#but like come on. you can take five minutes and take out the trash

[mildmayfoxe]

sooo crazy to me that as far as i can tell THREE people were home all day yesterday but i still came home to overflowing trash overflowing recycling overflowing sink of dirty dishes and an untouched clean dishwasher. like this is not a frat house. this is pathetic

[alexiroflife]

"first day"

fluff, happy fushiguro family, slice of life, megs' first day of school send-off

Synopsis: you've been dating toji for a while now and megumi subconsciously calls you mom for the first time on his way out the door

to sum it up: you adore the little family you've come to be a part of

WC: 1,701

Warning(s): none

"Megs!" you call out, standing by the front door awaiting the dark-haired boy's arrival. He soon shuffles around the corner from his room, throwing a bag over his shoulder with a tired expression on his face.

His father turns to watch him walk in, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. "The hell were you doing in there that took you so long?"

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, moving to brush past the two of you to rush to the door. "I just wanted to look presentable, that's all."

"So you took thirty minutes to get ready?" Toji quirks a brow.

"Believe it or not, dad, some would say that's not enough time to get ready in the morning."

"Not at all, actually," you agree.

Toji tugs the corner of his mouth in judgment. " Well, you should know," he says to you. "You spend at least ten years in the bathroom when we have somewhere to go."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "That's such an overreaction. I never take any longer than an hour." Megumi and his father exchange knowing looks and you place your hand on your hip. "What?"

"Don't worry baby," Toji assures you. "It's okay to be in denial."

"We've timed it before. The last time we all went out to dinner as a family, you took two and a half hours to get dressed," Megumi adds.

"That's only because I had to shower and pick out an outfit then do my hair and makeup," you defend.

"Isn't that a little overkill? It takes me half that time to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get some homework done."

"Whatever. Your sister would understand," you sigh.

"Unfortunately, she may be worse than you."

"Women," Toji tsks. You slap his bicep and he pretends to flinch, smirking down at you playfully. "Ouch."

"Alright, well, I'm ready now. I don't wanna be late," the sixteen year old says, turning back to reach for the door handle.

"Ah ah ah, wait!" you stop him. "You're not going anywhere without me getting a good look at you. Turn around, I wanna see how the uniform fits."

Megumi lowers his head and complies, turning back around stiffly for you to admire him. You press your hand to your lips to conceal your smile, eyes gleaming with pride as you look over the sharp navy jacket and pants he adorns.

"Awwww," you coo. "It fits perfectly! How does it feel?"

"Pretty good," Megumi nods, moving his arm around slightly to show his mobility in the fabric. "It's comfortable too. It shouldn't be a problem during missions."

"I still can't believe how quickly time has gone by," you muse. "You're already going into your first year at Jujutsu High! Are you excited?"

"You better be," Toji grunts. "Your uncle Gojo hasn't gotten off my ass about your enrollment for years. At least now, he'll finally shut up."

"I still don't understand why I have to have him as a teacher. He's such a moron, I doubt he'll teach us anything useful," Megumi mumbles.

"Moron or not, he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and he's helped out so much. I'm sure he'll be able to give you a good experience," you say positively.

"We talkin' about the same Gojo here? The one who trashed my house playing tag with Megumi and the dogs in the living room?" Toji points out and his son grits his teeth at the memory.

"Oh come on, Satoru was like twenty one back then. I can only imagine the crazy shit you've with the kids when you were raising them," you tease.

"You don't even want to know," Megumi exhales.

"Please, you came out just fine, didn’t ya?” Toji says, reaching out his hand to ruffle at Megumi's spiky hair. The teen recoils, craning his head away and shielding himself with his arm.

"Quit it. I'm not five anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're all grown up now, I know. Gonna be a first-grade sorcerer before I can even blink an eye."

"Who said that I would be first grade? I'm only a first year."

"Yeah, and look at who your pops is," Toji grins. "Plus, you got an advantage that I never had. You'll do just fine."

Megumi hums indifferently, doubting himself momentarily but accepting the words nonetheless. "Alright, are we ready?"

"No, not yet!" you pull out your phone quickly and open the camera. "I need to get pictures."

The blue-eyed boy slumps. "(Y/n), I gotta go."

"I know, I know, just a few," you promise, holding your camera up to capture his awkward figure in the frame. "Okay, smile."

Megumi doesn't, and of course you don't actually expect him to. Instead, he calmly stares at the camera with his arms at his sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Toji moves to stand behind you, leaning down to take a peak at the million pictures you're snapping.

"Toji, go stand with him so I can get one with the both of you."

The two groan simultaneously. "Doll, can we just focus on gettin' the kid to school?"

"It's fine. His stuff is already moved into his dorm. We have time."

"But-"

"Shut up and go stand with your son, now," you glare firmly up at the green-eyed man and he huffs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Toji raises a hand to his hip and tilts his head boredly as he stands beside Megumi, the two of them sharing the exact same blank stare as they look into the camera. You squeal happily. "You two are so cuteee!"

"We done, now?"

"No, I wanna get one more with Megs, and then I'm good." The boys give you a look, but you wave them off. "I mean it! Gosh, here Toji. Take our picture."

Toji obliges, grabbing your phone from your hand as you rush over to the tall boy. His expression melts into serenity as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean your head against his arm, smiling widely at the camera as a hint of a smile touches Megumi's lips.

Toji's heart warms at the sight, watching the way his son grows comfortable in your presence. The picture of the two of you looks so natural t to him like you are meant to be a part of his family, which he knows you are.

He snaps the photo and nods. "Got it."

You exhale, turning to face Megumi. You brush your hands over his shoulders to straighten his jacket, ridding it of any lint and wrinkles. "Okay, Megumi, please remember to be safe."

"I know. I will," he nods.

"And don't be too reckless when it comes to training."

"I won't."

"And try to make friends. I know how easy it is for you to push others away."

"I'll try."

You press your lips together with a final sigh, looking over Megumi's face warmly. You wrap your arms safely around him into a hug, your emotions getting the best of you. You have spent the past year caring for Megumi like your own, and watching him head off to achieve his goals makes your heart swell with joy and fear all the same.

"Text me or your father or Tsumiki if you need anything. Anything at all," you tell him. He returns your hug gently.

"Okay," he chuckles lightly and you pull away. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"...I know you will..." you pout. "Okay, I'll let you go. Good luck. I hope you have an amazing first day. I'll see you at the end of the week, yeah?"

"Mhm. I'll call you to let you know how the day went later."

"Please do."

Toji hands you back your phone and walks toward the door with Megumi. "Let's get a move on," he says. He leans over quickly to peck your lips farewell. "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't speed, Toji."

"Speeding gets you places quicker," he winks and you suck your teeth disapprovingly. Megumi opens the door, his dad gripping the frame.

"Bye, boys. Stay out of trouble," you wave, eyes glassy as you watch Megumi walk out.

"See ya, doll."

"Bye, mum."

The three of you freeze the second the words hit the air, everyone stilling in their tracks.

You feel your heart burst as overwhelming happiness consumes you. Megumi keeps his face forward, hiding his reddening cheeks as he processes what he has just said. Toji stares at the back of his son's head, eyes wide, before he turns to look at you to find your shocked, giddy face.

You don't have any time to reply when Megumi clears his throat suddenly, sweat dotting his forehead, and he walks rigidly out of the house and swiftly down the hall without looking back.

Toji stays behind, keeping an eye on you when you look up at him, stunned. "Did he just...?" you murmur.

"Yep."

Your eyes immediately well with tears and your lips wobble, your hands flying over your mouth. "He sees me as his mom?" you whisper.

Toji chuckles, ducking down to you with his hand still gripping the door. "Of course he does. He's always adored you. Him and Tsumiki."

"I'm gonna cry."

The assassin chuckles softly, pressing his thumb to the corner of your eye gently. "You're already cryin.'"

"Shut up," you sniff. "God, I love those kids so much. I just wanna give him all the hugs in the world."

"And you'll be able to. There isn't a better woman on this planet to be there for the kids," he kisses your cheek. "That's why I plan t'marry you someday."

"Fuck you, Toj. You're gonna make me cry even more."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help talkin' about it," he leans back to the doorway. "Let me get the kid squared away and make sure he's not dyin' of embarrassment, then I'll be back to talk to ya about makin' this official."

"You're being for real?"

"Of course I am."

You lower your hands and beam. "Tell Megumi I love him and get back here soon."

"I will," he hums. "But I thought you said no speeding?"

"Just- make sure the two of you at least get to the school in one peace."

He smirks. "Will do, doll."

[gudfornuthin]

All I’ve Ever Wanted

Season 4!Five Hargreeves x fem!reader

! Spoilers ahead !

Summary: six years of travelling to different timelines, and Five isn’t sure how much longer he can go on for. Until he stumbles upon a greenhouse, full of strawberries. And you.

Word count: 4212

A/N: so season 4 was a… thing that happened. This story is basically my own idea of how things should’ve gone in ep 5. Instead of the weird Lila/Five situation, it’s just Five, and his chance of living a normal life with someone new. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is appreciated :)

Number Five was never one to back down from a challenge. Having been through a series of different apocalyptic events, transporting to a timeline where he spent 40 years alone, and dealing with a misfit group consisting of his exhausting siblings, Five was up for anything. But the current situation he was dealing with? For the first time in his life, he was at breaking point.

After another wasted day spending hour after hour searching for any clues or information on how to get back to the correct timeline, Five returns to the subway, entering one of the compartments and slumping down in the first chair he sees. He rubs his eyes and lets out a visceral sigh, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. He reaches into his pockets, pulling out a small pack of dried fruits. He rips it open and devours every last piece. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He was becoming more desperate, rummaging through trash cans and foraging in bushes, hoping anything he picks isn’t poisonous.

The compartment jolts and begins to move, making its way to the next timeline. Five wipes his hands on his already dirty pants, standing up and walking slowly to the door. He wonders whether his apocalypse counterpart will be waiting for him this time.

After several minutes, and Five almost falling over from his lack of sleep, he finally arrives, the doors opening. He steps out, immediately making his way up the stairs. No time to waste. He cautiously pokes his head out, looking around for any signs of, well, himself. Before he can move out more, something wizzes past his head. A bullet. He ducks, as more shots are fired directly at him.

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” Five mumbles, as he finally takes notices of the other him in the distance.

He sticks up his middle finger, and no soon after closes his fists, blinking as quick as he possibly could.

The Five with a gun disappears along with the destroyed world around him. Five drops his arms to his sides, turning around and admiring the new environment. Luscious, greenery surrounds him, with an array of different flowers sprouting from the ground beneath him. A small pond with fish glimmers in the sunshine, lily pads floating on top. He continues turning, finding himself standing next to a tall greenhouse. The glass was slightly foggy, making it difficult to see what’s inside. Five leans in closer, squinting as if that would help. He can barely make out what appears to be pots of fruit and vegetables, some fully sprouted and others not yet ripe. His stomach rumbles, the feeling of hunger consuming him.

A rustle sounds from behind him. He turns quickly, coming face to face with a pair of shears. Five jumps back slightly. He then spots the person wielding said ‘weapon’. A young woman, probably early twenties, wearing a light yellow dress and a pair of brown sandals. Five can’t help but admire her beauty, if it wasn’t for the fact she had a face like fury and didn’t seem afraid of cutting him in half.

“Can I help you?” Her words are kind, but her harsh tone says otherwise.

Five can’t exactly tell this young woman the truth. Showing up randomly in her back yard, covered in grime, gawking at her crops through the window. He raises his hands up in the air, trying to convey that he meant no harm.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his throat sore having not spoken to anyone in quite some time. “I don’t really know how I got here.” That’s not exactly true. “I’ve been travelling for a few days now.” Try six years. “And I could really do with a hot shower and something to eat.”

The woman doesn’t say anything, just staring, with the shears still held out in front of her.

Five puts his arms down, shrugging in defeat. “I’ll just go. I truly am sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” He looks down. “Or step all over your rose garden.” He gingerly moves away from the destroyed flowers.

He turns and begins to walk away, hoping to find an exit as quick as possible. Blinking in front of this woman probably wouldn’t help his cause. A warm hand grabs hold of his wrist, forcing him to stop and look back. She has the shears loosely hanging by her side, as her eyes pierce into Five’s. She seems hesitant, words forming in her mind. At last, she speaks again.

“You’re telling the truth?”

Five nods incessantly, feeling like a child.

“And if I let you in and make you something to eat, you won’t try and kill me?”

Five holds back a laugh, knowing she’s being deadly serious. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The woman waits a beat, then huffs. “Come on, I was just about to start dinner.”

She moves past Five, walking into three greenhouse. He takes this as a sign to follow after her.

***

The young woman allows Five to use her shower, and he’s thankful for the change of clothes she provides for him too. The home is small and cosy, playing into the stereotypical cottage core of living. The lighting is soft, and the smell of pumpkin seems to waft through into every room. It’s calming, it’s peaceful, it’s something that makes Five feel on edge. He isn’t used to the domestic life, away from the terror and destruction, trying to save the world over and over. He knows he can’t stay here long, but he won’t miss the opportunity of a proper cooked meal.

After putting on the change of clothes, Five makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen, a small buffet waiting for him. He finds it hard not to drool, the potatoes and fresh pie, along with the fruit and vegetables he’d spotted earlier. It looks incredible. He takes a seat, as the woman places down a final plate of tomatoes, sitting down opposite Five.

They dish out the food, filling their plates as high as they can, especially Five. He tries not to look like a slob in front of the pretty girl, but finds it hard not to drop some things down his top. She doesn’t seem to notice, or pretends not to.

The woman takes a sip of her drink, clearing her throat. “So,” her soft voice makes Five look up from his plate. “Do you have a name or is that one of the many mysteries of the man shovelling food down his throat like he hasn’t eaten in several years?”

The woman isn’t afraid of being upfront. Five admires that. Although, it’s not surprising considering he’s a complete stranger she’s trusted in her home. He puts down his knife and fork, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“No, I have a name. It’s Fi-,” he catches himself, unsure if his ‘name’ would just create more confusion, and unwanted questions. “Jerome. Just, Jerome.”

The woman squints her eyes, but doesn’t push further, seeming to move past his stumble. “Okay. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jerome.”

Five shrugs, not knowing what else to say.

“My names Y/N.”

Five nods. “Okay. We’re closer already.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N says, a small smile gracing her face. Five can’t help but pull the same expression.

***

After a hearty dinner, and some obvious awkward silences, Five insists on helping Y/N do the washing up. The sun was beginning to set, and Five knows he’ll have to leave soon, but something stops him from doing so. He doesn’t want to admit it, but this was the most relaxed he’d felt in a long time. The fear or worry of something bad happening wasn’t there, and as he stands close to the woman he had barely met 2 hours ago, he realises what he’d been missing in his 60 something years. A place to live, with a person who makes him feel safe.

“Jerome,” the voice breaks through his thoughts, as Five almost forgets the name he’d given to this woman. “I feel like we’ve skirted around the topic enough. Is there any reason you were in the state you were in, taking refuge behind my greenhouse?”

Five places down the plate he was cleaning, turning to face her fully. Her expression is calm, and her voice shows no sign of interrogation. It’s a first for Five, as he’s become accustomed to people prodding him for information only for their own benefit. No one’s ever shown true interest in him.

He shrugs. “It’s been a tough couple of years. More than that I guess.” Fives eyes glaze over. “I haven’t seen my family in a long time, and I don’t know if I ever will. And if I do, I’m terrified of the state that I’ll find them in.”

Y/N stops what she’s doing, also turning to look at Five, a look of worry taking over her face. He knows he’s said more than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. He’s not good at sharing his feelings, and when he does, he’s scared of what will happen once the flood gates are opened. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to close them.

“What d’you mean? Are they in some kind of trouble?” She asks, a slight shake in her voice. “Are you in trouble?”

Five shakes his head, not wanting to stress out this poor woman who’s been nothing but doting to him. “No! No, I just,” he sighs, knowing he’s really put his foot in it. “I just care about them, a lot. Too much. And I don’t even want to think about not seeing them again.”

A soft hand brushes against Five’s cheek, as he glances at Y/N wiping a tear away from his face. He didn’t even realise he’d started crying. He sniffles, moving away and rubbing at his eyes, fearing how red they may look. He sucks in a deep breath, calming his beating heart. Whether it’s from talking about his family, or the touch from the woman next to him, he isn’t sure. But he fears he’s overstayed his welcome.

Five moves away from the kitchen counter. “I guess I should probably go. Don’t wanna miss my train.” Although he knows they’ll always be one there waiting for him.

He heads for the door, remembering to go upstairs and collect his dirty clothes before he leaves. Footsteps are heard from behind him.

“Uh,” Five swivels back around, as Y/N hesitates over her words. “This may seem kinda forward, and a dangerous move on my part, but, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight knowing you were out there in the middle of the night, traveling by yourself.”

Five holds his breath, not wanting to jump the gun, but already anticipating the next sentence out of her mouth.

“I have extra pillows, and blankets.” Y/N shrugs. “It’s not the most comfortable couch but I’d say it’s more comfortable than the chairs on the train.”

Neither of them speak for a while. Five ponders her offer over and over, wondering if this is something he wants to decline. He needs to get back to his family. He needs to get back to help them. But so far, every option has been a bust. He’s not sure how much longer he can go on for. It could be the apocalypse all over again. Stuck for 40 years, traveling none stop, unsure if he’ll ever see his loved ones again. Could a good nights sleep really be such a bad thing?

He thinks the risk is worth it. “As long as it’s not too much trouble for you.”

***

That one good nights sleep turned into three months, staying at Y/N’s home, crashing on her couch. It didn’t stop Five from going out, back to the subway, trying to find the possible solution to his six year problem. But the more time he spent with the woman, the less time he wanted to spend away from her. They grew closer, making meals together, gardening together, watching silly romcoms together. While Y/N taught Five how to bake, Five taught her how to fight. A young woman living by herself? It didn’t hurt knowing some basic defence skills.

Five didn’t want to admit it, but his family hadn’t crossed his mind as often as it usually did before he met Y/N. He’d become soft, wanting to be around her all the time, not wanting to visit the subway as often as he should be. He’s lucky enough to call her a friend. He hopes she calls him that too.

***

It’s late, and Y/N is sat on the couch, crocheting a few pairs of gloves and a long overdue jumper. People used to make fun of her for it, calling her an old lady, but she finds it soothing. And making your own clothes is a big bonus too. Five, or Jerome as she knew him, had been out most of the day. She never questioned what he was up to, only that he returned safe, ready for whatever she’d cooked up for him during the day. She wasn’t completely naive in thinking ‘Jerome’ has involved himself in shady business. But unless he plans on telling her, then she won’t bother pushing him on the matter.

A bang echos from the back of the house, specifically inside the geeenhouse. It makes Y/N jump up from her seated position, quickly rushing out to the source of the noise. It can only be one person, or that’s what she hopes. Either way, she grabs for her shears before entering the warm glass room.

“Jerome?” She whispers, watching her step, the only light in the room coming from the moon through the windows.

A muffled groaning reaches her ears, as Y/N blindly moves her hands over the walls, trying to find the light switch. She finally does, and flicks it on. A sharp gasp comes out of her mouth, as the brightness finally reveals her new friend curled in a ball on the floor, rolling in pain.

“Shit.”

She quickly makes her way over to him, delicately wrapping her arms around his waist and slowly helping him off the floor. He stumbles, knocking into a few pots, almost making them fall off the table.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, the word slurring under his breath.

“Don’t apologise,” she says, making sure he’s steady on his feet. “Let’s just get you inside and onto the couch.”

They make their way through into the living room, Five dropping haphazardly onto the soft cushions, while Y/N finally gets a proper look at him. His clothes are ripped, the once pristine suit (one she bought for him as a gift) now in tatters. His hair is sticking up in all different directions, and he’s clutching to his side like his life depends on it. She reaches for his arm, prying it away to reveal an array of bullet wounds, still bleeding.

“You should see the other guy,” Five jokes, tilting his head back and trying to forget about the burning pain running across his body. Funnily enough, if Y/N saw the other guy, he’d look exactly like him, considering this all happened due to an unfortunate run in with apocalypse Five.

Y/N stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? Look, I don’t bother asking where you go or what you’re up to when you leave this house, but I think now’s the time you tell me the truth.”

Five moves his head back down, looking her in the eyes. She’s terrified. And he hates that. He breathes in deep, taking her hand in his.

“If you can help me patch this shit up,” he briefly motions to his wounds, “then I’ll tell you who I really am.”

So that’s what they do. Y/N retrieves the first aid kit from her bathroom, while Five opens up about his life before he met her, and how he’s not from this timeline. He isn’t sure if she’s believing what he says, as she remains quiet the entire time, only occasionally looking up at him and quickly returning to removing the bullets lodged in his side. But she listens. And allows him to pour his heart out to her.

“The past six years were torture. Somehow worse than the forty I spent in the apocalypse.” Five turns his head and stares at the woman next to him, as she finishes up her work. “But these last few months with you. I could finally be normal. I could live a life most guys would kill to have. And I’m so sorry I lied to you this long.”

They fall into silence, the pair somehow closer together than they were a few minutes ago. Both emotionally, and physically. Y/N moves her hand and takes his, squeezing tightly. Five’s heartbeat picks up speed, only now noticing their close proximity.

“So your real name is ‘Five’?” He nods at her words. She nods back. “Hmm. It suits you a lot better than Jerome.”

They both laugh half heartedly, as they stare deeply into each other’s eyes. She moves her hand up to his hair, moving it out of his face, trying to calm it down slightly.

She carries on talking. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” Five rolls his eyes. She doesn’t even know the half of it. “But if I can be the person to keep you grounded, for however long you’re here for, then I’m happy to do just that.”

Five smiles, glancing quickly at her lips.

She does the same. “And I hope you’re here for a long time.”

They both lean in, softly pressing their lips against each other’s. Five cups her face, deepening the kiss as Y/N rests her arms atop his shoulders. They move in sync, careful not to cause any more damage to Five’s wounds, as she somehow moves closer, one of her legs wrapping itself around his waist.

They don’t stop, clothes discarded, bodies intertwined, as their growing tension is finally broken. Five isn’t sure if he’ll ever get back to his timeline, but for now, he’s happy to call this place home.

***

Another four months, and still no sign of a way back. Although, Five can’t deny he hasn’t been trying as hard as usual. The peace and tranquillity has consumed him whole, falling into a proper routine with the woman he…

Is it love? Could he truly fall for someone like this? Someone who isn’t involved in the shit show he’s grown accustomed to? Someone who wants that quiet life, watering flowers and baking pies, with him? Maybe it’s what he needs.

Five stands in the greenhouse, picking some fresh strawberries, and trying a few to see if they were ripe. He’s already found the perfect recipe to use them in. Something he knows she’ll love.

As if reading his thoughts, a pair of arms slip around his waist. Y/N rests her chin on his shoulder, peaking over to see the basket full of fresh fruit. She picks one up, moving away and popping it in her mouth. Five turns and looks at her, smiling wide.

“They taste perfect,” she says.

Five takes her wrists, pulling her towards him and kissing her lightly. “So do you.”

She laughs, holding him close and breathing him in. “The cheesy lines don’t work on me, bub.”

“I think they do.” He mumbles, bringing her in for another kiss, sliding his hands up and down her back.

They stay like this for a while, holding each other in the warm glass room. The sun starts to set, as Five looks out and realises what time it is.

“Damn.”

She looks at him, confusion on her face. “What’s up?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, I just need to do a double check of the subway before dinner.”

Y/N tries not to show her anxiousness, but some of it seeps through. After Five explained to her what the subway is and why he goes there every day, she’s terrified at the thought of him leaving and never coming back. But she knows he wouldn’t do that to her. Not without saying goodbye.

She steps back. “Right. Promise you’ll be safe?”

He kisses her on the cheek. “I promise.”

***

Five spends some time looking around the platform in the subway, checking the lights, checking the maps, even poking his head into the tunnels to see if anything has changed. But nothing. It all remains the same. No sign of his past life waiting for him. Was that such a bad thing?

Holding a small flashlight, he shines it up and down, left and right, hoping his eyes will catch something new. A sudden pop from above startles him, the grip he had on the flashlight loosening. It falls and rolls onto the tracks. Five looks up, noticing one of the bulbs now flickering. He huffs, moving to the edge of the platform and jumping down. He retrieves the flashlight, hitting it a few times to try and get it to work again. It comes to life, flashing in front of him. That’s when he spots something.

“That’s new.”

Five walks over, grabbing the mystery object and holding it up. It’s a plain notepad. He flips it open, scanning over the messy handwriting inside. His messy handwriting. He can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, as he figures out what it all means.

“This is it.” Tears form in his eyes. “This is my way back home.”

He’s shocked. He’s elated. He’s emotionally drained. This is his chance to rejoin his timeline. To see his family after so long. To fix the mess they’ve created. But all he can think about in this moment is Y/N. How the hell is he supposed to break the news to her?

***

After another hour spent pondering this new found information, Five slowly makes his way back home. His home. Where the life he’d built was waiting for him.

He enters the house and walks into the kitchen, where Y/N stands by the stove, boiling something sweet and caramelly. Five just stares at her; humming a random tune, wiping her messy hands on the apron he bought for her when her old one accidentally caught fire. That was the most stress he’d felt since coming here. And if that was the only stress he had to deal with, he’d take it every single day.

She finally turns and spots him, smiling wide. “Oh hey! I was worried for a sec, you were taking longer than expected.”

She moves closer to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He holds her, not wanting to let go. Y/N can tell something isn’t right.

She leans back. “You okay?”

Five doesn’t reply, only holding the notepad out for her to take. She does so, flipping through the pages just like he did, her expression perplexed.

“I don’t understand-”

“It’s the way back to my timeline.”

She looks up at him, mouth slightly open, as her words fall short. Five can swear he hears her heartbeat speed up, as her breathing becomes erratic. Five isn’t sure what to do, waiting for an explosion of emotions to rain down on him. But nothing comes. Neither of them do or say anything.

Five chooses to break the silence. “I don’t wanna lose you. I can’t. I don’t think I could live the way I used to live. Not after living this life with you.”

Y/N bites her lip, suppressing a sob. “You have to go.”

Five furrows his brow, hoping he heard her wrong. He tilts her head up to stare into her eyes, seeing the tears forming.

“No,” he whispers. “You’ve become the most important thing in my life. The thought of never seeing you again, I can’t do that.”

A tear falls down her cheek, as Five reaches out to wipe it away.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay in this little bubble we’ve created,” she replies, finding it hard to keep her voice steady. “But your family, your timeline, all those people? They need you more than I do. And I know deep down, you can’t bear the thought of letting them die, knowing you could’ve helped.”

Five wants to ask her to come with him. Become apart of his family. He knows she’d get on with them all. And they’d all love her, possibly more than they love him. But he knows it’s cruel to ask her to leave her life behind. The house, the garden, the home that she’s worked so hard on. And the thought of throwing her into the thick of it all. Putting her at danger? No chance.

He pulls her into his embrace, kissing her hard. They hold each other tight, their lips bruising as neither of them can stop the tears from falling.

Y/N is the first to pull away. “If you ever get the chance to come back to this timeline, you know where to find me.”

Five smiles, not wanting to let her go. He kisses her once more. “In the greenhouse, tasting just as sweet as the strawberries.”

[alchemistc]

Once again I need to get off my ass and go work but instead all I'm thinking about is Them:

Buck's mostly got his breathing under control by the time he hears the side door slide open, and he adjusts his weight automatically, tips his chin as he straightens his spine, tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket like that will fix the wrinkles he'd made bending at the waist for the last ten minutes.

"Buck?"

He's turned away, thank god, so Tommy can't see the wince.

"I'm fine," he says, annoyed with himself and the world at large when it comes out wobbly. "Go back ins-." When he hears the door click shut again he takes a moment to hope Tommy's just left, again, but -

No such luck.

"That door locks from the inside," Buck murmurs, and tears his gaze away from the gentle expression on Tommy's face. There'd been a cardboard box wedged up in there by whatever line cook had been out here smoking when Buck burst through the doors, and the guy had left it with a warning about how insanely large this building was and how few doors along its perimeter were unlocked, and now the broken down box is somewhere beneath Tommy's left foot.

Tommy tries the door anyway.

It doesn't budge. "We could just call Eddie," Tommy says, and Buck feels the ire rise in his throat.

"Eddie's not here," he spits, and it feels like a knife under the ribs. Everyone fucking leaves, eventually. "Call your date, if you want. I'm walking."

Buck heaves himself up from his lean against the brick, takes two large strides to make it past Tommy and keeps going.

He should have known better than taking Bobby at his word that this stupid gala would be worth his time. So far he's dodged conversations about the curse of the 118, spent an unbearable five minutes smiling blandly at Gerrard before he could excuse himself, and tossed two numbers written on raffle tickets into the trash in his mad dash through the kitchens because apparently Tommy had been chosen as the rep for 217 and he looks fucking good in his suit, and he'd been pretty sure they'd be spending this Christmas together, until last month.

He's twenty yards down the alley when he hears footsteps catching up to him. Light, brisk - he's jogging to catch up and Buck doesn't want to deal with -

"Not my date," Tommy says, and Buck curses his own body for automatically slowing to allow him to catch up.

Buck snorts. "Okay." The guy was older - than Buck, at least. Grey around his temples, fat lips and clever eyes that caught Tommy's mid-sentence and sent them both into quiet hysterics.

"Buck, would you just -."

He's close enough to reach for Buck's arm, so Buck wrenches it away before he can make contact. "Don't call me that."

December twenty-third is one of those weird days where the world doesn't quite work the same. Traffic is heavier or lighter in weird places, people with nothing to do wander the streets or hole up in their homes making too much food and watching weird holiday movies, and even in LA it gets chilly enough at night to need a jacket. This one isn't doing shit to keep Buck warm, but the anger catching in his throat sure is.

"It's your name," Tommy says, exasperated.

"Not to you." Buck stops dead in his tracks, watches Tommy take another three steps before he realizes he's alone. When he turns, Buck doesn't allow himself to turn away from his gaze. Annoyance isn't a new look - Buck has tested the waters enough in six months to know intimately exactly how far he could push it before Tommy stopped indulging him.

He looks upset. Frustrated. Tired. Hot as fuck. Buck sort of wishes he'd do something about those first two.

Something other than walk away.

Tommy sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, and the sides aren't as high and tight anymore. There's a piece curling over the tip of his ear and Buck wants to tug at it, slide his fingers in there and tuck it back. "That was Sal," he says, and Buck flicks through the sadly small Rolodex of names Tommy has mentioned in the past. Another boundary Buck hadn't realized was a brick fucking wall in the way of getting to know his boyfriend.

Ex.

Sal. He'd been at the 118 with Gerrard, in the early days. Before Chim and Hen, before Bobby. He'd been the one to prompt Tommy into filing a complaint against Gerrard even though he'd been scared out of his mind to do it.

"I don't care."

He does care, is the problem. He cares so much. He's got a pile of fruit cakes and half a dozen pies sitting on his kitchen island right now that prove it. He can't seem to stop caring.

Tommy looks sceptical.

Buck brushes past him again, keeping his strides long. Tommy's the same height, but both literally and metaphorically he's always struggled to keep up when Buck had somewhere to be.

At least the panic attack has passed. Maybe he could take up running, as a cure all, instead of the weak ass recovery period he usually takes that involves him drinking a bottle of water and staring at the same spot on the wall until he sees stars.

So, fine. Tommy hadn't brought a date to the work function it was entirely possible Buck would be at six weeks after breaking up with him and disappearing into the damn wind. He'd bubbled Buck seven times that Buck knew of, and he hadn't brought a date.

Fine.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked -."

Buck had watched Tommy wheeze with laughter and curl a hand around the dudes - Sal's - wrist and he'd felt like maybe he was gonna throw up. Like six months and the something he'd been working his way up to defining hadn't meant a damn thing. Like Tommy could just move on like he seemed to think Buck could.

"Doing great, Tommy. My best friend is moving to Texas and the man I thought I could -." Buck clears his throat. Shuffles sideways just a bit because Tommy is keeping pace now and his cologne is familiar and devastating. He doesn't have anything inside. Once he rounds this corner he could just order an Uber and go home.

There's nothing keeping him here.

"Eddie's moving?"

The no contact thing had extended to everyone at the 118, apparently. At least Buck wasn't alone in that.

Buck digs out his phone, slows his pace just enough to pull up the app he needs. He can feel Tommy's eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

"Yeah, well. I'm getting used to people leaving at this point," he says, filling it with as much ire as he can. His voice doesn't wobble this time.

"Buck."

It's soft, this time, same inflection as when he'd cage Buck against a counter and lick into his mouth. "Don't worry about me, Tommy. You made it a point not to."

"That's not fair."

Buck couldn't care less. He's spent six weeks on a depression baking spiral and now he wants to go home and destroy every bit of baked goods he's made that are still left.

It only takes a few taps. They're surging prices, but that's not exactly a shocker.

He'd really thought the next time he saw Tommy he'd just be sad. Maybe he'd feel a little wistful about all the moments they'd shared that had meant something to Buck even if they hadn't meant the same to Tommy.

He wants to swing a fist, if he's being honest. He wouldn't. Not ever. But the desire is there and he hates it.

"Buck, could we just -."

"Stop calling me that!"

"I pay a mortgage, Evan!"

Buck can't remember Tommy ever raising his voice. It's - weird.

"I'm forty years old and I own a house and you asked me to move in to your loft after you told me you admired me." The emphasis isn't lost on him.

His ride is three minutes away.

"I got it the first time, Tommy. Haven't sucked enough cocks or done enough tests to know what I really want, so. Go enjoy your evening with Sal and -."

"That is not what I said." Cool, calm. Infuriating.

"Well that's what I got from it, so clearly we were never on the same page. I wanted a future with you and you've been eyeing the expiration date the whole time so -."

He's definitely not expecting Tommy's lips. But there they are, on his, and Buck's stumbling back, fully expecting the sharp crack of the brick at the back of his head as Tommy surges forward with him, only Tommy's hand curls around his skull at the last second and takes the brunt of the landing. His mouth opens on a groan and Buck licks up into it. Their noses clash and rather than shifting for better positioning they just press closer. Tommy's free hand finds the soft give of Buck's waist and his thigh finds purchase between Buck's legs and -

"You're willfully misunderstanding me," Tommy says, lips on Buck's jaw, heart pounding under Buck's hand, his breath ghosting along Buck's cheek.

"Never really gave me the opportunity for clarity," Buck bites back, and Tommy huffs, rolls his hips, tucks his forehead into the juncture of Buck's shoulder.

His pulse is pounding in his ears and there's a cloud of Tommy Tommy Tommy obscuring his senses.

"Do you still want that?"

Buck's phone dings in his hand.

His ride is here.

"Not if you're just gonna walk away again," Buck bites out, and shoves. Hard.

It barely moves Tommy, but it's enough to slip out of his grasp.

He doesn't glance behind to see if Tommy follows as he pulls at his suit jacket again and rounds the corner to try to catch - he eyes his phone - Sheri before she cancels the ride on him.

Doesn't stop him from hearing the footfalls behind him while he searches out the blue Honda Civic.

[strawberry-nugget]

Ahhh I do NOT know what this is other than depressed af Bakugo, who is trying to be a good boyfriend with a hint of fluff

It starts as something as innocent as forgetting to fold your laundry after a hard day of work. Although he never does that, he's too meticulous about the house chores even after a 12 hour shift. You don't yell at him and he doesn't yell at you. He has ordered take out before even getting home and he eats in silence, after offering you some of his pizza and you decline, hurt that the portion of food that you made for him will go to waste. He doesn't say anything else for the remaining twenty minutes he remains awake and you end up folding the laundry.

By the time you go to the bedroom he's fast asleep, blond hair covering his forehead and mouth open enough so he can breathe through it. you notice the band aid on his nose; another wound he didn't bother telling you about.

It's a silent, muffled goodnight that puts you to sleep and not his arms around your waist but it's okay, you’ve been more than used to it.

When apathy isn't something that's enjoyable or even barely tolerable when you're in a relationship, you overlook it.

You think of him more often than you see him and you see him all the time. 

He delivers flowers to your workplace as an atonement for giving you the cold shoulder last night with a note. 

‘Sorry for being so grumpy lately, date tonight at 8?’

Your coworkers definitely enthuse about it and you grin like a schoolgirl. You think that even if you get off at six and you barely have enough time to get ready you can make it. So you text him, frenzied and insanely happy that you can make it and he snaps a picture of him drinking his smoothie while sitting on a railing of a building. Then he tells you where you're going for the night so you can be there as he'd be coming right after work.

Or at least he was supposed to. 

So what? He doesn't show up on a date. Katsuki's a pro hero, in the top five, too, so you can forgive that one time, despite having to endure the looks of pity from the waiters at the restaurant he has booked, and despite paying the minimum order fee all by yourself. All while downing a bottle of wine, dressed in your best clothes, make up done so nicely, in such little time too.

You try not to cry, at least not in front of anyone, because it's one time and it's okay that he didn't even bother to cancel on you, he for sure must have been busy! 

But you don't find it in you to plan another date anytime soon, and you don't allow him to mention whatever happened that night when he gets home to you. He’s battered, he’s bloody and behind red eyes there's that sorry expression of a dog that’s trashed the whole roll of toilet paper. 

You dont yell, you don't fight. He runs a bath for himself and you wash his hair.

Though, you'd love to actually at least leave a sassy remark on what he did, you're scared that his response won't be up to your standards or liking and hurting yourself like this -yes, begging for an explanation to the happening is begging- is not something you plan on doing. 

Until it happens again. 

This time, it's worse, because he's supposed to meet you and your friends at the cinema, on a day patrol shouldn't take too long to end. On a day there's no new article about a monstrous villain destroying the city. And yes, you do refresh the news section on your phone every second, with the way he's been getting so beaten up on the daily.

But this time, it's okay, because he lets you know beforehand. 

10 minutes beforehand. 

Through text. 

And even if it infuriates your friends, you can live with it. It's fine, you tell yourself and your friends. It doesn't usually happen, and he actually made an effort to let you know so you don't have to wait on him. 

It's more than understandable, you tell your friends, because your boyfriend (if you could call him that still) is a pro hero, and you, nothing but a civilian. His lifestyle is far more important than yours. Which, you actually find funny in the moment, now that everyone's staring at you. 

But your friends do not find it funny, actually. They don't lecture you yet, if they did, you'd burst in tears, and you enjoy the movie as much as you can in their company and rheir company alone. 

They're all you have, at the end of the day. 

Katsuki doest really have an everyday life as a civilian. And while striving to become number one he's overworking himself 

There's also the time he shows up to your friend's art gallery opening with his hero costume -broken left gauntlet and grease and mud all over his hair and face- because 1) you've lectured him about never showing up and the impression he's left on your friends and 2) he really is trying to make an effort and well 3)he doesn't really care about an amazing public image.

Your friends hate him. 

You don't.

The annual hero ratings come around the corner and he's fallen one place on the chart. The two of you spend that night at his parents’ and some subtle comments that youre not sure from whom it is worded sparks a fight with his mother, she tells him to not visit her again if he doesn't fix his attitude. They end up fighting over the phone every single day.

He gets worse after, always towards himself, as if he's done all the bad in the world. He spends most of his day on patrol and in the gym, but he doest bulk anymore. He’s more than okay with you making him lunch for work, he’s not mindful of any of his habits for a while.

Every single day that passes he’s more unhappy. Every day is worse than the other.

You continue to wash his hair and do the laundry on days he comes home bleeding and you don't get mad when he just wants to stuff his face in pizza. You go to bed with him and never let him sleep alone.

“you're s’nice to me when you don't have to” he mutters as you're stroking his hair away from his forehead. Not one of you is focusing on the movie that's playing. He;s sprawled like a cat on your chest, breathing from his mouth like that night.

“Its just cause i want to”

“m sorry i stood you up on that date”

“no need to talk about it” you reassure him. And its like he gets mad when you place a kiss on his exposed forehead. Brows furrowed, eyes half lid in exhaustion.

You pay him no mind, averting your eyes to the screen on your right He’s been so frustrated, you just know he's going to want to pick a fight

“dumbass. you should have dumped me.”

“You want me to dump you?”

He shakes his head in your chest as a response, hands wrap even tighter around your waist. 

“Stop saying dumb shit then okay? and stop thinking you don't deserve to be happy because life is shitty right now. You're the one who told me. Remember?”

At that he hugs you impossibly close. Pebbled chest pressing on your stomach as he wiggles his hands to wrap your feet around his waist. Your hoodie is lifted, just above your belly so he can plant a kiss on your skin and slanted red eyes look into yours again, this time more determined.

He knows how life has been for you. Things keep happening to you one after another and he's been there to witness it. To hold you. Your relationship with your own mother is only a little worse than his own and now, for the first time he actually understands how it's like to have someone hold him through all that he's been going through. 

No one can understand him better than you do, no one can love him better than you do.

There's an end to his restless nights, as you're spending them wrapped in his arms, face squished between his pectoral muscles. And now it doesn't matter if you sleep for two, five or eight or twelve hours. You're always rested. He’s not grumpy in the morning. Your migraines are gone. His muscles aren't sore anymore.

 Katsuki never had a civilian life, but when he comes home to you it's the closest he can get to one.

(this is my first post in two years be nice)

[holylulusworld]

Lumberjack Tales - The Hairy Bear (3)

Summary: He ruins what you had...

Pairing: Lumberjack!Ari Levinson x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, Ari being a douche for a moment, sad reader, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy scare, mentions of being unemployed, money problems (implied), remorse, we love Bear

This story is part of my Lumberjack Tales masterlist

Catch up here: Lumberjack Tales - The Hairy Bear (2)

A/N: I added the first details of the following request to this part.

Your days off flew by faster than you wanted. Ari and you spend every moment together, lots of cuddling and sex included.

Before you knew it, you called your boss to quit your job. Ari told you more than once that he wants you to stay – forever.

He seemed to be adamant about keeping you around. And you, well you, wouldn’t want to leave him, his cabin, and Bear for all the money in the world.

It was the first time in your life that you got the feeling you found your haven, a place where you belong, and are wanted.

“Ari,” you call for your lover and maybe future boyfriend. “Baby? Do you want to join me for a walk? We could take Bear too.”

Ari doesn’t answer. He came back from another grocery run half an hour ago. Ari didn’t say much. He simply carried all bags inside, and even ignored when Bear nuzzled his leg.

Assuming he had another encounter with the, in his words, annoying town folk, you snicker. Ari just hates having too many people around. You don’t know what happened, but he likes staying to himself – hence the cabin in the middle of nowhere.

A minute passes by, and another without a word from Ari. You sigh and decide to help him unpack the groceries. Winter is close, and Ari wants to restock his pantry.

“Ari?” You walk inside the kitchen, smirking as Ari is busy cleaning the counter. Last night you had sex on it, and you didn’t have the time to clean it yet. He huffs and snatches your panties from the ground to throw them into the trash can.

“Shit everywhere…” He mutters, still not looking at you. “Everywhere…”

“Can I help you?” You step closer to Ari, to hug him from behind and rest your head against his back. “We ruined it together. Let me lend you a hand.”

“Christ, can you leave me alone for five minutes?” He raises his voice, making you flinch. “It feels like you’re breathing down my neck all the time. Sometimes, a man needs time on his own. You’re suffocating me! Why are you so clingy all the time.”

You stiffen and immediately drop your arms. Stepping away from Ari, you feel like someone punched you in the guts. Not days ago, he told you again that he wanted you to stay forever, and now, Ari is telling you he hates having you around.

“Alright,” you try not to choke on the tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ll leave you to…cleaning.”

Ari huffs when you run out of the kitchen, and upstairs. He believes you’ll give him space and come back down later to join him for breakfast.

Bear whines as he looks at his owner. The Estrela Mountain Dog dips its head to watch its owner angrily scrub the kitchen counter. “Not now, Bear. I had a shitty day. My fucking ex-wife called, that blood-sucking bitch…”

“Shoes, pants, wallet,” you sniffle while throwing all of your belongings into your backpack. You wipe your eyes and choke out a sob. How could you believe Ari wants more from you than sex? Of course, he’s already bored and wants you gone. “That’s all.”

Ari left the house to go for a walk with Bear some time ago. This way, you don’t have to say goodbye. You’ll just sneak out and find your way back to civilization and loneliness.

Grabbing your backpack, you sigh. For a few weeks, you believed you found a home. Now you know better. No man can be trusted. Especially not the kind looking like he came right out of a wet dream.

You slowly walk out of the room, not looking back. If you turn around, you’ll break down and cry. That’s the last thing Ari wants, a whiny and desperate woman clinging to him. Maybe he even believes after you quit your job for him that you are after his money.

Shaking your head, you decide to not think of him any longer. It was great while it lasted. You had a great time and awesome sex. You’ll remember your time with Ari for what it was – a late summer fling.

“Y/N? Uh—I’m back. Listen,” Ari jogs upstairs to apologize for his earlier outburst. He was angry after hearing from his ex-wife after so long. The last thing he wanted was to yell at you. “Baby? I’m sorry for yelling. It’s just that…”

Ari stops in his tracks. He gasps when he finds the bedroom empty. “Y/N?” He rubs his scruffy chin. Something is wrong. All of your clothes are gone. Even the ones you carelessly dropped to the ground when you jumped at him to suck him off last night. “Baby?”

Bear trots inside the room. The huge dog whines loudly as you are nowhere to be found.

“Do you think she’s shopping?” Ari asks his dog. He furrows his brows as Bear lies down, and whines again. “Fuck…no…fuck!”

Sitting down on the bed, he buries his face in his hands. He screams your name, angrily stomping his feet. “I fucked up big time!”

Ari aimlessly drives around the area. He searches his property, every inch of it. In town, no one saw you, and you’re not answering your phone.

“Bear, I don’t even know where she’s living,” Ari hits the brakes hard when he sees someone walking along the road. He cranes his neck, only to see the cashier from the store in town wave at him. “Not her.”

He slams his hands on the steering wheel, cursing himself for ruining the best thing ever happening to him. “She’s gone, and it’s all my fucking fault.”

The first days back at your old place felt wrong—just wrong. You missed Ari's scent and his voice. You barely slept, not only because you felt like your heart got ripped out, but also because you found yourself in desperate need of a new job.

How foolish of you to quit your job for some guy you met not weeks ago.

“Fucking idiot,” you call yourself a needy and stupid bitch. “Only because his dick was good, you fucked up your career and will lose your apartment. Loser bitch. This is so typical of you.”

Four weeks have passed, and you feel numb. Not only did you not get your job back, but you’ve got another problem, and your time with Ari left more than a bad taste in your mouth.

Hot tears run down your cheeks, realizing you took too many risks by giving in to the charming and sexy man. Again, you tell yourself that you should’ve known better.

“Bear, come on,” Ari urges his dog. He finally found a trace of you. It took him almost six weeks to find out more about you, and your life. All he knew was your name. Nothing else was important while you were still around. Ari told himself, he could ask questions later and enjoy the blooming relationship you built. “We got to find her.”

Bear barks as Ari tugs at the dog leash. He sits down and whines loudly. “Stop making a fuss, you big beast. We have a job to do. Get up.”

The Estrela Mountain Dog remains where he’s seated. “What’s wrong with you?” Ari shakes his head. “We finally found her, and now you keep me from going to her?”

Ari huffs as his dog jumps up. Bear wags his tail and barks loudly. The dog suddenly starts running to chase after someone.

“Bear! Wait! Wait up!” Ari runs after his dog, dodging people here and there. “You stubborn beast. WAIT!”

Bear suddenly stops. Jumps at someone, making Ari yell his dog’s name louder.

“No! Stop attacking people. What are you doing?” His heart stops for a second watching Bear nuzzle your belly. The huge beast is whining for your attention as you carefully pat his head. “Bear, you beast found her!”

While you crouch down to wrap your arms around Bear, his owner steps closer. He watches you pat his dog while trying to find the words to apologize.

“There you are,” Ari huffs. “You must love watching me chase you.” He steps closer to grab Bear’s dog leash. “We will discuss your behavior on our way back.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You get back up to glare at Ari. “You wanted your freedom and silence back. I gave you what you wanted.”

You turn to leave, ignoring Bear whining louder. “I didn’t want you to leave. Y/N, I was having a bad day and yelled at you. I’m sorry.” Ari puts his hand on your shoulder, but you shake it off. “We could’ve talked things out, but you just ran. I needed weeks to find you. How could you just leave me?”

“How could you treat me like an intruder and a liability?” You snap at Ari. “All the time you told me to stay, and I believed you. I quit my job for you, only to get kicked out!”

“Y/N, I did not kick you out!” He growls. “You left! I came back and wanted to apologize, only to find you gone. I was scared to hell and back! Do you know how many nights I asked myself if you are still alive?”

You shrug. “You have a life to go back to, Ari. I suggest you enjoy your solitary, and I’ll take care of…” Biting your tongue, you look at the envelope in your hands. “Whatever.”

“Y/N,” he whispers your name when you are about to walk away. “Please. Let’s go somewhere else, and have a coffee. We can talk and fix this. It was all just a misunderstanding.”

Ari looks around the area, frowning as his eyes drift toward the building you left.

“There’s nothing to fix.” You want to walk away, but Bear blocks your path. “Bear, no!”

“A doctor?” Ari sucks in a breath. “Y/N. Baby, are you sick? Fuck.” Ari wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck. “How do you feel? What is wrong with you?”

You take a deep breath and say, “I’m pregnant…”

Snippet

Tags in reblog.

[for-a-longlongtime]

Guilty Pleasure (4/7) - dbf!Joel Miller x reader

Somehow you end up in the car with Joel for five hours. With all that heat outside, you just can't be held responsible for what happens next.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 42), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU. Word count: 3.6K A/N: I thought "Hmmm, maybe I should add this one thing" - and not surprisingly, it got very much out of hand. @magpiepills this one is extra dirty for you!

< part 3 | series masterlist | main masterlist

“Wait!” You sprint over to the truck as you hear Joel rev the engine and turn out of the driveway - surely he wouldn’t just drive off over being two minutes late? “Damnit Joel, hold on!”

He stops, giving you an amused look as you’ve almost dropped your purse and tripped over your own two feet. “Told you. 10 a.m. sharp,” he said matter of factly, giving you just enough time to open the passenger door and hop on the bench seat before he takes off again, not even giving you the chance to close the door properly.

“JOEL! The door!”

He sighs, once more stopping the car, and he leans over to turn on the radio and fiddle with the dial - giving you just enough time to close the door and put on your seat belt.

“Such a dick,” you mutter under your breath, and you can tell he hears it but just decides to not respond directly through it. “Are you the time police?”, you ask, now clearly audible as you lean back over the console to toss your purse on the backseat. “Jeez, didn’t know you’d get your panties in a bunch over being just a minute late.”

“Two minutes.” He changes the radio station a few more times until he finds a song he likes, humming along with it as he takes a right turn, headed to the main road. “ ‘s nothing but proper manners to be on time if someone gives you a ride.”

You roll your eyes as you settle in, straightening out your sundress. “Okay, Daddy,” you sigh, glancing to see if maybe that gets a response out of him, but he just keeps his eyes on the road. “Your shirt is inside out, by the way.”

“Agai-...?” He seems exasperated as he looks down at his shirt, which then hardens into a frown as he recognizes you are just messing around with him. “Shut it,” he mutters, but you can’t help but grin in satisfaction. 1 - 1, back to being even now.

“What is that awful music? Nirvana?”, you ask him, determined to not let him have the silence he asks for - and if he’s anything like your dad, you know that he’ll get extra annoyed at you trashing Kurt Cobain.

He gives you a look in disbelief that makes you think that you made the right choice there to poke at him. “Are you kidding me? No, that’s not — this is Local H,” he gives a nod at the radio. “Bound For The Floor.”

“Sounds dirty. Are they also from the eighties?” Just to make matters worse and see how far you can go, you prop your legs up on the dash - only for Joel’s large hand to reach over and sweep them right back off again as he gives you a murderous look.

“1996, you little shit. One more move like that and you can walk all the way to the DMV.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I wasn’t even born back then,” you say with a pout, your skin feeling pleasantly like it’s on fire where he touched you. “You’re being mean.”

“No shit.” He shakes his head, refusing to look back at you, but you’re pretty sure he has an excellent view of your bare legs with the way you’re currently sitting. “You’re being a brat.”

“Mmm. You into that, Joel?

There it is; one of those long suffering sighs you’ve heard repeatedly from him before. He refuses to answer your question though, also not taking any of the other bait you try to throw at him during the ride. When you finally get there, he pulls up at the front of the DMV office.

“I’ll be back in thirty to pick you up. Don’t be late again, okay?” His eyes soften slightly for just a moment before he adds, “Please. Got a lot to do today.”

“What if it takes longer? Maybe you should just give me your number so I can text you if I run late,” you suggest innocently, and you see just the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Fuck, if only he’d give you his number, you could send him some of the spicy pictures you took last night… 

“Thirty minutes,” he repeats without missing a beat. “I’ll wait for five, else you can get an Uber back home.”

“Fine. Thanks, Joel.” You lean back over the console, trying to grab your purse - which not surprisingly is right out of your reach, just as planned. “Sorry, I need to just… give me a second.” You fully turn around in your seat, leaning all the way over to the back as you can reach your purse now, knowing damn well that this position gives him a clear view of your hot pink lacy panties under your dress. As if you needed further confirmation, the way you hear him practically choke is a dead giveaway that he indeed got an eyeful of you. 

You look over your shoulder at him, seeing that he’s intently staring straight ahead as his hands are gripping the steering wheel tight. It’s impossible to not laugh at the strained expression on his face, and you decide to take advantage of being so close to him. “Dirty old man, don’t think I didn’t notice,” you tease, planting a quick kiss on his cheek as you then hop out of the truck, not waiting to hear a response. “See you in thirty!”

When he picks you up thirty minutes later, you’re ready to greet him with a snarky comment. All of that goes away the moment you get back into the truck and find your senses overwhelmed by the rich, sweet smell of coffee and caramel. Which is more than just a bit confusing, because all you’ve ever seen Joel drink is black coffee.

Joel, seeing your surprised face, nods at the cupholder as he takes a sip of his own coffee. “Hope I got your order right,” he offers, then pushes a slightly greasy Starbucks bag over to you. “Didn’t know what you’d want to eat though. If you want something else…”

You open the bag curiously, then gasp as you pull the flaky treat out of it. “Fuck, croissants are always great,” you blurt out, unable to stop a groan when you taste the ham and cheese filling. “This is so good. Thank you,” you manage after swallowing the first bite. When you lift your coffee cup to your lips, you realize he actually got your signature drink - an oat milk latte with extra caramel syrup. “How do you even know this is my drink?”

He shrugs as he takes a turn to the highway, following the signs towards the Home Depot location on the way back home. “It’s how you always make them at the house, right? Oat milk and that caramel stuff. Kitchen always smells like it,” he says as he tries to shrug it off, but you can tell he seems pleased that he got it right.

It’s not just the coffee that warms your chest as you drink it; you’re genuinely lost in your own thoughts for a while as you’re trying to process not just the kind gesture, but how much attention he must be paying to you in order to notice things like that. Your ex never did, nor did the boys before him. Even though they weren’t inconsiderate per se - it just wasn’t something that would register on their radar, it seems.

Boys. That probably was the problem to begin with. Why waste your time with boys when a gorgeous DILF like Joel was so much more attractive, thoughtful and capable?

Following Joel throughout Home Depot makes you realize that it isn’t just about him being capable - it went beyond that. He was a man on a mission, clearly knew what he wanted to get, and gathered everything with ease, including the heavy lumber. You would have happily lend him a hand, but he immediately shot that down, refusing to let you carry anything heavy 

“ ‘s not a problem, darling. I do this day in and out,” he assures you when he eventually loads everything in the back of his truck; the lumber, hardware, some new blades for saws, and other things of which you’re not even sure what they are.

“I can easily pick up things like that,” you protest mildly as you sip from your coffee, and when he bends over to pick up something from the ground, his shirt rides up his back, exposing his narrow waist. Fuck. How is this man so hot? And how does he not seem to be involved with anyone?

“Never said you can’t,” he agrees easily with you, grunting as he puts the final things in the trunk bed. “Just said you don’t have to. You need to stop anywhere on our way home?”

‘On our way home’ – the intimacy of those words suddenly makes you blush. You can’t help but wonder how exactly that would be, a home with him. You’ve never seen his place, as far as you know. Maybe you should ask him, just come up with a reason for him to take you there, affording you a kind of privacy you wouldn’t have at your parents house.

“No, I’m good,” you say truthfully, and he gives you a nod and a smile as he unlocks the cab of his truck. 

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

Somehow it’s already past 3 pm by the time you get home. Five hours alone with Joel. While it had turned out very different than expected, and you enjoyed it, you were also wound up beyond belief. 

Sitting so close to him in the truck, smelling him, getting to see his little frowns, smirks, pouts and sighs in a different setting than at the house. Not to mention how watching him stride through the store and deal with things had developed a competency kink for you on the spot. It felt like somehow he had dripped over every part of you, saturating you with his presence to the point that you felt both overstimulated and woefully unsatisfied.

“Thanks again for the ride. I had a good time, really.” You smiled as you bit your lip, watching the little lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiled too.

“Not a problem. Just don’t be late next time.” 

Your heart jumped as you tried not to respond to that - next time? So he wanted to spend more time with you later? Today sure turned out to have been a success. 

The house was quiet as you went upstairs, your clothing sticking to your skin, and all you can think about is getting clean and calming down a little as you head into the bathroom. You turn on the shower, letting the water heat up a little as you stare at your reflection in one of the mirrors above the sink. 

Being back in Austin, catching up on sleep, not needing to think much about things like meals or rushing somewhere for classes - it has been nice. A breath of fresh air even, not to mention how much more time you’re spending outdoors these days. You look nothing like the person who cried for several weeks while wrestling through your finals, when the knowledge of your ex cheating on you hung around like some kind of persistent ghost, unwilling to leave even now you finally had acknowledged what happened. You weren’t looking forward to needing to return to that place once the semester started, but at least you still had half of the summer here.

You hear Joel’s footsteps in the kitchen downstairs, and you pause as you wonder if he’s going to come upstairs. He too had been sweaty from the hot weather, especially with loading and unloading the truck, so it was likely that he was due for a shower too. So… maybe you should make the most of it. Especially since you two were the only people at the house.

It’s not like you’re trying to trick Joel, you tell yourself as you strip out of your clothes - your underwear soaking wet as expected from having been so close to him. Things happen. Sometimes people forget to close a door. And if that happens to be the case while you’re about to shower, and Joel just happens to walk by… well. How bad can that be, really?

You unlock the door and fully open it, glancing across the hallway at Joel’s room that’s almost right across the bathroom. Yeap, once he comes upstairs and heads to his room, you should be right in the line of sight.

Your heart is thumping loudly as you leave the bathroom door open and head over to the shower, you try to calm your nerves by assuring yourself it’s fine. Don’t overthink it, just take a shower like you usually do. You wash your hair, putting in conditioner for a few minutes while you use the bubbling strawberry body wash to clean yourself. But as you run your hands over arms, breasts and belly, your mind automatically wanders off to thoughts of Joel again. Not just the time you spent together today, but also so many other moments this past week.

Yesterday he came home late, well past ten pm, reeking of sweat, hard labor and wood shavings. He seemed like he had planned to make a beeline for the shower, but your mom had insisted he’d sit down first and have something to drink and eat a sandwich, before he’d go upstairs to wash and crash into his bed. 

“You men are just the same; if I don’t make you eat, you’ll both starve because you’re so busy,” she had scolded him. So he sat down on a barstool, looking slightly begrudged. That all disappeared the moment there was food in front of him though; he wolfed down everything on the plate like he hadn’t seen food in days. 

You had been reading a book, picking at a bowl of cherries as you tried to not pay too much attention to him. Yet something about him all dirty and worn out after a long day of work had accelerated your pulse. Perhaps most of all it was his scent, still, that got your attention. Not overwhelming, but still clearly present - typically ‘Joel after his work day’, and you had to press your nails into your thighs to not inhale it deeply. 

Right now, just the thought of that - along with having smelled him so close to you in the truck - has you dripping wet, sensitive to the point that you almost jump when you slip a hand between your thighs. The shower isn’t exactly the most comfortable place to get yourself off, but the combination of your thoughts and the warm water proved to be impossible to resist. You pinch your nipple as you try to be not too loud, imagining Joel’s mouth on your breasts, biting you until you whimper for him. He would turn you around, make you face the wall while spreading your legs, and…

You hold your breath when you hear someone move in the hallway, then quickly close your eyes tight as you circle your clit with your fingers, ignoring the nervous feeling bubbling in your chest. “Joel,” a soft whine escapes from you after all, begging him to come into the bathroom, get in the shower with you and take whatever he wants from you. “Please…”

For a moment all you hear is the sound of the shower running, then unexpectedly the door slams shut - not by coincidence, but clearly done so deliberately. Your eyes fly open as you’re hopeful for a second that he’s standing there, stripping for you - but all you see is the closed bathroom door. There is, however, the sound of footsteps moving away from the door, going down the hallway. You curse as your building orgasm disappears almost immediately. Great. Blue balls as well as being rejected. 

You try desperately to coax yourself back to the edge, using your fingers, the strong stream of water from the shower, and even change positions a few times. Even when you press your front against the tile, fucking yourself with two fingers while you imagine Joel pounding into you from behind, you can’t quite get back to the same level of excitement - the moment ruined by the rejection of that door being slammed shut.

Eventually you just give up, finish your shower and wrap yourself up in a big towel to go back to your room. But just as you’re about to open your bedroom door, you hear a low groan that you immediately recognize as being Joel.

“Fuuuckkk. Oh, god, baby… please, yes, please…”

You gasp as you turn around, staring at Joel’s bedroom door that’s firmly closed. ‘Go over to him’, you urge yourself. But as much as you want to, and it arouses you beyond belief to think of him jerking off after having seen you in the shower, the risk of being turned down again is too offputting. His moans are something else though, and your nipples are immediately hard as your pussy starts leaking, greedy for the release you didn’t manage to get in the shower. 

So you slip into your room, turn on some music and shove a pillow between your legs to ride it, thinking about being on top of Joel. How he would stare up at you reverently, hands on your hips as you ride him, and he’d be unable to stop whimpering your name. The way he would gasp, beg for you to let him come - apologize for making you wait so long until he gave in. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You close your eyes as your hips work faster, and you slip your hand between your wet cunt and the cotton of the pillow, shuddering as you push two fingers inside of yourself. “That’s it, pretty girl. Oh, fuck, look at you…”, Joel coos, wrapping his arms around you as his hips buck up against you, again and again. “Squeezing me so goddamn tight. You want me to come inside of you?”

You nod breathlessly, the pleading words spilling from your lips, and he just laughs as he lets his hands slide down to your hips - you’re still riding him, but he’s clearly in control, guiding you just the way you need.

“Filthy girl,” he breathes in your ear, letting one hand slide from your hips to your ass. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” Whimpering, you nod again in agreement, but that only gets you a smack against your ass, so firmly that it takes your breath away. “I asked you a question. Use your words for me,” he demands, fucking up even harder into you. “Tell me what you’d let me do to you.”

“Anything, Joel!” you cry out, burying your face into the pillow as you’re shaking with desire, feeling the tension build up so it could soon release. “Anything. Come inside me, please, give me… I want it, let me feel you…”

“You want me dripping out of you? Filling you up so much that you spill over?”

You cry out as you come hard, the words you imagine him saying to you echoing loudly in your mind, your body easing at the long awaited release, but still it’s not enough. Blindly you reach for the silk bag on your nightstand, pulling out the first thing you get your hands on - a bullet vibrator -, and you turn it on while you keep the fingers of your other hand still buried inside of you.

“So greedy. You're a dirty little thing.” Joel’s laugh fills up your head, taunting you, telling you exactly all the things you want to hear, all the things he would do to you, and soon your body convulses for a second time. By the third time, your hand has gone numb and you feel lightheaded, as if you’re going to pass out. The words echoing in your head are no longer the imagined whispers from Joel, just the moans you heard earlier in the hallway, coming directly from him. “Fuuuckkk. Oh, god, baby… please, yes, please…”

Trembling, you click off the vibrator and wipe yourself clean with a shirt that’s within reach while you desperately try to control your breathing. You’re just gonna take five minutes to recover - that’s all. Just close your eyes for a moment. And next time… next time you hear him moaning, you won't hesitate. You'll just go straight into his room.

Next time.

next: part 5 >

series masterlist | main masterlist

🚨 Follow @longlongtime-updates and turn on notifications to find out when the next part drops!

[lovelettersforthedamned]

PETER TAKING CARE OF DRUNK!READER PLS

You’re Drunk, And He’s In Love

--genre + trope: FLUFF, sfw.

--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x college!gn!reader

--word count: 0.9k

--warnings: mentions of alcohol, consumption of alcohol, reader throws up (womp womp), the smallest angst ever (still wondering if angst is even in this...), FLUFF, peter loves reader so much!!!

A loud thump shocks Peter out of his relaxed state, the sound coming from downstairs. Knowing that no one is home, he makes his way out of his room. Ascending the stairs, he’s silent, waiting to see if he can hear the noise again. Hearing nothing, he twists the lock and pulls the fraternity’s front door open. 

A quick glance outside proves that there is nothing, but then he looks down. There you are, lying across the doorstep, a drunken smile written all across your face. Looking up through your eyelashes your eyes light up at the sight of your boyfriend, “Hi, Petey!”

He squats down to grasp under your arms. Pulling you up, he wonders where all this sudden dead weight came from. Once you’re standing (more like leaning), he finally greets you, “Hey, bug. What are you doing here?”

“I was at this party over there,” you point behind you, “and then…I realized that I’d be having way more fun with you, so…I walked over, and now I’m here!”

Throughout your rambling he closed the door behind you, starting to make his way up the stairs with you by his side. Following your last sentence, he stops dead in his tracks, “Wait, how far did you walk?”

“Uhh, I-I’m not sure…but, I made it,” your memory is spotty. If you were sober, you could’ve heard how Peter’s question was more serious than you realized. Oblivious, it passes over your head.  

He decides to let it go, choosing to focus on your current state, “C’mon let’s go to bed, bug.” Wobbly nodding your head, you follow Peter’s lead up the stairs and to his room. 

Falling back onto the familiar sheets of his bed, you mentally declare that this is heaven on earth. You bask in the feeling, even in your hazy state, you know for a fact that you want to stay here forever if you could. Your bliss is interrupted by a very cold cloth on your face. Apparently, your confusion is quite apparent in your features, as a breathy chuckle escapes Peter’s lips. 

“If I didn’t do this you would be so pissed at me in the morning. You don’t need to be angry and have a hangover,” Peter is quickly pleading his case as you open your eyes to see him bunch up a, now dirty, makeup wipe in his hands. Tossing it in the trash, he stands and makes his way to his dresser, rummaging through an extensive collection of shirts. When he finally finds one, he tosses it on the bed next to you, walking back to you shortly after to stand between your legs that have been hanging off the bed. 

He extends his hands towards you, even going so far as to wiggle his fingers, hoping that his actions will convince you to sit up, “Do you want to stay in your clothes, or do you want to actually get comfortable?”

You groan as you lift your arms up to grab his hands. As soon as you make contact with his touch, he wastes no time in pulling you up to meet his chest. Still holding your hands, he kneels down to start undoing your shoes. Now that you’re sitting up, the spins hit you, and they hit you hard. 

Peter has been looking down, working at your shoes when he feels a hand slap down on his shoulder. He looks up immediately, his face plagued with concern, “You alright, baby?” Your other hand rises to hold your mouth as you shake your head, and that is all Peter needs to rush you to his bathroom. 

The sight is far from pretty, but Peter doesn’t care. He’s holding your hair up with one hand as his other is making slow circles on your back, letting you spill tonight's contents into the toilet bowl. 

You haven’t been there for a long time. The feeling of nausea passes after a good five minutes. Originally Peter was just going to get you changed and bring you to bed, but now he knows that you need a hot shower to wash off the feeling of being sick from your mind and your body. 

He reaches over to flush the toilet before carefully lowering the toilet seat cover and pulling you off your knees to sit on the ceramic, brushing the tears that escaped your eyes off your warm cheeks, “Let’s get you in the shower, my love.”

Everything Peter does, he does it with care. Especially when it came to you. 

While in the shower with you, he knows that in the morning you’ll be extremely apologetic and embarrassed. But what he also knows is that he’d do that one hundred times again just to know that you’re safe. He can’t imagine what it would’ve been like if you hadn’t come to him tonight. It honestly scares the shit out of him at the thought of you being this vulnerable at a party, alone. 

He knows that you can handle yourself, there’s no doubt about it. He can see you brushing off your feelings just for the sake of not ruining the party. 

He almost prides himself in the thought of you feeling this comfortable around him, because there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you. So when you wake up and ask him to grab an Advil for your killer headache, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. 

--author's note: honestly, i love a good drunk!reader or drunk!peter fic. there's nothing like caring for someone despite their drunkenness. i keep writing everyone to be slightly sassy...LMAO. WHOOPSIE!!! thank you for liking, commenting, and reblogging!!! my asks/inbox is opennnn, so send in requests if you feel like it babes. ok, bye ily<33

[noosayog]

[how a loser dates] ft. kuroo

warnings/content: fem! reader x kuroo, office setting, timeskip characters obvi, fluff and kuroo being a loser

wc: 1.2k

"Morning, princess," your coworker, Kuroo, calls out teasingly from his desk in reference to the dress you're wearing today that replaces your usual slacks. 

"Morning, rooster head."

He chuckles a bit and returns his attention to his computer. 

Throughout the morning, Kuroo looks up every now and then, just staring at you but saying nothing. It's only later in the afternoon when you're settled down from the rush of the morning that Kuroo asks. "What's the occasion?"

"What?" you ask distractedly.

"The occasion," he repeats. His voice comes from right over your head and you look up to see his desk empty. Instead, he's standing behind you, leaning an elbow against the wall of your cubicle.

"What?" you parrot.

His eyes drift deliberately down your silhouette, then back up to meet your gaze, punctuating his silent question with a raise of his brow.

"Oh," you laugh. "The dress? I have a date tonight."

Kuroo's other brow raises. "A date?"

"Yeah."

“With who?” 

You swivel your chair to face him with your whole body. “You wouldn’t know them. They’re not from work.” 

He hums in acknowledgment then walks away with a pensive expression. 

–

It’s almost the end of the work day when you hear your boss’s reprimanding voice. You look up from your computer to see your boss angrily saying something to Kuroo about losing the data for an important client call tomorrow. 

After your boss stomps away, you hear Kuroo sigh. His eyes meet yours. 

“You okay?” you ask. “What happened?” 

“I was supposed to store the presentation for tomorrow’s client call but for some reason, I can’t find it anywhere on my drive.” 

“Did you check your trash?” 

“Empty.” 

“Yikes.” 

“Yeah.” 

You stare back at him, lips pursed.

“Well…” he says awkwardly. “I better get to it if I’m going to redo the presentation by tomorrow.” 

You swallow guiltily, throat itching to offer help. No, you can't. You have plans tonight. 

“Okay, good luck,” you say instead. 

He deflates. “Thanks.” 

Concentration broken, you return to your work. You shift uncomfortably when you hear him sigh. 

Five minutes later, another deep exhale. 

You can’t stop yourself when you finally ask, “do you want me to help?” 

Kuroo perks up, head poking out from the walls of the cubicle. “I mean I would love help, but you have plans and all tonight…” he trails off. 

“The reservation isn’t until 7, so I’ll help until then.” 

“Great, thanks!” he smiles. 

–

Kuroo is an efficient worker. It’s almost as if he had the entire thing memorized as he effortlessly lists off the slides that need to be redone, easily navigating to the resources that have the perfect data for each topic. 

“It’s like you don’t even need my help for this,” you joke. 

“No!” he interrupts loudly. 

You give him a weird look.

“Sorry” he mutters. “Can you summarize the data from these sites?” 

He passes you a sticky note with 2 websites on them. When you navigate to them, they’re long, tedious pages. You settle into your chair and get focused. If you’re going to leave here by 6:30, you better get working. 

When you finally pass the data to Kuroo, the two of you begin to compile the data you’ve respectively gathered into the proper slide deck format. When 6:30 rolls around, the to-do’s left still make up a massive mountain. 

“Um,” you say. 

Kuroo takes an exaggerated look at the watch on his wrist. “Oh, your date.” 

“Yeah.” 

He looks at the progress on the presentation just stares at the screen.

“Kuroo?” 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, don’t worry about me. You’ve already helped so much. Go ahead and have fun on your date.” 

“Okay…” you say hesitantly, packing up your bag. Before you leave, you look back to see Kuroo, alone in the office, leaning heavily against the back of his chair with his arms draped over his eyes. You hear him sigh again before guiltily leaving him behind. 

You make it all the way to the lobby before you can’t stand it anymore. You text your date that you won’t be able to make it rush back up to the office. 

Kuroo looks surprised when you drop your things off at your desk and return to his side. 

“What happened? Don’t you need to leave?” 

“I can’t just leave you here by yourself with all this, you’ll never finish.” 

“Are you sure…” he trails off. 

“Shut up and get working.” 

“Yes, ma’’am,” he salutes. 

– 

Late in the night, even after security has left the building, Kuroo gets up. 

“We need a break,” he says. “Want some coffee?” 

“Sure,” you say, equally exhausted. 

He gets up to head to the break room as you continue to fiddle around with the slide deck. As you look through his computer, your eyes slide to the little trash can on the screen and see that it’s not empty. Curiously, you click into it and the first thing you see is the very client presentation that the two of you have been slaving away at to reproduce. 

“Oh my god, Kuroo!” you say excitedly. You repeat his name, but he must not hear you, because there’s no response. 

Then, you notice the time of deletion. 3:52PM. You remember Kuroo getting chewed around 4PM. If he deleted it, there’s no way he would forget that quickly. And he said he had checked his trash. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Kuroo comes back, holding two steaming cups of coffee and tie thrown over a shoulder. “I heard you calling.” 

“Kuroo,” you say, pointing at the screen. 

When Kuroo sees what you’re pointing at, his smile freezes in place. 

“What’s this?” 

You press when he doesn’t respond. “Why did you purposely get yourself into trouble?” 

He stares at the screen, avoiding your eyes. 

“Kuroo!” 

“Okay!” he breathes. He mumbles something unintelligible. 

“... go on your date,” you hear. 

“What? Speak up,” you say irritatedly. 

“I didn’t want you to go on your date. Okay? I know it’s immature of me to resort to such tactics, but I’ve been dropping hints for awhile and I dunno, I guess I just got impatient.” 

You sigh.

“Well, I’m just glad that you aren’t going to be yelled at because there’s no way we were going to finish by tomorrow.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“I am. Why couldn’t you have just asked me out on a date like a normal person?” 

“I’ve asked you to go on coffee runs with me?” 

You pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Being our boss’s errand boy does not count as a date, Kuroo.” 

He just chuckles, abashed. His cheeks are turning pink and you sigh, feeling almost affectionate at how your snarky, quick-witted coworker is reduced to the romantic maturity of a high-schooler in front of you. 

“Okay, well, since I didn’t get to eat tonight, you owe me dinner,” you say, throwing him a bone. 

He blinks. “Like a date?” he asks dumbly. 

You sigh exasperatedly for what feels like the millionth time that night. “Yes, Kuroo. A date.” you emphasize heavily on date, worried that he still won’t get the picture. 

“It’s late, so there’s probably only ramen shops around if that’s okay? But I promise to take you out to a nicer diner. Like a real date.” he promises solemnly. 

“You’re already assuming I’m going to want to go on a second date with you?” 

His signature grin returns in full force. “Oh, princess. You’re gonna want that second date. Trust me.” 

“Only ‘cuz I want to see how you tame your hair for a real date.” 

“Told ‘ya you’d want a second date.”

[coryosbaby]

18+, MDNI !! specific hair type mentioned

Js thinkin’ about Drug dealer! Trailer trash! Anakin…

I can imagine you’re outside smoking a cigarette in your pretty pink nightgown, curlers all pinned up, your fluffy house shoes pressing against the damp summer ground. You’re sitting down on the front steps of your trailer as you listen to Anakin and Padmē argue over and over. So much for a smoke break.

But then, with one last mean remark, Anakin is slamming his screen door and barreling down the steps in anger. Tattoos all over his arms, wearing jeans and no shirt or shoes…nipple piercings on full display. He stands in the grass and tries to calm himself down.

Your face flushes with heat as you see him, and you turn your head as if you hadn’t noticed him there. But his eyes lock on you, and he calms a bit. Hes always had a soft spot for you, his pretty young neighbor. Always chasing away creeps and helping you carry in your groceries, selling you pot that isn’t laced (‘you can’t trust the crackheads in this fuckin’ trailer park. Come to me if you ever need any shit like that, okay?’). You can’t deny the crush you’ve had on him for the longest time. You guess you’re just like your momma in that way— always going after men old enough to be your dad, men that you shouldn’t ever associate with. Men that are bad news.

Anakin sighs, jeans hanging low on his hips, and you try not to drool.

“Did you hear all of that?”

You give him a shy, timid smile. You awkwardly shuffle on your feet.

“A little. I’ve only been out here for five minutes, though.”

He hums, his eyes moving down to the cigarette in your manicured hand.

“Can I bum one?”

You nod, and the man walks over the short distance between your houses and sits down beside you. He smells like cologne, sweat, and a little bit of alcohol. Not in a bad way, though. It makes you practically dizzy with want, your thighs prsssing together as he lets out a small “thanks, dollface” as he reaches into your nightgown pocket and pulls out your half empty pack of Marlboros. He lights up, smoke billowing out of his nostrils as he exhales and leans back against your screen door.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I try not to yell, but..”

He shakes his head, as if it isn’t worth discussing. You knee bumps against his, and you shrug.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

His shoulders relax, his ring clad fingers skimming your thigh. He give you an amused smile as he sees the curlers in your hair.

“About to go to bed, grandma?”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, taking a long drag.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Mmm..” His hand comes up to your face, stroking the soft skin of your cheek. Your eyes widen, a flush coating your cheeks. “It’s cute, y’know. The way you always wear your hair like this at night.”

You struggle to find words, your lips parting with every breath. Anakin’s eyes light up, as if remembering something, and he reaches into his pocket.

“You still smoke?” He asks, a baggy of weed now in his palm. You say yes because it’s true, and invite him inside your house.

And of course, it isn’t long before he’s got you whining for him. A joint and a half later, your pussy is spread out on his cock as he takes you against your bedroom wall. He doesn’t fuck you on your bed— he says it’s hotter this way, taking you so desperately. He fills you up damn near perfectly, his face buried into your neck as he holds you up with his strong arms.

All the while, your curlers are falling out, house shoes halfway off your toes, your nightgown lifted up and slightly ripped from his roughness. Your loose, unfinished curls stick against your forehead as he pummels you, and he practically laughs in your face.

“Oh, baby,” he says. “Hair’s so messy, ‘s fuckin’ adorable.”

You cry from embarrassment, drooling all over his lips when he pulls you into a wet ‘n messy kiss. Your fingers card through his dyed black locks, lashes fluttering when he thumbs your clit.

“Oh!” You let manage to let out, slick pooling as you cream on his cock. “Ani, ani, feel s’ good…”

“Yeah?” He breathes, with jagged thrusts into your weeping cunt. “Cmon, dollface. Let the whole trailer park hear you. That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry

creds to @fuckmyskywalker for this amazing idea 🩷🩷

[loveinhawkins]

Steve watches as Eddie drops the shield clumsily, just lets it fall into the grass. His hand—it’s not shaking, exactly, but there’s a delay to everything, to the way his fingers curl, like even the smallest movement takes so much effort.

Steve knows the feeling: when the whole world feels like wading through molasses.

Eddie comes to sit next to him, thunks the back of his head against the RV and winces. “Ow.”

Steve smiles. “We’ve got time, y’know.”

Eddie gives him a blank look. The shadows under his eyes are practically sunken in. “Time?”

Steve gestures out to the distance, where the kids are still playing, where Nancy and Robin are re-counting the supplies he’d noted down earlier. “Reckon you’ve got an hour or so, if you wanna get your head down.”

Eddie snorts. “Ah, sleep,” he says, with a wry smile. “What’s that?”

“Come on, man,” Steve says. “Gotta take any opportunity you can. Don’t want you collapsing before we flambé Vecna.”

Eddie mouths Vecna to himself a couple of times, blows out a breath. “God, my life… my life is fucking crazy.”

Steve chuckles slightly. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“You’re used to all of this shit, though. Lemme guess, you can sleep just like that?”

“Hmm, not always,” Steve says, which… well, Eddie doesn’t know enough, he reasons, to realise just what an understatement that is.

Eddie sighs again. He closes his eyes, tips his head back against the RV—doesn’t look comfortable at all.

Steve moves closer, gently nudges Eddie’s foot with his own. “Hey.”

Eddie’s eyes open with prolonged, heavy blinks. “Hmm?”

Steve pats his shoulder in invitation. Eddie lets out an exhausted laugh. “Oh, my life just got even crazier.”

“What? It’s a perfectly good shoulder, dude, I dunno what to tell you.” Steve grins when Eddie keeps laughing. “It’s not bony or anything.”

“That so?” Eddie says, rubs at his eyes with a lingering smile. “You got good reviews?”

“Glowing. Five stars.”

Steve thinks about all the times he’s been a pillow for Robin or Dustin—Max, too, on the seldom few times he’s wheedled until she just took a damn nap, even if it was only for ten minutes.

He taps his shoulder again, goes quiet, more serious. “You’re dog-tired, Eddie. Come on, just ten minutes. Then you can trash my stupid shoulder all you want.”

Eddie just looks at him, considering. Then he huffs, glances upwards as if to say Fine, you win. “You drive a hard bargain, Harrington.”

And with some hesitancy, he tips his head down to the side and settles on Steve’s shoulder.

He’s tense still; Steve can feel it.

“Y’know, one of the best naps I ever had was ‘cause of you,” Steve says conversationally.

Eddie makes a disbelieving noise.

“It’s true. Uh, Winter ‘84, the period just after lunch, I think? Damn, can’t even remember what class it… Anyway, you were giving the teacher shit ‘cause of some test result, you just kept going, it was incredible. No work got done; I just put my head on my desk and slept, and no-one even noticed.”

Eddie chuckles, slumps a little more. “That’s…” And he yawns. “That’s depressing, man. You saying me going on and on was relaxing?”

“Yeah, like one of those meditation tapes. Except, uh, more aggressive.”

Steve feels more than sees Eddie smile. “You’re so dumb.” He hums tiredly, his head resting heavier and heavier on Steve’s shoulder. Voice small, he says, “Keep talking?”

So Steve does.

He keeps up a constant, one-sided conversation, speaking softly. Talks about what they’ll all do after this—mostly nothing, because everyone deserves a goddamn extended Spring Break, he’s decided.

And Eddie sleeps. He doesn’t twitch like Robin, and his head doesn’t nod forward like Dustin—like he’s reached such a level of fatigue that he can only be still. His breathing is deep and heavy in a way that Steve knows only comes from a rare, utterly dreamless sleep.

Steve just sits there for way more than an hour, doesn’t care when his back begins to protest at how unmoving he is. It’s only as the sun begins to set, as the group just begins to head back to the RV, when he reluctantly nudges Eddie.

“Hey. Hey, Eddie. Sorry. Time to get up.”

Eddie mumbles something, barely lifts his head before returning it to Steve’s shoulder. “Hmm… five more minutes?”

Steve sighs through a little laugh. Feels suddenly emotional for reasons he can’t fully explain. God, I wanna give you forever.

“Sure, yeah. Five minutes.”

But Eddie rouses after just a minute or two. Sits up and stretches. His eyes look a little brighter, his face no longer quite as grey.

“You were right, man,” he says lightly, gives Steve’s shoulder an endearing little pat. “It’s a nice shoulder. Gotta take good care of that.”

And his hand lingers there, holds on like he did when they were huddled round the Lite Brite. Like he’s saying Take care of yourself, instead.

Steve feels the warmth of Eddie’s hand as he shrugs. “You get first dibs on it, when this is over,” he says.

And he means Come back.

[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 2 That Day

Part 2 is here!!!!!

Short one for this part but I think some context is needed before I bring us back to the present day!

Hope you enjoy! Also in this the third place game doesn't exist.

(Part 1 can be found here x)

2nd July 2019, England vs USA, World Cup Semi-final

25th minute – 1 - 1

“This is a real battle out there isn’t it Sue?” Jonathon Pearce broadcasted to the UK, all eyes on the England team trying to defeat the US. Though they had gone behind very early on, an Ellen White leveller had brought them back onto even terms.

“It certainly is, you can see how much this means to all the players out there. None of this England team have ever experienced an occasion like this before but they seem to be carrying that emotion well.”

Out on the field it felt like an out of body experience. Before this the biggest game you’d played in would have to be a substitute appearance in an FA cup final, now you were starting the semi final at a World Cup. You were 19 and felt like the whole world was watching you.

At the start of the tournament you hadn’t been expecting to start but when Jill Scott picked up an injury in the round of 16 you’d stepped into the starting position next to Keira and never looked back. Receiving praise back at home for the level-headed game you played but still managed to bring out that touch of David Beckham in you.

It was a free-kick in the quarter-final that really brought you to the forefront of the nation. A slick ball which soared into the top corner of the net leaving their goalkeeper stranded and left everyone open-mouthed at home. You were never a nobody but now you were here to stay. Your Instagram following doubled and whenever you left the hotel in the past week the camera had never left you. The pressure was on.

“Fucking hell.” You swore coming up to take a corner for England nestled into the corner of the ground flooded with US fans.

“Nepotism trash!” “Daddy not here to hold your hand!” “Can’t even kick a ball!” “Weak!” “Spineless!”

The insults were flying in from every angle, everything was covered in the thirty seconds you had to wait to take the corner, of course your dad was mentioned but so was your appearance in the media. Newly turned 19 and yet it seemed like you were still the five-year-old girl who had her father carry her everywhere. Everyone just presumed you were an innocent little baby who couldn’t put in a tackle, you hated it.

But now was not the time to let that frustration out. Now was game time when nothing else mattered.

Your in-swinging corner found Millie on the edge of the 6-yard box but she couldn’t quite get the connection on it to trouble Naeher, instead giving her an easy catch but you could feel it coming.

The only problem is now there was now a break on. A quick release from the goalkeeper had set Lavelle free, Keira had stayed back but you couldn’t leave her one on one with Morgan in the centre.

You had one second to make a decision.

One second to work out how to stop her. You could try and get further back but you knew you had to stop it at source.

You were known for your pace so you had no trouble getting back to her but Lavelle was known for her trickery and skill.

In your head you made the best decision you could. You followed the rules you played football by and trusted your instinct.

That was where the world as you knew it slowly began to fade away.

“Oh that’s a nasty one from Beckham there and Lavelle seems seriously hurt.”

You thought it was clean, in fact you were sure of it. The contact with the ball was clear sending it flying out of play, you didn’t touch her other than her leg coming into yours as she came over the top of you and yet as she rolled around on the floor it was like the opposite had happened.

Suddenly you were surrounded by players in red, all screaming at you. “What the fuck did you do that for?” “Learn that one from your daddy did you?”

Millie came to stand in front of you, trying to block you from the players as Steph and Lucy surrounded the others at the referee.

“She didn’t touch her.” Millie defended you. “Tell your own player to stop cheating.”

You thought that would be the end of it. Tempers flared, emotions were high and you would get on with the match again. When the referee reached into her pocket you were convinced it was to calm everyone down, a booking usually helped to send a message out but when you saw it was red and it was flashed in your direction it was like time stopped.

“It’s a red card for Beckham, just like her father that name has once again come back to haunt England.” Jonathon commentated. “It’s a long way back for them here.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening. “Go and have a look yourself.” Millie shouted at the ref to overcome the noise in the stadium. “It was a clean tackle, she didn’t touch her.”

“The contact was enough to endanger the opponent. It’s reckless, dangerous and that it is a red card.”

“VAR has got to overturn this.” Sue Smith pointed out. “She’s nowhere near her opponent, it’s not even a yellow card.”

“When you make a challenge like that you bring about a decision from the ref.”

“But that’s what VAR is here for, to show the referee what actually happened. Beckham has arguably been one of the players of the tournament and yet she could be remembered for just this moment.”

It could have been minutes, it must only have been thirty seconds that you stood there. Waiting for some to tell you it had all been a big mistake. Apologies would come and you’d be able to restart the game.

Instead VAR confirmed the red card. You’d been sent off in the most important game you’d ever played in, maybe would ever play in.

This time though it felt like the impact hit you immediately, looking back it was probably the reason you hated showing any emotion now. Your teammates tried to comfort you as the tears started to come but the guilt was already too much, you couldn’t bare to be around anyone right now so pulling your shirt over your face you walked back inside. Every step towards that sideline felt like you were wading through quick sand, the boos from the US side ringing in your ear as you tried to head to the tunnel.

Before the match had begun your brother had FaceTime’d you, at the time you imagined looking up at them at the final whistle, perhaps celebrating with them. Now you couldn’t face looking where you knew they would be sat. The disappointment from yourself was too much to handle right now never mind disappointing your idol, your father.

You can vaguely remember Karen Carney coming out to meet you on the touchline, a kiss being pressed to your head and a little muttering of “keep it together” in your ear. Maybe it was for the best that everyone else was busy trying to reshuffle the pack a few sympathetic faces were thrown your way but you knew football didn’t have time for sentiment. Maybe it was also for the best that Phil didn’t even look your way, your favourite kitman met you to head back into the changing rooms with you but the rest didn’t even bat an eyelid at you.

It was only when you got inside, when you were all alone that the emotion fully came out.

The anger, the pure sadness, the hatred you felt towards yourself. It started that day and it felt then like you’d received a life sentence. A life sentence hating yourself.

……

“Phil, a lot happened out there today. Can you tell us your overriding emotions right now?”

“Oh I’m just proud of every dingle girl out there who competed to the very end. They gave it their all tonight and this result shouldn’t tarnish their pride in themselves or in each other. They stuck in the game when it seemed like other people threw it away.”

“We can’t shy away from Y/N Beckham, what were your thoughts?”

“As football players we know that every tackle we put in can lead to a card and she made that decision. It’s hard because I know the talent is in there but talent can’t be everything.”

“Do you think it should have been a red?”

“Like I said the referee was put in a position where she had to make the decision. We can all wish for different outcomes on the pitch but sometimes we just have to accept them.”

“How is she doing now?”

“As a team we are all very disappointed right and I think it’s the team we should be focusing on right now.”

“Fucking bullshit.” If this was your own bedroom perhaps you would have thrown the remote at the TV, instead you calmly had to just turn it off.

Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to turn on the TV when you got back to the hotel room. England had lost in the end, going 2-1 down to an Alex Morgan winner, they’d given it there everything but it just wasn’t enough.

In the two hours since the game finished you couldn’t count the number of times you’d cried. Firstly on your own, then with some of the girls, then on your own again on the bus and yet not a single word had been said. You knew you’d never be able to say sorry enough times and they knew it was no use telling you anything right now. Though you were crying it was almost as if you were blank inside, you couldn’t take in anything else right now. Your usual spot on the bus next to Keira was left vacant, instead you found a little corner and tried to kid yourself and other that you were asleep when how could you be with all the thoughts swirling in your mind.

Your phone lay switched off on the other side of the room, that interview being the first real insight you’d got into any opinions on the matter. He was right, he might not have said it outright but it was obvious he blamed you. When Phil brought you in for your first senior camp fans were concerned about favouritism but if anything it was the opposite. He had this almost saintly view of your dad and you would never be anything compared to him.

You knew he would be worried, he tried to protect you from everything growing up but now he was powerless. Yet even knowing that you couldn’t bring yourself to switch the phone on, answer any of the messages or calls you’d received before you turned it off on the couch.

It was all too much.

…..

The plan was always for you to spend the 2 weeks you had off after the weekend in the south of France, a quaint villa in the middle of nowhere which you’d had since you were a child. This place was one of the only true places you could just be yourself. You could vividly remember the holidays there once a year being the only time you felt truly free. Your father would spend every second of the day just being a father and your mother could show you her true self, the fun and carefree woman she was away from the pressures of the public eye. This was the place where yourself, Brooklyn and Romeo would spend hours on the beach with a ball and jumpers for goalposts, where you all taught Cruz to ride a bike and Harper to swim. This place meant so much to you.

It felt wrong to tarnish this place with the thoughts you had right now.

That’s why when you touched down in London the following day instead of rushing back to your apartment to pack and meet your family at the airport, you sat, staring at the clock. Time passed, they would have waited for you to arrive and slowly realised you weren’t coming. They would probably be worried and it was for that reason only that you finally turned your phone on. The messages flooded onto your lock screens, dozens of missed calls came through but you ignored them all simply sending a message to your mum claiming you were fine and didn’t want any company right now, only one of those statements being true.

Maybe you should have expected the phone call that immediately came up from your father but they also should have expected your immediate response, decline.

You always thought you were quite strong about the media. You’d grown up with famous parents, you sadly were used to comments about every aspect of yourself from your appearance to the way you spoke. In your time at Chelsea you’d had your fair share of stick from the fans about your place in football but before this you’d proved everyone wrong.

People called you dumb, you passed all your exams and were studying part time for a degree.

People commented on your appearance, your friends and family’s comments opposed that.

United fans taunted you in an FA cup match, you stuck the ball in the top corner and celebrated right in front of them.

All those times you’d known they were wrong and could do something about it. All that media training and yet in that moment you broke the number one rule and opened Twitter.

The results were more horrendous than you ever could have imagined. Not only were there comments about your performance, but they also came for your family, your friends, yourself. The death threats were constant, every other comment on an article link were suggesting this was punishable in unimaginable ways.

Instagram though more concentrated felt worse when you checked a post from your best friend outside of football, comments were left under her post for even just being associated with your name. Taunting her, taunting you and threatening the both of you. Not only had you disappointed everyone but now you were putting those you loved in danger.

Leaving Instagram, blurry eyed and shaking like a leaf, twitter was opened once again. You couldn’t stop and the more articled you read, the more the panic started to set in. People knew where you lived from media pictures, it wouldn’t be long before they came here again. You lived in a gated community but they’d find a way in. You’d never be alone.

Your throat was closing in, it was becoming harder to breath as you panicked more. The only thing you could do was phone the only person who would understand.

“Dad…. dad I need you.”

……

Everyone probably thinks they have the best family but in this moment you knew yours were the best. Thirty minutes on from that phone call you were in your old family living room, curled up in blankets next to your mum and dad, eating homemade chocolate cake and listening to your sister talk you through her week. The biggest drama in which being a girl who took the last apple juice carton and left her with orange juice, which to an eight-year-old felt like the end of the world.

You hadn’t even said another word on that phone call before your dad was ordering you to pack a bag and promised he would be with you in less than ten minutes.

“Why didn’t you go to France?” Your thoughts came out. “We were meant to go.”

“Like we were ever going to leave you here alone,” Your dad chastised you. “I know you well enough to know you might not have needed us in that moment but we were always going to be there when you did.”

“I didn’t mean to do anything, I thought I made the right decision and now people are threatening me. They’re going to find me.”

“They’re not.” Your mother immediately comforted you. “I’ve watched enough football over the years to know tackles like that are made every week and they never get punished. Football is a game, you live for it but it’s a game and people sometimes forget that. You were a big reason England even got to the semi-final and people need to remember that.”

“What did your teammates say?” Brooklyn asked from the next sofa with my other brothers.

“I haven’t spoken to them.”

“What? You flew home with them this morning.”

“I can’t look at them. They’re all sad because of me, everyone knows it, they were always on the back foot because of me and now they’re going home.”

“Millie messaged me this morning.” Brooklyn said. You were of course very close to the Chelsea girls and they’d met your family more times than you could count. You remember they exchanged numbers before you went away on a summer camp one year just in case they needed to contact your family. “She asked me to look after you, they’re not upset.”

“They’ll never admit it, at least not to my face but how can I play with them again after all this.”

“They’re your friends.” Your mum implored and she was right. You were the youngest in the world cup but yourself Leah, Keira and Georgia had formed a little England squad bond. Your sensible and often shy nature balancing out their craziness.

“They’re better off without me. I need to get out of here.”

“Out of where?”

“Out of England, I can’t stay.”

[iid-smile]

maybe us being extremely stressed with work / overload of responsibilities and husband!nanami seeing us break down and comforting us? 🤍 + love ur work sm i love ur writing 🌸

devotion , nanami kento

x gn!stressed!reader ! nanami is the biggest green flag, he calls you 'love' and 'darling', the reader calls him 'baby', very short kissy moment at the end (spoilers!!!!1!2)

author's note: writers block has been hitting me hard but i wanted this to be the best it could and ive been like "why is this taking so long to finish???" i scroll down the notes app from the top... this feels like SO much more than how much i would usually write 😭 never mind that, but thank you for your request and the compliment! i actually squealed of joy when i first read it!

i hope you like this and it fits well with what you envisioned 🫶

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

another sleepless night. the piles of papers were all just too blank, too white, it made your brain dizzy. not the mention the screen of your laptop blaring into your eyes, even on the lowest brightness. everything was just too much. you had too much to do.

it all seemed to be stacking up, each one more complex than the next. the house would've been in complete disarray if you hadn't forced yourself to clean every morning, and the black trash bag by your feet was definitely more than full at this point, overflowing, filled to the brim with take out that you never finish. offering advice to others was a mistake, considering you couldn't listen to them yourself, and your phone was unread messages, and some whom are left on seen. who the hell lives a life like this? built on lies and hiding it from your husband... and did you even pay the bills? or was that on auto-pay?

you're constantly checking the clock, waiting for the time where six o'clock hits. your eyes are barely open, but they just manage to glance over at the ring on your finger. pretty. it only has to sit there, be a sign of devotion and loyalty, and do nothing else. would it be pathetic to say you envy it? perhaps.

oh, how desperately you want to close your eyes. to drift away, not have any weight on your shoulders. maybe on a beach...

"darling?"

you're close to gasping, but two large hands resting on your upper arms just about cuts it off. warm, and a familiar warmth too. "kento?" was the only thing you could squeeze out, your body making an effort to turn your head towards him.

"it's nearly midnight. why are you still awake?" nanami's voice is as soothing as always. you swear you nearly fell asleep right then and there.

"it's not—" you glance at the clock. five minutes to midnight. how did you miss six? "oh... why did you come home so late? i was waiting for you."

nanami doesn't say anything. your excuse was silly, really, your prominent eyebags and red eyes making a clear point.

he turns the chair around. "i don't like it when you lie, love."

"what? no, no. i just—" no matter how much you lie, nothing could hide what was welling up in your eyes. "i..." a shaky sigh leaves your lips, and you avoid his gaze.

"you can be honest with me. it's okay." one of his hands come to cup your jaw, his fingertips tickling your hair. in a soothing motion, his thumb rubs light circles on your cheek. you can't look away. "what's wrong?"

"nothing. nothing. please, it's nothing." it's growing difficult to speak. "there's nothing— nothing—"

"you're stressed."

"i'm not." the tears streaming down your face are saying otherwise. you couldn't hide, no, you didn't want to hide it anymore. "...kento..."

"i hear you." his hands drift down to yours, a firm grip around them, and he crouches further down than the level you're sitting at. through your tears, you can see nanami taking off his glasses, setting them down ok the ground. the love and concern his eyes when he looks up at you was almost too much to handle. "talk to me."

"i can cope with it, baby." you whisper, an involuntary sniffle being added on at the end. clearly, that was the wrong answer.

he sighs, and his fingers twist the ring on your left hand and he lifts it up a bit. "do you see this?"

you nod.

"this is physical proof that my mind, body and soul will always love you." he shifts a little, his gaze returning back to yours. "i remember what i said at the alter, and i always will. 'in sickness and in health', and i promised that. if i don't hold up what i promised, would i really be a good husband?"

for a while, it was silent. it was like he was waiting for an answer, but he knew he didn't need one. you felt different, like something inside of you was telling you to give in. telling you that you're safe, and in the comfort of your loved one's arms. you hadn't even realised that your arms were wrapped tight around nanami's neck, sobs you never thought would come out of your own mouth being more frequent than you'd like.

"i'm here, love." he pulls you closer by the waist, and his hold is tender. "can i carry you?"

you don't give him a verbal answer, just silently clinging onto him as he slowly lifts you off the chair. then, he makes his way towards the bed, sitting down on the edge with you curled up on his lap. "you can tell me about it when you calm down. or do you want to sleep first?"

"no... 'm just stressed, kento. i've been so worried about us, the future, other things... i just— i'm doing too much." "i need a breather or something. it's all too much."

"is there anything i can do to help?"

"i don't know. i really don't." naturally, your eyes start to close.

"get some rest."

the next time your eyes open, it's bright outside, and you're lightly tangled up in the blankets on the bed. one thing that didn't change however, is your husband's face in front of yours, his affectionate gaze remaining on you and you only. you miss this. you miss appreciating this.

nanami admires you, tugging down the comforter so your arms had a bit more freedom. "good morning, love."

"morning, baby." immediately, you eye the blond strands that somewhat disrupt his vision, there's a soft smile on your face, and your fingers run through his blond locks, feeling a bit of his undercut. "your hair isn't styled."

he hums quietly, his crossed arms on the mattress moving closer to your figure. "i'm not going into work today."

your eyes widen. "why not?"

"you're always my first priority. the last thing i'd want is you to be handling hard situations without me." his voice is just above a mutter. "i need to take care of the person i love."

"you don't have to." you whisper, pangs of conscience fizzing up in your mind.

to match your volume, he whispers back. "i want to."

so doting, it makes you feel guilty. would you feel more bad for taking his help or rejecting it? "when you're ready to wake up, i can get a bath ready and..." he takes a breath. "i'll cook you some breakfast. your favourite."

sitting up a little, you glance over at your desk. the papers were piled on the sides of the surface and significantly reduced in size, the trash bag was gone, and only a few of your favourite trinkets are presented in the middle. "my work—"

"we can talk about work after you feel better, okay?"

you turn your head towards him again and nod. slowly, you bring both of your hands up to his cheeks, focus shifting from his eyes to his lips. "can i have a kiss?"

"of course you can." and nanami smiles, his lips coming to close the distance and press against yours.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars pt.10

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: The journey of Y/n's pregnancy...

Warning: pregnancy/ mentions of throwing up/ mention of birth/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 2.1k

When she found out she was pregnant, Y/n was the happiest she’d ever been, but this happiness quickly faded into worry. She and her baby daddy were celebrities, her pregnancy was going to be all over social medias, her baby too. Callum and she talked about it and decided they wanted to keep it private. They told the cast that she was pregnant, because they should know, and their press tour wasn’t over. Yes, Master of the Air was out already, but the interviews didn’t stop. During the first weeks of her pregnancy, it was easy to hide, her belly was flat, and she didn’t have any symptoms. But as she was in her 7th week, she started to get morning sickness.

-

She tried to listen to all the questions and the answers of her co-stars, but she felt like throwing up. Luckly for her, the microphone wasn’t attached to her, it was a microphone that she held in her hand. She put it far away from her, so the public won’t hear her humming, it was a tip Callum’s mom gave to her to prevent her from throwing up. But it didn’t work. ‘’Nate, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I must go to the bathroom’’ she tried to hide her sickness in her voice. She got up and walked quickly backstage. ‘’Yeah, we can take a break, after Nate’s answer of course’’ The interviewer said. ‘’Oh, I was done, we can take a five-minute break’’ he said. Y/n was running to the bathroom, but an assistant was running next to her with a trash bin, in case she didn’t make it. She pulled the trash bin as she sat on a chair to empty her stomach in the trash. Callum walked up to her and pressed his hand on her back, to support her. He held her hair as she continued to puke her guts out. ‘’I’m sorry, I tried not to, but – ‘’ she threw up again. Austin and Anthony walked up to the couple; Nate was behind them. ‘’If my answer was that bad, you could’ve told me’’ he joked. Y/n looked at him, rolling her eyes before wiping her mouth with a tissue.

-

For the first few months, she succeeded in hiding her condition, but when her belly started to grow, it became harder. Her outfits became more baggy, which the internet found weird since she was always beautifully dressed. Some fans started to speculate about Y/n being pregnant, but the rumours stayed low. But when she reached mid second trimester, she decided to stop doing interviews, it was too risky. Now, the fans started to speculate, even the actors were asked questions about her not being with them anymore. They dodged the question and protected the secret of their colleague. Callum found it difficult, when she was with him, he could make sure that she was okay, now she was at home, he found it hard.

-

‘’The fans can’t stop asking about you, I think you should come to the next interview’’ Callum said, looking at his girlfriend, who was 8 months pregnant, with twins. It’s been a long time since she was in front of a camera, but he was right, the fans were becoming too much, and she should make a public appearance. ‘’Yeah, where’s the next one?’’ she asked, pushing on her arms to sit on the couch. ‘’It’s tomorrow, and it’s close, not a long drive’’ he said. ‘’Good, because the twins won’t be happy with me, dressing up and moving that much’’ she laughed. Her pregnancy was going well, because her doctor told her that if she wanted to go back to work, she could.

-

She was nervous, but the guys were so sweet. They were backstage, waiting for the interviewer to call them. ‘’It’s nice to see you back!’’ Ralf said, smiling. ‘’Thanks, I missed you guys’’ she breathed out. ‘’So please give it up for Austin Butler, Callum Turner, Anthony Boyle, Nate Mann, Ralf Laur, Barry Keoghan and the wonderful Y/n Y/l/n!’’ when the crowd heard her name, they made so much noise she thought the walls were going to collapse. But when they say her pregnant belly, the sound level exploded. Y/n smiled and waved at the crowd. She sat next to Callum and Austin. After minutes, the crowd finally went silent. ‘���Wow, you guys missed me that much?’’ Barry joked; he missed the last interview. Everyone laughed and waited for Y/n’s replies. ‘’Yes Barry, they were screaming for you’’ she teased, looking at him. She winked at the crowd and smiled. ‘’How are you, Y/n?’’ someone in the crowd yelled. ‘’I’m heavily pregnant with twins, thank you very much, how are you’’ she replied. The public laughed. ‘’Joke’s aside, I’m really great, I’m happy to be back’’ she said. The interview went well, but now, it was time for the public to ask questions. ‘’Before we start with the questions, please respect my private life, I will gladly answer your questions, but don’t push it’’ Y/n said. ‘’Hi everyone, I wanted to ask what’s a character trait or habit that stayed with you after filming?’’ the fan asked. Y/n raised her brows, the question was really good. The cast looked at each other, wondering who was going to go first. ‘’Well, Rose is a complex character. Uh, the thing I learned with her is that everyone is not invincible, it sounds stupid, but we often think that people, especially selfless people, can break sometimes and as a person that puts others first, it made me realise how important talking about it is. It might not be clear, but yeah, we’re all humans and you don’t know what people are going through.’’ She said, trying to be clear. The guys nodded. She smiled as she felt her babies kick, they were agreeing with her. Others answered and the microphone was passed to another fan. ‘’Hi, Y/n, Callum, how do you deal with the attention you’ve been getting since the beginning of the press tour?’’ one of the fans asked. They both looked at each other. ‘’It’s a lot, and we try to contain it, so it doesn’t affect people around us, like when Y/n posted the pictures on her Instagram and people were speculating about it, we had to ask Graham Norton to talk about our show, because that’s why we’re doing interviews, promote Master of the Air. So, we like it, but it can’t take too much in our lives’’ Callum said. ‘’That’s mainly one of the reasons why I came here today, people were only asking questions about me. So, we love it, but like Callum said, we love the attention, as long as it doesn’t become too much’’ she added.

It was time for the last question, fans were respectful with Y/n’s pregnancy, and she was grateful for it. ‘’Hi, Y/n I love you so much! Can I ask about what changed since you’re pregnant?’’ the fan was so sweet. ‘’Hi, uh, other than my body, my mentality changed a lot. I’m slowly realizing all the responsibilities that’s going to come with having twins. I also started to understand what parents mean when they say that it goes too fast. So, I’m understanding that I’m going to be a mother and it’s going to change me forever. But my body is the main change’’ she laughed. ‘’Do you know what you’re having, yet?’’ Anthony asked. ‘’Yes’’ she looked at Callum. ‘’We’re having two little girls’’ he said. The crowd cheered on the couple. ‘’Awn, do you have names yet?’’ Austin asked. They both nodded. ‘’We’re going to keep it secret until they come out, but yeah, we got it all figured out, the only thing that we don’t know is who the godfather is going to be’’ Y/n said. Barry and Anthony lifted their hand at the same time, making everyone laugh. ‘’You’re the godmother of my son, me!’’ Barry exclaimed, making Y/n laugh even more. ‘’We’ll come back to that later’’ Callum said, since his girlfriend was laughing too much, and wasn’t able to speak.

-

Austin sat at the end of the table; they were going to tell him that they wanted him to be the godfather. ‘’Why does this feel like an interrogation’’ he laughed. ‘’Sorry, we have something to ask you’’ Callum starts. ‘’Um, we want you to be the godfather of our girls’’ Y/n says, smiling. ‘’Are you joking?’’ he asks, smiling. ‘’No, we’re serious. You’ve always been there for us, and we want you to be there for our girls.’’ Callum explains. Austin’s eyes fill with tears as he nods. ‘’I would love to be the godfather of the babies you’re carrying’’ he says, looking at Y/n. When Austin stops talking, Y/n feels the babies kick, and they kick hard because she can see her belly move. ‘’I think they approved our choice’’ she laughs as she shows the two men the fight that’s taking place in her stomach.

-

The closer they were from the due date; the more Callum was freaking out and the more calm Y/n was. Frankly, Callum couldn’t understand how she was calm, she was about to push two babies out of her and looked like she came back from a Spa in Bali. ‘’Callum, honey, you’re giving me a headache, calm down. Everything is fine, I’m only 2 centimeters dilated, they can put me in the hospital when I’m at 3, we live 8 minutes away. It’s going to be fine’’ she giggled, seeing her boyfriend pacing around the living room. ‘’You are being too calm and it’s stressing me!’’ he said, looking at her. Y/n smiled and tried not to laugh. When she felt another contraction, she gave him a look, telling him to come sit down next to her so he could support her. But since he was stressing her, she asked him to go in their room and get her a new shirt, she was sweating. She breathed her way through it and timed it. She got up to walk around the house, in hope of making the contractions painless, but when she stood up, her water broke. ‘’Honey, don’t panic, but my water just broke’’ she shouted to Callum, he was in the other room. ‘’WHAT? IT’S HAPPENING?!’’ he yelled from their bedroom. ‘’Yes, it is’’ she replied.

-

Daisy Rose Turner and Ophelia Mary Turner, that was the name of the two newborns. Callum was holding Daisy, and Austin, who Y/n called to help Callum calm down, held Ophelia. Y/n was sleeping, the labour and delivery went on for 11 hours, she was a trooper. She did get the epidural, but her body was tired. Callum was so happy, he called his mom, telling her that his girls had her names as a middle name was something he was looking forward to ever since they decided on their names. When he broke the news, his mom immediately started to cry. Telling her son how proud of him she was and how excited she was to be a grandmother. ‘’Kaia was right, your children are so beautiful’’ Austin whispered. Callum smiled and looked at his daughters. ‘’Like their mother’’ he whispered back. Minutes later, Y/n woke up, she was still tired. ‘’Hey, how did you sleep?’’ Callum asked. ‘’Good, where are the girls?’’ she asked. ‘’The nurse took them to do their tests, Austin followed them.’’ He reassured her. She was traumatized by the baby kidnapping in Jane the Virgin, that was something she said to Callum very early in her pregnancy: You always follow our baby. In this case, babies. ‘’Thank you for making me a father, that’s something I’ve always dreamed about and I’m so grateful that you’re the mother of my girls.’’ Callum said, kissing her hand. Y/n was smiling, tears of joy immediately fell on her cheeks. ‘’And I’m ecstatic that you’re the father of my babies. I love you, Callum’’ she said, with a gentle voice. ‘’I love you too, Y/n’’

[webslingingslasher]

can i request frat peter comforting and taking care of reader on her period?

i wrote this at work, do not EVER question my loyalty to frat!peter

w: talks of blood/period (i’m on mobile and can’t add a read more tag)

“Hello?”

It’s daytime and you’re calling Peter, he almost didn’t answer but something told him it was important.

He didn’t leave the lunch table, instead crossing his arms over his chest as he answered, his chair tilted back on two legs. Eyebrows furrowed in focus mode, he heard a slight shuffle, he assumes it’s a buttdial but he hears a whisper.

“That you, trouble?”

You must not have heard him the first time, the audio becomes crystal clear. You speak so loud and clear he can see your mouth pressed against the edge of your phone in his mind while you talk low.

“Peter, I need you.”

Oh. Well that’s a nice lunch break.

“At school? You really are tro-“

“No! I need you to come do something. I need help.”

The last part is a mumble, you didn’t want to admit. Peter slammed his seat down, “what do you need from me?” Instantly in go mode.

“It’s embarrassing,” his chest doesn’t feel as tight, nothing life or death.

“Spit it out junior, you’re making me miss out on my sandwich.”

“igotmyper-bloodisever-help?”

You heard silence then loud chewing, Peter’s voice came out garbled, his bite stored in his cheek.

“I heard blood and help, did you stab someone?” You whine out on the other end, you said you needed his help but he’s taking the piss.

“No! I’m…” Peter’s heart races when you sniffle, it’s the first time he’s ever heard you cry. He speaks to you so softly it catches the attention of his friend across the table.

“Hey, trouble. Stop crying for me, okay? Just let me know what you need and I’ll be right there, alright?”

You nod and realize he can’t see, you take a deep breath to stop your tears.

“I got my period.”

“Yuck! Why are you calling me?”

“Because,” why did you? You didn’t even think, you were in panic mode and for whatever reason he was the one you thought of calling. “Can you please help?”

Peter groaned, “call one of your girl friends, they’re prepared for this.”

“Yeah, but you’re my-“ my… my what? He wasn’t your anything. “Never mind, I’ll call-“

“No, no. I’ll play hero for you, where are you?”

You looked down at your ruined pants and cringed, “um, the downstairs bathroom in the lab building.”

Peter takes a beat, his mind trying to connect the dots.

“Why are you in the… trouble, were you coming to see me?” He’s not even in the room and he makes you feel flushed, “no! I was just passing by and noticed.”

“Give me five minutes, don’t move.”

—————

“You can’t be in here.”

A straight to the point fact. You can imagine the hoity toity expression on the girl's face, you don’t blame her for questioning but if a guy comes into a woman’s bathroom you’d assume it’s for a reason.

“Excuse me! I said you can’t be in here!”

“Fuck off, my girlfriend got her period.”

Your breath hitched, you know he didn’t mean it like that but wow did it feel nice.

“Oh. Well, still. You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Yeah, noted. I ruined your day.” A two knuckle tap on the stall door, you heard the main door open and a few choice words directed at your boy. He didn’t acknowledge it, his only focus on you.

“Trouble, you doing alright?”

“Yeah,” you stare at his shoes under the door.

“Want me to come in?”

You look at your pants and wince, you didn’t expect it to come early. You didn’t leak through a tampon or pad, you freebled and the back of your thighs proved it.

“It’s bad,” because it was. Even for your standards.

“Yeah, you’re gross. Can I come in?”

You stand from the toilet, you’d never rest your jeans on the seat normally but they’re already trash. You slide the lock on the handicap stall and it slowly pushes open.

“Hi,” you look shy and embarrassed, Peter pushed past that entirely.

“Hi, c’mere.” You melt into his chest when his arms wrap tight around you, his mouth places a kiss on your hairline.

“Alright, shark week. Let’s see the damage,” you peer at the ground and turn slowly. “Ah shit, okay. Hold on.”

Peter tugged his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it. A togo bag was folded up, he pulled it out and handed it to you, you held onto the cardboard handles.

“Put your nasty, hazardous material covered, underwear in here. And use one of these, or both, I dunno, I don’t have… one of those.”

Peter hands you a pad and a tampon, your eyes sparkle when you grab them. “Where did you get these from?” He rubbed at the back of his neck, “Matt’s girlfriend, I asked if she had something and she asked what you used, I didn’t know so I asked for both.”

You clutch the paper thin plastic to your chest, “thank you.”

He pauses then nods, as he backs out his hand holds the top of the stall door. You wait to make sure he’s not coming back in and you start stripping, you follow his instructions and pull your pants back up. It’s an uncomfortable sticky, you can’t wait to get home as soon as possible to shower.

The stain is still your biggest issue, there’s no way you’d face the entire campus with it.

“Peter-“

The door swung back out, your boy smiled. You clutched the bag shyly, you would have to walk back to your dorm, with a fat stain.

“Give me the biohazard,” you shake your head fast, there’s no way you’d let Peter see what’s in the bag.

“No, no way. It’s disgusting.”

“Trouble,” he gives you a look you haven’t seen before, “give me the damn bag,” you hold it out and he snatches it. Closing it carefully and stuffing it back in his backpack before zipping it closed.

“As for that,” Peter points at your red stain. He drops his bag to the ground and pulls off his outer layer. An open faced flannel, a plain white tee shirt underneath.

Peter pushes your elbows up, “arms up.”

You took a deep breath when he approached, he smelled so, so good. Peter tugged you closer by your hips and gave you a very light smile, his arms looped around you, his flannel in his hands.

You're brought closer when the arms of his shirt are tied tightly around your waist, he crouches in front of you to hang the sleeves just right, leveling them so they hide your crotch.

Peter’s fingers tap your knee, “spread for me,” you do as he asks and he looks you over before standing.

“I think I just helped you cover up a murder, we’re bonded for life now.”

Funny, he jumped right into action and guided you when you were too frazzled to think for yourself, yet you still feel shy.

“Thanks, I don’t know why I called you. It’s not your job.”

Peter’s hand cups your face, “hey,” you look into his eyes, he doesn’t seem so scary, and not in the slightest disgusted or bothered.

“You’re my girl, right?”

You nod into his touch, his thumb brushes your skin, proud you know the answer.

“That means you call whenever you want and I’ll come running.”

“Thank you, petey.”

He didn’t fight you on the nickname, his thumb rested over your bottom lip until he gave in. Peter gave you a bruising kiss, one that made him prove how much he actually cared for you, even if he couldn’t make the words leave his mouth.

You pulled back, not trying to makeout in a bathroom.

“Can you take me home?”

Your boy scoffs, “absolutely not. I have three quarters of a sandwich waiting for me, getting soggier by the second.”

When you frown at him his thumb catches it and tugs it back up. “But-“ Your eyes light up, he can’t help himself and places a chaste kiss to your mouth, “I’ll give you a key so you can hang out at mine?”

A key? A house key? He’d give you a house key?

“I would’ve thought hell would freeze over before you’d give me a key to your place.”

Peter shrugs, “eh, that’s before I knew I was dating a squirter.” He giggles when you smack at his arms, you grunt when a sudden cramp hits and you squeeze his arm in support instead.

“Alright, crampy. Go home, I’ll give you a cuddle when I get back.”

You nearly skip out of the bathroom with Peter behind you, he looks around before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, yeah?”

You can’t help but to sigh dreamily, “yeah.”

[hailsatanacab]

a father's son

Happy holiday truce, @dashing-through-ecto!! I was your gifter this year, I hope you enjoy the fic! Based on your prompt: "Do you need any help, Dad?"

Word count 2.2k - ao3 link

Things have not been going well for Danny Fenton.

Not only did he fail in intercepting Lancer’s call home, so now Mom and Dad know about his latest grades—he didn’t even get enough answers for an F this time, not when he fell asleep within the first five minutes—but they also caught Jazz taking the trash out for him.

“That’s one of your chores, young man! Heaven knows you don’t have many of them, which is why you need to be responsible and actually do the ones that we give you! It’s just not good enough, Daniel James Fenton, do you hear me?”

The full name.

It’s not often he gets it, but it sucks each and every time he does.

What sucks even more is that now, with what little free time he has, he’s cleaning the lab. It’s just not fair!

Broken glass skitters along the floor as he sweeps it up into the dustpan, ectoplasm still clinging to the bottom of the beaker. 

He can’t even goof off—can’t even use his powers to finish quicker—because his dad is sitting at the workbench tinkering with whatever his newest interest is.

Great. Looks like he’s stuck cleaning the boring, human way.

The lab is quiet, but it isn’t silent. 

Ectoplasm drips, maddeningly, from the gloop stuck on the ceiling. That’s a form of torture, isn’t it? Danny’s pretty sure he’s heard that before, that the constant sound of water droplets will drive someone insane. He can relate, because this is certainly testing him.

Dad’s talking to himself, too, little murmurs about what he’s doing, where he should be soldering, how it should be working and why it isn’t. 

Vaguely, Danny wonders what he’s working on. Sure, it’s probably some ghost thing, but that’s not all they do! His parents made some pretty great advances before the portal switched on and monopolised all of their thoughts.

Yeah, that might be wishful thinking, but stranger things have happened! You never know.

Every 30 seconds, the motor on the ecto-filter whirrs into life, syphoning off the excess, pure ectoplasm from the portal and filtering it into something less volatile. In theory.

Underneath everything, the portal hums.

A droning beat that pulses in the same rhythm as his heart. Sometimes, he catches himself staring at it, leaning closer as it calls to him.

It scares him.

“Shit!” his dad shouts, dropping the soldering iron with a loud clang. 

It’s enough to knock Danny out of whatever daydream he’d lost himself in and he whirls around to see his dad sucking on one of his fingers.

They lock eyes, both widening as they realise what’s happened.

“Ah, I mean, suffering spooks! That really hurt…” He shoves his fingers back into his mouth and his shoulders droop as he considers Danny. “Don’t tell your mother.”

Danny laughs.

“Are you alright?”

“It’d take more than that to put Jack Fenton down! All good, Danno, don’t you worry,” he smiles back before shaking his hand out and turning back to whatever he was working on. “Or, I would be, if this hunk of junk was cooperating with me!”

“What’s up?” Danny asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Normally, he likes to stay out of the lab, as much as he can. 

Obviously, what Phantom does doesn’t count. Phantom can’t help but come into the lab, set ghosts loose into the Zone, trash whatever weapons his parents have got going on, sneak out into the Zone when he can for some much needed R&R. The ectoplasm just hits different there.

“I’m trying to repurpose this toaster, but the ecto won’t run smoothly through the wiring. I think it keeps getting cooked by the element.”

“Oh? Do you need some help?”

Danny doesn’t like spending time in the lab, because if he’s in the lab then he’s either Phantom and he’s trying hard not to be seen or heard, or he’s Danny and he’s being punished.

But his curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah, come here, have a look! Perhaps another Fenton brain can knock some sense into it!”

So, he does.

Hell, anything beats cleaning the lab.

“You’re trying to run it through here?”

Dad nods and shifts in his seat to give Danny a better view.

“But you can’t, because the ecto is tripping the heating element… which is way higher than a toaster has any right to be, wow. No wonder it’s destabilising the ectoplasm, that would destabilise anything.”

Danny pokes around the casing, wiggling the wires back and forth to get a better look at the absolute mess his dad has made of it all. Sometimes it amazes him that his parents' inventions work at all.

“That’s what I’m thinking! But it has to be that high so we can completely break down the ecto!”

“You want it to break down?”

“Yep!” Dad says, clapping him on the back hard enough that he wheezes. He grins down at him when Danny turns around reproachfully. “Think of it, boyo, if we could figure out how to flash fry that ectoplasm high enough so that it evaporates—which it should do, it’s goopy gross liquid, after all!—then you wouldn’t be stuck down here cleaning for so long! We could take it to the streets after a ghost fight and clean up the whole town!”

Well, it’s not a Nobel Prize level invention… Danny’s pretty sure at this point that his parents would be laughed out by the Nobel committee. But, a quicker cleaning of the lab does sound nice.

It would mean he’d be stuck down here a lot less.

Besides… It's interesting.

“What if we…” Danny trails off and pulls the metal frame towards him, grabbing the tweezers as he goes. Vaguely, he’s aware of his dad leaning over his shoulder, the weight of him watching is a comforting presence that he’s not felt in a long while. 

The real trouble is that you need ectoplasm to affect ectoplasm, and that’s not going to work if the object of the game is to evaporate it. 

So what if they don’t introduce the reactive ecto until the end?

He makes quick work of stripping down what his dad’s already done and starts again, this time focussing on keeping the heat contained separately away from the ectoplasm. Just as he’s piecing together a trigger to concurrently shoot a blast of ecto towards the heated tip, Dad exclaims as he realises where he’s going with it.

“Oh! Danny, you’re a genius! Look at that!” Dad laughs and squints closer at what Danny’s doing. “Just wait until your mother sees this, she’s going to be so happy!”

Danny can’t help but grin as he ductapes everything to a piece of toaster casing to give it the first test try. Dad’s enthusiasm is catching as he whoops when the first puddle of ectoplasm burns off in acrid smoke.

They spend another couple of hours perfecting it, welding a case together and branding it with the Fenton F.

It’s not pretty—but then again, when are his parents’ inventions?—a long stick with a cattle-prod-like taser at the end. Instead of electricity, it launches ectoplasm from one rod and superheats the other. When activated, all you need to do is touch the tip to a puddle and poof! It’s gone.

Danny shivers as he watches another pool go up.

But, no! He’s thinking about it wrong. It’s not a cattle-prod, it’s more like one of those sticks you see people using on the highway to jab at the litter on the floor. It’s for cleaning. It’s going to make his lab cleaning chores way easier! It’s—

“Danny, just look at it!”

Danny looks at it, and then back to his father’s face when he can’t bear to see the smoking ecto anymore. It’s painfully happy and Danny does his best to be happy, too.

“Here!” Dad shoves the contraption into Danny’s arms. “You use that and finish what you’re doing and then when you’re done—I can’t believe I’m saying this, galloping ghouls, I’m so happy, I’m working with my boy—we can get to work transferring it over to the Jack o’ Nine Tails! Imagine it, Danny, with one whip and that pesky poltergeist Phantom will be gone!”

Danny freezes.

It feels as if Dad’s just dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

“Poof! Up in smoke!”

The fumes are getting to him. That must be it. His head is swimming and his stomach is churning. There’s a ringing in his ears and it melds with the sharp, stinging whirr of ectoplasm sizzling. It pulses in time with the portal behind him.

He stumbles, almost goes down—almost throws up—but it doesn’t matter. Dad doesn’t see him, already turned away back to the work bench.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

You know what, it’s okay! It’ll be okay, Danny can sneak back down here later tonight and he can undo it all, it doesn’t matter!

Take a deep breath, now, finish cleaning the lab, ignore Dad—it doesn’t matter—and get this over with. Being here makes his skin crawl, he needs to finish—

“I’m so proud of you, Danny.”

For the second time, Danny stops.

Dad doesn’t say anything else, just sits with his back to him, opening and closing his hand over a screwdriver with the Jack o’ Nine Tails splayed out in front of him.

It takes longer than Danny wants to find his voice, but he manages to croak out, “What?”

“I’m proud of you, Danno. I know this year hasn’t been easy for you, don’t think we haven’t noticed. Your mom and I have been talking about how you're doing at school. We're not blind. We know kids can be cruel, and that Dash Baxter… But we're so proud of you for not rising to it. We love you so much, Danny.”

A lump grows in Danny’s throat and his eyes prickle.

His fingers bleach white where they grip the Fenton Evaporator too tight.

“Look at what you can do when you try, Danny! This is the boy that I know, this is the Danny that I love. I’m so proud of what we’ve done here today. It’ll make the world a better place, just you wait! Now, come on, boyo, pass me that soldering iron and let’s really get stuck in!”

And… And Danny does.

With shaky limbs and tears threatening to spill, Danny reaches over and passes Dad the soldering iron, watching as he gets to work, and when his dad asks him to get his hands dirty—“Here, run this wire up the rope, there’s a good boy!”—he does.

Danny does it all and he does it well.

He sucks in a deep breath, swipes a hand over his eyes, and he helps his dad.

He laughs when Dad tells his stupid jokes:

“Quick! What’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“I don’t know, Dad, what’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“A ghost that we’ve beaten into oblivion!”

And he hopes that his mom is going to be just as proud as Dad says she will be when she sees what they’ve done.

It’s easy, really.

If he doesn’t think about it, if he tucks his mind away and just lets his hands get on with it, then he’s just helping his dad and he can do that. He can do it.

He can do it.

So, no, he doesn’t sabotage what they’ve built. He doesn’t add in a failsafe. He doesn’t loosen a few screws, or overload the element, or untwist a few wires.

Danny does his best and at the end of the day his dad holds up the new and improved Jack o’ Nine Tails and absolutely beams at him. A work of art, he calls it.

Danny doesn’t sabotage it then and he won’t sabotage it later, because it’s a work of art. This is what he and his dad built. Together.

Danny can’t help but grin back, happiness curling in his belly even as it gives a sickening lurch.

He doesn’t eat dinner that night, he can’t.

He stays downstairs long enough to present the new weapon to Mom—very pointedly ignoring Jazz’s look—and then he heads upstairs. There’s an English essay he needs to get started on, after all.

He doesn’t miss the look Mom and Dad share, the fond tenderness, the love, the hope, all directed at him.

He’s happy.

They’re happy.

They’re proud of him.

And despite it all, he had fun today! 

When he lays down on his bed, he smiles and he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as he thinks about his dad. At one point, he had been holding up a circular piece of metal he’d cannibalised from the lamp shade to his eyes, moving it back and forth as he pulled his funny faces, and some of that full belly laugh creeps back in as he remembers doing the same back.

He laughs so hard until he cries, and he cries, and he cries. 

Today, he and his dad built a weapon. 

Tomorrow, it'll be used on him, but that's okay. 

It's okay because today, today his dad was proud.