.

“Do things come back when you sleep?”

It was her job, you knew, to pull things from you. In exchange for a bed and warm meal, you’d give her anything. She had quiet eyes and a quietness to her that gave away the fact that she was examining you methodically. But there was something else there that you couldn’t pinpoint. Something caring.

You turned onto your side, facing her, curling up more for your own comfort. “More of a feeling than a memory. Being there, I recall everything. Whitehall, his brainwashing, his tests and his tortures. His why’s and his motives are foggy. It was like he just wanted to inflict pain. But at his core. At Hydra’s core, I know that’s not true.”

Natasha adjusted on the bed, turned to face you. Inches apart. Her nose was close enough in the dark to bump against your own. Neither of you spoke for a moment, hands brushing closely like a bridge uncrossed.

“I worry that they changed me in way’s that can’t be unchanged, but can’t recall who I was before they’ve changed me. That they kept me alive because they were… succeeding in something that they hadn’t before.” You let out a heavy breath, it splayed hotly against Natasha’s chest, warmed her. “That deep down inside, something uncontrollable is there.”

Natasha made a small noise in the back of her throat that could only be described as a whimper. Tentatively, she’d shifted in the quiet, had found the edge of your jaw in the darkness and traced the sharpness of it with her touch. You let your eyes flutter shut, leaned into it.

Soon, her palm was against your cheek, warm from the prospect of sleep. Her hold soft as she pulled you forward, the initial shock of the swift movement replaced by that detergent scent and the instant comfort. An undignified grunt escaped you when you slotted so perfectly against Natasha’s front.

You’d learned rather quickly that she liked to show her protection.

When your blood had been drawn, the tech on the medical floor insisted of her credentials but quickly blanched with a glare from the Black Widow herself and the assured hand at the base of your spine. You’d shown your strength during the physical trials as they monitored your heartrate during a mile run, and Natasha had watched with a warning stare as another tech adjusted the censors.

And now, she wrapped her arms around your center and hooked her leg over your own. She was tense until she felt the coolness of your nose against her pulse point, the way you nuzzled against her, sighed into her comfort instead of tensed, as if she feared of rejection.

“We’ll figure it out.” Her voice was a rumble, your ear this close to her chest. “Get some sleep. I’ve got you.”  

There was a sensor under your collarbone, one on either side of your chest, and another directly under your ribs. Two more that had been stuck to your abdomen. The adhesive was unbearably itchy, and you had half the mind to tear them away. A huff pulled uncomfortably at you. Another huff earned you a sharp glare from the woman wrapping your hands.

Natasha was on her knees for you. Not for you, but certainly in front of you. Either way it made you blush profusely. She worked with intention, making sure that the next trial they were putting you through was safe enough for you to participate in. A tech had offered to do this for her. For you. But she’d refused.

“Stop pouting, sweetheart. This is the last one and then they’ll leave you alone for at least the weekend.”

“Promise?”

Natasha sighed and her exhale was hot against the skin on your chest, forming a valley of goosebumps. You swallowed back a shiver. “No. Now sit back.”

You did as you were told, all the while, another SHIELD tech kept a keen eye on the both of you. Nameless, faceless, dressed in black. You almost preferred them this way. Whitehall was a constant for you, a villain that always signified a form of hurt and anguish. The constant revolving door of men and women made it impossible to link a test with a face.

Natasha was almost the opposite. You were starting to associate that piney, vanilla bergamot scent of hers with safety. It scared you. Her hands were assured and so were her movements. You were very aware that she had been with you nearly all hours of the day since you’d been pulled from the wreckage of all you’d known for possible years. Stockholm syndrome, some would call it.

You approached it with reckless abandon. You didn’t care. She was warmth. She was opposite of ice baths and frigid water that you choked on until you blacked out. She was lean muscle and healed scars and tender green eyes. She made it easier to think. She gave orders that were easy to follow: To sit back. To Stop Pouting. To Get some Sleep. You could do those things. Those things were easy.

“We’ll start at a weight of fifty and steadily increase until you cannot support the bar any further.” The nameless, dark-eyed man said, not looking up from his tablet. “If at any point, you feel uncomfortable during the test, please alert me or Agent Romanoff. Do you have any questions?”

You shook your head, laid back on the cool bench and adjusted yourself until you stared up at the metal ceiling. It looked taller from this angle, impossible to reach. Black weights were saddled on either side. Agent Romanoff’s presence was at your six the entire time. Lingering, watching with careful and apt attention.

“Alright. You may begin. Make sure not to lock your arms.”

The bar was nothing in your hands, a slight nuisance, if anything. Ever-so-slowly the weight was increased: Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty. All the way to 700 before another huff left your lungs, chin tipping towards Natasha as you stared up at her. Pouting. You were absolutely pouting.

They were being methodical about this, and that also meant it was taking ages. One of Natasha’s brows was quirked and she worried the nail of her thumb between her teeth as they upped the weight to a solid 1,000. You adjusted your hold on the bar. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no strain, no sweat. No spike in heartrate.  

“Okay. I think we know enough.” Natasha finally barked. “Right?”

“But I-“

“Right?”

Sure, it had only been a few days, but you knew that tone and it was enough for the SHIELD agent to snap his jaw shut and for you to replace the bar before sitting back up. The test, you were sure, was far from over. But there was such a finality in the demand.

You knew you had some strength to you, sure. Daniel Whitehall wouldn’t keep you locked up the way he did, in a steel-enforced cell, if that weren’t the case. The binds you’d sometimes recall were much too thick for anyone that had the normal stamina, someone who could survive his trials. You don’t remember being tested like this before, your limits pushed.

The SHIELD agent tapped at his screen, letting out a non-committal noise “Well, your strength is remarkable. You say you don’t remember a thing? I think you could benefit from some memory recovery sensory therapy.”

Natasha rumbled in the back of her throat, snatching the tablet from the man before shoving him roughly from the room. You watched the display with raised brows, the protective edge to her that you knew was there, but hadn’t been privy to at this degree. He protested, but didn’t’ overtly stop her. Not even when she slammed and locked the door with the waggle of her fingers and the lowering of the blinds.

“The know at all’s from logistics get on my nerves.”

She wouldn’t look at you, instead clicking off the screen and throwing the tablet onto the counter. There was a light blush to her cheeks. You peeled off your shirt, almost in habit now, leaving you in nothing but one of the agencies issued sports bras. The adhesive was getting too irritating.

Your eyes lingered on her. “Uh-huh, is that all?”  

“Yes, that’s all.”

But when those deep green eyes snapped up to yours, the way her breath hitched betrayed her. You’d effectively flustered the Black Widow herself and it brought a sort of heady confidence to you that you quite enjoyed. You ripped the sensor from below your ribcage away, the stickiness making an odd noise as it pulled away.

“I don’t know what you’re smirking about, what he was suggesting is out of the question. They’ve run enough tests on you to determine that Hydra didn’t place any type of chip in your brain. They didn’t change your bone density or alter your blood chemistry. With your added strength, your speed.” She closed the distance between you, ripping another sensor off with little abandon, her hands cold against your skin. “We’re looking at an infinity stone.”

You grunted under her touch, fingers soothing over the spot she’d just torn, a silent apology. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Wanda Maximoff, do you know her?”

You shook your head, remaining still as she moved to the next sensor. Agent Romanoff pulled with the same quickness as before, but was softer with her hands, instantly using the coolness of her palm to quiet the sting that soon followed. You’d given up peeling them away yourself. Instead, you peered up with her with watery eyes, blinking and doe-like. They’d melt her if you weren’t careful, and it seemed like you never were.

“Hydra conducted experiments on Wanda and her twin brother Pietro using something called the Mind Stone. A very powerful mineral that ultimately should have killed them, but it didn’t. It changed their DNA and gave them abilities. Pietro super-speed and Wanda the ability to manipulate the world around her.” Natasha’s voice was smooth as she spoke, the final sensor ripped away, you watched her do it, frowning at the red mark it left behind.

After a few moments of labored silence, she dragged her touch feather-light against your jaw and guided your attention back to her own. “They think Whitehall got ahold of the power stone, and they think it was used to torture you for years to replicate the success achieved with the Maximoff’s.”

“I don’t think he was very successful,”

Natasha’s grip tightened on your chin, not enough to wound, never enough, but a soft warning. “Nonsense. You’re more capable than you think.” Her thumb ran over the blush that was suddenly running across the bridge of your nose and your cheek. “Let’s take a break from all these boring trials. I want to show you something.”

There was a basement that resided below the cacophony of spruced up cells in the Avengers tower. You’d stood shoulder to shoulder with Agent Romanoff and watched as the numbers descended. Her scent had soothed you, even as the cold infiltrated the elevator and reminded you too much of a metal tub, safe for the water.

It jolted to a stop before the anxiety swirling in your lower belly could solidify. Natasha led you into another corridor that looked like all the other corridor’s in the tower. She walked with no urgency and you followed with the same pace. Finally, you reached another non-descript door, only accessed by the card on Agent Romanoff’s belt.

You were hit by the sharp scent of decaying paper, quiet leather and dust. There was a coolness here. A dull light that Natasha flicked on. A heaviness that reminded you of a library. There was a history here that told you it hadn’t been accessed in a long time.

Copy boxes lined bookshelves bracketed to the walls, a single table with a few chairs sat pushed in the corner. Natasha seemed to know exactly where she was going, exactly the files she was looking for. “We’re a multi-trillion-dollar organization, yet, all of the incriminating evidence about the Avengers exists in this singular room.”

You flinched, eyes meeting Natasha after she hauled the off-white box to the center of the table. You watched her carefully, not moving from your rooted spot at the edge of the doorway. You blinked at her, mouth slightly agape. She was trusting you with this. She was trusting you with this?

“Natasha you can’t… you don’t have to…”

“I want to. Come, sit.”

The chair was frigid against your skin, the whole room kept tepid to preserve the documents. Natasha sat adjacent to you, your knees brushing in a surge of warmth. Neither of you moved to pull away. She pushed the box to the far end and pulled out the first file, edging her fingers against the manila.

Before she could pry the cover back, you gripped her hand, squeezed it with fervor. “Wait, you can’t do this. Agent Romanoff, if you… if you tell me this, and I’m- if Whitehall did something that fundamentally changed me and I turn around and betray you, then I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

“Mm” She hummed, frowning down at the file. “There’s more to you than that.”

“And if there’s not? I don’t even have a name, and you’re about to trust me with everything from your past, everything you’ve worked so hard to scrub. I can’t let you do that.”

“You’re not letting me do anything, darling. I didn’t scrub anything, I embraced it.”

Her other hand engulfed the one that had covered the one that had grasped her own. You hadn’t realized that you were squeezing so hard for purchase. Goosebumps covered your entire body, and you were trying not to tremble. It felt as if your bones were trying to claw their way from your skin. You ground your teeth together to keep them from clacking.

Natasha’s hand left yours for only a moment, peeling the cover of the file back, moving it in between the both of you. “I was born in Stalingrad Russia, indoctrinated into the Red Room by a man named General Dreykov. The Red Room was a program designed to create sleeper agents utilized by the KGB. Young girls were taken against their wills and molded into perfect killing machines.”

Your thumb moved over her knuckles, scarred from years of strain. She grasped back, grounding herself.  

“For years, I was just that. Ruthless. Cruel. I spilled an impossible amount of blood because that’s what I was trained to do. It was a cycle. Wake up, kill, sleep. Wake up, kill, sleep. Sometimes they’d throw a little torture in there just to spice things up.”

You knit your eyebrows together, a small whimper escaping you.

 “Tough room.” Natasha gave you a sad smile “milaya devochka, eventually, someone saw through the dripping ledger and what Dreykov had done. They saw me. That made a world of difference when the programming I had was all I’d ever known.”

You swallowed thickly, fingers tracing a raised pink scar at the edge of her palm. You let out a shaky breath. “And you… can be that person for me?”

“I’d like to be.”

[Dt: @ima-gi--na-tion, @l0nelyish, @taliiiaasteria, @ahintofchaos, @redhoodte]

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hello! Could you make a reader x Dazai? Like, the reader is from the armed detective agency and is like, really kind, loving and doting for everyone (especially the younger ones). And like, really cares about Dazai, like, bringing home-cooked meals and always sharing them with him when realizing he doesn’t eat at the agency. Giving in to his whines, paying attention even when the rest is occupied with tasks. Not asking but lingering every time he talks about suicide. Joking around with him…you know, whatever makes you comfortable writing!!

Thank you 😊

Even You Can Bloom Here

snyopsis: Amidst the chaos of the Armed Detective Agency, your unwavering care for those around you begins to reach even Dazai Osamu, who, little by little, starts choosing your warmth over his loneliness.

content/warnings: ADA!Dazai x reader, fluff, 2.055 words

The Armed Detective Agency was always a strange mix of chaos and comfort. On any given day, the office might be filled with stacks of paperwork, half-shouted arguments, and at least one life-threatening mission waiting in someone's inbox.

But amid that chaos, you had found a rhythm of your own.

"Y/N-san! Y/N-san!!" Kenji's voice carried through the office as he bounded toward you, a wide grin on his face and a pot of soil in his hands. "Look! The cucumbers are sprouting!"

You turned from the tea you were preparing and crouched down beside him, brushing dirt off his overalls with a fond smile. "That's amazing, Kenji! You've got a real talent here."

"I used to grow rows of these back home," he beamed proudly. "Pa says nothing beats homegrown cucumbers."

"I think he's right," you said softly, already mentally adding cucumber salad to tonight's dinner plan. You couldn't bring him his family's farm, but you could bring this—a little piece of it, tucked into a rooftop garden you'd slowly been coaxing into life.

"Want me to help after work?" he asked cheerfully.

"Of course," you chuckled, giving his hair a playful ruffle. "We'll make a whole farm up there before you know it."

Just across the room, Atsushi was nervously eyeing a stack of files like they might bite him.

"Paperwork again?" you asked gently, sliding over beside him.

He jumped a little, then relaxed when he saw you. "I-I don't even know how to fill half of this out."

Without missing a beat, you reached for the nearest pen. "Good thing you know someone who does."

His shoulders relaxed, his usual anxious tension softening into something lighter, something almost close to contentment. These moments—helping, guiding, taking care—came as naturally to you as breathing.

A small movement caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.

Kyouka was curled up on the agency's battered couch, small and quiet, her sword resting by her side like a loyal shadow. Her eyes were starting to drift closed in that way children tried to fight sleep but never quite succeeded.

You excused yourself from Atsushi and grabbed the knitted blanket you always kept folded over the back of your chair. Quietly, you made your way over and draped it around her shoulders, tucking it in just enough to keep her warm without waking her. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

You had just returned to your desk when you noticed someone hadn't touched the lunch box you left them that morning. You didn't need to check twice to know who.

Dazai Osamu was stretched leaned back in hhis chair as usual, arms folded behind his head, humming some morbid old love song about the sea and slow, drifting death. His untouched bento sat on the table in front of him.

You wandered over and leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "That food's not going to eat itself."

Dazai cracked one eye open. "Ah, Y/N-chan. Come to serenade me as I slip into a poetic starvation-induced coma?"

"Not on my watch," you replied flatly, though there was warmth in your voice. "You don't get out of living that easy. Not while I'm around."

He smirked lazily, but he did sit up straight, eyeing the food with disinterest before glancing at you. "You always bring me food. Aren't you afraid I'll come to rely on you?"

"I want you to," you said softly, without missing a beat.

He looked at you then—really looked—and the air between you stilled for a fraction of a moment, something unspoken pressing just beneath the surface.

"…You're strange," he murmured, voice quieter now. "Too kind for this world."

You shrugged, smiling faintly. "That's what everyone here needs. Someone to be kind when the world forgets how."

Dazai didn't answer, but he took the chopsticks, poked into the rice, and took a bite.

Victory.

The Agency didn't just run on miracles or powers. It ran on people. On threads of care, cups of tea, warm food, and soft words given when they were needed most.

And you would be that warmth. For all of them.

Even for the one who joked too much about death and ate too little—especially for him.

Of course it didn't happen all at once.

With Dazai, nothing ever did—not the important things, anyway.

It started with the smallest shifts. Barely noticeable at first, unless you were really paying attention. Which, of course, you were.

One morning, you set a bento on the corner of his desk like always, expecting the usual dramatic sigh or sarcastic comment about how eating was "such a chore." Instead, he glanced at you, eyes sharp and observant, and said softly, almost like it slipped out by accident:

"…Thanks."

No flourish, no theatricality. Just that one, quiet word.

You didn't comment on it. Just smiled.

The next shift came on a rainy afternoon, when most of the Agency had scattered for errands or assignments. You found Dazai in his usual place on the couch, gazing out the window with a rare sort of stillness, bandaged hands loosely folded in his lap.

You didn't ask if he was okay. You didn't push. Instead, you sat on the other end of the couch with a book, folding your legs under you, giving him space but making sure he knew you were there.

Fifteen minutes passed in silence, the rain tapping steadily against the glass.

Then: "That book boring?"

You glanced at him. "Not really."

"Then why are you watching me instead of reading?"

You tilted your head, thoughtful. "I don't mind watching you."

His brow lifted at that, genuinely surprised. A breath of a laugh escaped him—not mocking, just… curious. "Hm. Dangerous thing to say to a man like me."

"I'll take my chances."

You both left it at that. But his posture shifted. He wasn't curled away from you anymore. He was… with you, in that small, quiet moment.

The rooftop garden became another of his habits.

Not every day—but often enough that you stopped being surprised when you'd come up for watering or weeding and find him already there, hands in his coat pockets, watching the little green shoots sway in the breeze.

"It's ridiculous," he said once, crouching next to a tomato plant, poking at the dirt. "Me. Caring whether a plant grows or not."

You knelt beside him. "It's not ridiculous. Life's hard. Things growing in spite of it—that's kind of beautiful, don't you think?"

For once, he didn't argue. He just looked at the small leaves and, for a heartbeat, looked like he wanted to believe you.

Sometimes he still joked about dying. Of course he did. That was his armor.

But it changed.

Instead of directing it outward—frustrating his coworkers or testing their patience—he saved it for you, like it was a private joke. A strange kind of trust.

Like the time you caught him standing by the office window at sunset.

"Looks like a good evening for a poetic demise, don't you think?"

You walked up beside him, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. "You jump, I'm going after you."

That got him to laugh—really laugh—something warm and genuine, the kind of laugh that carried no weight, no mask, no sharpness underneath it. Just real.

"You'd ruin the poetry of it," he teased.

"Good. I've always preferred prose anyway."

And for the first time, Dazai didn't walk away from the window. He stood next to you instead, watching the sky fade into violet with that soft, unreadable expression of his.

One evening, long after everyone else had gone home, you found him asleep on the office couch—not dramatically sprawled like usual, but curled in on himself, one arm over his eyes, the bandages on his wrist visible where his sleeve had slipped.

You didn't wake him. Instead, you fetched the softest blanket you could find and draped it over him gently, tucking it around his shoulders. Just as you started to move away, you felt fingers lightly catch your wrist.

"Stay," he murmured, barely audible.

No drama. No games.

Just a quiet, vulnerable word, like a crack in a well-worn mask.

You stayed.

It wasn't love yet—not quite.

But it was trust. And with Dazai, that was something rarer than any confession.

But the biggest change was yet to come.

For weeks, it had always been you finding him. You bringing the meals. You settling beside him on the couch. You being the constant in his drifting orbit.

But now he was changing his patterns.

It began with small things.

You caught him lingering near your desk more often, fiddling absently with pens or paperclips that didn't belong to him. He'd act like he was just wandering by, casting a careless glance at the reports you were working on, but the glance always shifted—always—to you.

"Hard at work, I see," he'd say lightly. But the way his eyes rested on you was different now. Softer. Focused.

He stopped ignoring the lunches you left for him.

Then, he started waiting for you.

One afternoon, you left the office to grab tea, only to find Dazai by the door when you returned, leaning lazily against the frame, as if he'd just happened to be there at that moment.

"You're following me now?" you teased, brushing past him with a smile.

"Hm." He fell into step beside you, hands in his pockets. "Maybe. Someone's got to make sure you don't get into trouble."

"That's rich, coming from you."

He smiled—not that wide, sharp grin he used with the others, but something smaller. Something real.

You didn't ask why he was suddenly gravitating toward you. You didn't need to. The answer hung in every little moment:

When he'd sit on the arm of your chair, close enough that your arms brushed, under the pretense of reading your reports over your shoulder.

When he'd appear beside you while you were watering the rooftop garden, not saying anything—just being there, watching your hands in the dirt like it was something soothing.

When he'd start offering you pieces of the sweets you brought for him, wordlessly holding one out between his fingers, waiting until you took it before eating his own.

It was after a mission—tense, exhausting, and too close for comfort—that the feeling crystallized between you.

The Agency was quiet that evening. You were on the rooftop, fingers brushing the leaves of a stubborn little basil plant, when you heard soft footsteps behind you.

Dazai didn't say anything at first. He just walked over and crouched beside you, elbows on his knees, gaze tracing the skyline beyond the fence.

"I thought you'd be here," he murmured.

Something about the way he said it—soft, certain—made your heart skip in your chest.

You glanced at him. "You came looking?"

For once, no teasing. No playful sarcasm. Just honesty:

"…Yeah."

Silence stretched out between you, but not uncomfortably.

Then, as if testing the weight of it, he spoke again—softer this time. "You… feel safe. To be around."

It wasn't much. It wasn't a confession. But it was everything coming from him.

Your throat tightened, but you kept your voice steady. "Good. I want you to feel that way. You deserve somewhere safe."

His hand shifted slightly on the concrete between you both, fingers brushing against yours—not holding, not yet, just there.

"I don't really know how to do this," he admitted quietly. "Letting people stay."

You turned your hand slightly, enough that your pinky curled against his.

"You don't have to know," you said gently. "Just don't push me away when you're scared. I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, his eyes glimmered—not with his usual amusement or sharpness, but with something raw. Barely there. Barely spoken.

"…You're terrifying, you know that?" he whispered, voice hoarse with something that might've been laughter, might've been something else entirely.

"Why?"

"Because I think I'm starting to believe you."

And for once, Dazai didn't leave first. He stayed with you on that rooftop, shoulder brushing yours, quiet and steady as the sky darkened above your little garden.

Not out of obligation.

Not out of curiosity.

Out of choice.

Masterlist

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part ten | r.c

summary:

“So you really Good Luck, Babe!’d him like that huh?”

Kelce cracked a smile at you, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, something like that.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, and it took balls. So good for you for standing up for yourself,” you said, raising your glass, to clink it with Kelce’s, who lifted his own drink against yours.

OR; Welcome to illicit affairs season 2.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: day drinking and a whole lot of bad decisions

word count: 2,5k

author’s note: it’s been so long. do you still remember me? please, feel free to reread 1-10 + the interlude if your memory’s spotty, i’m not gonna blame you. hope you enjoy it sm and my inbox is alwayssss open for your thoughts🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. ten: “don’t call me baby”

The sun was shining down on you, drying the small water droplets left from your most recent dip in the water, a cocktail sweating on the small bedside table next to you.

Everything was perfect.

“Good lord, what is that.”

Well, almost everything.

You lifted your sunglasses to see Kelce sit on the sun chair next to you, holding your cocktail in hand, forehead creased.

“Orange juice.”

“That’s not orange juice.”

“…. with vodka and peach schnapps.”

“It’s ten in the morning and you’re drinking sex on the beach?”

“Would you prefer I have it, instead?”

Kelce groaned and you only cackled, putting your glasses back, resuming your previously interrupted sunbathing. The glass clicked against the marble top as he slid it back, faintly, you could hear him waving down the waiter from the beach club.

“Did you and Topper come back together last night?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

You merely shrugged with your shoulders, though still keeping your eyes closed. “I don’t know. Topper seemed pretty cozy with that girl. I thought he’d get lucky.”

While the four of you had gone out together last night, you and Rafe had left earlier. You didn’t really have a choice, if you were honest. For some reason, you had ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon and Rafe always got incredibly handsy when he was drunk on champagne. And while you weren’t that drunk, your inhibitions were lowered, and for a while, the two of you had risked making out in a dark corner of a club, before your brain started working again. Topper already knew, you didn’t want Kelce to find out.

So you and Rafe left.

Not without any discussion, though.

“What? It’s not even one and it’s our first night here, you guys can’t possibly want to leave already!” Kelce yelled over the music, the pina colada in his glas sloshing over the rim, splattering all over the floor, surely not the first liquid to meet the darkened tiles.

“Sorry, Kels, I’m just wiped. I promise we’ll go hard tomorrow, okay?”

You leaned on Rafe, who had his arm wrapped around your shoulders, trying to ignore Topper’s inquisitive eyes.

“Maybe we should all call it a night,” he proposed and you threw him a dirty look. Before you could argue, though, Kelce shook his head.

“Absolutely not. You’re hitting it off with that Kelly girl, there’s no way I’m letting you leave. And I might get another drink out of that guy over there.”

Kelce turned his head to lift his glass at some brown haired guy at the other end of the bar, who raised his hand in a short wave. Kelce turned back to you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Alright fine, you two guys go. But I will hold you to that promise of going hard tomorrow, you hear me Precious?”

“Promise,” you said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek while Rafe hugged Topper good bye. When he turned to Kelce, you embraced Topper in a short hug, but it wasn’t short enough for Topper to whisper “Think about this, Presh.” in your ear.

“Nah. I think they made out or something, but Topper didn’t really seem into her.”

“Sarah?”

“Sarah.”

The both of you sighed, briefly interrupted by the waiter bringing Kelce his order. As soon as he disappeared from ear shot, you leaned up, looking at Kelce curiously.

“So, how did things go with that guy from the club last night?”

Kelce, while taking a sip from his iced coffee, shrugged with his shoulders. “Okay, I guess,” he said, absentmindedly stirring the straw in the glass. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re still thinking about Malcolm, aren’t you?”

“How could you tell?” Kelce asked, and you gave him a look.

“Seriously? You got that look on your face.”

He sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m starting to lose hope in whatever this thing is with Malcolm, to be honest. Whenever we’re alone, it’s like, perfect. But other than that, I’m like a stranger to him.”

“He’s not ready to come out, is he?”

Kelce shook his head, snorting a bit. “Not only that, but he keeps overcompensating by letting every girl throwing herself at him like he’s Logan Lerman at his annual public outing, and frankly, it makes me feel like shit. I told him that putting up this facade wasn’t going to make him happy and pretending like it is, would just lead to the saddest future ever.”

“So you really Good Luck, Babe!’d him like that huh?”

Kelce cracked a smile at you, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, something like that.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, and it took balls. So good for you for standing up for yourself,” you said, raising your glass, to clink it with Kelce’s, who lifted his own drink against yours.

“What are we drinking to?”

Rafe’s voice was still gravely as he approached, Topper in tow. They both looked like they could need a couple more hours of sleep, taking off their shirts when they arrived, tossing them on the empty sun chair next to you.

“Oh, just putting men in their place,” Kelce said and you muttered a low amen, when Rafe sat down on your sun chair, nearly knocking you off it.

“Hey, get your own!” you huffed, but Rafe only groaned with a shake of his head, covering his face with his arm, despite the shade the umbrella was providing.

“Can’t. Too tired.”

You rolled your eyes at him, trying to get comfortable on the very tight sun chair, ignoring how Topper was giving you a very pointed look.

“I think I’ll go for a dip in the water,” Kelce said, pushing his empty glass on the table before he stretched his arms into the air. “Come on, Top.”

“Maybe later,” Topper answered, but Kelce had none of it, dragging Topper up.

“Come on, white boy. You look like you could use a dunk.”

Kelce hauled a miserable looking Topper behind him, who threw you a look. A look, which Rafe luckily missed, as he was still dozing away on the sun chair next to you.

“Are they gone?”

“I dont know, what are you going to do if I say yes?”

Rafe let out a grunt before he reached over to wrap his arms around your waist, tucking his chin into the crook of your neck. You sighed, having half a mind to shove him off, but instead, you let him. Maybe it was half the sex on the beach.

“Sorry about last night.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, glancing down at Rafe. His voice was muffled, because his face was still hidden in the crook of your neck, but you could hear him as clearly as ever.

“Are you? Are you really sorry?”

“… I’m not sorry about how it ended, but I am sorry for how I behaved.”

You rolled your eyes at him, and even though you knew he couldn’t see your face, you knew that he knew that you were rolling your eyes at him, just as much as he knew that you knew that he was smirking like an asshole.

There was a lot of knowing going around.

“You think you’re so funny, Cameron,” you muttered and Rafe answered by pressing kisses down your neck, making you squirm a little as you tried to push him away, despite the laughter coming from your lips.

“You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

Rafe pulled away with a glint in his eyes, the smile on his face so soft, you had to look away, pretending like you were going for a drink. He observed you carefully while you finished the last of your cocktail.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Had so much of vitamin C,” you answered, lifting your empty glass.

With a snort, Rafe stood, shaking out his hair. He stood right in front of the sun, the rays shining around him, basking him in a warm light and suddenly, you regretted chugging the last of the drink.

“Come on, let’s go get lunch,” he suggested, stretching out his arms. You however, made use of the space Rafe had freed up on the sunchair, sprawling out on it, not missing the way he was following your ever move.

“Lunch?” you sighed, pouting up at him. “It’s barely even noon.”

“Brunch then.”

“What about Kels and Top?”

You didn’t know why you were trying to find excuses not to go. Food sounded good right now, especially to soak up all that vodka you’d been drinking. Maybe you knew that you were feeling a bit to good right now. A little tipsy, in another country where no one knew you except your two best friends you were trying to leave behind.

“What are we, their parents?” Rafe snorted, holding his hand out to you. “Come on Precious.”

You narrowed your eyes at him for another second, even if you already decided to go, just to get on his nerves a little, before you sighed, nodding.

“I guess I could eat.”

You took Rafe’s hand to help you stand, grabbing your cover-up from the back of the chair before the two of you walked off the beach, towards the promenade. The town was bustling with people, so many, that it was easy to melt into the crowd.

Which was why you allowed Rafe to wrap his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer to his side as you walked, and no other reason. It was a little warm to be walking so closely together, but you didn’t mind.

“Anything particular you’re in the mood for?” he asked, glancing down at you, but you only shook your head.

“Nah, just whatever. You pick.”

The two of you walked through the main street, taking a left, off the main road, where it was less busy. There were several little restaurants sprinkled along the street, too many options to choose from, so Rafe just dragged you into the next one you passed.

It was a small, local restaurant and the owner lead allowed you to choose your table, which ended up being a small table on the street. A small breeze blew through the alley, and you didn’t even bother to look into the menu, because Rafe asked the waitress to bring everything that was good.

Which was a lot.

“Oh my god, this is too much Rafe,” you muttered under your breath when the waitress started piling on the dishes, and every time you thought it was over, she returned with another two plates.

“That is all,” the waitress said, placing the last two plates on the full table, giving you a smile. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks!”

As the waitress left, you gave Rafe a look, but he only snickered, taking a swig of his beer. “Relax, Precious. We can just take the leftovers back to Kelce and Topper if there is any.”

With a sigh, you reached for your iced diet coke - no more alcohol for you until you got some food into your stomach - and took a sip, before you picked up your fork. The two of you made quick work of the food, fried fish with peas and rice, some conch salad, fried conch and even some baked mac and cheese. You ate so much, you nearly exploded, but as you had predicted, there were some left-overs.

“I told you it was too much,” you groaned, leaning back in your chair. Rafe only shrugged, grinning at you.

“So? s’nice, isn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes at him good naturedly, trying to sit up when the waitress came to clear the table. She surveyed the remaining food before looking at you.

“All good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied with a smile. “It was so good. Just, too much.”

The waitress laughed, starting to clear the table, leaving you with the bill. Rafe left a couple of bills on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, before the two of you stood, the chairs scraping against the floor.

“You wanna go back to the beach?” Rafe asked as you walked a few feet away from the restaurant, but you shook your head, rubbing your stomach with your hand.

“Nah, I need to walk this food off a bit.”

“A’ight,” he sighed, throwing his arm over your shoulder and you only wrinkled your nose at him.

The two of you ventured deeper into town, the crowds of people starting to disperse. The sun was at its highest point, people were either at the beach, or taking cover inside their houses with the air conditioning on. Not you and Rafe though. You walked around aimlessly, no specific goal in mind, until you spotted a small souvenir shop, displaying various trinkets on the street.

“Ooooh, I love those, come on,” you said, starting to drag Rafe into the direction of the shop.

“Come on Precious, we both know you’re gonna lose whatever you’re gonna buy before we even get home,” Rafe groaned, even if you didn’t even have to pull on his arm so hard. “And don’t you already have all of these?”

“No, you know they renew these every year,” you pointed out, looking at the different trinkets, key chains and magnets. You broke out in a grin when you saw a key chain of an emoji with a grumpy face.

“Look, it’s you,” you said, showing it to him and he rolled his eyes, but you could tell that he was biting back a grin. Slowly, you walked deeper into the shop, the products presented in away that lured you in deeper and deeper. Somewhere between the third and fourth aisle, you’d lost Rafe, but you were too enthralled by the bracelets to care.

“Pretty, no?”

You jumped a little, turning over your shoulder to see the shop vendor smile at you.

“Sorry, you really snuck up on me,” you said with a laugh, before turning back to the bracelets. “Yeah, they’re nice.”

“Come get your boyfriend to buy one for you,” she said, and you flushed, shaking your head. “You two are very sweet. Good looking couple.”

“Thanks,” you answered, ducking your head. “But we’re not dating. Just friends.”

The woman laughed, shaking her head. “He is smitten with you, girl. You’re blind if you don’t see that.”

She gave you a look, a tad bit too pitiful, if you were honest, then she pointed to the bracelets. “Three for the price of two.”

With that, she disappeared behind the another counter, leaving you a little perplexed.

“Hey, you find anything?”

Rafe rounded the corner of the aisle, his hands stuffed in his pockets. You turned to him, glancing back at the bracelets before shaking your head. “Nah. Just trinkets. You?”

“You really think I’d get something from here?” he asked with a snort and you rolled your eyes, wrapping your hands around his arms.

“Come on, let’s go.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: look, idk what to tell you

[lowryuk]

Behind Her Back.

Pairing: BSF’s Boyfriend!Eren x Toxic!F!Reader, slight Jean x F!Reader

Word Count: 11K

Summary: Your best friend's boyfriend seems to have caught feelings for you. Too bad you don't reciprocate.

A/N: Hiiii!! I apologize in advance for this messy fic lmao. I still think it's a bit cringy but I can't let go of 11K words so I revised it as best as I could. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! As always, if you have questions, feedback or want additional h.c, my inbox is always open:) I hope you enjoy <3

(Warnings are below undercut)

Warning(s): rough sex, jealous!eren, toxic!reader, cheating, angst, oral (69 with jean specifically), sex in the woods, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, light choking, semi public sex, squirting, oral (m receiving)

The cafeteria is buzzing with noise. The hum of casual conversations, the sharp clatter of trays, the soft, cheesy pop music playing from hidden speakers overhead. You're sitting beside your best friend, absently dipping your fries in ketchup while she raves about her perfect boyfriend. 

"I really think he’s the one," Mikasa sighs dreamily, twirling her straw in her overpriced smoothie. "He’s so sweet. Like yesterday? He Doordashed me dinner because he was too tired to come over. He’s been working out so much lately. Said the coach has been giving him an earful."

You bite down on your fry to hide your smirk.

Because you know the truth.

Eren wasn’t too tired to come over

He was too busy fucking you.

Last night, while Mikasa was waiting on her food delivery, Eren had you on your knees, his fingers tangled in your hair, your lips wrapped around his cock, watching his head fall back against the wall as he groaned your name. One second, you were teasing him with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue, and the next, he was yanking you up, bending you over, and slamming into you so hard the bed frame nearly cracked against the wall.

"You should really go, Eren," you had whispered mid-thrust, breathless and taunting, your lips curling into a wicked grin. "Your girlfriend’s gonna think you’re cheating." 

His teeth had grazed your jaw as he chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. "I am cheating."

And God, you fucking loved it.

This wasn’t the first time. And it damn sure wouldn’t be the last.

Eren had first laid eyes on you at a frat party, long before he started dating Mikasa. That night, you had walked in wearing your short, red dress that defined all your curves. You flashed him a look that felt like a challenge. Since day fucking one, Eren knew you were going to be a big problem. 

It was bound to happen. 

At another party. You flirted shamelessly, left lingering touches, watched the way his eyes darkened when you leaned in too close.

He was confused because, weren’t you his girlfriend’s best friend? Was he being tested? 

He should’ve walked away. You were off-limits. Forbidden. 

But when you pulled him into an empty room, pressing your lips to his, he stopped questioning and started taking.

His girlfriend hadn’t been at the party, she had been sick in her dorm, completely unaware that her best friend was letting Eren touch her like she belonged to him.

Eren had tried to stay away after that. He really had.

But fuck, you were addictive. A pretty little tease with a filthy mouth and no morals. And he was a man with no self-control. So when the opportunity came again, he didn’t hesitate.

What was supposed to be a one-time mistake turned into two. Then three. Then it just… never stopped.

You couldn't even lie, Eren was phenomenal in bed. Mikasa wasn’t exaggerating about that part, or the size of his dick, either. But while you saw Eren for nothing more than a good fuck, he saw you as something else entirely.

An obsession.

Eren had been with plenty of women before. Too many to count. Girls threw themselves at him constantly. Pretty, easy, and desperate for a taste of him. But none of them compared to you.

You were his best-kept secret, his favorite sin. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you out of his fucking head.

So as Mikasa keeps talking, going on and on about how sweet Eren is, how she sees a future with him, you barely hear a word of it.

Because you know the truth.

Eren Jaeger? Sweet?

Not even fucking close.

Mikasa could glaze him all she wanted. She could shove her perfect little life in your face—the fraternity president boyfriend, the money, the daddy-pulled connections.

But at the end of the day, you knew the real Eren.

The Eren who fucks you raw in your dorm and stays after, tracing invisible patterns into your skin.

The Eren who grips your chin and forces you to look at him when you moan someone else’s name just to piss him off.

The Eren who wishes you were his.

You slide your phone into your lap, unlocking it with a swipe. 

You: You're such a liar. You weren’t tired last night.

A response comes almost instantly.

Eren: My dick begs to differ.

You stifle a grin, tossing a casual glance at Mikasa. She’s still talking.

Completely unaware.

You type back.

You: Still in class? 

Eren: Yeah

You: Bet you wish I was under the desk right now ;)

Three dots appear. Then disappear.

Then, finally,

Eren: Don’t start.

Oh, but you already have.

And you both know he’s weak for you.

You smile at your phone, and from the corner of your eye, you notice Mikasa’s gaze flick toward you.

Immediately, you turn it off.

Now she’s intrigued. Nosy, like always.

"Ooh, who are you texting?" she asks, leaning in.

You flash her a teasing smirk. "Mr. Hottie."

Mikasa groans. "Ughhh, when are you gonna tell me his name? It has to be someone I know, you just don’t wanna admit it."

Oh, you know him alright.

You glance at the time and quickly push your chair back. "Shit, I gotta go, or I’ll be late for class. See you later, Mika."

And with that, you’re gone.

Now, you’re probably thinking—why the fuck would you sleep with your best friend’s boyfriend? She’s your best friend since high school! Why would you betray her like that? 

Simply put, your “best friend” is a raging, entitled, insufferable bitch.

Spoiled. Bratty. If it’s not her way, be prepared to never hear the end of it. She bullies, belittles, and flaunts her privilege like it’s a goddamn badge of honor. Her parents’ status opens every door for her, and she acts like she earned it.

You were just fucking done with it.

Done with the way she pretended to listen when you opened up about your childhood—the way she nodded along when you told her you grew up dirt poor, how you fought tooth and nail for a scholarship just to be here.

And then, the second you were done talking, she’d flip her hair and say, “Ugh, yeah, I totally get it. My parents refused to get me a new car last year, and I was like, hello? I deserve it?”

Like your struggles were even remotely fucking comparable.

But you swallowed it. Bit your tongue. Let it roll off your back.

Till you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t just the privilege. It was the way she spoke to you.

The way she constantly, subtly, masterfully reminded you that no matter how hard you worked, you’d never be her equal. She was Queen B. You were just a worker. A pawn. A disposable sidekick for her to play off of.

The comments were always so backhanded. Dripping in fake innocence. She would tear you down, crush your spirit, and then blink at you with wide, clueless eyes, acting like she had no idea her words had left you raw.

You weren’t fucking stupid. 

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And how exactly did you know? 

Because in high school, there was a rumor. A nasty, vile, rumor that circulated around the small town you grew up in. It nearly destroyed you, your reputation and your chances of going to post secondary. 

It said your mother—a single, struggling woman who worked herself to the bone to keep a roof over your head—was a whore. That she sold her body to pay the bills.

And her daughter?

Did it for free.

For years, you never knew who started it.

It wasn’t until a friend of a friend circled back to you and informed you that it was Mikasa who started it. All you could do was scoff, because of course she was the one behind it. 

She had spread that rumor like wildfire, laughing behind your back as she watched you fall apart. She never even had the decency to own up to it.

So now?

She wants to talk about sex work?

Fine.

Because now, you do it on the daily.

With her fucking boyfriend.

The same one she wants to build her perfect little future with. 

The same one who spends half his nights inside you.

And if she ever finds out?

Oh, well.

Guess you’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

–

You're making your way to class when a hand grabs your wrist and yanks you behind a pillar.

Your heart jumps. You let out a startled yelp, but the second you meet those emerald eyes, you smile.

"Eren, you scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," he mutters, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. His hands are already sliding down your waist, fingers digging into your ass, greedily.

You giggle, shoving at his chest. "You have no shame."

"Neither do you."

And before you can argue, he kisses you.

It’s deep and lazy, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to drag this moment out, but you pull away first. He groans, resting his forehead against yours, fingers toying with your necklace.

"Your girlfriend is so fucking insufferable," you mutter.

Eren chuckles. "Tell me about it. Was it the 'spending the rest of our lives together’ speech, or the thirty-dollar DoorDash?"

You roll your eyes. "Both."

His lips twitch as he plays with a strand of your hair. 

"Anyways, I gotta go." You step aside, adjusting your skirt. "See you later." Before you could leave, Eren grabs your hand and you look back at him, confused. "Later, as in, I should come over tonight?"

You smirk. "No, you horndog. Fuck your girlfriend once in a while."

And with that, you’re gone. You don’t notice the way Eren’s jaw clenches. You don’t see the flicker of frustration flash through his eyes.

Fuck.

What were you doing to him?

It was supposed to be just sex.

But lately, he’s been wanting more.

At first, it was little things.

A good morning text after a night together. A goodnight text even when he was lying beside Mikasa. The way he found himself sticking around after you fucked, lingering in your bed instead of leaving like he should.

When Jean started sniffing around, Eren almost lost his shit.

He wanted to put his fist through a wall when he overheard Jean saying, “Yeah, I might ask her out. She’s fucking fine”

Instead, Eren forced a smirk and lied through his teeth.

"She’s not looking for anything right now, man."

"Really?" Jean frowned.

"Yeah," Eren shrugged, keeping his voice casual. "She’s a heartless bitch when it comes to rejecting guys. Spares no feelings. Wouldn’t want that to be you, bro."

Jean hesitated, and that was all Eren needed.

But no matter what he did, you wouldn’t see him the way he saw you.

Every time he tried to test the waters, to gauge if you felt even an ounce of what he was feeling, you’d shut him down.

Remind him about Mikasa.

Mock him.

Push him away.

Eren fucking hated it.

Because most girls would beg for him.

Want him.

But you acted like you couldn’t care less.

And that’s what made him want you even more.

–

You’re sitting in your English class when your phone buzzes against the desk, over and over again. A quick glance at the screen shows the group chat completely blowing up.

Mikasa: OMGGG guess what!! 👀✨ Mikasa: The frat rented out a whole-ass campground for the long weekend!! Right by the lake!!

Mikasa: Pack your shit, we’re goingggg!!

Your brows furrow. Weird. You had just seen Eren, and he never mentioned it. But whatever. Maybe it just slipped his mind. Either way, now you had a whole weekend away to look forward to.

The weekend arrives and it all comes way too fast. Between last-minute shopping and shoving random shit into a bag, you barely have enough time to think. Mikasa reassures you that the guys are handling the food and tents, so all you need is clothes.

By the time she pulls up outside your dorm in Eren’s car, you’re already exhausted. The trunk pops open, and as you’re tossing your bag in, Eren leans in. For a brief moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Nice of you to finally tell me about this trip," you murmur, narrowing your eyes at him.

Eren smirks, completely unfazed. "Didn’t wanna give you time to back out."

You roll your eyes, about to step away, but before you can, he delivers a quick slap to your ass.

You gasp, whipping around, but all you get is a wink before he grabs your bag and hauls it into the car. Cocky bastard.

The ride there was hell on earth. Mikasa won’t shut the fuck up, going on and on about something you couldn’t care less about. Between her constant chatter and the winding roads making your head spin, you feel a migraine creeping in.

At some point, exhaustion wins. You close your eyes, resting your head against the window, and let sleep take over. When you blink awake, the car is parked, and Mikasa is gone. Your door is open, and Eren is crouched beside you, holding out a water bottle and two Tylenols.

"Thought you’d need this."

Blinking at him, a little dazed, a little confused, you hesitantly take the bottle from his hands. He tilts his head, watching you closely. "You gonna take them or just stare at me, princess?"

You scowl but grab the pills, washing them down quickly. As soon as you do, he smirks, pleased with himself. And then, so quickly you barely register it, he leans in and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead. You don’t even have time to react before he’s grabbing your bags and slamming the car door shut. You sit there, stunned, pulse hammering in your ears.

By the time you and Eren make it to the campsite, everything is already in motion. The guys are halfway through pitching the tents, coolers are being unloaded, and Mikasa is, as expected, barking orders at people.

Armin, clipboard in hand, waves you over. "Sleeping arrangements are set," he says, glancing at his notes. "You’re with Jean."

Your brows raise. Jean Kirstein. You’ve heard of him. Seen him around. He’s one of Eren’s best friends.

And when you look up, Eren is already staring.

Jaw clenched. Hands flexing at his sides.

You smirk, shouldering your bag.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

Jean was cute. A nice guy. The type you’d absolutely hook up with, but date? That was still up in the air. Hey, maybe he’d surprise you.

As Armin points you toward your tent, you can feel Eren’s stare burning into your back. You don’t have to turn around to know his entire body is humming with irritation. But you just shrug it off.

Jean grabs your bags before you can protest, carrying them effortlessly to the tent. When he unzips it, you’re surprised to find everything already set up. An air mattress, his sleeping bag, soft LED lights strung along the sides.

"Damn, you came prepared," you comment, impressed.

Jean grins. "Had to. Can’t let my tentmate suffer, can I?"

He helps set up your stuff, too, cracking jokes the entire time. He’s easy to talk to—funny, charming, and flirty when he wants to be. You like that.

The frat had a whole day of activities planned, but the lake was the biggest event. 

From swimming to tubing to jet skis, the day is packed with water sports. 

And to your luck, Jean was great with all of those. He grew up swimming, meaning he was a natural in the water. He shows off a little, diving in perfectly, flexing just enough to make it noticeable, but you don’t mind the view.

At one point, when the boat ride gets too bumpy, you end up in his lap. Another sharp wave hits, and Jean groans into your ear, his hands gripping your waist instinctively. You bite back a laugh, looking up at him.

"Sorry," you giggle, sliding off his lap.

He smirks. "No complaints here."

Later, when it comes time for jet skiing, you hesitate. The water is a little intimidating, but Jean works his magic, coaxing you into trying it out. "I won’t go too fast. Promise," he says, holding out his hand.

And true to his word, he keeps a steady, comfortable speed. Eventually, once you start feeling the adrenaline rush, you tell him, "Okay, faster."

You’re laughing, wind in your hair, having the time of your life. You don’t even notice Eren watching from the dock, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles go white.

And then, Jean takes your hand. Just casually, as you walk down the dock, fingers laced together. It’s innocent, playful.

But to Eren, it isn’t. It’s a fucking slap in the face.

–

Later that evening, after everything settles down, you make your way to the outdoor showers. The sun is low in the sky, the lake reflecting the warm orange glow. You’re about to rinse off when suddenly, a hand grabs your wrist and yanks you towards the other side of the shower, out of sight from everyone.

"What the fuck—"

You look up, and it’s Eren.

His jaw is tight, green eyes burning with jealousy. He cages you in, pressing you back against the rough wood. 

"What the hell is going on between you and Jean?" he demands, voice low, angry.

You blink at him, feigning innocence. "Um, nothing? Why? What does it look like?"

"Don’t play stupid," he grits out, stepping closer. "Ask to switch tents with someone. Connie’s sharing with Sasha—switch with Connie."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Why would I do that? I like my sleeping arrangement."

His nostrils flare. "Seriously? Fucking stop. It’s not funny."

"Eren," you sigh, rolling your eyes, "you need to cool it, or you’re gonna blow our fucking cover."

Before he can argue, you see Jean approaching over the hill, carrying a towel. You had asked him to hold it up for you for privacy while you used the outdoor shower.

Eren sees him. And sees red.

His nails dig into his palms, rage vibrating off him in waves. He wants to snap. Wants to grab you, throw you over his shoulder, drag you back to his tent, and make you remember exactly who the fuck you belong to.

But he can’t. Because if he reacts, he’ll blow this entire thing up.

So instead, he turns on his heel and storms off. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t risk another second of watching you strip in front of Jean.

Because if he does, he might actually lose his mind.

–

The fire crackled, sending sparks into the night as the group huddled around, sharing ghost stories, stuffing their faces with s’mores, and laughing at stupid inside jokes. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, which meant Mikasa was on Eren’s lap… and you were on Jean’s.

Not that you minded. Beneath the shared blanket draped over the both of you, Jean’s hands roamed your bare thighs, his touch slow and lazy, like he was memorizing the feel of your skin. It was soothing, almost enough to pull you to sleep right then and there. But the way his fingers occasionally squeezed, tracing patterns along your inner thigh? That kept you very much awake.

Eren, across from you, was the complete opposite. Stiff. Silent. Seething. His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair, his jaw shut so tightly you swore you could hear his teeth grinding. He wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, didn’t even acknowledge Mikasa’s attempts to pull him in. No, his eyes were locked on you. 

Yet, all you could do is enjoy Jean’s presence. He leaned in, voice low in your ear. “Tired, sweetheart?”

You hummed. “Mhm. Long day.”

Jean’s fingers crept up your thigh. “Wanna turn in?”

Eren dropped his beer bottle, and the sharp crack of glass shattering snapped both of your heads up. He glances down at the shards of glass, his breathing heavy, and when Mikasa gasped and bent down to help clean up, he went back to his tent without a word.

Jean's face twisted in concern. “Damn. What’s his problem?”

You shrugged, playing dumb. “Beats me.”

–

The air in the tent was thick, humid from the warmth of two bodies pressed close. You were snug in your sleeping bag, wrapped in layers of fleece, but even that wasn’t enough to keep out the night’s chill.

Jean, already tucked into his own bag, turned his head to look at you. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

He smirked. “You could just share with me. My sleeping bag’s bigger, and I’m very warm.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Jean didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, actually.”

The bastard. You laughed, shaking your head. You were tempted. It was cold, and you were shivering. And Jean was very warm. So, after a beat, you gave in, slipping out of your bag and into his.

Jean pulled you close immediately, wrapping his arms around you as if he’d been waiting for this moment all night. “Told you,” he murmured against your ear.

You weren’t sure how it started, only that it happened fast. One second, you were tangled up in blankets, pressed chest to chest, and the next, his lips were on yours. Desperate. Starving.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tugging at his hair as his hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, palming at your breast. The heat between your legs pulsed when he gripped your hips and pulled you onto his lap, and fuck—the hardness pressing against you had your breath hitching.

Jean groaned, head tipping back. “Shit, sweetie. You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You gasped, grinding down against him, feeling his length strain against his boxers. His fingers slipped between your legs, rubbing slow circles over your clothed clit, and when you whimpered into his mouth, he grinned.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I wanna suck you off.”

Jean let out a shaky breath, nearly losing it right then and there. “Fuck. Come here, baby.”

You didn’t waste a second. You shifted, turning around to face the opposite way, your ass now right in his face. The both of you hurriedly shoved your pants down, hands fumbling in the dark, and the second your tongue traced the tip of his cock, his mouth was on you.

It was filthy. The wet sounds of slurping, the stifled moans swallowed against skin, the quiet squeak of the air mattress beneath you, it all filled the tent in a sinful symphony. His tongue lapped against your folds, fingers digging into your ass as he devoured you. You moaned around his length, sending vibrations down his cock, and Jean shuddered.

“Shit—gonna cum,” he gritted out, hands gripping your hips as he thrust up into your mouth.

You let him. You took it. Let him fuck himself into your throat until he was spilling on your tongue, groaning against your soaked cunt as you came with him.

The moment was hazy, the world tilting as you collapsed beside him, exhausted and spent. Jean pulled you close, pressing lazy kisses to your forehead as his fingers traced gentle circles on your back.

“Fuck, that was good,” he murmured.

You hummed, barely processing his words as your heavy eyelids fluttered shut. Jean played with your hair, his touch lulling you to sleep, and the last thing you remembered before drifting off was the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

–

The next morning, you woke to an empty bed.

The space beside you was already cold, but you didn’t panic. You recalled hearing the soft shuffle of movement sometime before dawn, Jean whispering in your ear about an early morning fishing trip with the boys.

The chill morning air nipped at your skin as you stepped out of the tent, stretching your sore muscles. Mikasa was already awake, curled up in one of the camping chairs, a thick blanket draped over her shoulders. A steaming cup of coffee rested between her hands, and her dark hair was messy from sleep.

When she spotted you, her eyes lit up with amusement. “So… is Jean Mr. Hottie?”

You froze. Oh, fuck.

She grinned, completely oblivious to the way your stomach dropped. “Because last night? You guys were so loud!”

You swallowed, trying to play dumb. “We were?”

“Yeah! It sounded like two grizzlies fighting over a salmon.” She laughed, taking a sip of her coffee.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s the stupid air mattress.”

Mikasa snickered, shaking her head. “Eren and I had to mute it out with our own ‘stuff.’ Hence why I’m so tired.”

Your whole body stiffened.

You didn’t want to hear this. You hated hearing this. But you forced yourself to stay neutral. “And how did that go for you?”

Mikasa sighed, leaning back in her chair. “He just made me suck him off.” She frowned, staring into her cup. “I don’t know… he’s been really cold toward me lately. Do you think he’s getting cold feet?”

Your chest tightened. You shouldn’t care. You didn’t care. This wasn’t your problem. This wasn’t your relationship.

Still… even though you hated Mikasa, even though you had no real loyalty to her, something about these conversations always made your morals check in.

You exhaled through your nose, keeping your voice light. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“I have, but every time I bring it up, he just shuts me down. He’s not like how he used to be.”

Right. Before he started fucking you.

You forced a small smile. “I’m sure he’ll bounce back. Being the president of the frat isn’t easy work. Maybe he’s just stressed.”

“Maybe…” Mikasa muttered, but she didn’t sound convinced.

Before she could press the conversation any further, you stood up, brushing invisible lint off your sweatshirt. “I’m gonna go wash my face.”

–

By the time you finished getting ready for the day, the guys were back from their fishing trip. You spotted Jean first, looking bright-eyed and grinning as he sauntered toward you.

“Hey, sweetie,” he greeted, his voice warm as his hands instinctively found your waist. You smiled up at him, letting him pull you into his embrace. 

Your eyes scanned around and sure enough, Eren was staring again. 

His fishing pole was still slung over his shoulder, his damp hoodie clinging to his body from the early morning mist. His face was unreadable, but his eyes? You couldn’t tell, because today it was softer. Was it betrayal? Sadness? Hurt? 

Something twisted in your chest. Guilt? Remorse? You weren’t sure.

But whatever it was, you shoved it down. Because Eren had no right to look at you like that. He had a girlfriend. He was supposed to be exclusive to her.

He couldn’t have her and you and expect you to stay loyal to him.

So, instead of addressing the look in his eyes, you smiled at Jean, letting your fingers trail along his arm. Loud. Clear. Intentional.

Eren had no claim over you, and the sooner he accepted that, the better it was for both of you. 

–

The day had been perfect. Almost.

It was a full itinerary—archery, swimming, drinking. The usual camp shit. But don’t even ask about archery, because it was a fucking disaster.

You weren’t just bad at it, you were embarrassing. Every shot went wide, some arrows even bouncing off the ground pathetically before reaching the target. At one point, you nearly took out Connie’s eye, and he screamed like it was a drive-by.

Jean had tried to help, standing behind you, adjusting your grip, guiding your movements. But it was pointless. You were terrible and he knew it. But still, he stayed behind you, his hands firm on your arms, his voice warm in your ear.

“You’re just too tense,” he teased. “You gotta loosen up.”

“Oh? You offering a massage?”

His fingers squeezed at your waist, making you laugh. “I don’t do freebies, sweetheart.”

–

By mid-afternoon, the energy had shifted. Not with you. Not with Jean.

With Eren. 

Because sometime between lunch and now, he and Mikasa had fought.

Not just a spat. Not their usual bickering where she scolded him for being reckless and he brushed her off like it didn’t matter.

This was different. This was loud. This was heated.

Mikasa had cornered him, voice low but sharp, pleading with him to tell her what was wrong. Why he was so cold. Why he barely touched her anymore. Why he never looked at her like he used to. Why she felt like she was losing him.

Eren just stood there.

Face stoic and silent. 

He didn’t care, just walked away.

Didn’t comfort her. Didn’t tell her she was overthinking. Didn’t reassure her with the soft words and tender touches she so obviously craved.

Mikasa had been devastated.

Everyone had heard it.

And now, they were talking.

Because no one knew why he was acting like this. No one understood why he seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else, with anyone else.

But you knew. 

–

Later that night, the fire popped, sending flickers of orange light across the group. The smell of roasted marshmallows filled the air, mixing with the night’s chill. You sat in Jean’s lap, your legs wrapped in a cozy blanket as his arms circled your waist, idly tracing patterns on your skin. The moment was easy, the perfect mix of warmth and comfort.

Sasha was going off with one of her ridiculous spooky stories, but your attention was scattered. Your focus wavered, till a giggle made your head turn. 

Eren and Mikasa were wrapped up in each other. You didn't need to look closely to see it. His arms around her waist, his lips moving against her skin, and her soft giggles that were too loud to ignore. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Whatever. If Mikasa was finally getting the attention she wanted, good for her. It was about time.

You didn’t care. Honestly, it was a relief. You were tired of hearing her complain about Eren’s distance, about how he wasn’t paying attention to her. Now she had him, all over her like she always wanted. Let her have it.

You shifted slightly in Jean’s lap, your focus still on him as he teased you about your less-than-stellar archery skills. You were ready with a snarky comeback when a low moan cut through the air, sharp enough to stop the conversation dead in its tracks.

Everyone’s heads snapped to the source—Mikasa, her head thrown back against Eren’s shoulder, eyes shut tight. And it clicked. You didn’t need to see any more than that to know exactly what was happening under that damn blanket.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, and Jean’s chuckle joined yours. It was too much, Mikasa’s constant complaints, her needy energy for attention, and now here she was, practically giving a live show in front of the group. You looked around, finding everyone else’s uncomfortable glances and subtle eye-rolls.

Connie, ever the asshole, barked at them to take it to the tent, and without missing a beat, they both got up, retreating into the shadows with their drama. That was definitely a mood killer, though. The atmosphere was completely shot, and one by one, people filtered back to their tents, eager to end the night and pretend they didn’t just witness the latest episode of “Mikasa and Eren's Fucked Relationship.”

You're back in the tent, leaning back into Jean. The fire’s warmth long forgotten, the awkwardness lingering in the air like smoke. You felt exhausted from the day’s events and all the noise, so when Jean’s arms pulled you closer, you didn’t protest. You let yourself melt into him, a small, content sigh slipping from your lips.

You were already halfway to sleep before Jean could even try to make a move, and he didn’t push it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tighter as you drifted off, the tension of the day finally leaving your body.

It was peaceful, despite everything else that had happened. For now, all that mattered was this quiet moment.

–

It was about 2 a.m. when you woke up, shivering slightly in the cold air. Jean’s grip on you had loosened, and the warmth of his body was now distant. You shifted restlessly, frustrated by your inability to fall back asleep. Grabbing your hoodie and sweats from the edge of your sleeping bag, you quietly slipped out of the tent, careful not to wake Jean.

You were almost two steps away from the tent when you heard the zipper of another. Your heart skipped as you glanced over and saw Eren emerging from Mikasa’s tent. What the hell?

He noticed you instantly and came toward you, his figure still shadowed in the dim moonlight. “You need to use the bathroom?”

You hesitated, thinking fast. “Yeah,” you lied, giving him a small nod.

“Alright, I’ll walk with you.” He started toward the washroom, falling into step beside you, his breath visible in the cool air.

“Did I wake you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual.

“No,” he replied, his voice low, almost too casual. “I’ve been up for a while.”

“Oh. How come?”

He shrugged but didn’t offer any further explanation, and you didn’t press. The silence between you both was thick, the only sound being the crunch of your footsteps on the dry leaves.

When you reached the washroom, you hesitated. “Actually, I don’t really need to go,” you admitted. “I just couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Eren gave you a look that you couldn’t quite read, then raised an eyebrow. “Wanna go for a walk instead?”

You didn’t see any harm in it, so you nodded, letting him lead you away from the camp and into the woods. The further you went, the quieter it became, the sounds of nature surrounding you. But it felt awkward—strained. Neither of you spoke for what seemed like forever.

Finally, Eren broke the silence, his voice unexpectedly sharp. “So, do you really like Jean that much?”

His question caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to come at you like this. Still, you kept your cool, even though your heart skipped. “Yeah. He’s sweet. Why?”

Eren didn’t respond right away. You could feel the weight of his silence hanging between you. So, you decided to fill it. “I see you and Mikasa worked things out,” you said, forcing a neutral tone. “I’m really happy for you.”

Eren scoffed in disbelief. “Don’t feed me that bullshit. You’re her best friend.”

“And you’re her boyfriend,” you shot back, meeting his eyes.

Eren stopped walking for a moment, his gaze intense, almost too intense. “Yet you’re the one I can’t stop thinking about.”

When Eren pulls you closer, you don’t even question it. Something in the way he moves, the way his breath quickens as he closes the space between you, feels like fate, like something you can’t fight even if you tried. And you’re not trying. In fact, you lean into him, just a little, just enough to feel his chest against yours, his body heat enveloping you.

His hands are on you, firm, possessive, like they were made to touch you. Like they belong there. Your breath catches as his fingers dig into your sides, pulling you closer, and fuck, it feels like he’s branded you. You’re hyper-aware of every inch of his body pressed against yours. You can’t escape it, don’t want to.

He’s close, so close that the air around you feels charged. And before you can even process the thought, you close the gap. Your lips crash together, urgent, desperate, like you’re both starved for this moment. His kiss is hungry, raw, taking as much as it gives, and you can feel the desperation in every movement. It’s a whirlwind. Fast, unrelenting, pulling you right under.

Eren’s hands roam down your body, his grip tightening as he presses you up against the rough bark of the tree. You wince at the sensation, but the pain is nothing compared to the heat coursing through your veins. His lips are everywhere now, dragging along your jaw, your neck, but each touch only makes you want more.

You gasp when his lips find yours again, and this time, you kiss him back with everything you’ve got. It’s wild, it’s chaotic, but it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting for. His body presses you harder into the tree, the bark digging into your back, but you don’t care. You welcome it. It’s not enough to stop you. Nothing can stop you now.

His tongue slides into your mouth, and your hands instinctively grip the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, if that’s even possible. His breath mingles with yours, and you can feel the heat between you, pulsing with every second that passes. You don’t know how long this moment lasts. Time seems to blur together as you lose yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of his body against yours, in the madness of it all.

Eren grips your thighs and lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you flush against the tree, his body caging you in, heat rolling off him in waves. The rough bark digs into your back, but the only thing you can focus on is him; his scent, his strength, the way his chest rises and falls against yours.

Your legs tighten around his waist instinctively, and you can feel him straining against the fabric separating you. You grind against him, dragging your hips down to feel all of him, and the groan that rumbles in his chest is so fucking deep, so fucking wrecked, it sends a shiver up your spine.

“Fuckin’ hell.” His voice is a low growl, his forehead pressing against yours for a split second before his mouth is on your jaw, your throat, biting and sucking, leaving his mark on your skin. Branding you.

Your head tilts back, lips parting as a soft, needy moan escapes you.

“I want more,” you breathe into his ear, voice wrecked, desperate.

Eren stills for a second—just a second—before he exhales sharply, a low, dark chuckle vibrating against your throat.

“Yeah?” His voice is gravel, his fingers already yanking down your sweats with one rough tug, leaving them bunched around one ankle. His own pants are pushed down just enough to free his cock, and when you feel the heavy press of him against your soaked folds, you whimper.

Eren groans when he slides his fingers through your slick, spreading it, feeling just how fucking ready you are for him.

“You have me fucking crazy,” he mutters, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, teasing you, making you feel every inch of him before he even gives it to you.

His green eyes find yours, dark and burning.

“Gonna fuck this pussy till you’re a crying mess on me,” he breathes, voice thick with lust, his fingers digging into your hips as he lines himself up. “Won’t fucking stop till you’re leaking with my cum.”

Then he sinks in.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as he stretches you, fills you to the fucking brim, the thick weight of him pushing deep, deep, deep until he’s buried fully.

For a second, neither of you move.

Eren groans, low and wrecked, his hands gripping your hips as he lets you feel it. Lets you feel just how deep he is, how perfectly his cock fits inside you.

Then he pulls back just enough to slam back in.

You choke on a moan, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts fucking you in earnest, hard, fast, deep—every thrust pushing you higher, higher, higher.

The sound of his skin slapping yours fills the night, filthy and obscene, mixing with your gasps, your moans, the broken curses that fall from his lips.

Your head tips back against the tree, mouth falling open as he hits that spot, over and over, and your body reacts on instinct, pulling him deeper, gripping him tighter.

“Shit—” Eren grits his teeth, his pace never faltering. Never slowing. His hands grip your ass tighter, spreading you open so he can fuck into you deeper, harder, rougher.

“How the fuck—” His voice is low, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace turns brutal. “—was this pussy ever meant for anyone but me?”

You can’t speak. Can’t think. You’re already losing it, your body coiling so tight you feel like you might snap.

And Eren can feel it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he groans, his hand slipping between you, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, perfect circles. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

A sharp cry tears from your throat as your body clenches around him, tightening, squeezing, fucking drowning him. His thrusts grow erratic, hips slamming into you like he’s trying to fuck you into the tree, into the dirt, into the fucking ground.

Then his hand moves from your waist to your throat, wrapping around it, tilting your head up so he can watch you fall apart.

“That’s right,” he grits out, his cock twitching inside you, his voice turning ragged as his hips stutter against yours. “Fucking take it.”

And when you cum, when you fucking explode around him, clenching so tight he can barely fucking move, Eren follows, groaning deep in his chest as he buries himself as deep as he can, filling you up to the fucking brim.

His hands grip your thighs tight, and before you can even catch your breath, he shifts, hiking your legs over his shoulders. The new angle makes you gasp, makes you feel him even deeper, the thick, swollen head of his cock pressing into that sensitive, aching spot inside you.

“Fuck—” Your voice is already wrecked, but Eren doesn’t slow down.

If anything, he picks up the pace.

His hips snap forward, slamming into you with a force that knocks the breath out of you, his cock dragging along every nerve ending that has you seeing fucking stars.

Your fingers claw at his arms, at his shoulders, at anything you can grab onto, but he stops you, trapping your wrists above your head with one hand, pinning you to the tree. His body keeps you in place, fucking into you so deep it feels like he’s about to split you open.

Your body starts trembling, tightening, your orgasm building too fast, too soon. And Eren already knows.

“You gonna cum already?” he taunts, voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “Thought you could handle me, baby.”

“I-I—fuck—” Your words are lost in moans, gasps, pleasure coiling so tight it’s unbearable.

Eren just grins, his free hand dropping between you, rubbing your clit in tight, merciless circles.

Your body reacts instantly, your back arching, your mouth parting, your legs shaking as that coil inside you snaps.

You cum hard, thighs clamping around him as your pussy squeezes his cock so fucking tight he groans, his rhythm faltering for a split second.

But he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t fucking let up.

“Too much,” you cry, voice breaking, your entire body shaking beneath him.

“Nah,” Eren growls, driving into you harder, deeper, faster. “This is exactly what you fucking wanted.”

Your moans turn helpless, breathless, your body over-sensitive, overwhelmed. He’s fucking you like he means to ruin you, to break you in. 

His teeth graze your jaw, your throat, his grip bruising on your waist as he pounds into you, relentless.

“This pussy is mine,” he mutters, voice low and dark in your ear. “Fucked Jean with it once and now you think it belongs to him? Nah, baby. You were fucking made for me.”

Your stomach tightens, pleasure crests again way too soon, way too strong.

Eren can feel it. He can fucking tell.

“You gonna cum again?” he grits out, his hand tightening around your wrists, his other still playing with your clit, determined to push you over the fucking edge.

“Eren—fuck—” Your words dissolve into moans, your entire body jerks, locks up, the pleasure hitting you so hard it almost hurts. Your pussy clenches around his cock, the tight, pulsing heat pulling him even deeper, and when his fingers press against your clit, you fucking squirt.

It’s sudden, involuntary, completely out of your control, your release gushing out around his cock, soaking him, dripping down your thighs.

Eren groans so deep it’s nearly a growl, his movements stuttering for just a second before he starts fucking into you again, riding out your high like he’s trying to force another one out of you.

Your head falls back, dazed, wrecked, gone. Eren catches your jaw, forcing you to look at him, to stay present as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Look at that,” he breathes, watching the mess you made. “So fucking pretty when you lose it on my cock.”

He grabs your hips, holds you still, buries himself deep, and groans. Hot, thick ropes flood your insides, and the sensation makes you clench, whimper, tremble, your body barely able to take it.

Eren stays inside you, filling you up, holding you there as he catches his breath. Your vision is hazy, spotty, your body still trembling, your lungs struggling to keep up. 

For a moment, silence lingers, but then he speaks.

“I don’t like you with Jean.” 

Your stomach twists, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you tilt your head, smirking just a little. “Well, then it’s a damn good thing that you’re not my boyfriend.”

His jaw tenses.

His hands on your hips tighten, like he wants to hold you there, make you stay, make you fucking listen.

But before he can, you slip out of his grasp, his cock slipping out of you with a messy, wet sound, cum still dripping down your thighs as you pull your sweats up. You don’t look back.

He’s left gutted, fists clenched, watching you walk away like he isn’t about to fucking lose his mind.

–

The next morning, nobody suspected a thing.

You had slipped back into the tent before sunrise, body still aching, used, sore in ways you had no business being.

Jean didn’t stir when you nestled back into your sleeping bag, didn’t notice you were gone. And since the camp hadn’t erupted into chaos, since Mikasa wasn’t ripping through the trees looking for her boyfriend, you figured Eren had kept his mouth shut.

You were limping, not enough to draw attention, but just enough that your gait felt unnatural. You played it off, rolling your shoulders, stretching like you had just slept in a weird position.

The morning was peaceful. The fire crackled as everyone moved around lazily, cooking breakfast, packing up their things. Mikasa leaned into Eren’s side like everything was normal, talking to him about something you weren’t paying attention to.

Eren didn’t respond.

Not to her.

After breakfast, the gang started packing up. The tents came down, bags were loaded into cars, and you made your way to Jean’s, tossing your stuff into the back seat.

It was the obvious choice.

Jean had offered, and his car meant six peaceful hours without sitting next to Eren or Mikasa. Sure, it’d take longer since Jean was towing the boat, but it didn’t matter.

His company was what you needed.

–

You head back to the campsite to see if everyone’s ready to leave, and there she is.

Mikasa, glowing.

She’s practically vibrating with excitement, beaming as you overhear her telling Eren about the scholarship she just won. The scholarship.

The one you needed to fund your education.

The one you had spent months working for.

She wouldn’t have even known about it if it weren’t for you. It wasn’t like she needed it anyway. Her well-off parents were paying for everything, while you were fighting just to stay afloat, trying to avoid living paycheck to paycheck.

Her voice is light, effortless, as if this hadn’t been handed to her on a silver fucking platter.

"It’ll open so many doors for me," she says, smiling so wide it makes your stomach twist. She is completely oblivious to the way your fists curl at your sides.

Like her life wasn’t already a series of open doors. Like this wasn’t everything to you. Like you hadn’t been grinding, sacrificing, bleeding for this chance.

And now it was gone. Because Mikasa’s dad pulled a few strings. Because she applied behind your back. Because she never once stopped to think that maybe she didn’t deserve it as much as you did. 

Everything was a competition to her and she always needed to win. Even if she has to play dirty. 

You try to breathe. You try to swallow it down. You tell yourself it is what it is. But it feels like something lodged in your chest, sharp and suffocating.

When Mikasa walks over later, her voice all bubbly and sweet, like she wasn’t standing there holding your future in her hands, you know you’re not going to be able to hold your tongue.

“I can’t believe I got in!” she gushes, oblivious. “I’m so excited. This is going to change everything for me!”

Your jaw locks.

Your nails dig into your palms.

And then, before you can stop yourself, it slips out.

"You're lucky, Mikasa. You have all the connections. Your dad can get you whatever you want."

The smile falters. Her brows knit together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Your throat is tight. The anger has been simmering for years, and now it’s boiling over.

“I didn’t have a dad to pull strings for me,” you snap, voice sharp enough to cut. “My mom doesn’t give a shit about me. She’s too busy with her boyfriend to notice that I’ve been scraping by for years. This scholarship was my way out, Mikasa. It was my fucking chance.”

Mikasa blinks. “I… I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did.” You let out a bitter laugh. “If you ever actually listened when I talked, instead of scrolling on your phone the whole time, maybe you would’ve picked up on it. I needed that scholarship. You didn’t.”

Your voice cracks, heat rising in your chest.

“Your parents love you. They support you. You’ve got a safety net, Mikasa. You’ll always land on your feet. Your name alone opens doors. Your family makes sure of it.”

You take a shaky breath, eyes burning.

“Meanwhile, I’m out here breaking myself just to prove I belong. To prove I deserve to be in the same fucking rooms you walk into without trying.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, voice small. “I worked hard for this.”

You scoff. Hard?

Hard is what you’ve been doing your entire life.

Hard is working double shifts while keeping your GPA spotless. Hard is knowing no one will pull strings for you, that if you don’t fight tooth and nail for what you want, you’ll get nothing.

Mikasa will never know that struggle.

And she sure as hell didn’t have to fight for this.

“You don’t get to act like we started at the same place,” you say coldly. “You don’t get to pretend like you needed this the way I did.”

The words land like a slap.

Mikasa stares, lips parting like she’s going to say something—but she doesn’t. Because what can she say?

Nothing she says will change the fact that she took this from you.

And for the first time ever, you can see it in her face.

She knows it too. But she won’t back down. Not when everyone’s watching. 

Her voice trembles when she says, “That’s not my fault. You think I don’t work hard for everything I’ve got?”

But you laugh. It’s bitter, sharp, cutting. “You don’t have to work as hard as me, Mikasa. You never did.”

“Don’t make this about me!” Her voice rises, frustration cracking through. “I didn’t ask for your shitty family life!”

Your chest burns.

You’re done biting your tongue.

“Maybe you didn’t,” you spit, “but you sure as hell flaunt it. Maybe you should try living in the real world for once.”

You turn, because if you look at her for one more second, you might just lose it.

But it’s too late. You’re already unraveling. The words keep spilling out, and you can’t stop them now.

“You have everything, Mikasa. A mother and father who care about you. A future. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing. I just wanna be something more.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for you to feel the weight of your words settling between you.

Mikasa’s eyes glisten. She takes a step back. “I never meant to hurt you, okay? I don’t—”

Then you bring up something that makes her blood run cold. 

“I know it was you. You were the one who spread those fucking rumors about me.”

She freezes. 

Her mouth parts but she doesn’t deny it.

Her silence is confirmation enough.

Your stomach twists.

You already knew. You always knew. But hearing it like this? Watching her stand there, caught?

It’s infuriating.

“I was in a dark place,” she says finally, eyes teary, voice pleading.

But that just makes you laugh. 

“Don’t give me those fucking tears. That’s not a fucking excuse.” You take a step closer. “You were in a dark place?! What could possibly put your perfect life in a dark place? Please, Mikasa, fucking enlighten me.”

She swallows. “I don’t know! Everyone fucking likes you! You don’t even have anything!”

You still.

Your breath catches, before you bark out a laugh.

“That’s not an excuse to be a raging cunt.” Your eyes flicker over her, disgust curling in your stomach. “You are a spoiled, entitled, selfish brat.”

And then, before you even realize it, you say it. 

“That’s why your fucking boyfriend—”

Silence.

Your heart stops.

Mikasa’s eyes go wide.

And when you glance around, everyone’s watching.

Jean. Armin. Connie. Sasha.

Eren.

Your stomach plummets.

You almost finished that sentence. Almost.

Before you could do anymore damage, you walk away. 

–

He finds you at the edge of the trail.

The same place where he had you up against a tree last night, fucking you like you belonged to him.

You don’t even look at him when he sits beside you.

His hand grazes your back.

And you shrug him off.

“We can’t hide this shit forever,” he says finally, voice low.

You let out a breath. “There’s no ‘we,’ Eren. She’s your fucking girlfriend.”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“Fuck off, Eren.” Your voice is exhausted. “If you came here to fight with me, get the hell out of here.”

His head tilts. “You talk so much about Mikasa being a raging cunt, but so the fuck are you.”

You turn to him, eyes flashing.

“At least I have my reasons,” you snap. “How would you understand? You’re just like her.”

That fucking gets him.

Eren stands, his chest heavy with the weight of everything that just happened. He doesn’t look back as he walks away from you, his footsteps quick and determined, like he’s fleeing from the consequences of his own actions.

When he finally reaches the campsite, Mikasa is waiting. Her eyes are wide, frantic, a twisted mix of confusion and rage. The moment he steps into view, she pounces on him, her voice sharp with accusation.

“Where the hell have you been? Why were you with her, Eren? I’m your fucking girlfriend. Why the hell aren’t you comforting me?” she snaps, eyes blazing, breath coming in quick bursts.

Eren doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. He stands there, silent for a moment, the weight of what’s coming crashing down on him.

“I don’t love you,” he says, voice low but filled with finality. “I don’t think I even like you anymore.”

Mikasa’s face goes pale. Her eyes narrow, disbelief spreading across her features, but it doesn’t stop there. She starts piecing it together, her mind racing as she realizes what’s been happening.

“No…” Her voice trembles, cracking, but she doesn’t want to hear the truth. “You can’t—no, Eren. You’re not saying this. You can’t do this to me.”

The anger she should feel doesn’t come. Instead, it’s replaced by a seething, twisted pain that claws at her chest. But it’s not anger at him. It’s not his betrayal that makes her burn.

It’s you.

Her gaze flickers to the distance, searching for you in the crowd, the realization like a punch to the gut. There’s only one thing she can think of now, one thing that matters.

You.

“Fuck this, Eren. Fuck you. How could you? How long, huh? How long have you been fucking her behind my back?” Her voice cracks, not from sadness, but from fury.

Eren doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to explain. He lets the silence hang heavy in the air between them, his expression closed off.

Mikasa’s panic sets in, her thoughts scattering like a thousand pieces of glass. “Tell me. How long? How long, Eren?!” she demands again, voice rising.

“Three months,” he repeats, his voice steady now, like the admission has ripped the last of the care he had for her away.

Her stomach turns. She can’t process it, can’t understand it. Her mind races, but there’s only one thing she knows for sure—you are the source of all of this.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” she mutters to herself, though the words are so cold, so full of venom, they sound like a promise.

Eren doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

But when you walk back into the campsite, the tension reaches its breaking point. Mikasa’s eyes flash with rage, and without a second thought, she launches at you, like a predator finally cornering its prey.

But you don’t back down. You meet her halfway, ready for the fight, your fists clenched, your heart pumping with raw emotion.

The guys scramble to separate you two, but Mikasa’s too far gone, her insults flying from her mouth like daggers. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? Always playing the victim while everything gets handed to you.”

You scoff, glaring at her. “Daddy’s money and connections don’t buy you love, sweetheart. Maybe you should try being real for once instead of hiding behind all that privilege.”

Mikasa’s face turns red with fury, her body trembling with rage. “You don’t know shit about me!” she yells, and with a final, desperate shove, she tries to break free of the guys holding her back.

But the damage is done. The words you threw at her hit their mark, and the final straw has been broken. Eren watches, torn between his loyalty to Mikasa and the bitter, gnawing pull toward you, but in the end, he knows he’s already made his choice.

And as Mikasa glares at you, the hate in her eyes burning bright, it’s clear that nothing will ever be the same.

–

Once you return to campus, you shut everyone out of your life. Mikasa, Eren, Jean—every single one of them was cut off. Jean’s absence stung the most, to be honest. If you had approached things differently, maybe things with him could’ve been something real, something meaningful. But now, you just didn’t have the energy to care.

The rumors that Mikasa had forgiven Eren and that they were "on a break" reached your ears, but honestly? You didn’t care. The whole situation had been toxic from the start, and you wanted no part of it. You needed space, and for the first time in a long while, you had it. You focused on school, threw yourself into your studies, and let the noise of the past fade into the background.

You didn’t avoid Eren, but you didn’t engage either. You saw him around campus sometimes, mostly in that hallway on the way to your English class. Every time you passed him, you could feel his eyes on you, a silent plea begging for your attention, for an explanation, but you kept walking, never giving him the satisfaction. It wasn’t like you didn’t notice him, it was just that you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. He’d made his choice, and you’d made yours.

As the months passed, you quietly accepted that life went on without him, without any of them. Your focus was on your future, and it was a future you had earned for yourself. A future that would take you far from here, far from everything that had tried to destroy you.

Switzerland.

It wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was real, and you had earned it. A different scholarship, a fresh start. You didn’t tell anyone. Not Mikasa. Not Eren. Only a brief post on social media, a congratulations from your university. But seriously, who paid attention to those?

Apparently, Eren did.

You were just about to leave that night. Your flight was at 3 a.m., and your mom was picking you up to take you to the airport. You were packing up the last of your things when you heard a knock at your dorm door. Your heart skipped, your pulse quickened as you opened it to find him standing there, his face drawn and his eyes red.

“Hey,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” you replied, voice soft. You didn’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Him. Standing there, looking like he had the world on his shoulders.

He glanced behind you, his eyes searching, “You... leaving tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, keeping your tone even. “Flight’s at 3. My mom’s taking me to the airport.”

There was a pause, thick with the weight of everything unsaid between you two. You could feel the tension in the air, like something was about to snap, but you weren’t sure if you were ready for it yet. The silence lingered, stretching between the two of you like a chasm neither of you could cross.

Finally, Eren broke it. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, your heart a tangled mess of emotions, but after a beat, you stepped aside to let him in. You didn’t know what was going to come of this. Whether he was here to apologize, to beg, or to finally face the mess he’d left behind. But you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t the same person anymore.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the weight of the past seemed to settle between you both.

“How long are you gone for?” 

“About a year.” 

Eren's eyes lingered on you for a moment, his gaze heavy, as though he were trying to process the weight of your words. The room felt smaller now, suffocating in its silence. His hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you, to pull you back into some kind of connection, but he didn’t. He knew better, or at least, he had to.

“A year,” he repeated, his voice strained. “That’s... a long time.”

You nodded, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if protecting yourself from whatever emotions he might try to stir up. You had spent too long building walls, too much time turning your back on everything that had hurt you. You weren't sure you could let it all come crashing down just because Eren had decided to show up now.

“Yeah,” you replied, your tone cool. “But it’s not just about the time, Eren. It’s about the opportunity. I’m not going to sit around here, stuck in the same toxic shit we’ve all been drowning in.”

Eren pulls back slightly, his hands still lingering on your waist as his eyes search yours, trying to read the unreadable. You feel it—a magnetic pull between you two, something that’s been brewing for months but never fully realized, at least not until now. His lips are so close to yours, and your heart is pounding, warning you to stop, but your body betrays you.

“I’m sorry,” Eren whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “I never meant for things to get so fucked up between us.”

You swallow hard, torn between the anger that still simmers beneath the surface and the undeniable chemistry that has always been there. His fingers trace the line of your jaw, brushing against your lips with a touch so tender it almost feels like a confession.

You know what’s coming, and part of you doesn't want to stop it. Maybe it's because this moment feels like the last chance to feel anything with him, good or bad. Maybe it's because you're both so damn tired of pretending that everything’s fine when it’s been anything but.

Eren’s face inches closer, his lips barely grazing yours as if asking for permission. And you let him, giving him the slightest tilt of your head, just enough for his lips to crush against yours in a desperate, searing kiss. It’s not soft. It’s not tender. It’s raw, filled with every unsaid word, every mistake, every broken piece that’s never been repaired.

When you finally pull away, both of you are crying.

Eren rests his forehead against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks like you’re something fragile he’s terrified to break any more than he already has. You feel the tremble in his fingers. Hear the rasp of his breathing. See the way he’s trying, trying so hard not to lose you completely.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, voice cracking. “If you want me to. I’ll work on it, on me. On everything. I’ll be the man you deserve. Just… just give me the chance.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words sink into your chest. They hurt. They heal. They tear you open.

“But if you meet someone in Switzerland,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper, “someone who makes you happy... then that’s enough for me too. I’ll be happy if you’re happy.”

The sincerity in his voice shatters something inside you.

You don’t say anything. You just pull him into you, fitting yourself against him like you always have and he clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. He tucks your head beneath his chin, wraps his arms around you so tight it almost hurts, but you welcome the ache. It’s real. It’s him.

He kisses your face, your cheeks, your jaw, your lips, each press lingering longer than the last. When his mouth finally claims yours again, it’s different this time. Tender. Slow. A kiss that tastes like goodbye.

You let him touch you. Let him push you back onto your bed, hands slipping beneath your clothes, stripping you down to nothing but need. You let him take you one last time—slow, deep, desperate. You let him stay inside you longer than you should, clinging to the illusion that maybe this could last.

That night, you fall asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms, breathing in the same broken rhythm. 

No guarantees.

Just two people, loving each other in the only way they know how — raw, scared, and with every shattered piece laid bare between them.

–

The sheets are cold when you wake.

An hour had passed. It’s time to leave.

The faint smell of him still lingers, sandalwood, something clean and worn, but Eren’s gone. No note. No goodbye. Just the imprint of his body on the mattress and the sharp ache settling deep in your ribs.

For a moment, you just sit there, clutching the blanket to your chest, trying to convince yourself it doesn’t matter. That this is easier. Cleaner. No teary farewell. No begging each other to stay. Just a silent ending to a story that was never supposed to last.

But it does matter.

Of course it fucking matters.

You drag yourself out of bed, moving on autopilot as you gather your things. Every minute ticking by feels louder, heavier, dragging you toward something you’re not ready for. Your chest tightens when you spot the hoodie he gave you last night crumpled on the floor. For a second,  a stupid second, you almost pick it up. Almost tuck it into your bag like a lifeline. But you don’t. You leave it there, like he left you.

–

Switzerland is supposed to be a fresh start. A clean break.

But no matter how far you run, you can’t outrun him.

It starts small. A little fatigue, a little nausea. You blame it on the stress, the traveling, the way you haven’t been eating properly since you left. But then the sickness lingers, creeping in every morning like clockwork.

And that nagging thought in the back of your mind, the one you’ve been ignoring, the one you don’t want to acknowledge. 

Until you have no choice.

So now you’re here, sitting on the cold tile floor of a tiny apartment bathroom, staring down at two pink lines that might as well be a death sentence.

Your breath shudders. Your stomach twists.

Pregnant.

Your fingers grip the test so tight, your knuckles turn white.

No. No, this—this can’t be real. You were careful. It was only one night. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But the proof is right there in your hands.

And just like that, the world tilts on its axis.

Because no matter how hard you tried to leave Eren behind, he never really left you at all.

[sexlapis]

Actor!Toji has my heart and soul.

Imagine while they’re still trying to hide their relationship something gets out that it’s a real relationship and now the internet is going crazy. They’re still trying to deny it, but sadly there’s a paparazzi photo of them in a very.. interesting position, and they really can’t deny it. One of them on live or in an interview and all they are being asked is about the relationship and the photo. How far is either one willing to go before they crack and confirm their relationship?.. I’m going crazy

UHM…ARE YOU GUYS DATING?

ʚɞ actor!toji x gn!reader

s4w, one shot, short fic, fluff, crack, unintentional relationship reveal (toji’s fault ofc…)

a/n: these asks have been in my inbox since november 2023 so…sorry about that.

actor!toji masterlist

general masterlist

*

What you and Toji were doing was just a complete joke at this point.

The blatant glances in interviews, the paparazzi pictures of you two together in cafes, museums, on set, at parties, the shocking innuendo replies under each others posts, the way you were always caught wearing a clothing item of Toji’s at least once a month…

…Just who did you think you were fooling?

Because it definitely was not the internet.

Every so often, after a questionable photo of the two of you or a clip of you both being overly physical in an interview, your names would be trending or your ship name.

Parasocial relationships on social media have no bounds.

People were assuming, guessing, planning, solving and just plain trying to figure out what on earth was going on between the two of you.

Some thought you were just close friends, others believed you two were so obviously dating.

But everyone agreed on one thing: there was no way that the relationship you and Toji had was platonic.

No way.

Of course, when asked about the nature of your relationship, which was very often, you both denied it.

“We’re both just friends”, you’d say.

“We’re just really close”, Toji would say.

“I couldn’t ask for a better person to be friends with”, you’d say.

“Well, yeah, I like her a lot…doesn’t mean anything’s going on!” Toji would claim

But all of these lies come to an end when a picture comes to a light.

You and Toji, at the park, sitting on the grass and…you’re stradding his lap, facing him and cupping his cheeks and Toji’s smiling, no, not one of his sleazy smirks, he’s really smiling like he’s looking at the love of his life.

There was nothing either of you could say - no like you could utter, no truth you could tell - that would stop everyone from stating the very obvious.

You and Toji are a couple.

And the internet is going crazy.

The top three hashtags that were trending on the day the photo was leaked were: #TOJIYN, #THEY’RE DATING?, and #I KNEW IT.

So it is safe to say that…everyone knew.

And nobody is shocked. Not really.

A week after that compromising photo was leaked, Toji is invited to speak on a popular podcast.

It barely even takes ten minutes before it is mentioned.

“Toji, thank you for coming! It’s really great to have you here!” The host praises, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Yeah, of course, thanks for-“”

“Are you and y/n dating?”

Toji stops mid sentence, his mouth open and seemingly surprised by the hosts’ straightforwardness.

“Uh-“”

“Because there’s a photo of the two of you.” The host presses on. “You know that, right?”

“I-“”

“Let’s a take a look.”

The podcast host picks up a remote, one that controls the computer monitor, clicks a button snd there it is…the leaked picture of you an Toji.

“See? Look at that.” The podcaster says, shaking his head. “What do you have to say about that, Toji?”

“Uhhh…” Toji bites his lip. “…I had something on my face. She wanted to take look at it.”

“Look at it or sit on it?”

“LOOK at it.” Toji confirms, a soft blush rising on the apples of his cheeks. “Just wanted to…you know, see what his was.” He shrugs, scratching the stubble on his face.

Toji and the podcaster are silent for a few moments, staring at each other.

“You guys are dating.”

“Yeahh, we’re dating.”

*

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[moonselune]

Heyo! I was the one to send the ask about a Tav hiding their past from their companions and the romanced one realizing the other day. I forgot to add which romanced companions for the request 😅

Astarion, Karlach, or Shadowheart if that’s ok

No worries! I couldn't actually find the original ask as my inbox likes to snack on them so it worked out perfectly!

Karlach:

The two of you were sprawled out on a grassy hill, the stars blazing above like a million tiny promises of hope. Karlach, ever radiant, had her arms behind her head, her warm laughter still lingering in the cool night air after she'd recounted some ridiculous tale of a fight she'd gotten into years ago. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her—there was something about Karlach that was utterly disarming.

“Y’know,” she said, rolling onto her side to look at you, her face half-illuminated by starlight, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“That’s always dangerous,” you teased, earning a playful swat on the arm.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone soft but thoughtful now. “I realized... I don’t actually know much about you. Like, really know you.”

You tensed slightly, your smile fading, and she noticed immediately. Karlach wasn’t the type to miss when someone’s defenses went up—she was too attuned to cracks in the armor not to see it.

“I know you're amazing, and you're kind, and you’ve been through some stuff, but...you’ve always been pretty vague about your past. Why is that?”

“It’s not important,” you said quickly, brushing it off as if it were nothing. You turned your gaze back to the stars, hoping she’d let it go.

But Karlach wasn’t one to let things go easily.

“Not important? You’re important. What made you who you are is important,” she said, her voice gentle but insistent. “Come on, you know everything about me. You know about Zariel, the Hells, all of it. But you...you’ve got this wall around parts of yourself, and I don’t like not being able to reach you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Karlach, it’s...it’s not something I like to talk about, okay? Some things are better left buried.”

“But buried things tend to rot, love,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on your arm. “Please. Talk to me.”

You hesitated, staring at her hand on your arm. The warmth of her touch was grounding, comforting, and yet it made the ache in your chest all the more acute. When you finally looked at her, you saw nothing but patience and love in her eyes. And it broke you.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. She sat up too, waiting quietly, not rushing you.

“I grew up in a family that looked perfect from the outside,” you began, your voice low. “We had money, status—everything people think makes a family happy. But behind closed doors? It was a nightmare.”

Karlach said nothing, letting you continue at your own pace.

“My parents...they hated each other. And they weren’t exactly quiet about it. Every day was a war zone. Screaming matches, accusations, the kind of anger that seeps into everything. My siblings and I were caught in the crossfire, always trying to stay out of the way, always trying not to make things worse. But no matter what we did, it was never enough. Someone always got hurt, one way or another.”

You paused, your throat tightening as old memories clawed their way to the surface. Karlach reached out and took your hand, her grip firm but reassuring.

“And then,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly, “one day, it all fell apart. My older brother tried to leave—tried to get out of the hellhole we called home. My father...he didn’t take it well. There was a fight. Things got...violent. And my brother never made it out. After that, everything just...collapsed. I left too, eventually, but by then I’d lost everything that mattered. My family. My sense of who I was. All of it.”

You finally looked at her, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s why I don’t talk about it, Karlach. Because what’s the point? It’s just a mess I crawled out of, and I don’t want it to define me.”

For a moment, Karlach was silent, her expression a mix of astonishment and heartbreak. Then she shook her head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her lips.

“Damn,” she said softly. “You’re...incredible, you know that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“How are you so well-adjusted after all that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe. “Seriously. If it were me, I’d be a total wreck. But you...you’re strong. You’re kind. You’ve got this huge heart that somehow survived all that pain. It’s...it’s amazing.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled over, and before you could even think to hide them, Karlach was pulling you into her arms. Her infernal warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into someone else completely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just...I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she murmured, her hand stroking your back soothingly. “I get it. I do. But I’m here now, okay? You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore.”

You clung to her like a lifeline, her warmth chasing away the chill of old wounds. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as broken as you thought.

“I love you, you know,” Karlach said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes still glistening with tears. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of everything you’d just shared.

And as her lips met yours in a gentle, grounding kiss, you realized that maybe you didn’t have to bury your past anymore. Not with Karlach. Not ever again.

Shadowheart:

The two of you sat side by side on a quiet patch of forest floor, the campfire flickering in the distance as the night crept in around you. Shadowheart had been unusually quiet, her sharp eyes scanning the stars above before settling on your profile.

"You know," she started, her voice soft but probing, "for all the time we've spent together, I realize I don’t actually know much about you."

You blinked, glancing at her, caught off guard by the sudden turn in conversation. “What do you mean? You know plenty about me,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “Do I? I know who you are now, sure. But your past? Where you come from? What made you...you? You’ve kept it all locked up tight.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your gaze dropping to the ground. “It’s not important,” you muttered.

Shadowheart leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you. “Not important to who? Because it feels pretty important to me.”

Her persistence made you squirm, and you quickly stood, brushing off your clothes as if that would somehow shake the conversation away. “Shadowheart, I don’t—can we not do this right now?”

You started to walk away, but her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Alright. But I’ll find out eventually. You know I’m not one to let things go.” You glanced back at her, giving her a pointed look, but she just smiled sweetly, her tone deceptively innocent. “You’ll tell me, willingly or not.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. Still, you didn’t realize how serious she was about her little promise—until the next evening.

Shadowheart wasn’t just clever; she was sneaky. The next day, she found ways to chip away at your defenses. She asked questions that seemed harmless at first—what foods you liked, what your childhood home looked like, what kind of trouble you got into as a kid. Bit by bit, she pieced together fragments of your past until you realized too late that she’d woven a net around you.

It wasn’t until you were sitting by the riverbank after another grueling day of travel that she struck her final blow.

“So,” she said casually, dipping her fingers into the cool water, “was your family always so chaotic, or did the drama start later on?”

You froze, your stomach twisting as you realized she’d cornered you.

“What are you talking about?” you said, feigning ignorance.

Shadowheart smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, come on. I’ve been paying attention. The little things you’ve let slip, the way you dodge questions—it’s obvious there’s more to your story than you’re letting on. So, spill. What happened?”

You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

She just smiled, her expression softening. “Only when it comes to things that matter. And you, my love, matter.”

Her words cracked something open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, the dam burst.

It all came tumbling out. The family drama that felt like a never-ending storm—arguments, betrayals, and secrets that tore your home apart. The tragedies that left scars too deep to heal. Scandals that painted your family in a light so harsh, you’d spent years trying to escape it.

But it wasn’t all darkness. You found yourself sharing the funny stories too—the times you and your siblings played pranks on each other, the little moments of joy that somehow shone through the chaos. You talked about the people you’d loved and lost, the lessons you’d learned, and the weight you still carried from it all.

By the time you were done, your throat was raw, and your chest felt hollow, like you’d just carved out a piece of yourself and handed it to her.

Shadowheart had been silent the whole time, her expression unreadable as she listened intently. When you finally looked at her, self-consciousness crept in like a cold shadow.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, averting your gaze. “That was...a lot. I probably should’ve kept some of it to myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said softly, her voice filled with a kind of reverence that made you look up in surprise.

Her eyes were shining, and there was an almost tangible warmth in her expression. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been through all of that,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon as if the weight of your past was hanging in the air between you. “And here you are—still standing, still fighting, still...you. It’s astonishing.”

You shook your head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. “I’m not incredible, Shadowheart. I’m just...getting by.”

“No,” she said firmly, leaning closer and taking your hand in hers. “You’re so much more than that. You’ve been through things that would break most people, and somehow, you’re still...kind. Still hopeful. Still...loving. I’m in awe of you, truly.”

Her words broke something else inside you—not in a painful way, but in a way that felt like healing. Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.

Shadowheart cupped your face gently, brushing the tears away with her thumbs.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice steady and certain. “All of you. Your past, your present, your future. Every part of you.”

A shaky laugh escaped you as you leaned into her touch.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled you into a tender embrace, holding you as if she could shield you from the weight of your past. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to carry it all alone.

Astarion:

It was a quiet moment in camp, the kind of peace that always felt precarious, balanced on the knife's edge of your group's chaotic lives. Astarion was lounging next to you, his chin propped in his hand as he studied you with a curious intensity.

“You know,” he began casually, his voice dripping with charm and mischief, “for someone I’m hopelessly enamored with, you are a remarkably well-guarded mystery.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, already suspicious. “Am I?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” he purred, sitting up straighter. “You’re practically a ghost when it comes to your past. You’ve danced around every question I’ve ever asked, dodging and deflecting like a master illusionist. Honestly, it’s impressive. I think I might even be proud of you.”

You smirked. “Well, thank you, but some things are better left in the past.”

Astarion let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Ah, but darling, I hate being left in the dark. You can’t expect me to simply accept this vagueness when I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I don’t expect you to do anything. But I’m not telling you, Astarion.”

That should have been the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t. Over the next few days, Astarion’s curiosity morphed into relentless determination. He needled you at every opportunity, his charm turning into playful persistence. Every time you dodged his questions, he only seemed more delighted, like unraveling your secrets had become a personal challenge.

“You know,” he said one evening, leaning close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear, “this is getting downright insulting. Do you think I can’t handle a little drama? Please, I thrive on it.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

“And yet,” he countered, grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary, “you still haven’t answered me. Come now, my sweet enigma—indulge me.”

Eventually, you snapped—not in anger, but in exasperation. Sitting by the fire that night, you threw up your hands. “Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Astarion’s eyes lit up like a child on their name day, and he settled in with a gleeful smirk, clearly expecting a story worth his persistence.

Blasé, almost flippant, you began to unravel the sordid tale of your past.

You told him about the family dinners that ended in shouting matches—or worse, murders over disputes that ran deeper than blood. You recounted the endless scandals: the illegitimate children, the betrayals that made even the most dramatic bardic tales look tame, the backstabbing that left no one unscathed. The drama unfolded like a grotesque tapestry, each thread more tangled and wild than the last.

Through it all, you remained indifferent, recounting events as if they had happened to someone else entirely. “And then there was the time my cousin poisoned the wine at a wedding. That was a mess. Oh, and the twins—turns out one of them wasn’t even my uncle’s child. But really, what did he expect when he married his mistress?”

Astarion sat in stunned silence, his lips slightly parted as you continued to nonchalantly recount the chaos of your upbringing.

“And, of course, there were the power struggles,” you added with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Everyone vying for control, alliances shifting faster than the wind. It’s all so...exhausting, really.”

When you finally finished, the fire crackled in the silence that followed. You looked at Astarion, expecting...something. Disbelief? Judgment?

Instead, he burst into delighted laughter.

“Oh, my dear, dear love,” he said, clutching his chest as if he might collapse from mirth. “You’re right—it does sound like a poorly written bardic tale. But gods, what a deliciously awful one!”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you it wasn’t worth hearing.”

“Are you joking?” he asked, still laughing. “It’s magnificent! The drama! The intrigue! And you—you just walked away from all of that and turned into...well, you. It’s incredible.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re impressed by all of that?”

“Of course I am,” he said, leaning closer, his expression softening into something genuine. “You survived a storm of madness and somehow emerged as the person I’ve fallen utterly in love with. How could I not be impressed?”

Heat rose to your cheeks at his sincerity, but before you could respond, his grin turned wicked.

“Although,” he added, “you simply must take me to your next family dinner. I need to witness this circus for myself.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not a chance. They’d eat you alive.”

“Darling,” Astarion purred, his voice dripping with confidence, “I’ve been surrounded by vampires for two centuries. I think I can handle a few backstabbing relatives.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Astarion leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, his hand brushing yours in a silent promise.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “For trusting me with this. It means more than you know.”

awh this was wholesome, as someone who comes from a chaotic ass family this was cathartic to write aha. Hope you guys enjoyed it -Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[starsjulia]

not built for this // part two

a/n : thank you for all the love on the last one, you can read part one here, enjoy my lovelies! i’m also thinking about making a final and third part so if that’s something you’d like to see please do let me know, my inbox is always open!!

warnings : bullying, cyber bullying.

“Bet she only got that score ‘cause she’s autistic.”

“Yeah, isn’t she meant to be, like, thick?”

“Nah, she’s prolly just revises cus she can’t do nothing else”

Your stomach twists. You stare down at your English test, the red-inked “9” in the corner blurring in your vision. You should be happy. You were happy. Or at least you had been for the five minutes before the results were handed out to the rest of the class.

Someone snickers. “Neek.”

Your grip on your pen tightens.

“She probably sits there memorizing dictionaries or some shit—”

”—Or maybe her mum paid for her grade.”

A crumpled piece of paper hits the back of your head. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay still. If you turn around, if you look at them, you know you’ll either scream or burst into tears.

You’re not going to cry in front of them.

Not again.

⸻

At break, you don’t even bother trying to sit with anyone. You go straight to the toilets, locking yourself in a cubicle, sliding down until you’re sitting on the floor.

Your phone buzzes.

Mum.

You exhale shakily before pressing call.

“Hey, love. Everything okay?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. The walls feel like they’re closing in.

“Can you pick me up?” Your voice cracks.

Leah sighs on the other end. “What happened now?”

“Mum, please.” You clench your jaw, willing yourself not to cry.

Leah hesitates. “My love i’m at training, what do you want me to do?”

Silence.

A sharp knock on the cubicle door makes you jump.

“Oi, you in there?” A voice outside sneers. “Hiding again, are we?”

Your throat tightens.

“I have to go.” You end the call before Leah can respond.

⸻

Third period is even worse.

You try your hardest to focus, really, you do. You keep your head down, do the work, but it doesn’t matter.

Halfway through the lesson, you use your timeout card to leave. You just need a second to breathe. But when you come back, something feels off.

Your bag.

You reach inside and…

Your pencil case is gone. So is a revision guide.

Instead, there’s an empty crisp packet and some scrunched-up tissue.

Your hands tremble.

“Everything okay?” the teacher asks.

No.

No, everything is not okay.

But you don’t say anything. You just clench your fists, sit down, and stare blankly at the board.

The girls behind you giggle.

⸻

By the time you get home, you feel like you’re going to burst.

You throw your bag down, heading straight for the kitchen where Leah is sorting Jamie’s school things.

“Mum, I got a nine on my English test.”

Leah turns, her expression softening. “Did you?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Leah’s smile is genuine. “That’s amazing, hun. I knew you could do it.” She pulls you into a hug. You hold on tightly.

For a moment, everything feels okay.

Then your phone buzzes. Again.

Leah frowns. “That thing’s been going off all day.”

“It’s nothing.” You shove it in your pocket.

Jamie, sitting at the kitchen table, raises a brow. “Who even texts you that much?”

“Shut up, Jamie.”

Leah folds her arms. “It’s not like—” She hesitates. “I just mean, that’s a lot of notifications.”

“It’s fine.”

Leah studies you for a second but doesn’t push.

Later, when you’re in the shower, she walks past the kitchen counter where your phone sits, screen lighting up over and over again. Her stomach tightens.

She glances up the stairs, making sure you’re still in the bathroom.

Then she picks it up.

And unlocks it.

The first thing she sees is a group chat.

She clicks on it.

Her stomach drops.

⸻

Screenshots. Photos. Messages.

Leah scrolls, her hands shaking.

“How is ur mum so hot but ur so ugly??”

“bet u can’t even make eye contact reading this lmao”

“Why doesn’t ur mum just send u to a sped school?? No one wants u here”

“Nice lanyard you weirdo”

Her breath catches in her throat.

She keeps scrolling.

Texts from unknown numbers.

More abuse. More hate.

Her pulse pounds in her ears.

She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until a tear drips onto the screen.

Then the bathroom door opens.

You walk out, hair damp, and freeze when you see her standing there, phone clutched in her hand, face pale with fury.

“(Y/N)…what the fuck is this?”

Your blood runs cold. “Mum—”

“How long has this been going on?”

Silence.

“how long?”

You swallow hard. “A while.”

“And you didn’t TELL me?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It really does matter!”

You look away. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Leah stares at you, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m calling the school.”

⸻

The meeting is tense.

Leah sits across from the headteacher and your head of year, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She slams the phone onto the table. “Explain this.”

The headteacher shifts uncomfortably. “Miss Williamson—”

“She told you she was being bullied. I told you. you know dam well that my daughter comes into this office almost everyday because your classrooms are unbearable for her. And you did NOTHING.”

“We were handling—”

“Handling it?!” Leah’s voice cracks. “Are you fucking joking?”

You shrink in your seat, your face burning.

The headteacher clears his throat. “Miss Williamson, we understand you’re upset, but—”

“You don’t understand SHIT.” Leah’s hands tremble. “She’s not coming back here. Ever.”

Your breath hitches. “Mum….”

“No.” Leah turns to you, eyes softening. “I should’ve done this a long time ago, love.”

You look down, blinking rapidly. “I can handle it.”

Leah exhales sharply. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You bite your lip. “I know I’m not easy….”

“Don’t you ever say that.” Leah’s voice breaks. “I love you more than anything. Do you hear me?”

You sniffle. “Yeah.”

Leah pulls you into a hug.

“You’re coming home. And we’re going to figure this out, alright?”

⸻

Later that night, Beth comes over.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls you into the warmest hug you’ve ever felt.

“You know you’re perfect, right?” she murmurs.

You let out a weak laugh. “Doubt it.”

Beth nudges you. “They’re just jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “Doubt that too.”

Beth squeezes your hand. “Well, I don’t.”

For the first time in forever, you believe her.

And for the first time in forever—

You feel safe.

⸻

[sevcasejay1chicago]

hiii I hope you are doing ok

Could I please request a Jay Halstead x GF Reader

Reader is Diabetic and her monitor gets broken on a call out a couple of hours later when back at the station reader collapses and becomes unresponsive she is rushed to med where they find out she has gone into DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis) and has a seizure Jay is worried and is panicking ect.

Happy ending please

Thank you in advance if you decide to write this request 😘

DKA-Jay Halstead

Authors note: I found this deep within my inbox. I’m so sorry it took me forever to do this. I hope you enjoy it anyways. Also, not really completely proof read, but I hated waiting any longer. 😂

Warnings: vomiting, language, possible inaccurate medical information

🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔

What should have been a run of the mill bust and paperwork day ended at Med. You’re barely conscious as Jay leans over your head, yelling for Nat to do something as you seize, barely getting a breath in. Everything flutters in and out of focus as your mind replays the day.

🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔

You sat in Jay’s passenger side, restlessly waiting for Voight to give you the go ahead. You and Jay have been on this stake out for over 24 hours and your ready to do the bust so that you could go file your paper work and go home with Jay. It was also time to change your monitor this evening and you wanted nothing more than to shower without the old device before replacing it with a new one.

“I can hear you thinking.” Jay mumbled, head laid back as he rested his eyes.

You jumped, thinking your partner was asleep. Last time you checked, his breathing was even and his jaw was slack. “Thought you were sleeping.” You muttered, rubbing your eye where the binoculars you were looking through hit it when you jumped.

Jay sighed, sitting up in his seat and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Well, the sun is up and your thinking too loud, so I figured it was time to wake up and check in.” Jay said, smirking as he reached across the console to kiss the side of your head. “Sooooo?” Jay drug out, wiggling his eyebrows to make you crack a smile.

“Just ready to go home.” You said, looking in his eyes briefly before sweeping the area. There were only a few cars in the area at this time of morning, but this was the time they liked to move product.

“I know baby. Soon enough.” Jay said, reaching for your luke warm coffee and taking a sip before placing it back in the cup holder. “Let me take a turn. Maybe close your eyes or check in with the team.” Jay said, opening his now empty hand for the binoculars.

You sighed, not wanting to argue with him. You handed the binoculars over to Jay before pulling out your phone and shooting a text to Kim to check in. While you waited for her reply, you leaned your head against Jay’s shoulder and snuggled close, letting your eyes slip shut.

Jay leaned his back into the center console to provide you access to his shoulder, knowing you sleep best when you can feel him. His eyes stay trained on the surrounding area, checking closer with the binoculars every now and then. He keeps his movements to a minimum to not disturb you seeing as you’ve been up most of the night. You never rest well on stake outs, but Jay’s former Army background has proven useful for sleeping pretty much anywhere.

Half an hour later, you wake to Jay speaking on the phone in a hushed voice. “Sarge. Get everyone down here. We’ve got a small box truck and three more vehicles pulling into the warehouse.” Jay said, leaning back to look at you as he felt you remove your head from his shoulder.

You took the binoculars, narrowing in on the open garage door. You could see a table lined with wooden crates. All of them appeared to be unmarked, but big enough to contain guns. “I see boxes that probably contain weapons, but they are unmarked and I can’t see inside from this angle.” You spoke into your own phone.

“We will be there in 5.” Voight said, causing you and Jay to jump into action. “50-21 requesting backup to 1415 Kincaid. Multiple players. Assumed to be armed and dangerous.” You and Jay heard called out on the city wide radio.

Jay grabbed your bullet proof vest and handed it to you before grabbing his own. He threw his seat back to avoid hitting the wheel by accident as you scrambled to grab Jay’s rifle from the back and place it on the floor board next to your feet. By the time both of you have your gear on, ears in, and weapons checked, the team has pulled up. Voight’s tires screech as he parks his SUV to block the entrance with Kevin’s car blocking the rest of the way. Jay pulls his truck behind Kevin’s before you are both jumping out and running into the building after your team, patrol flanking as they arrive.

“Watch your backs. We got guns.” Kevin says, peeking into the boxes as you all run by.

“Chicago PD! Come out with your hands up! We’ve got you surrounded.” Voight yells, eyes scanning the warehouse. Tall boxes block the view, but you can hear scrambling as the men pick up guns and begin to take off on foot.

“Stop! Police!” You yell, running as fast as your legs can carry you. You stop every now and then to shield your body with varied crates as you all begin to exchange gunfire, but you don’t let it stop you from reaching an open area blocked off with more boxes for cover. You take off, yelling to Kim and Adam “We are coming to you guys at the back.” As you continue your pursuit of two men running along the other side of the boxes. Once you reach the end, you are able to tackle one to the ground as you hear Kim announce herself, stopping the other man in his tracks.

Silence, other than the clicking of handcuffs, is now the only thing you hear. Jay runs up, pulling you up off the ground as Adam puts the cuffs on the man. “You good?” Jay asks, holding you by the shoulder so that you don’t fall over as you bend at the waist, propping yourself up with your hands on your knees, attempting to catch your breath. You nod, giving a shaky thumbs up as adrenaline pumps through your body. Jay leads you to a crate and sits you down. “Catch your breath and then we can start processing the evidence.” Jay says, kissing you on the forehead before walking away.

~TIME SKIP~

Once you finished doing what you all could, Jay leads you to the truck and helps you climb in, stripping your vest off of you as you basically collapse into the passenger seat. You’d been dragging the past hour, which was now starting to become noticeable by everyone. When you started recounting the items in your possession for the third time, Voight sent you and Jay back to the precinct to change and go home, having everyone wrap up as well.

“Hey baby. Let me see those y/c/e.” Jay spoke softly, tenderly holding your head in his hands. When you groggily peered at your lover, you let a dopey smile spread across your face. “There’s my girl.” Jay whispered, kissing your forehead. “Drink your water and I’ll get us back to the precinct.” Jay said, helping you to put your legs into the truck and buckle you up before handing you your water. Once he had you situated, he closed your door and rounded the truck to get into his side.

You winced as the truck started moving, lightly hissing in pain. Jay didn’t seem to hear it since he didn’t start grilling you about potential injuries, which you were thankful for. You didn’t want or need to be interrogated for a tummy ache. Instead of saying anything, you drank your water, gulping yours down and Jay’s down within minutes when you suddenly realized how thirsty you were. Jay didn’t comment, thinking you were dehydrated from the stake out.

Once back at the district, Jay helped you up the steps and into the locker room. All the movement made your stomach churn. You tried to ignore it, but suddenly all the water you drank was pushing to the surface. You launched yourself out of Jay’s arms and over the trash can before he could even process what was happening. You had a white knuckle grip on the rim of the trash can as you hiccup and heave, letting out a stream of water.

“Woah! Okay. Okay baby. I gotcha.” Jay says, rushing to grab your pony tail and tuck it into your shirt before he is wrapping an arm around your chest and rubbing your back with the other hand. “I gotcha. Just let it out. It’s alright honey. It’s alright.” Jay soothes, not really sure if it’s mostly for you or some for himself.

You cough and heave a few times, shakily latching onto Jay’s arm around your chest with one hand while clutching your stomach with the other. You moan as your vision blurs and you feel your knees begin to buckle. “J-humph.” You try to call his name, fear taking over your voice.

“Sh Sh Sh. I know. I know. Hang on.” Jay says, getting a better grip on you from behind before turning to yell out the door. “I need some help in here!” Jay hollers, having a gut feeling that something is really wrong.

Footsteps can be heard running up the stairs in multiple directions before Trudy comes running in from the stairs near the Sargent desk and Kim comes through the door you both just came through, Voight and Adam not far behind.

“What the hell happened?” Both Trudy and Hank yell at the same time, coming up to the pair of you.

“I don’t know. I gotta get her down. She’s fading Sarge.” Jay says, leaning over you to grip you better in his arms.

“Kim, guide him back with her to straddle the bench. Adam, go call a bus. Tell them we have an officer down. Trudy, help me move this trash can with them. She’s still going.” Voight instructs, immediately taking charge.

Once Kim has her hands on Jay’s sides, he allows her to guide him back, you being practically dragged along. Platt and Voight follow close to you, making sure you stay over the large trash can. They tilt it some once Jay sits and pulls you down with him. Voight has a hold of one of the handles as Trudy goes to grab a few paper towels and wets them. Adam comes running in with a med bag.

“Ambo’s 10 out. 51 is sending Brett and Violet from a call. They are closest.” Adam relays the information, kneeling at your side. “Lemme check her vitals. They want us to watch her stats.” Adam explains, taking out the pulse ox and attaching it to your finger as your heaves start to calm.

Voight sets the trash can down and slightly to the side before taking his phone out, checking your monitor. “Jay, how long has her monitor been down?” Voight asks, seeing that it is no longer transmitting information.

“What?” Jay asks, leaning around you and lifting your shirt. When he sees the broken monitor, he mutters a curse. “DKA. Fuck. Sarge, she’s in DKA.” Jay quickly realizes, having seen you in this situation before.

Trudy has a wet paper towel on your neck and forehead as your head lulls forward. “Y/n!” Trudy yells as Jay tightens his hold on you.

“I gotta lay her down. Kim, I need your jacket.” Jay instructs, allowing Adam and Voight to help him lower you into the recovery position on the floor. “Give me the glucose machine.” Jay says, holding his hand out to Adam. Once the monitor beeped, Jay swore lowly. “It’s 487.” Jay mumbled, pulling out his phone. He pressed it to his ear as Adam monitored the pulse ox.

“Jay?” Nat asked as soon as she picked up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/n. 61 is on the way, but I need a room cleared and prepped. She’s in DKA.” Jay explained, running a hand through his hair.

“Is she conscious?” Nat asked, moving to April and Maggie to whisper the urgent need she had.

“No. She threw up and she passed out. We’ve been on a stake out and then a bust. Her monitor probably broke during the bust, so we had no idea. She’s been struggling with her sugar the last couple of days, but now she’s at 487.” Jay quickly explained, thankful that Brett ran in has he spoke. “ Brett’s here. We should be landing in 20.” Jay said, not waiting for a reply as he locked eyes with Brett’s movements.

“Hey Y/n? Can you hear me?” Brett asks, turning you over slightly, using Jay’s lap to tilt you enough to do a sternum rub. You groan and Brett relaxes some. “She’s not coming out of this. We gotta load her up and get h-“ Brett stops as you tense up, immediately being thrown into a seizer.

“Oh fuck.” Jay gasps, rolling you completely on your side as Voight leans down to move your legs into a more stable position and lightly holds them there.

“Vi, I need the med kit in the locker rooms now!” Sylvie says into her radio. “Everyone else that is not helping, please clear the room. We need space.” Brett instructs, leaning over to make sure your airway is clear and to check the pulse ox that is still on your finger. “Vitals are mostly fine. Elevated for obvious reasons, but not dangerous. I’m going to give her meds to stop the seizer if it continues. Let’s see if she can ride it out first.” Brett says, not wanting to pump you with anything knowing that you have weird drug reactions.

Jay nods and sits back, a hand lightly in your side to keep you there. He mutters soft reassurance in your general direction has tears quietly roll down his face. He’s never seen you this bad before.

“Oh God.” Violet says as she walks into the room. “Here.” She hands Brett a saline bag and a IV kit before she leans down to recheck your stats and airway.

After roughly 45 seconds, the seizer stops. You go completely lax under Jay and Voights’ hand. Your breathing is erratic, but the pulse ox results aren’t causing any other alarms.

“Sargent. Get Ruzek to grab the stair chair. It’s in the lobby next to the watchman’s desk.” Violet says, taking the prepped saline bag from Brett and standing, putting pressure on it to speed up the process and get you rehydrated.

——PRESENT——

Everything else is a blur. Now, as you open your eyes to various voices and bright lights, you do your best to lay still. Everything feels wrong. You immediately feel anxious and start to reach for the mask over your face.

“Hey hey hey. No baby.” Jay says, immediately taking your hand and gently lowering it back to your chest. “Hey. Look at me. I’m here sweetheart.” Jay says, brushing your hair back from your face and gently coaxing you as the heart monitor starts to pick up.

You open your eyes and look around. You are clearly in one of the icu rooms at med. You can see Nat and Will exchanging words outside your room as they glance between you and their computers.

“Baby?” Jay calls, grabbing your attention.

You slowly turn to Jay, locking eyes with him as he finally comes into view. You squint against the light, but Jay leans further over to block the assault.

“Hey you. Welcome back.” Jay whispers, tears threatening to spill.

“W-wha-“ you try to say, clearing your throat.

“Hang on.” Jay says, reaching for the water next to your bed and carefully helping you sit up and take a few cautious sips as he pulls the oxygen mask to the side. Once your done, he places the water aside and immediately replaces the oxygen mask.

“What happened?” You ask, clearing your throat from what feels like disuse or sickness.

“Well you went into DKA. You got sick in the locker rooms and we had to call 61 to transport you. You had two seizers and stopped protecting your airway so they had to intervene. You’ve been out for 48 hours. Your in the ICU at Med.” Jay explained, soothing your hair back as he speaks.

Your eyes widen, staring at Jay as you process what he just said. “H-how?” You ask, wracking your brain. You haven’t had an episode this bad in years. They don’t happen with the monitor.

“Your monitor broke during the raid. We knew your sugars had been out of wack, but since you weren’t attached to the monitor, we had no clue how high it got until you went down.” Jay explained, squeezing your hand that you slipped into his.

You slowly nodded. That made sense. Now you had just one more question. “When can I go home?” You whispered, looking at Jay with the biggest puppy dog eyes you could.

Jay chuckled. He knows you hate hospitals as much as him. “Soon enough baby. Soon enough.” Jay promises, leaning up to kiss your forehead.

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[aloesarchives]

Domestic Headcanons w/ Mama!Reader and the Fushiguros #2: New Addition to the Family!

TW/Warnings: Domesticity, AFAB/Female Reader, Family life, Pregnancy, Mention of Creampies but not sexual, unhinged crack, JJK OC(but not main x Reader)

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Pronouns/Usage: She/Her, Mama/Mom

It was about time I finished this, been sitting in my drive for a few months. Anyway, this is a general headcanon that takes place mostly in my Modern Au as Mayumi will appear in future along with her bio. But she may appear in my "Toji Lives" au depending how I'm really feeling, I will probably age her up if I do.

If you has questions or wanna ask more about her, feel free to drop an ask in my inbox!

Introducing:

Name: Mayumi (L/N) Fushiguro

Kanji Name: 万優三

Age: 2-3(Modern Au)

Given how Toji is a dog 25/8 whenever he’s given any alone time with you, Megumi is genuinely surprised he and Tsumiki don’t have at least two or more younger siblings.

It mostly comes down to you and Toji’s schedules and how having another child or having more children wouldn’t be the best choice for you two and the kids themself.

It was decided by you AND Toji that Megumi would be your last child since baby Megumi was a hassle and you two were dealing with two kids under the age of three. As time went on, raising the two was hard work but both of you two managed. Now Tsumiki and Megumi are in high school and can function, there’s no need for you and Toji to treat them like children even though they will always be your babies.

But with Tsumiki and Megumi always away at school, it’s mostly you and Toji at home. Yes, it was nice and peaceful to have your house with you and your hubby. But you start longing for the days your children were younger and small. Missing when Megumi would call you Mama and Tsumiki with Mommy. You become all sentimental especially looking through family pictures throughout the house and the family albums. You started to miss having to take care of a little one in the house.

Toji notices this change in your behavior so he asks what's on your mind. When you tell him you missed your children being children, he suggested having one more child. This shocked you considering that Toji told you himself that Megumi was your two’s last child. He didn’t want to have any more after that because Megumi was a handful. You told him if he’s not comfortable and isn’t ready for another one that he shouldn’t force himself just to make you happy. You’ll just satisfy it with old baby pictures from the past.

You didn’t want to have a child just because you wanted a baby to coddle and that’s it. All children deserve to have a parent but not every parent deserves a child. But Toji brings up the point that both you and him are more stable, both financially and mentally, and have more time to be at home. Since your two other children are teenagers who can do basic functions, you can focus on taking care of a child while taking care of teenagers.

After some time and Toji being the little devil on your shoulder, you gave the green light to have another child. Albeit being the last child you and Toji will ever have.

Toji is excited to have another kid with you and to give Tsumiki and Megumi a younger sibling. But we all know why Toji is REALLY happy to give you another child. As the man got to stepping in making you pregnant and having another kid. This man put so many creampies in you it’s insane.

But you guessed the universe wanted to make it easier the third time because, like all of your pregnancies which is only two, you got pregnant fast. It only took a month of trying to get pregnant. Just like any pregnancy, it was rough. It was your third time so you expected what’s to come, though it had been 12 years since you were last pregnant. But Toji, being your ever loving husband, took care of you and was at your beck and call(Explain in detail here). Your scary, intimidating, and grumpy dog of a husband becomes your sweet and protective puppy all over again(if Toji wasn’t fucking already lol).

You wanted to wait until a visible ultrasound was possible to tell your two children. Luckily, Megumi and Tsumiki would be home right after school ends and you would tell them the news. After dinner, you told your two children to wait a bit at the table as you got the ultrasound that’s sealed in an envelope. As you just place the envelope in front of your kids, they look at it curiously. Toji chuckles as Megumi flips the envelope on both sides before Tsumiki grabs it from her brother.

“So we opened it, Mom? What’s inside?”

“You’ll find out once you open it, my dear.”

Then Tsumiki opens the envelope and finds the picture. She takes it out and holds it so she and Megumi can look at it. It took Tsumiki a few seconds to figure out as her smile extended. Megumi is still confused when his sister says, “Are you really, mom?!”

You nodded your head as Tsumiki stood up from her chair and gave you a hug. Megumi was still trying to wrap his head around the picture. Toji chuckles at his son as he walks over to him. “Are you okay, Megumi? You’ve been staring at that picture like it was a puzzle.” “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at. How come Tsumiki got it before I did?” Tsumiki goes to Megumi as she starts explaining the picture. Before she even finishes, your son looks at you with wide eyes as he blurts out, “You’re pregnant, Mom?!”

Toji bursts out in laughter at Megumi while you smile at your son. You were happy that your children felt the same way you did, especially seeing Megumi smile. You were worried about the age gap between your children and their youngest sibling but it seems to not be a problem to your kids. 

You loved the fact your children were happy about having another sibling.

Ever since the announcement, Megumi has been home more often. While your children have been more considerate(if they weren’t already), Megumi had this shift in behavior that made you a little worried. Once you were in your 2nd trimester, Megumi always tried to be home before sundown. He always called you after school if you needed anything from the grocery or convenience store. He was very reluctant to leave you alone. At home, he always checks up on you whether you’re in the bedroom, sitting on the couch, in your home office/personal rooms. 

As much as Megumi says he doesn’t take after his dad, you thought it was adorable and endearing how Megumi looked after you like Toji did. Because of your already fluctuating hormones, you dote and gush over Megumi way more than usual. You didn’t before because you wanted to respect Megumi’s space and independence. Always playfully pinching his cheeks, giving your mama kisses, petting and ruffling his hair, the list goes on. Megumi never pushes you away or rejects your affection because you are his mama and it makes you happy. It’s also because Megumi loves your affection as it reminds him of when he was a little boy, but since he’s older he wants to be taken more seriously and wants you and Toji to treat him as such. Yet it bit him in the ass because you respected his wishes and only gave him physical affection when he gave the green light.

Megumi, every time he’s home, is stuck at your side. You’re in the kitchen making yourself a drink, Megumi is sitting at the table already. On the couch folding a small laundry batch, Megumi’s helping you with it. Sitting in the garden underneath the tree, Megumi makes you sit on the blanket as sits beside you with his dogs laid out in the shade. The only time he isn’t is when you’re in the bathroom or sleeping in your bedroom. But Megumi sends his dogs to watch over you during your naps. Bro, Toji told Megumi to make room for him on the couch just for him to side-eyes his dad and say “no”. Then Megumi’s dogs appear next to you and lay their heads on your lap. Toji was so annoyed.

But you didn’t know how concerned Megumi was for you until you Gojo called you and said Megumi wanted to opt out of dorming his first year at Jujutsu Tech. You asked Gojo if Megumi said why and Gojo only said, “Megumi-kun only told me he just can’t, (Y/N)-sama.” By the time the call happened you were in your third trimester, meaning you were nearing your due date. You asked Toji if he knew but he had no clue either. You and your husband had a talk with Megumi about it. Megumi said he didn’t need to dorm when he’s in high school because he could just walk to school from the house. But Toji being the better interrogator, he got Megumi to spill the real reason. And so Megumi reveals he doesn't want to dorm once he goes to Jujutsu Tech because he wants to help out around the house and watch his little sibling grow up. 

“Megs, you know I’m home, right?”

Megumi looks at his father before continuing.

“As I was saying, I need to be here in my little sister’s life. I don’t want to be a stranger because she can’t remember me, Mom.”

You gave a reassuring smile to your son, placing a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

“I get it, Megumi. I completely understand where you’re coming from. But I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. I have your sister and papa after all to help me, especially your papa since he can cook anything we ask for. And know the school requires their first years to live on campus, so you do have to live on school grounds. You can always come back whenever you need to, this will always be your home, My Dear Megumi–Wait, little sister? You think it’ll be a girl, Megumi?”

He shrugs, causing Toji to raise his brow at him.

“Ya sure, Megs? You don’t think it’ll be a boy? Don’t you want another boy in the family?”

Megumi squints at his dad as he frowns.

“If I know this family, your genes are too strong, Dad. I’m a complete copy of you and Tsumiki only got Mom’s personality and smile. If it’s a boy, it will be another version of you and I don’t even wanna think about that. Plus, I wouldn’t mind having a baby sister around, especially if she takes after Mom.”

You were flattered and honored that Megumi felt this way while Toji was utterly offended at his own son.

Megumi is a good brother and son all over. He looks after you, he looks out for Tsumiki when he can, and has a good relationship with Toji. You’d think he’ll be an amazing older brother considering how caring and gentle he can be. He may be a little clumsy but he tries and that is what matters. 

You decided to bring Megumi and Tsumiki with you and Toji to your next ultrasound appointment. Luckily, no problems were detected for the precious Fushiguro baby. The doctor and technician also revealed that you were having a baby girl! Tsumiki is visibly happy, slightly shaking Megumi's shoulders while he had a soft smile of his own. Then you looked over at your husband to see him with a wide but genuine grin.

“What’s with the grin, Toji?”

“Nothing, Hon. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Having another girl to spoil~.”

Your pregnancy goes as planned. Much to the dismay of Megumi, you gave birth while they were in school. As soon as Megumi and Tsumiki walk out of the school doors, they see Toji with the car waiting for them. “C’mon you two, don’t ‘cha want to meet your baby sister?” Tsumiki never saw Megumi sprinted towards the car so fast, whipping past her. Toji just laughs at Megumi’s eagerness to go see you and the baby.

Megumi is bouncing his leg in the car as they go to drive to the hospital. Once checking in, Megumi leaves his dad and sister in the dust to go find your room. Once he did, Megumi knocked gently before going inside with Toji and Tsumiki not far behind. Then the kids see the little baby bundled in your arms, sleeping away as you greet your older children. 

Megumi was right because Mayumi took after you except her eye color, which was like Megumi and Toji. But everything else, she was a carbon copy of you. You joked to Toji about being even since your third child looks like you. Toji goes along with it but he can’t help but feel warm inside knowing he has a daily reminder of his beautiful wife.

Megumi and Tsumiki get to hold their little sister. It was game over for Megumi because as soon as she was in his arms, he’d do anything for her. He was melting for his little sister and she didn’t even know it yet.

Megumi tries to spend a lot of time with her until he has to dorm at Jujutsu Tech. Megumi gets sentimental when he sees her baby pictures then and now she’s a toddler speaking full sentences. 

She loves to be held or sitting in someone’s lap. You, Toji, Tsumiki and Megumi, it doesn’t matter. She just likes to be close. It took her a long time to understand personal space but she tries her best. But she mostly likes being held by Toji since he’s tall. Plus she says Toji gives nice hugs. 

But Mayumi is picky when it comes to other people. She gets comfortable through exposure but she doesn’t like other people that much. She knows the others and is fine with them, but she’s not so much a people person. Not shy, just like a small circle.

Mayumi calls Tsumiki Miki-Nee or Tsumi Nee-san, then Mayumi calls Megumi Gumi-Nii and/or Mimi Nii-san.

Toji’s nicknames for Mayumi are Princess, Little Lady, Sweet Pea, and Snapdragon. Sometimes he does a variation of her name like Yumi or Mayu. But those don’t start coming until she’s much older.

Toji gets bummed out that Mayumi hangs out with Megumi and is her self-proclaimed favorite person. But you always remind him that she loves all of you, including him. This is true when she gets picked up by Toji at daycare or Toji comes home and she greets him. Always a smile on her face, arms out-stretched, while saying “Papa!”

Every time Toji is doing something outside, she’s either playing on the engawa, underneath the tree for shade, or running around and playing in the garden and the Koi pond nearby. She mostly likes watching the koi fishes swim around. She even deeps her feet into the crystal blue water as the fish gently nibble on her feet.

She’s also not a picky eater. Will eat anything and everything put in front of her that is seen as food. Her favorites are berries.

Mayumi’s favorite person is definitely Megumi. Toji thought it was him but he soon found out that was not the case. All because her first words weren’t Mama or Papa, her first words were Gumi. Then she started walking because she saw Megumi sitting on the couch while you were making lunch with Toji and took her first steps because she wanted to be near him. Sometimes when she can’t sleep, has a nightmare, or wants someone to take her to the bathroom, she usually goes to Megumi because his room is the closet. Some mornings, you would find Mayumi sleeping alongside Megumi. She usually hangs out in Megumi’s room doing her own thing or playing with his dogs. Megumi doesn’t mind but only gets annoyed when he’s napping or sleeping and she wakes him up. 

But she also hangs out in Tsumiki’s room too. Trying a new hairstyle, clothes, or playing with her stuffed animals. Tsumiki makes Mayumi into a Sanrio fan and even gives some of her plushies to Mayumi because she doesn’t play with them anymore. Every morning, Mayumi goes to Tsumiki to do her hair for the day. Sometimes asking Tsumiki to put a nice hair clip or bow for her. Mayumi’s so happy once she’s done that she shows you and Toji and it’s just so sweet oml.

She loves Megumi’s dogs and shikigamis. But her favorites are his white and black doggos. She loves playing and hugging them, always so gently with them. She likes to put ribbons on them like a collar and read to them. She would nap while laying on top of the white dog’s side and the black one is guarding her feet, making a protective circle around her. Then they allow her to grab onto them to help her practice walking. It’s so cute.

Mayumi knocks on doors before she enters. You don’t know where she picked it up from until you remember knocking on the doors yourself as you hold her. You assume she picked your habit, which turns out to be useful and courteous. It’s always three short knocks, keeping this habit even as a teenanger. 

Mayumi is the apple of the family’s eye and almost everyone, even for Yuuji, Nobara, Maki, Yuuta, Toge, Panda, and fucking Hakari and Kiara. They all have a soft spot for her. The worst of them all is Satoru, proclaiming he’s her big brother to which Suguru smacks him on the hand for it. He tries to win her over but his grand gift-giving actually scares her and makes her wary of him, much to Satoru’s dismay. To which goes to my next point:

Bro, your daughter doesn’t like Satoru. It’s high-key funny. She doesn’t hate him per say. She’s more scared and unsettled by him. One time, she started crying late at night because she had a nightmare. Megumi, with Mayumi in his arms, had to knock on your bedroom door because she was inconsolable and wouldn’t tell Megumi anything. Took all three of you, and eventually Tsumiki joined in, to calm her down. She was sniffling, burying her face into your neck, gripping her little hands as tightly as she could.

“Mayumi, Honey, do you feel a little better now?”

She nods into you but still holding on to you for dear life.

“Can you tell us what’s wrong? Please, Sweetheart?”

“White monster…The white monster with blue-eyes…Scary smile with pointing teeth…”

Tsumiki and Megumi looked at each other confused, you were just trying to figure out where she got that image from, while Toji held a frown before his eyes opened a bit upon realization. He has this goofy smile as he takes Mayumi from your arms and holds her in his own. Upon feeling being inside Toji’s arms, she instantly relaxes and looks up at him with a pout.

“So there’s a monster in your bedroom, Princess? You want me and your big brother Megumi to look for any monsters?”

She looks up at him with her little pout, sniffles, and nods her head quietly. Clutching to Toji like a Koala. Toji gets up with a grunt along with Megumi and they go into her room to look for the “monster”. Turning both the lights on and off along with Megumi bringing his dogs out. Mayumi watches the dogs sniff out her room, under her bed, and her closet.

“No monster, Gumi-Nii?”

Megumi pats her head softly.

“Yeah, no monsters in here, Mayumi.”

She’s still pouting even though Megumi confirmed no monsters while Toji rubs her back gently.

“Well Little Lady, you’re gonna sleep with Mama and I tonight so no monsters can get you. If there are, I’ll eat them.”

Mayumi giggles as he takes her into your shared bedroom to sleep peacefully for the night. Luckily she did as she snoozed away on his chest along with you tucked into his shoulder as your head rested on top of its side.

The next day, Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, and Yaga came to your house to talk about something. As they were discussing in your personal office, Mayumi knocks and she comes in to be held by you. While being held by you, you feel Mayumi shifting in your arms. You look down as she looks at Satoru with wary eyes. She clutches closer to you as she whines. Satrou looks over at her and smiles, causing her to hide into you further. By then, you noticed Satoru didn’t bring his blindfold. He brought his glasses instead so you could see the glimpses of his eyes. As soon Mayumi caught a glimpse of his eyes, she started getting uncomfortable and whining. You’re worried as you try to calm her down but nothing works. Then Toji comes in with the pitcher of water you asked for and she makes grabby hands at him. Your husband takes her in his arms and she points at Satoru while sniffling, making everyone, including you curious.

“What’s wrong this time, Mayumi?”

“Papa,” 

Points at Satoru

“White monster…big blue eyes and white teeth…that’s him…”

Everyone blinks a couple of times except for Toji who has his dastardly grin. Then the silence is broken by Suguru’s cackling followed by Haibara bursting out in laughter. Now you understand why Toji wasn’t so concerned about last night because he knew what Mayumi was talking about. The monster was random, she had a nightmare about Satoru. Nanami smirks while Yaga and Shoko chuckle at this. The only ones who weren’t anything were You and Satoru. You because you’re just shaking your head at Suguru, Toji, and Haibara. While Satoru looked like a hurt puppy that was kicked. You tried to comfort your unofficial oldest child but he just stayed hurt. He let out a sigh when he and your daughter made brief eye-contact before she hid herself in Toji, causing him to bark out in laughter. His laugh joined in with the other two. 

Toji calms down a bit before comforting Mayumi.

“Princess, that’s just Gojo. He’s not a scary monster, see? He’s harmless.”

Mayumi looks at Satoru before looking at you then Toji. She shakes her head at Toji causing him to chuckle. Mayumi says bye to everyone as she leaves the room with Toji. But Suguru wouldn’t stop teasing Satoru about it and it’s an inside joke everyone is in on.

So that’s why Satoru always wears his blindfold on because he doesn’t want to make Mayumi cry. As she gets older, she gets over it and funny enough doesn’t remember this event. No matter how much anyone brings it up, she can’t fully remember any of it. But their relationship gets better later on.

Though Mayumi’s humble, she’s spoiled. By you, Toji, Tsumiki, Megumi, your family, even Suguru and Satoru, specifically Satoru. Mayumi gets an allowance of 38,948 yen(which is roughly equivalent to $250 US dollars) from Satoru every month, and that’s not including holidays and birthdays. Toji and Satoru are fighting each other on who’s better at spoiling her to which you have to calm them down because it shouldn’t be a big deal.

Mayumi gets all sad and pouty when Megumi has to live on campus but Megumi promises to call frequently or visit once a week for her. Megumi gives her his old plushies of his twin dogs, telling her to hug them when she feels like missing him. Because of that, she is overly attached to them. She sleeps with them, goes to the bathroom with them, brings them outside to the garden, goes out, they come with her everywhere she goes.

Megumi hangs a drawing she made of him and Mayumi with his dogs in his dorm room. Also has a picture frame of him and her on his desk too.

When Megumi brings Yuuji and Nobara over, they always want to play with her. Nobara dresses her up while Yuuji shadow boxes with her. When they come over to sleep over, it’s twice the fun. Yuuji and Nobara get bummed out when it’s her bedtime but they remember they see her in the morning so it’s all good.

They also help Megumi watch and babysit her when you and Toji are out on a date/outing. It’s chaotic but it’s fun.

Toji and Megumi will be irritated and annoyed when someone, other than you and Tsumiki, asks them for anything Gojo. But once Mayumi starts asking for things, they won’t even bat an eye. She is spoiled by both her grumpy older brother and menacing father. One time you came home to see your daughter gleefully smiling at you, holding her plushie tightly as she told you about what she did with Toji and Megumi. Then you look over to see your son and husband wearing bows on their heads and had sanrio stickers all over them.

Mayumi’s such a bubbly and happy child that it’s like looking straight at the sun. Of course, she takes after you mostly both in personality and physical traits. It’s not until she’s in teens when Toji’s traits start revealing themselves in her.

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[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Five.

Chapter Four. Chapter Six. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - Does absence make the heart grow fonder, or does it just make everything ten times more difficult?

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption. angst. mention of illness.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.7k

Author's Note - it's here!! as always, I can't thank you enough for your love, support and patience with this fic. us writers lead busy lives, and i've been trying my hardest to find the time to write whenever I can, so it means so much that you guys stick with me - even when things take longer than expected. love you all. you're angels. please feel free to spam my inbox with thoughts and suggestions - it always makes my day when you're all so passionate. mwah.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sand is warm beneath your feet, cooling breeze cascading across your skin. The waves caress the shore in repetitive motions, lulling you into calm.

Sunlight beaming down, you shield your eyes and look up, sighing in contentment at the shades of blue that paint the sky.

A shriek and a laugh come from somewhere on your right. You look over and see a couple and their toddler running after each other, sprinting down the beach and into the ocean. The little girl can't stop giggling, tripping over her own feet as she chases her parents. Something tugs at your heart, deep and visceral.

It's been three months since you left home.

It's been three months since you saw Bucky.

He calls every few days, trying to give you the space you need while also keeping in touch. You have to resist the urge to call him every ten minutes. It's an improvement, at least. It was five minutes when you first moved.

He texts you good morning and goodnight everyday without fail, just to let you know he's there. You can't sleep until you get his text. It's like a lullaby, reassuring and soothing. Like a chamomile tea, warming and calming you from the inside out.

You think about him the most at night time. Your days are spent running around preparing for the bakery. Testing, retesting, writing up recipes, measuring out quantities. You want it to be perfect.

The baking is taking your mind off Bucky, for the moment at least. You've thrown yourself into your new role, eager and excited. Stella's ecstatic to have you around. You love that you're still just as close as you were, despite the time apart. Friendships like that are rare.

Lacie calls you most nights. She demands to know what you did that day, who you spoke to, what you made. It's like therapy, sitting and decompressing together over videochat. She's a lifeline, whether she knows it or not.

And of course, the most supportive people in your life - your parents. Your Mom is desperate to come and visit, begging that you let her know when you're less busy so you can show her around. She loves the sunshine just as much as you. A woman after your own heart.

On the nights when the doubt creeps in, unwelcome and dark, you remind yourself how lucky you are. Surrounded by people who adore you, support you, love you unconditionally. And then the night doesn't seem so dark. The light pours through the cracks.

You walk home from the beach, warmed and carried by the knowledge of love.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"This is ridiculous."

Stella's perched on the edge of your countertop, blush pink macaron in her hand.

"Good ridiculous?"

She scoffs, looking at you incredulously.

"Where did your confidence go? You never doubted yourself in school. Yes, good ridiculous. It shouldn't work, but it does."

Shouldn't work, but it does. Seems to be the story of your life at the moment.

"I need these on the menu."

"You don't think they're a little... pretentious? My best seller is a chocolate chip cookie. A honey and rosewater macaron isn't exactly a childhood favourite."

"Babe. That's the beauty of this. You can put whatever the hell you want out in your bakery. So what if they're unconventional? They're delicious. That's all that matters."

"Okay. Fine."

You relent, thinking about her earlier question. Where did your confidence go? When you graduated culinary school, you never doubted your abilities. Your technique, your flavours, your presentation - you had full faith in all of it. Now, you seem to be second guessing yourself.

You know it's because of your Tethering.

Before, you understood how the world worked. Good, bad, in between. Love, lust, the very clear difference between the two. You watched as other people found their forever person, and acknowledged their new journey.

And then you found Bucky. Or, Bucky found you.

Suddenly, the world you'd lived in before no longer made sense. The people, the places, the relationships, all impacted by the way you feel about your soulmate. Everything, everyone, everywhere, reminds you of Bucky. You're experiencing emotions you've never felt before. It's disorientating, confusing, complex. Your understanding of the world has changed completely.

It takes time to adjust.

No one ever talks about the way your Tethering turns your life upside down.

For some, it's completely positive. They enjoy the uprooting, revel in the change.

For others, it's a huge adaptation. One filled with tears, and confusion, and doubts.

Both are valid. Both are understandable.

You remind yourself of this every day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"There's someone in the café that wants to speak to you."

The youngest waitress, Isabel, stands in the kitchen doorway, looking at you hopefully. You set down your piping bag and wash your hands, talking to her over your shoulder.

"Who is it?"

"No idea. Some guy. He's kinda hot. Brown hair, tall, beard."

Your heart skips a beat, breath caught in your lungs. Bucky jokes sometimes about coming to see you, but would he just show up announced? Do you want him to?

You can't feel it in your chest, you realise suddenly. You can't feel the ease, the relief, the knowing. Maybe being apart for so long has weakened your connection. The thought makes you strangely emotional.

You inhale carefully and thank her, before making your way out. It's almost closing time, and there's no one around other than the man stood with his back to you.

He turns around, and you realise quickly that your hope was misplaced. You've never seen this person before. He is handsome, admittedly. But he's not your soulmate.

"Hi."

"Hey. Are you the baker here?"

"I am."

He holds out his hand for you to shake, stepping closer.

"I'm Rafael."

You tell him your name, and he smiles, nodding.

"Forgive me if this is weird, but I had to meet you. To thank you properly, in person."

You don't say anything, so he continues.

"Let me, uh, explain. Sorry, should have started with that. My sister is sick. She's going through treatment currently, and it's been super hard on her. She's had no appetite whatsoever, and she's losing weight rapidly."

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"A couple of weeks ago, I picked up a load of stuff from this place because my Mom was coming to visit. My sister tried your earl grey and lavender cookie, and ate the entire thing. It was the first time I've seen her eat for weeks. So, I came back and bought basically all of them every day."

You laugh, coming to a realisation. You wondered why those cookies were selling so well all of a sudden.

"I just wanted to say thank you. It might not seem like a big deal, but it's really huge for us. I also wanted to explain why all of those cookies were suddenly going missing at like ten in the morning."

You gesture at him to sit, the both of you taking a seat at one of the tables nearby.

You talk for almost an hour, listening intently to Rafael as he tells you about his family. He moved to California to be with his sister Maria when she got sick, no one else around to care for her. He asks about yours, and you tell him about your parents and their constant encouragement. He's also interested in how you got into baking, so you tell him all about culinary school, and the dreams your Grandma gave you when you were a kid.

"You're really talented, you know."

"I bet you say that to all of the bakers around here. But thank you."

His fingers brush yours where they're resting on the table, making you shiver.

"I'll make Maria her own box, if you like. I'll leave them behind the counter, just tell Isabel who you are."

"You'd do that for her?"

"Of course," you smile. "The idea that I'm helping someone with my silly little creations makes me really happy. We can work out a schedule, and I'll make sure I bake Maria some extras when I do my usual batch."

"You're incredible. Seriously. Thank you."

He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. The two of you are sat in the café as the sun sets, orange glow illuminating the room. You didn't expect to make a friend today. You're glad you have.

"Well, I should probably go and clean up the kitchen. You know where to find me, if you need anything. It was lovely to meet you, Rafael."

He rises when you do, smiling at you earnestly.

"You too. Nice to finally put a face to the cookie, so to speak."

You chuckle and show him out of the door, waving as he walks down the street. Suddenly, he turns around, striding back towards you.

"I'm so sorry if this is forward, and please feel free to say no, but... are you single? If you are, I'd love to ask you to dinner sometime."

The answer to that question is much more complicated than Rafael could ever imagine. So instead, you say,

"I'm not. I'm Tethered, actually."

His brows raise in surprise, but he's smiling.

"You are?"

"Yeah, I am. He doesn't live here, though. He lives back home, where my parents are."

"You guys are married?"

"No! Not yet. It's, uh... a complex... situation."

"Ah," he says, gentle, knowing look on his face. "I thought Tetherings weren't meant to be complex. Isn't that the whole point? That they're easy?"

You laugh, but it's not malicious. You're thinking about how sweetly naive he is, how he's got a huge storm coming his way one day.

"He's my Dad's best friend."

You're not sure why you're admitting this to a man you met an hour and a half ago, but you are. It's almost a relief, to get it off your chest again - to tell someone who's completely neutral, who doesn't know either of you.

"Woah."

"Yeah."

"That... is complicated."

"Yeah," you chuckle. "Understatement of the century."

Rafael leans against the wall, watching you intently. He's curious.

"How did your parents react?"

"They don't know yet."

His eyebrows raise almost comically high.

"Wait, what? How did you hide that? I thought it was supposed to be impossible to hide that you're Tethered. Although, I guess I had no idea, seeing as I asked you out."

"We wanted to figure it out for ourselves first, before telling anyone. And then I moved out here, so we're doing long distance. Like I said, complex."

"Understatement of the century," he laughs.

You look at each other for a moment, before he smiles.

"I'm sorry I asked you out. I wouldn't have, if I'd known."

"Please, don't apologise. I admire your... courage?" you grin. "And I appreciate you coming to see me today. I have like two friends here in Cali, so it's nice to feel like I've made another."

He smiles again, wider this time. Someone's going to be lucky to be Tethered to him one day, you think.

"I know it might surprise you, given my good looks and... courage," he chuckles, "but I don't have many friends out here either. I've been so focused on Maria, I haven't had time to socialise."

"The Universe works in funny ways, huh?"

"Sure does."

You wander back through the door, ready to close up for good this time.

"I'll see you tomorrow, for the cookies. And I'd love to meet Maria one day, if she's up for it."

"I'm sure she'd love to meet you. I'll bring her by."

"Thanks, Rafael."

"Of course. Thank you."

"Of course."

That night, when your Mom calls, you get to tell her you've made a new friend. That makes the both of you very happy.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're testing out a recipe in the kitchen of your new apartment when your phone rings.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, kiddo. You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I am, actually. I'm settling in."

"Good, I'm glad. I don't wanna keep you on the phone for too long, but I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead, Dad. Anything."

"How would you feel about surprising your Mom for her birthday?"

"What kind of surprise?"

"I know you haven't been gone all that long, and I know it's kind of last minute, but, I was thinking you could come back to... be her gift? She really misses you, you know."

"I miss her too," you say softly, trying to keep your voice even. "I'll talk to Stella, see if we can figure something out. I'd really love to see you guys."

"We'd really love to see you too, sweetheart."

"I'll call you back later, when I've organised everything. Love you, Dad. See you soon, hopefully."

"Love you, kiddo. Proud of you, you know."

"I know," you smile. "I know."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The journey always seems shorter when you know you're going home.

You make it back in record time, salty ocean breeze whipping through your hair as you cruise along the roads. You take a deep breath and sigh it out, relief filling your lungs. It's good to be back.

You can't let your Mom see you, so you head straight back to your apartment. Your Dad told you they're in the process of renting it out, but they haven't made much progress yet. For now, it's still yours.

You inhale the familiar scent, smiling gently. There's something so particular about the way a place smells when you feel like you belong there. It's like home and comfort and ease all rolled into one.

You unpack a little, folding your clothes and tucking them into the dresser. You told Stella you'd probably stay a few days, wanting to spend as much time with your family as possible. You're rifling through the refrigerator and thinking about a grocery list when there's a knock at your door.

You know who it is.

A feeling of relief washes over your body, tension melting from your shoulders. Your lungs fill easier, your breath falls deeper, everything is a little brighter, a little more colourful.

You open the door to be met with the sight of Bucky Barnes.

He's in work pants and a white t shirt that's stained with grease and oil, heavy boots on his feet. He must have come straight from the Garage.

He looks at you carefully, as if he isn't sure that you're real. You rake your eyes over his form, trying to drink him in. All the pictures you've taken and saved don't do him justice.

He exhales, beaming grin appearing on his face.

"You're here."

You can't help but smile back, his happiness spreading through you.

"I'm here."

Bucky rushes forward and scoops you into his arms, enveloping you completely. He wraps himself around you as he tucks you into his chest, his grip tight and unrelenting. You breathe him in, overwhelmed with emotion and sensation. You didn't realise how much you needed this. Three months is too long.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, slight shake in his voice. He's holding off tears. So are you.

"My Dad wanted me to surprise my Mom for her birthday. It's all a secret."

He smiles, before leaning down to capture your lips in a knee buckling kiss. A kiss that says I missed you. A kiss that says I need you. A kiss that says please don't leave me again.

"How did you know?" you whisper when you pull away for air.

"I felt it. I think I knew the moment you arrived back in town. Thought my mind was playing tricks on me, for a second. But there's no mistaking that feeling. I had to come and see for myself."

"We're getting pretty good at this whole soulmate thing, huh?" you laugh, unaware of the tears running down your face. "I missed you, Buck. So much."

"I missed you too," he murmurs, kissing you again. "Didn't think I was going to survive, some days."

"Me too. Do you know how many times I stood with my car keys in my hand, ready to drive back to you?"

He chuckles and then sniffles, emotion dripping down his cheeks.

"I did exactly the same thing. So many times."

You wrap your arms around his middle, reveling in the way he smells like gasoline and home.

"How long are you here for?" he murmurs, worried he'll disturb the peace.

"I'm not sure. A good few days, at least."

"Okay," he breathes. "I can do a few days. We can do a few days."

"Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't know, to be honest. It was all kinda last minute."

"It's okay, pretty thing," he mutters into your hair. "It was a nice surprise."

"You're coming tonight, right? To my Mom's party?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

You stay wrapped up in each other for a little while longer, savouring his warmth. He rubs absentminded patterns across the skin of your back, committing the softness of it to his memory.

"I should probably get back to work. I took off with no warning."

"You're the boss. You're allowed," you chuckle.

He laughs with you, and the sound lights up your nerves, illuminates your bones. It settles itself in the hollows of your ribcage, tangles itself in your heartstrings. It's like medicine.

"Can't wait to see you tonight," you whisper. "Wear something cute."

"I always do," he winks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Miss you already."

"Miss you more."

He looks at you, smiling.

"Man, we're the worst."

"Truly."

He kisses you once, twice, three times before finally leaving, reluctant to let you go. You spend the rest of the afternoon floating on air, relaxed and at ease. You haven't felt like this in a while.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your Dad sneaks you into the house through the side door, hiding you in the kitchen as he ushers your Mom through to the back yard.

It's decorated with floral garlands and streamers, flowers in vases covering the table he's set up. The golden, warm fairy lights illuminate the space, keeping it soft and intimate. He's been watching, carefully observing the way that she does things. He's recreated her party style perfectly.

There's a few of her closest friends waiting for her, gifts littering the spare chairs. Your Dad walks her outside, hands covering her eyes.

"Surprise!"

You watch through the door as your Mom gasps, grin on her face.

"Oh my God! You guys!"

She runs into your Dad, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I can't believe you managed to pull this off," she says in disbelief.

He sets her back down on the ground and kisses her gently.

"I got you something. I hope you like it."

That's your cue. You sneak out as quietly as possible, standing behind her.

"Happy Birthday, Mama."

She whips around to face you, shock written across her face. Her eyes well up, tears threatening to spill. Yours do the same, bottom lip quivering.

She throws her arms around you, tugging you into her.

"I'm so happy you're here, baby girl. I missed you so much."

"Missed you. You look beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you! Look at you, all sun kissed and glowy. You look so pretty, sweetheart."

You grin at her and she does the same back, your Dad beaming at your identical smiles.

"You're the best gift I've ever received. Then and now."

You're overwhelmed, suddenly, by the realisation that no matter what happens, no matter what life throws at you, no matter how many miles are between you - your Mom will always be in your corner. Your Dad will always be in your corner. Bucky will always be in your corner.

You think, for a moment, that despite everything, you might just be okay.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The night goes off without a hitch.

You drink, you laugh, you sing. You and your Mom dance to ABBA, Bowie, Donna Summer. Your Dad joins in, and can't help but grin every time he watches his girls together.

What a life, he thinks. I'm the luckiest man in the world.

When everyone gets a little past tipsy, your Mom changes the music to something slower, jazzier, richer. Your Dad pulls her into his chest, holding her close as they move to the melody. You're sat at the table taking off your heels when Bucky slides into the seat next to you. He pulls your foot into his lap and undoes the strap, sliding the shoe off gently. He rubs his thumb into your sole, smirking when you groan.

"Have you been avoiding me tonight, pretty baby?"

His cheeks are flushed slightly, top few buttons of his shirt open. He's been drinking a little, his walls lowered more than usual.

"I have to."

"Oh yeah?"

"I feel like I'm gonna burst into flames every time you look at me," you whisper. "I kinda want to rip your clothes off, baby."

He groans at the nickname. You know exactly what you're doing.

"It only takes one look for a minute too long to figure out how I feel about you, Buck. They'll work it all out instantly."

"Dance with me," he murmurs suddenly. "Your parents are too busy staring into each others eyes. Come on, honey. One dance."

His big blue eyes bore into yours, and you know you're fucked. You're never going to be able to say no to him.

"One dance," you whisper.

He takes your hand and leads you to the decked area, brightened by the golden lights. Bucky slides a hand over your back, resting there carefully. You intertwine your fingers with his and step into him, embracing the warmth that rolls off his body.

I'll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday begins to play, and the two of you start to sway gently, eyes never leaving each others. Bucky pulls you in closer, and you melt into him. You don't care about the repercussions anymore.

Maybe it's the wine talking. Maybe it's something else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"That was close!"

Your Mom's giggling as your Dad holds her, having just saved her from tripping down the front steps. Everyone's giddy, both from drinking and from laughing.

"Sweetheart. Bucky. Come back for lunch tomorrow. Your Dad ordered too much catering, and we need help eating it."

"Mama, are you sure?"

"I want to see you as much as possible before you go, babygirl. You too, Buck. I feel like we don't see you as much as we used to."

"He'll be there," you reply before he can protest. "We'll carpool, and I'll bring a strawberry and cream tart that I made for you."

She kisses you on the cheek, your Dad leaning in to kiss the other side.

"Love you both."

"Love you," they say in unison, laughing and yelling jinx. "Get home safe, you two!"

"I'll take care of her," Bucky chuckles. "Always."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Why don't you see my parents much anymore?"

You and Buck are walking home along the sandy coastal path, fingers intertwined and sides pressed together. You look up at him, frowning slightly when he hesitates.

"Don't lie to me, James. I can feel it, remember."

You place a hand on your chest to remind him, and he nods.

"It's not the same here without you."

You weren't expecting the sincerity. It knocks you off balance a little.

You stop when you reach a wooden bench, sitting down and pulling him with you.

"So you're isolating yourself from the people who love you?"

He smiles, sadness rife in his eyes. Your tough guy act is crumbling.

"Not on purpose. It just kinda happened."

"You promised you'd talk to me, Buck. Especially if it got too hard. You need to accept support from people, or everything is going to come crashing down."

"I know. I know. But every time I go to their house, I'm expecting you to be there. Every time I go to the beach, I'm expecting you to be there. Every time I walk past your building, I'm expecting you to be there, waiting for me to pick you up. Even when I'm sailing, I can't stop thinking about that day we spent on the boat."

"The other day I had to make three batches of buttercream, because I messed up the first two. I was so distracted thinking about you that I split them both."

He laughs, then, wholehearted and genuine. You can't help but join him, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

"Bucky, you have to promise that you'll keep going, even without me. You have to see my Mom and Dad like you used to, you have to still sail and go to the beach. You can't put your life on hold for me."

He takes a deep breath, sliding an arm around your shoulders to pull you in closer.

"Okay. I promise."

You whip your head around to look at him.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that, honey. You're right. I've been waiting for you to come back, so I can start living again. But life is still happening, whether you're here or not."

"Wise words, wise man," you smile. "Not a minute goes by where I don't think of you. You know that, don't you?"

"I know. I feel it."

You watch as he brings your linked hands to his chest, placing them there. You rest your head on his shoulder, lulled into calm by the steady melody of his heart. You swear it beats to the rhythm of your name.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you can't bear the idea of separating, so Buck comes home with you.

"Have you got a blanket?" he asks as he's kicking off his shoes.

"I have. What for?"

"The couch."

You process for a moment before it clicks.

"You're not sleeping on the couch, Buck."

"No?"

"No. I want your ridiculous, radiator-like body heat in bed with me."

He smiles, all giddy and lopsided, before striding across the room to you. Cradling your face in his rough hands, he kisses you with fervour. He's making up for lost time.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling, smirking when he groans. He retaliates by grabbing your ass and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carries you through to your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

Throwing you down onto the bed, he pulls his shirt over his head, watching you hungrily as you do the same with your dress. You're left in your underwear, leaving little to the imagination.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "Makes me want to cry."

You reach for him as he settles on top of you, your hand sliding along his stubbled cheek.

"I'm so glad you're feeling what I'm feeling," you whisper. "I'd think I was going insane otherwise."

Bucky kisses you again, before trailing his lips across your jaw, your ear, your neck. He's careful not to leave any marks, as much as he wants to. You glide your hands along the expanse of his shoulders, his back, his biceps. He's so strong, so broad. It makes you ache.

"So fuckin' pretty," he mumbles against your chest. "Like a goddamn dream."

You throw your head back as he attaches his mouth to your tits, nipping and sucking as he goes. Your hands are in his hair again, reveling in the way his groans vibrate through you.

Bucky slots his knee in between your legs as he kisses across your chest, smirking when you grind your hips into it. You chase the friction as best you can, moaning when it hits you just right.

"Needy baby. You don't want my fingers? My mouth? No? Just my knee?"

You nod, then shake your head. You're not sure what you're asking for, drunk on him already.

"Please, Buck. Anything."

"I'll give you whatever you want if you keep saying my name like that."

He makes quick work of pulling your underwear down your legs, swiping his fingers through your wet heat.

"Oh, fuck," he chokes. "Fuck, honey. Is this all for me? Hmm?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Yeah?"

"It's yours, Buck. I'm yours."

Bucky drops his head forward, bumping your nose with his.

"I think that's my favourite thing you've ever said," he mumbles against your mouth.

You reach up to kiss him, sucking his tongue before biting at his lips. You can't get close enough. Every inch of your skin is pressed to his, and you still want more.

Bucky crawls down the bed, situating himself between your legs. He nudges at you with his nose before diving in, lapping at you like a man starved.

You'd forgotten what people said about sex when you're Tethered, but it all comes back to you now. Everything is heightened, your senses on overdrive. It's like Bucky has the handbook to your body, and all he has to do is read the instructions the Universe has given him.

He's got you teetering on the edge in no time, right on the precipice. No ones ever made you feel like this. It feels like some sort of small miracle is happening, an otherworldly connection.

"Give it to me, honey baby," he murmurs into you. "Let me see how pretty you look when you come."

You tug at his hair as you reach your climax, the vibrations of his groan only prolonging your release. Bucky helps you ride it out, only ceasing his action when he's satisfied you're satisfied.

He rests his head against your thigh and looks up at you as you come down, breathing heavily.

"You good?"

"So good," you grin. "Never better."

"Me neither," he whispers, crawling up your body to kiss you again. You taste yourself and whine, desperate to feel closer to him.

"Need you," you demand against his lips. "Need you more than anything."

"I know, baby," he soothes as he smooths the hair back from your face. "Gonna give you everything you want. Anything in the world."

You're on the verge of tears again, completely overwhelmed. He's looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky just for him. You think maybe you would, if he asked you to.

Bucky slides home in one gentle thrust, easy as breathing. The both of you exhale, savouring the moment. It's like nothing either of you have ever felt before.

You pull his face down to you, resting your foreheads against each other.

"Buck, I-"

"I know," he breathes. "Fuck, I know."

"Need you to move, baby."

He nods and kisses you sweetly, before pulling his hips back and gliding forward. The angle is just right, both of you keening.

"Fuck, honey. So pretty. So tight. Fuck."

Bucky sets a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow. It's like he can read your mind, knowing exactly what you need. All you can say is his name as stars cloud your vision.

He slides his hand down your front, rubbing perfect circles on your clit with his fingers. You clamp down on him and he groans, low and gutteral.

"Need you to come, pretty baby," he whispers hoarsely. "Please. Waited so long for this. Please."

The desperation in his tone is what throws you into your release, muscles tensing and back arched. You grip his biceps, scratching your nails into his sun kissed skin.

Bucky can't hold on any longer, falling over the edge with you. The way he says your name as he does will be ingrained in your mind forever.

He drops his weight onto you entirely, no longer able to hold himself up. You wrap your arms around him, drawing absent minded patterns across his back. You're both sweating and panting. You're both completely content.

"Holy shit," he whispers after a while.

"You think it's gonna be like that every time?" you ask, grinning.

Bucky rolls off you and lands on the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest.

"Honey, just you wait. I've got moves you've never seen."

You snort, unable to hold in your laughter. You're floating on cloud nine, satiated and warm.

"You're the worst," you giggle, running your fingers over his abs gently.

The two of you stay intertwined for hours, enjoying the way your bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. You both drift in and out of sleep, conversing in the gaps. At some points, you just lay in silence, completely comfortable. No one needs to say anything. You both know what the other person is thinking.

Eventually, the sun rises, casting the room in a golden orange glow. Bucky looks like an angel, illuminated by the morning light. You wonder for a second if he is, sent down as a gift to you.

Suddenly, you feel an intense sadness in your chest. You look up at Bucky from where you lay across him, and see a single tear drip down his cheek.

"I don't want you to go."

The only sound that can be heard is his sorrow hitting the pillow.

"I don't think I want to go."

He strokes your hair softly, taking a deep breath to try and get a handle on his emotions.

"You have to, baby. It's your dream."

Your bottom lip wobbles for a second, before the words come spilling out.

"You're my dream."

Bucky sniffles, and you continue.

"I could have nothing, but I have everything if I have you."

You sit up and Bucky does too, capturing your lips in a tear stained kiss.

"We'll be okay, my honey girl."

You crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, letting his warmth bleed into your bones.

"I know," you say, unsure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

You know you'll be okay. It just doesn't feel like it right now.

You wonder how many times you can keep leaving and coming back before one of your hearts breaks for good.

tag list part one

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