#but yeah even then it's gonna be quite a while before i can move out which is annoying

[sweetheartsofpanem]

There She Is - Built to Be Wanted

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i really hope y’all like this, i made it a lil extra fluffy and soft for y’all as an apology😔

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

warnings: refer to series masterlist

word count: 9.40k

series masterlist | main masterlist

The morning settles soft and slow across the living room, thick with the kind of stillness that only comes on weekends—when there’s nowhere to be and nothing you have to pretend for.

You’re stretched out on your side along the couch, your body heavy with the kind of drowsy warmth that feels impossible to fight. You’re not really awake. Not really asleep either. Somewhere in between, where the world blurs at the edges and everything moves slower.

The deep blue sweater hangs loose around you, swallowing your arms and most of your thighs. The shorts you pulled on after doing laundry cling gently to your hips and soft legs, leaving your skin bare where the sweater rides up.

It’s rare — you being the one awake first.

So you took the couch for yourself. Just for a little while. Let yourself sink into it, breathing slow and easy, wrapped in the quiet.

You don’t even realize he’s there until you feel the couch dip behind you.

A second later, there’s a hand sliding over your waist — broad and steady — fingers finding the softness there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You jump, a startled gasp slipping from your throat before you can help it, your body tensing on instinct.

But before you can pull away, you hear him.

Low and rough, still sticky with sleep, voice right at your ear, “Easy,” Haymitch murmurs, the barest rasp of a chuckle under the word. “Told you it was dangerous to tell me I could always hold you.”

Your heart stumbles hard against your ribs.

But the way his arm curls around you—sure, steady, warm—pulls the fear right out of you.

You settle back into him without thinking, your body softening against the solid wall of his chest, your bare thighs brushing together under the sweater, your breath easing into something slower, safer.

You’re still not fully awake.

The heaviness in your body hasn’t quite left, but the fog in your mind is starting to lift. You’re waking up whether you want to or not.

And Haymitch hasn’t moved.

Still tucked up against your back, one arm slung low around your waist, his legs tangled lazily with yours. His hand resting over your belly like it belongs there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You shift slightly, trying to stretch without dislodging him, your thighs brushing his jeans. His hand slides easily with you, not gripping, not pulling, just staying.

Your cheeks burn.

You swallow, voice scratchy and awkward when you finally speak. “Um… mornin’.”

You don’t even know why you say it—you’ve been wrapped up in him for who knows how long already—but it slips out, clumsy and breathless, like everything else you try to say around him.

Haymitch huffs a quiet laugh against your hair.

“Morning, peach,” he murmurs, voice still slow with sleep.

You shift again, tugging the hem of your sweater down out of habit even though it does nothing to make you feel less exposed, less soft and seen where his hand rests.

He doesn’t tease you for it. Doesn’t move his hand either.

Instead, he tips his head just enough that you feel his breath against the shell of your ear.

“Was wondering when you were gonna wake up and fully realize you have a six-foot blanket wrapped around you.”

You huff a soft, nervous laugh and duck your face deeper into the pillow, wishing it would swallow you whole.

“I—I don’ mind,” you mumble, voice half-muffled. “It’s… nice.”

You feel him smile against your hair.

“Yeah?” he drawls, low and teasing but not cruel. Never cruel. “Good. ‘Cause you ain’t getting rid of me now.”

Your heart stumbles.

You feel him shift behind you—just the smallest adjustment, like he’s getting more comfortable now that you’re awake.

And then, low against your ear, his voice slides out, rough and slow, “Y’know, peach, you’re real dangerous, laying here all soft like this.”

Your breath catches.

You blink against the pillow, heat rushing to your face so fast it’s almost dizzying. You don’t even know what part of the sentence sets you on fire more—the dangerous, or the soft.

“I’m not—” you start, flustered beyond saving. “I’m not tryin’ to be dangerous—”

He chuckles, low and pleased, the sound rumbling into your back.

“Didn’t say you were trying. Just said you are.”

His hand strokes lazily over the curve of your waist, tracing the sweater stretched over your body like he likes every inch of what he’s touching. Like he’s memorizing it.

“You laying here all warm and pretty,” he murmurs, almost like he’s thinking out loud now, “makes a man forget what he was supposed to be doing with his day.”

You make a tiny, mortified noise in your throat and immediately cover your face with your hand that’s drowning in the sleeve of the sweater, like you can hide from the way your heart’s pounding out of your chest.

Haymitch just laughs again, quieter this time. Almost fond.

“Don’t gotta hide from me, peach.”

You don’t move.

Not because you’re frozen—but because deep down, you don’t want to.

The teasing fades after that, the air between you thickening into something warmer. Quieter.

The quiet stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Just heavy. Warm. Full of all the things you’re still too shy to say out loud.

His hand stays steady on your waist, thumb stroking absent, lazy circles into the thick knit of your sweater.

“You’re real easy to keep around like this,” Haymitch says eventually, voice low and rough, like he’s talking more to himself than to you.

You blink, caught off guard.

Your face warms immediately. “I—I’m not tryin’ to keep you hostage or nothin’,” you mumble, voice tripping over itself.

He chuckles, slow and fond. “Ain’t complaining, peach.”

You tug at the hem of your sweater awkwardly, the fabric bunching between your hands.

“I’m not… real good at this kinda thing,” you admit, staring at a loose thread on the couch cushion like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen.

“What thing?” he asks, voice mild, easy.

You shrug, the motion awkward against him. “Bein’… y’know. Held. Talkin’. Bein’… not weird.”

Haymitch huffs a soft sound that might almost be a laugh.

“You ain’t weird,” he says simply, like it’s a fact that doesn’t need defending. “You’re just not used to people treating you right.”

Your throat tightens at that.

You shift a little closer without meaning to, letting your back press more firmly against his chest. His hand adjusts with you, pulling you in like it’s second nature.

“Still,” you mutter, voice small, “I’m… not all that good at bein’ wanted.”

The confession slips out before you can swallow it back.

You stiffen immediately, shame spiking hot and sharp under your skin—but Haymitch doesn’t let you pull away.

He just exhales slow, like he already knew.

“You’re doing just fine, peach,” he says, voice rough and quiet. “Ain’t no wrong way to let somebody care about you.”

You bury your face into the sleeve of your sweater again, heart hammering, too flustered to answer.

You want to say something.

You want to say a lot of things, actually.

But your mouth feels clumsy, and your mind trips over itself before you even open it.

You chew your lip, breathe in slow through your nose, and finally you manage to whisper, “You… you make it easy.”

Your voice is so soft you barely hear it yourself.

Haymitch shifts slightly behind you, like he isn’t sure he caught it either. His hand strokes once over your waist, slow and steady.

“Make what easy?” he murmurs, coaxing.

You squeeze your eyes shut, cheeks burning.

“Wantin’ to be held,” you mumble, face buried half into the pillow. “Wantin’ to stay. I… I never thought I’d—”

You break off, shoulders curling tight.

There’s a long beat where you think you’ve ruined it—where the words hang too raw between you.

You feel him lean in.

You feel his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

“Good,” Haymitch says, low and certain. “’Cause I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

Your whole body goes hot.

You press your cheek harder into the pillow, too flustered to speak, but you can’t fight the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at the corner of your mouth.

The room hums with the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

And then—just as your breathing starts to slow, just as you start to think maybe you’ll survive the way he’s touching you—he dips his head closer, voice low and rough against your ear.

“Y’know,” Haymitch murmurs, almost like he’s just thinking it out loud, “you really do look pretty like this.”

Your breath catches instantly.

He rubs his thumb slow over your waist, tracing the thick knit of your sweater where it drapes over your hips, the motion unhurried, familiar. Appreciative.

“All soft and sweet,” he adds, quieter now. “Could stare at you like this all day.”

You make a tiny, helpless sound in the back of your throat—something halfway between a gasp and a whimper—and immediately close your eyes tight, mortified.

Your whole body burns, every inch of you buzzing under your skin.

But Haymitch just chuckles low in his throat, like he knew exactly what that would do to you.

And before you can drown in it, he shifts gears so smoothly it almost gives you whiplash.

“So what’s the plan for today, peach?” he asks casually, like he didn’t just tell you he wanted to look at you all day. “You got big weekend plans I oughta know about?”

You stammer for a second, struggling to find your voice.

“I, um…” You squirm a little, flustered beyond repair. “I was jus’… plannin’ on bein’ lazy, I guess.”

You can feel him smile against your hair, the curve of it soft and pleased.

“Yeah?” he drawls. “That’s a good plan.”

You nod sheepishly, heart still hammering.

“Yesterday kinda… took a lot outta me,” you admit, voice small, fingers picking at the edge of the cushion. “I—um—I figured maybe today I’d jus’… not do much. Jus’ rest.”

He hums low in his chest, the sound curling around you like approval.

You lie there against him for a little while longer, soaking in the steady feel of his hand at your waist, the way he breathes slow and even like there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

But the words are building up inside you.

Heavy and hot, sitting just behind your ribs, begging to be let out even though you’re terrified of what asking them might do.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you shift.

Slowly. Awkwardly.

You turn over onto your other side, careful not to pull too far away from him. Now you’re facing him, your nose tucked just a little too close to his chest, the warmth of his body radiating to your face.

You don’t look up.

You can’t.

Instead, you stare at your own hand where it rests in the small space between your bodies—curled slightly, fingers twitching with nerves.

You swallow hard, gathering yourself.

“Can I… um… ask you somethin’?” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

Haymitch’s hand shifts instinctively to your back, rubbing slow and reassuring between your shoulder blades.

“Yeah, peach,” he says, voice low and easy. “You can ask me anything.”

You nod, but the words still stick, your throat thick with nerves.

You fidget, rubbing your thumb over the fabric of the couch like it might give you courage.

Finally, without lifting your eyes, you whisper, “Why do you… why do you wanna touch me?”

The question hangs there, trembling and raw.

You keep your eyes fixed on your hand, terrified of what you’ll see if you look at his face.

You hear his breath hitch—just the tiniest bit—before it evens out again.

You wait.

Heart hammering. Hands shaking.

Praying you didn’t just ruin everything.

You keep your eyes glued to your hand, fingers twitching restlessly where they rest on the couch between you, bracing yourself for—you don’t even know what.

A sigh. A shrug. A kindness dressed up like mercy.

But none of it comes.

Instead, you feel Haymitch shift—slow, careful.

His hand moves from your back to your waist again, fingers curling lightly into the soft fabric of your sweater, grounding you.

And when he speaks, his voice is low. Steady.

Like he’s not giving you an answer he thought up just to make you feel better—like he’s giving you the truth.

“First time I touched you,” he says, voice rumbling through the little space between you, “I damn near lost my mind.”

Your heart slams hard against your ribs.

“I’d never felt anything like it,” he goes on, slow and deliberate, like he wants you to hear every word. “The way you’re built, peach… you’re soft where a man’s hands want to stay. Warm in ways that don’t fade when the sun goes down. Every inch of you’s meant to be touched. Meant to be held.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing hard, your fingers curling tight into the cuff of your sleeve.

“And it ain’t just that,” he adds, voice dipping lower. “Ain’t just your body—though God knows that’s enough to ruin me.”

You let out a tiny, shaky breath, but you still can’t look at him.

“You got a way about you,” he says, quieter now. “You don’t even see it. The way you still wanna help people even though no one would blame you for not wanting to after all you’ve been through. The way you smile small, like you’re scared to take up too much room, when all I want is to see you take up more of it.”

His thumb strokes slow across your waist, steady and sure.

“I touch you ‘cause you’re worth touching,” he finishes, softer than before.

You press your lips together so hard they tremble.

You want to say something.

Anything.

But you can’t.

You can only nod, once, tiny and trembling, your fingers tightening into your sleeve like it’s the only thing holding you together.

You stay frozen for a long moment.

The weight of his words still wraps around you—thick, heavy, almost too much to hold.

But not too much to want.

You breathe in slow, your heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.

And then—finally—you shift back slightly and lift your head.

Slow. Careful. Like the world might crack open if you move too fast.

Your gaze drifts upward, inching over the line of his chest, his shoulder, the strong line of his throat, until finally—finally—you meet his eyes.

Full and steady.

And you look at him.

Really look.

Not the way you had before—glancing, darting away the second he got too close to seeing too much.

This time you let yourself see him.

The roughness around his mouth. The tired lines at the corners of his eyes. The steadiness in them too—deep and burning and so achingly sure it makes your chest tighten.

You meet that steady, burning look and you don’t look away.

Not this time.

And for a second, the whole world feels like it’s holding its breath right along with you.

Haymitch doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

He just looks back—letting you have him.

Letting you take whatever you need from this.

And somehow, somehow, you find that you can breathe easier like this.

The silence stretches, thick and electric, humming between you.

You don’t look away.

You can’t.

And he just holds your gaze like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Like he’s been waiting for you to look at him like this.

The corner of his mouth twitches—just a little. Not a smirk. Not teasing.

Something softer.

Something real.

In a voice rough and low enough to scrape along the raw edges of your heart, he says, “There she is.”

The words are so quiet you almost think you imagined them.

But you feel it—the way his hand tightens just slightly where it rests at your waist.

Hear the way his breath hitches before settling again.

He says it like you’re some long-lost thing that finally found its way back.

Like he’s proud.

Like he’s relieved.

Your throat tightens. Your chest aches.

But you still don’t look away.

Something in you shifts.

Maybe it’s the way he said There she is.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t moved from yours.

Or maybe it’s just the way his presence wraps around you—solid, unshakable, yours—and you don’t feel afraid of reaching anymore.

Your hand lifts slowly.

Tentatively.

Like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to touch him back, even after everything he’s given you.

But he doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t move.

Just watches—quiet, steady—while your fingers rise and come to rest over his chest.

Right over his heart.

His skin is warm beneath the fabric of his shirt.

His heartbeat strong and steady under your palm.

You can feel it.

And it makes your breath hitch.

Your thumb rubs the fabric once, slow and nervous.

Voice barely audible, you whisper, “I… I don’ really know how to say it right, but…”

You swallow hard, eyes dipping to your hand like it’s safer to look there than to keep holding his gaze.

“I jus’… I like how you make me feel.”

The words tumble out crooked and small, shaped by too many years of silence and too many bruises you never put into words.

“I don’ always get it. I don’ really know why you’re so nice to me. But when you hold me, or talk to me like I matter, it… it makes somethin’ in me stop hurtin’ for a lil while.”

You keep your hand there, pressed gently over his heart, even though your fingers are trembling.

You risk a glance up.

Just the briefest flick of your eyes.

And what you find in his face—the softness, the certainty, the way he melts under the weight of your touch—makes your chest tighten in a way that isn’t painful at all.

He’s looking at you like he sees it all.

The hurt you barely manage to put into words.

The fear wrapped up in your voice.

The fact that even reaching out like this took everything in you.

And when he speaks, his voice is softer than it’s been all morning—quiet and even, like the truth doesn’t need to be loud.

“You don’t gotta understand it yet.”

His thumb brushes once against the curve of your waist, still resting steady where he’s been holding you.

“You just let yourself feel it. That’s enough for now.”

Your throat tightens.

Before you can even think of how to respond, Haymitch shifts and gently, slowly, pulls you closer.

Not fast. Not greedy.

Just enough that your forehead rests lightly against the worn fabric of his shirt, your whole body tucked against his like you belong there.

Like he wants you there.

His hand settles firm at your lower back, holding you in that new closeness like it’s a promise.

“I’ll keep reminding you why,” he murmurs, voice rough against your hair.

“As many times as it takes.”

The quiet between you lingers, warm and steady, tucked around you both.

You’re not even sure what makes you say it—maybe it’s the way he’s holding you, or how soft his voice was when he said I’ll keep reminding you—but the question slips out before you can stop it.

“Can I—um.” You swallow hard. “Can I ask about… your family?”

The second it’s out, your heart lurches. You lift your head a little, eyes wide with panic.

“I mean—only if you wanna,” you blurt. “I didn’ mean to—I’m sorry, that was probably—if you don’ wanna talk about it, thas’ completely okay. I jus’—”

“Peach.”

His voice cuts through your rambling, low and even.

You stop.

He doesn’t sound upset. Just quiet.

“It’s alright,” he says after a moment.

You nod once, eyes dropping again. His hand rubs slow against your back.

“My little brother Sid was ten,” he says, voice steady but softer now. “Sweetest kid you’d ever meet. Always trying to carry more than he could. Thought being helpful meant being good.”

You press your lips together, listening.

“He had this laugh,” Haymitch says, a little breath catching in his throat. “Kinda high-pitched, real loud. Annoyed me half to death when I was trying to concentrate, but… when you’d hear that laugh, you felt better. Didn’t matter what kinda day you were having. It made things feel alright for a second.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“And Ma…” He exhales slowly, his hand tightening just a bit on your side. “She was tough. Had us doing chores like we were running a damn Peacekeeper base. But she never made us feel like we were burdens. Not once. Even when there wasn’t enough to go around and her hands were raw from washing clothes to feed us.”

His thumb strokes slow along your waist.

“She worked harder than anyone I ever met. Could fix damn near anything. Knew how to stretch food, mend clothes, make use of anything she could. All that while raising two boys and mourning my sisters and my dad.”

You smile, soft and aching.

He’s quiet for a second, like he’s sorting through the next memory.

“My dad… he was smart. Real smart. But not loud about it. Didn’t act like he was better than anyone. Said only stupid people brag about being intelligent.” A soft huff leaves him. “He wasn’t like a lotta the other dads back then. Didn’t shout. Didn’t hit. Just… listened. Taught me stuff without making me feel dumb for not knowing it yet.”

Your chest tightens.

You imagine little Haymitch. Sid’s laugh. Their mom fixing something with quick fingers. Their dad sitting across the table, explaining something slow and quiet.

You blink back the sting behind your eyes.

“I think…” you whisper, voice unsteady but sure, “I think I woulda liked ‘em.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything for a moment.

But he holds you tighter.

And that’s answer enough.

His thumb traces a slow arc along your waist, not asking anything from you, just being there, holding the silence like he’s not in any rush to leave it.

But after a moment, he shifts slightly—just enough that you can feel him looking down at you, even if you’re not looking back yet.

After a moment, his voice comes low and thoughtful.

“What kinda kid were you when you felt safe?”

He asks it so gently, so casually, that it takes you a second to realize what he said.

You blink, surprised by how much it rattles something soft inside you.

Nobody’s ever asked you that before.

What kinda kid were you when you felt safe?

You think real hard about the answer, sifting through memories of your mom and Mercher.

You shift a little, wrapping your arm around him like it helps to hold onto something.

“I—um.” You clear your throat, cheeks already warming. “I guess I’ve always been kinda… awkward?”

You feel him huff a quiet breath, but not like he’s laughing. Just listening.

“I never really knew how to do… people stuff,” you say softly, closing your eyes. “I’d watch other kids jus’ walk up an’ start talkin’ to each other an’ be all normal ‘bout it, but I—I’d jus’ freeze up. Like I was missin’ some step everyone else knew.”

You shift slightly, tucking your body closer against his.

“But… when I was home, with Mama an’ Mercher, I didn’ feel like that. I wasn’ scared I was too much, or sayin’ the wrong thing. I’d dance ‘round the house an’ make up songs an’ sing ‘em like I was puttin’ on a whole show.”

You smile, small and a little embarrassed. “They were awful. I mean—real bad. But when Mercher started walkin’ an’ talkin’, he’d sing with me. Dance too. He was always gigglin’ through it, tryna keep up.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything, but you can feel how still he is. How present.

“I use to sit by the window an’ make up these stories in my head. ‘Bout growin’ up, fallin’ in love, havin’ a family someday. I didn’ tell anyone ‘bout that stuff back then. Felt… silly. Like it was stupid to dream ‘bout stuff like that when life was already so hard.”

Your voice is quieter now. Like those memories still live close to your ribs.

“But I’d talk to Mama ‘bout everythin’ else. All the stuff I liked, whatever I was curious ‘bout. I’d ramble forever an’ she never got annoyed. Never told me I talked too much or asked too many questions. She jus’… listened. Like I mattered.”

You swallow, throat tight.

“I guess when it was jus’ us, my awkwardness didn’ make me feel weird. Or unlikable. They jus’… loved me. Every part of me.”

You fall quiet.

Haymitch’s thumb strokes soft across your back once, and then stills.

After a moment, his voice comes low, steady—like he waited until he knew you were ready to hear it.

“You ain’t silly for dreamin’ about those things.”

You press your lips together.

“You ain’t hard to like, either.”

Your breath catches, your fingers twitching in the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re just used to being around people who didn’t know what to do with all that softness. All that light.”

He pulls you in a little tighter—his hand splayed warm across your back, his chin resting against the top of your head.

“But I do.”

Your fingers fidget softly at the edge of his shirt, nerves starting to spark again, lighter this time. Not fear. Just that quiet flutter of uncertainty that comes when you want to ask something personal. Something that matters.

You hesitate.

“Can I… ask you somethin’ else?”

Haymitch hums low against your hair. “You’re real into questions today, huh?”

You bury your face against his chest for a second, flustered. “I—I can stop if it’s too much—”

“Nah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing slow over your side. “I like it. Go on.”

You press your lips together, heart thudding.

“You ever think about… havin’ kids?”

He goes quiet for a beat. Not cold. Not distant. Just… quiet.

“I always liked kids. They kinda just… flocked to me, I guess. Even when I didn’t have the patience for it or they woulda been better off picking someone else,” his voice has an almost sad kind of fondness to it, like he’s thinking about all the kids he’d known.

You smile a little at that. You can picture it—little kids trailing behind him like ducklings, him pretending to be annoyed and secretly loving it.

“But even before my Games…” he trails off for a moment, thoughtful. “I knew I’d never want to bring a kid into a world where the Games existed. Didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel fair.”

Your chest aches gently at the truth of that.

“And after my Games…” His voice lowers. “I didn’t know if I’d even be a good father. Didn’t trust myself. Didn’t want to pass down the mess in my head, y’know? So I figured it was better that way. Safer. For everyone.”

You nod slowly, still tucked against him.

A little quieter, a little clumsier, you ask, “Has that changed at all? Since the rebellion? With the Games gone?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just breathes.

You can feel the way he thinks about it.

“I’m old, peach.” His voice is rough but not unkind. “Hard telling if I’ll be around long enough to have kids. But… it’s a possibility.”

You blink, then let out a small breath of a laugh—soft, disbelieving.

“You’re only forty-two,” you murmur, glancing up at him with the tiniest smile. “You got at least another forty years left. You ain’t really that old.”

He snorts, but there’s something warm behind it. Something lighter.

“Tell that to my knees.”

You snort softly, still curled into him, your face pressed warm against his chest.

“If busted knees mean you’re old, then I’m… ancient,” you mumble. “Like… prehistoric. Mine gave up years ago. Honestly I think they filed for early retirement.”

You hear him laugh—actually laugh—low and genuine, feel the vibration of it in his chest.

“How’d you end up with hands that can stitch and treat wounds but eighty-year-old joints?”

You groan. “Genetic betrayal. Or wheat.”

Haymitch huffs. “Wheat?”

“Yeah, y’know. All that grain I hauled growin’ up. My body probably hit a quota and jus’… quit.”

He lets out a bark of laughter.

“Christ, peach.”

“I’m just sayin’,” you mutter, a little flustered now. “At this rate, I’ll need a cane by twenty-five.”

Haymitch laughs again, quieter this time.

And even though your banter’s a little clumsy, a little breathless, it lands.

He lets it all land.

And with every laugh, every teasing reply, it gets easier.

You stay like that for a while.

Tucked up together, warmth settled low between your ribs, your fingers lightly fidgeting against the edge of his shirt as your breathing syncs without trying.

The conversation drifts into something easy—half sentences about how quiet the house is, how you can tell it’s Saturday by the way the sun hits the window. He grumbles a little about needing to fix the way the back door sticks, and you suggest kicking it, which he says is already his go-to method.

And then, after a small stretch of quiet, Haymitch lets out a sigh.

“As much as I don’t wanna move,” he mutters, “I should probably make food before my stomach decides to eat itself.”

You huff a quiet laugh, and he shifts, his arm loosening around your back. You both move slow, like neither of you really wants to get up, but you’re doing it anyway.

You stand first, stretching a little, your sweater slipping lower on one side.

Haymitch rises behind you—and just as you’re adjusting your sleeve, his hand reaches out.

Without a word, he smooths your hair where it’s gotten tangled from all the shifting around on the couch, his fingers brushing over your head in a way so gentle it makes your breath catch.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just fixes your hair then turns like it’s nothing—like he didn’t just touch you like you’re precious—and walks off toward the kitchen.

You stand there, stunned.

Completely short-circuited.

Your hand lifts halfway to your hair, but you don’t move it. You just blink, heat blooming across your face, your whole body frozen for a second too long.

When you finally get your feet to work again, you pad quietly into the kitchen and drop into one of the chairs at the table, hands folded awkwardly in your lap.

Haymitch doesn’t say anything at first. Just moves around the kitchen with sure, measured ease.

You’re beginning to realize that the sureness he carries himself with is one of your favorite things about him.

And after a minute, without even looking at you, he says, “You couldn’t be in a room with me for more than a few minutes when you first got here. Now you follow me around.”

You make a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan. “I—I’m sorry—I’m not tryin’ to be annoyin’, I jus’—”

“You’re not,” he cuts in, glancing over his shoulder with that small, amused look you’re still not used to being for you. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You duck your head, flustered. “I jus’… I like bein’ around you.”

He doesn’t look back this time, but his voice is softer when he adds, “I like bein’ around you too, peach.”

The kitchen fills with soft sounds—the low sizzle of the pan, the dull clink of a fork against ceramic, the slow, steady rhythm of Haymitch moving around the kitchen.

You watch him cook in quiet stretches, but the silence doesn’t stay empty for long.

Conversation flows between you in quiet, uneven starts—soft, simple things. He asks what your favorite flower is. You tell him about a weird dream you had once.

It’s nothing heavy. Nothing hard.

Just easy.

And it feels strange—good—to talk like this. To not be waiting for the moment it turns. To just exist in a kitchen with someone who wants to know you.

When the eggs are done, Haymitch plates them without flourish. Toast and eggs, nothing fancy. He sets a plate in front of you—still warm, edges a little messy—and doesn’t say anything as he turns to leave the room like he always does, giving you space without making it a thing.

But before he can take a full step away, your hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist—awkward and fast.

“You—um. You can stay.”

He pauses.

You look up at him, face already hot.

“Jus’… if you wanna. I mean.”

His expression doesn’t change much, but something about the way he holds still tells you he’s listening.

“But—um—could you… not sit across from me?”

You clear your throat, looking anywhere but at him.

“Like. Just next to me? An’ don’ look at me while I eat… please.”

You wince immediately. “Sorry, thas’—thas’ weird, I know it’s weird, I don’ even know why I said it like that, it’s stupid, you can totally ignore me, I jus’—”

He moves before you can finish.

Wordless.

Simple.

He pulls out the chair next to you and sits, setting his plate down, his shoulders relaxed like this is just what you do. No questions. No commentary.

You go quiet instantly.

He doesn’t look at you.

Doesn’t try to make it a thing.

He just sits there and eats—slow, unhurried.

And about halfway through your breakfast, his hand settles warm and steady on your thigh.

Not squeezing. Not shifting.

Just there.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

You eat your food in silence, his hand still resting on you like a weight you didn’t know you needed.

When your plate’s empty and you set your fork down, Haymitch gives your thigh the gentlest squeeze.

His thumb brushes once along your leg.

“You let me stay, even though you’re still scared.”

Your throat tightens instantly.

You stare down at your lap, eyes burning, and your hand drifts to his—resting where he’s touching you.

You start tracing your fingers lightly over his, quiet and clumsy, but intentional.

Voice small and shaky, you mumble, “I’m tryin’ not to be so scared.”

You swallow hard, still fiddling with his fingers, still not looking at him.

“‘Cause I wanna let you see the things I’ve always been ashamed of.”

You can’t look at him.

But you feel him exhale—slow and steady.

“Then I’ll be right here when you’re ready to show me.”

No rush. No pressure. Just truth.

And just like that—like always—he makes it feel possible.

You nod, barely, your hand still tangled with his.

He gives your leg one more squeeze, then rises from his chair, gathering both your plates in one hand, silverware clinking gently together.

You don’t move.

You just sit there in the warm quiet of the kitchen while he rinses the dishes at the sink, sleeves pushed to his elbows, water running steady as steam curls upward from the basin.

And you watch him.

Watch the slow ease of his movements. The way he doesn’t say anything else. The way he just lets you sit there, no questions, no demands.

You stare at the back of him, and your chest starts to ache in that strange, weightless way you haven’t let yourself feel in years.

Because how the hell did you end up here?

Sitting in the kitchen of the man you used to blush and giggle about whenever he came on your grainy old TV screen.

Back when you were just a kid in District 9 with tired knees and soft dreams and no clue how to talk to anyone.

And now here he is.

Washing dishes with his sleeves rolled up like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Letting you cry on him.

Letting you stay.

Treating you like you aren’t some hideous, enormous monster the world spat out.

The faucet shuts off with a soft clunk of the handle.

You watch as Haymitch dries his hands on a dishtowel, slow and casual, like you didn’t just sit at the table and fall a little harder because of the sound of his quiet.

Then he turns, already walking toward the living room.

“Come on, peach.”

It’s said without weight, without fanfare—just a gentle drawl thrown over his shoulder, like there was never any question of whether you’d follow.

And you do.

You trail behind him, socked feet whispering against the floor, and when he drops back onto the couch, you hover for a second like maybe you shouldn’t sit too close.

Like maybe he needs space, or maybe you do, or maybe if you press up against him again he’ll finally see what everyone else always has.

But before you can even lower yourself onto the far end of the cushion, Haymitch reaches for you.

Fingers at your elbow, firm but easy, tugging you in like it’s second nature.

You go without a word.

He settles you into his side, arm around your waist, his hand finding your hip—fingertips slipping just under the hem of your sweater.

And then higher.

Callused skin grazing the soft give of your belly, right where the waistband of your shorts rests.

You freeze.

Not visibly, not enough to draw attention—just inside. Everything goes still.

Because you know what’s there.

You know what his fingers are brushing over—what they’re going to find.

The raised lines. The stretched softness. The marks you’ve spent years hiding, ignoring, hating.

You wait for it. The shift. The recoil. The silent judgment.

But it doesn’t come.

His fingers move slow.

Exploratory.

And then they trace one of the lines—deliberate. Gentle.

Like it’s something sacred.

Your breath stutters in your chest.

But he just keeps holding you.

Thumb stroking over the curve of your belly, not like he’s tolerating it—like he’s learning it.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

His hand stays warm on your stomach, thumb brushing absent circles just above the waistband of your shorts, like he’s not in any hurry to stop. Like he wants to memorize every line of you.

And you melt further into him without meaning to—without thinking.

Your body relaxes, breath soft and even, your head finding that perfect place beneath his chin.

You bask in it—the warmth, the quiet, the miracle of being touched like you aren’t disgusting.

Until there’s a knock on the door.

Haymitch groans like he’s been mortally wounded, throwing his head back against the couch with a dull thud.

“Shit,” he mutters.

You blink up at him, startled.

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Forgot I told the brats they could come over today.”

Your stomach drops.

You already know who the brats he’s referring to are, you don’t even need to ask.

“Oh my God.”

You sit up straight like someone just lit a fire under you.

“I—I need to change—I look like an absolute mess, I can’ meet them like this—”

“Peach—”

But you’re already scrambling off the couch, tripping over your own fuzzy socks as you bolt toward the hallway.

“I’ll be back in like three minutes!”

You don’t even wait for a reply before disappearing down the hall in a flurry of panic.

Haymitch just sighs deeply and slouches further into the couch.

“They’re gonna love you, you lunatic,” he mutters to no one in particular, as another knock hits the door.

You make it to your room and immediately shut the door behind you like you’re sealing off an incoming flood.

“Okay,” you whisper, already pacing in a circle. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re just meetin’ the Girl on Fire and her sunshine boyfriend and probably makin’ a fool of yourself in the process—no big deal.”

You stop in front of your dresser, flinging it open with too much force and staring down at your options like one of them might magically make you not so mortifyingly awkward.

“You jus’ need to look normal,” you mutter. “Not like you’ve been meltin’ into Haymitch Abernathy’s side all mornin’ like a clingy lil furnace.”

You finally spot your light blue mom jeans—the loose pair with soft fabric and miraculous forgiveness—and snatch them from the drawer. Down each leg are tiger striped purple orchids, flowers you’ve loved since childhood, that your mom carefully embroidered.

You tug them on quick, hopping a little to get your foot through the second leg just as you hear the front door open.

Haymitch’s voice drifts faintly down the hall.

And then—two more voices. A low one. A lighter one.

You freeze.

“Oh God.”

You yank a soft white shirt from your dresser, one of your favorites—plain, not oversized, not tight, just… safe. Familiar. You tug it over your head and do a frantic once-over in the mirror.

You smooth your hair. Twice.

You lean in. Pull back. Try to smile and see how bad it looks. Frown. Smile again. Give up.

Your heart’s pounding so loud it feels like your ears are vibrating.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then another.

“They’re jus’ people,” you whisper.

Your hand lingers on the doorknob.

And before you can chicken out completely, you step into the hall.

The moment you step into the living room, you instantly regret not chickening out.

They’re all already sitting—talking, mid-conversation—and the moment your feet leave the hallway, you freeze.

Katniss and Peeta are tucked together on the loveseat, angled toward Haymitch, who’s sprawled on the couch. None of them are looking your way yet, which somehow makes it worse. Like you’re intruding. Like you don’t know how to exist in a moment you weren’t there for from the start.

You hover awkwardly at the edge of the hallway, fingers twitching at your sides.

Then Haymitch turns.

Like he felt you.

He glances over his shoulder and lifts a hand—just a small motion, a quiet come here—without saying a word.

But Peeta and Katniss are already following his gaze.

You force a small, clumsy smile and start toward the couch, stomach turning as both of them look at you. Peeta gives a warm, open little grin. Katniss… doesn’t smile, but she nods slightly. Neutral. Watchful.

You move to sit down, trying not to get too close to Haymitch, nerves tangling up in your chest. Some deep, useless part of you whispers that maybe he’s the kind of man who only likes someone like you when no one’s looking.

You know better. But that fear doesn’t listen.

Before you can even finish lowering yourself onto the cushion, Haymitch wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in—firm, casual, easy. You end up flush against his side, his hand warm along your arm.

Your heart does a full somersault.

You catch Katniss raising an eyebrow.

Your whole body burns.

“This is Y/N,” Haymitch says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Peeta’s face lights up. “I figured, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name! I like your jeans, by the way.”

His voice is so genuine it makes you flinch a little.

You manage a quiet, “Hi,” and give him a shy smile.

Katniss gives a small nod. “Hey.”

From what Haymitch has told you, that’s just how she is.

They fall back into conversation like you aren’t even a new variable.

Not in a rude way—just familiar. Easy. Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch. The kind of dynamic you know was built across years and scars and silent understandings.

You sit still beside Haymitch, tucked into his side with his arm still draped over your shoulders. His thumb moves slowly over your upper arm—lazy, absent, grounding.

It helps.

But you still feel like you’re on the outside of something.

You listen quietly while they talk, nodding slightly every so often. Laughing under your breath at a few dry jokes from Katniss, though you’re not sure if you’re supposed to laugh. You want to add something more than a smile at the right parts—but the words keep catching before they make it past your throat.

Because you know how they’ll come out.

Awkward. Hesitant. Weird.

So you just stay quiet. Try to look engaged. Hope that’s enough.

They’re talking about Peeta’s bakery now—Haymitch teasing him about adding too many options, Katniss asking if he’s going to finally hire more help.

Peeta rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not adding too many options. I’m just trying new things, seeing what people like most. You have to test product lines before you commit.”

“What the hell’s a product line?” Haymitch mutters.

Peeta ignores him and turns to you instead, a bright smile on his face. “Y/N—what do you think? What kind of cake should I be selling?”

You blink. Your brain stalls for a second, surprised to be pulled in so suddenly.

But then warmth bubbles up in your chest—grateful and startled all at once to be so casually included.

You blink again. “Oh. Um. I mean… I think angel food cake’s the best.”

Peeta perks up immediately. “Yeah?”

You nod, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your sleeve. “Memaw use to make it for my birthday every few years. She didn’ always have the ingredients or the time, but when she did… it was like, the cake, y’know?”

You smile a little at the memory, gaze softening.

“But, um, me an’ Mercher—he’s my lil brother—we use to get screamed at constantly ‘cause the floors in our house were all uneven, an’ the oven’d shake if we ran too much while it was baking. An’ if it shook, the cake’d fall.”

You glance up shyly. “She’d chase us out the house with her wooden spoon if we didn’ calm down.”

Peeta laughs, eyes sparkling. “That’s amazing.”

Even Katniss cracks a tiny, amused smirk.

You duck your head, a little red in the cheeks but smiling now, too.

The conversation drifts again, light and easy—Peeta asking more questions about cakes, Katniss occasionally chiming in with suggestions that sound more like dares than recipes.

You’re just starting to feel like maybe—maybe—you belong in the room when Katniss glances over and tilts her head slightly.

“Do all the people in Nine talk like you?”

Your heart stutters.

It’s not said mean, or even blunt. Just a curious observation.

But your stomach still flips.

You shift slightly where you sit, beginning to rub your thumb over the side of your index finger.

“Um,” you mumble, trying not to sound weird about it. “Kinda? Depends where we grew up. Lotta different areas and some folks don’ have much of an accent. But where I grew up… yeah. Most people sound like me.”

You bite your lip, your face going warm. You know your voice is soft and twangy and strange to some people from other districts, even if they have accents of their own. You’ve had people mock it before. Mimic it. Laugh.

You keep your eyes down, heart thudding.

Haymitch’s thumb brushes slow along your arm again and he says it like it’s the easiest truth in the world, “I like the way you talk, peach.”

You blink up at him, surprised.

Katniss nods a little.

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” she says, straightforward but not harsh. “I was just curious. It sounds nice.”

Your shoulders ease a little.

“Oh. Um… thank you.”

You look down again, still flustered—but now it’s a different kind of warmth blooming in your chest.

Peeta turns to you, kind as ever, a little smile on his face.

“What made you want to go into pediatrics?”

You blink.

For a second, the question doesn’t even register as yours to answer—like it must’ve been meant for someone else. But when you realize he’s looking right at you, waiting, something shifts in your chest.

And despite the nerves that still flicker under your skin, your face brightens.

“I—um—” You huff a quiet laugh, looking down, but you can’t stop smiling. “I… kinda always knew, I guess.”

You glance up again, eyes still shy but sparkling now.

“I grew up helpin’ Mama treat injuries from the fields. Folks’d come back all cut up or bruised or with hands blistered to hell, an’ she’d patch ‘em up right there on the porch.”

You fidget with the hem of your shirt as you speak, your voice still awkward and uneven, but warm.

“An’ once other people started helpin’ her more, I ended up spendin’ more time with the kids. Y’know—tryin’ to keep ‘em from climbin’ things they weren’ ‘sposed to or tryin’ to feed frogs to each other…” You trail off, grinning.

Peeta laughs softly, and even Katniss’s mouth twitches at the corner.

“I dunno,” you say. “I’ve jus’ always loved lil kids. They’re honest. An’ funny. They don’… they don’ look at me like people my age or older do.”

You shrug, voice softer now.

“I treat every kid around me like they’re mine. Can’ help it. An’ for some reason, they always seem to like me more than most people.”

You glance at Peeta again, a little breathless, a little embarrassed. “So… it’s jus’ easier to work with ‘em. Feels right.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough to feel like something has settled in the room.

Peeta’s smile is soft and real. “That makes perfect sense.”

The conversation dips into a lull, that comfortable kind where no one feels the need to fill the space too quickly.

And then Katniss tilts her head slightly and looks straight at you.

“How’d you get him to be such a softy?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Haymitch lets out a quiet snort beside you, but you’re too stunned to respond. You blink. Then blink again. Your mouth opens slightly like you might say something—but nothing comes out.

You glance helplessly between the three of them and slowly raise both hands in a small, awkward shrug.

“I—um. I don’… I don’ know?”

Your voice comes out so confused and soft it only makes Peeta grin wider.

Katniss raises an eyebrow like she expected that answer. 

Haymitch huffs and shifts beside you. “You act like I’m not soft with you two.”

“You are,” Katniss says, matter-of-fact. “But this is different.”

He doesn’t argue.

Doesn’t smirk.

Just lifts his hand from your arm for a second to brush his knuckles along your shoulder, casual as anything.

“People like her just make a man wanna be soft,” he says dryly.

Your face ignites.

You duck your head immediately, biting back a smile so hard your lips twitch at the corners. It feels like you’ve pressed your whole face into the sun and now you’re just sitting there, glowing and horrified and giddy all at once.

Peeta chuckles.

Katniss just shakes her head with a quiet little smirk, like she’s watching something ridiculous and sweet unfold in real time.

The rest of the morning flows by in a kind of rhythm you never expected to be part of.

They keep talking—Peeta telling stories with his hands, Katniss chiming in now and then with dry, sharp commentary, Haymitch throwing in the occasional sarcastic remark. You speak, too—still awkward, still stumbling over your words sometimes—but no one flinches. No one makes you feel like you need to be anything but exactly who you are.

And slowly, you stop feeling like an outsider.

It’s midday by the time Katniss and Peeta start to gather themselves, brushing nonexistent crumbs from their clothes and stretching like they’ve settled in for longer than planned.

At the door, Peeta smiles at you warmly, one hand already on the handle.

“You’re always welcome at our place,” he says, like it’s a given. “And if you ever want to help out at the bakery—or just hang out while I’m baking—I’d love the company.”

Your heart warms.

You manage a shy smile and nod, too overwhelmed to say anything meaningful, but you hope it’s clear how much it means.

Katniss turns towards you, more reserved but just as steady.

“I see why you’re a good nurse,” she says. She doesn’t explain. Just nods once.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, “If the hospital ever needs natural medicine—plants or salves or whatever—come to me. I’ve got enough dried herbs to patch up half the district.”

You blink, surprised, but nod quickly. “Okay. Thank you.”

They both offer short goodbyes, and the front door clicks softly behind them.

You stay where you are on the couch, processing.

And then—dramatically, with a groan that’s way too theatrical for the quiet house—you flop onto your side, closing your eyes like it’ll help recharge your brain.

Haymitch barks out a laugh.

It rumbles through the living room like something easy. Familiar.

He heads to the kitchen, grumbling something under his breath as he pours himself a glass of whiskey—his first of the day, you’re pretty sure, which is saying something.

You stay where you flopped, hair covering your face and eyes squeezed shut.

When he comes back, he doesn’t say anything. Just lowers himself onto the cushions beside you with a quiet grunt, glass in one hand.

Then, casually—like it’s just how things are now—he pulls your legs into his lap.

You let him.

You always let him.

His hand settles on your thigh for a second, then begins rubbing slow and easy over your jeans. Even through the denim, the motion is warm—reassuring in that way only he knows how to give you.

And your cheeks heat like they always do.

“You weren’t too awkward or weird,” he says after a moment, voice low and certain. “I know you’re worried about that. But you did good.”

His thumb sweeps gently over your knee.

“You got nothing to worry about, peach. They like you.”

You shift slowly, rolling onto your back, your legs still draped over his lap. Once you’re settled, his hand finds its way right back to your leg like it never left.

You look up at him from the other end of the couch, trying so hard not to look pouty.

But judging by the way his mouth twitches, you know you’re failing.

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “They’re basically your family. I jus’ really want ‘em to like me.”

Your voice is soft. Shy. Embarrassed.

Haymitch looks down at you, his fingers pausing only briefly on your thigh.

“You’d know if Katniss didn’t like you,” he says, blunt but not unkind.

“And Peeta…” he huffs a little. “That boy doesn’t know how to dislike anyone unless they’re downright evil.”

You let out the smallest laugh, lips twitching despite yourself.

You stay quiet for a while, letting his hand on your leg soothe the tension in your body.

But a thought’s been rattling in your head since they left, and you finally work up the nerve to say it.

“It’s kinda funny,” you mumble, staring up at the ceiling.

Haymitch hums low. “What is?”

“Katniss and Peeta,” you say. “They… I dunno. They remind me of you.”

That gets his attention. You feel him pause for a second, his thumb stilling briefly on your thigh.

You blink at the ceiling. “I mean—not exactly. But… Peeta’s like you, if you were more… loud about bein’ kind.”

That makes Haymitch snort.

“An’ Katniss is like you if… if you’d never had the chance to learn how to talk to people.”

You wince. “That sounded bad. I didn’ mean it bad. Jus’—she’s sweet, but you gotta really look for it. You’re like that too, sometimes. Or you use to be, when I first got here.”

Haymitch chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “You really got a way with words, peach.”

You groan softly and cover your face with one hand. “I said I didn’ mean it bad.”

“I know,” he says, still laughing under his breath.

You peek at him between your fingers and catch that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

After a second he speaks, his voice low and soft, “You like ‘em?”

“’Course I do,” you say, lowering your hand. “They’re… kind. In different ways, but still. I dunno. They made me feel like I wasn’ intrudin’.”

Haymitch hums again. His hand never stops moving.

And you let your eyes drift shut—warm, safe, and full of something that feels suspiciously like being wanted.

[stairset]

Microdosing on having money by looking at virtual tours of apartments I can’t afford

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PRANKING ROOMMATE TOJI THAT YOU’RE MOVING OUT FOR APRIL FOOLS

Toji stepped through the front door, the familiar heavy thud of his leather boots clomping and echoing on the tiled floor. He dropped his keys with a clang and sighed as he leaned against the doorframe, clearly worn out from the day.

“Hey Toji,” you said as you stood by the doorway, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible, “Can we talk for a second?”.

His eyes narrowed slightly and you could tell he was already on alert because of the serious detection in your tone. “Yeah, what is it? You sound a bit too serious”.

You took a deep breath, practically forcing yourself to stay composed. “I’ve been thinking…” You hesitated for a moment, searching his face before finally saying it. “I think it’s time for me to move out”.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. Ever since you’ve moved in together, things had been easy and comfortable. You two got along well, no drama, no issues, so this came out of nowhere.

His brow furrowed as he set his work bag down. “Wait, what? Why? You serious?”

You nodded slowly, watching his expression shift to disarray and confusion, maybe even a flicker of something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” you said, keeping your tone steady. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I’ve already started looking at places… I just think it’s time for a change”.

For a second, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, his tired and weary eyes scanning your face. You could see him trying to figure out if you were joking or not. After a beat, he stepped closer, his voice dropping a little. “Hold on. You’re really gonna just leave? Just like that?”

You nodded again, trying to keep up the act. “Yeah. I don’t want to be a burden, you know? With your job and everything… it’s just better if I go”.

He didn’t move at first, his arms crossed tightly, like he was trying to process what you said. You could see the gears turning in his head, his usual confident demeanor slipping just a little.

His jaw tightened, his broad shoulders looking even more imposing as he walked over to you. You could feel the tension building, and you had to hold back a grin. Toji was a tough guy— tougher than most people but right now, you could see the concern flickering in his eyes. It was working and he looked so so defeated but also trying his best to keep himself up.

“Look,” he finally said, his voice low and gentle. “I don’t know what’s going on but you don’t need to leave. I— shit if it’s rent, I can help you out more. You don’t gotta go. We can work something out y/n”.

For a moment, you almost felt bad— he sounded so sincere like he was genuinely trying to figure out how to fix things. You wanted to laugh at how serious he was because you had never really seen this side of him before but you held back. It was almost too easy.

You let the silence hang in the air before you dropped the bomb. With a smirk, you leaned back and said, “April Fools”.

Toji froze, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to process what you just said. Then slowly, his expression shifted. He let out a sharp sigh, clearly annoyed as fuck but mostly relieved. “You’re a pain in the fucking ass, you know that?”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach because of how funny it was. “You should’ve seen your face. You totally fell for it!”

“You little brat,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a light chuckle. He took a step closer and before you knew what was happening, he reached down and squeezed your cheek— hard enough to make your face squish between his fingers.

“Next time you pull something like that, I’ll get you back,” he warned, his voice playful but more relaxed. You gasped, flailing a little as you tried to push his bigger hand away. “Oww! Hey! You can’t just—”

Toji laughed, obviously pleased with the reaction. “Don’t fuck with me, kid. You’re lucky I even like you”.

You rubbed your cheek, half amused and half annoyed. “That was mean!” you whined, still trying to fight the grin that was spreading across your face. He gave you a knowing look. “You deserve it, I thought I was losing my mind for a second there”.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t keep the smile from creeping up on your face. “Just wait until next time. I’ll get you back even more”.

Toji gave you a pointed look, just relieved that you’re even implying there’s gonna be a next time. He walked over to the fridge to grab a beer to calm his nerves. “You’ve got some nerve pulling that on me in the first place, I’ve had a long day, kid”

You grinned, but your heart skipped a little. It was moments like these— his teasing, the soft side of him that made living with Toji so entertaining and easy.

You knew he wasn’t actually mad. In fact, you could tell he was secretly impressed that you even pulled it off.

“Next time I pull a prank, it’s gonna be worse so watch out, old man,” you teased. “Yeah yeah, sure,” he muttered, cracking open the beer. “We’ll see about that”.

[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."

[bunni-v1]

May we get some crk thoughts, my liege? I too have a hyperfixation—

Shadow Milk Cookie Headcannons (SFW & NSFW)

🍓Thank you for the excuse to write this shit, I feel less insane being asked to do it lol. I still think this might taint my public image, so lets hope none of my future employers fuck with tumblr. Anyway only smc since he's who I'm obsessing over. I was gonna add pv, but I write wayyyy too much to include both of them on one post. Maybe I'll do him if someone asks nicely. I'll have a mix of both sfw and nsfw so beware lol.

MDNI (I'll find u)

TW: Shadow Milk Cookie; Obsessive behaviors; Stalking mentioned; Nsfw under the cut; unedited

Info: Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader; Sfw & Nsfw headcannons

Credit for Beast Bite Idea: @rollingeevee (go give them love I adore this AU)

-To start I'm gonna say, he's insane, like genuinely. He leans into a lot of yandere-esque behaviors, but I firmly believe he's not a full-on yandere, just really fucked up in the head (trauma and such, poor thing, wah wah wah.)

-Pre-Corruption Shadow Milk surely had a lot of admirers, but admiration is very different from genuine love and connection. He was, in a very literal sense, on a different level than all the cookies on earthbread. He's immortal, a god meant to care for all cookies, romantic relationships with cookies (other than the other heroes) just aren't an option in his mind. (For the sake of these, none of the beasts have had any romantic interaction with him, because I don't wanna deal with that can of worms rn.)

-All that to say, it's highly unlikely he has much experience in relationships. Maybe he's had flings, and some sexual encounters, but I doubt he would commit to someone he would inevitably lose to time. And, sure, he certainly could artificially extend their lifetime... but that's unethical and unfair to his partner. The burden of immortality is not one a regular cookie is baked to bear.

-So when he is inevitably corrupted and sealed away, romance isn't really a thought on his mind. He's very fixated on escaping that stupid tree and enacting his revenge. Which he does, at least in part, and with his freedom comes half of his powers and ensuing chaos.

-There are not many ways he could meet you if I'm quite honest, so I'll leave that up to personal interpretation. However you do meet him, though, you have to be intriguing. He gets bored of people easily, so you have to stand out -- be that in your demeanor or the way you speak or how you challenge him, it just has to be interesting. Once he's interested he's hooked.

-He's rather... mmm... obsessive? He likely stalks you for a while before he makes any moves. He wants to learn your patterns, the cookies you surround yourself with, the things you like, your job, your favorite foods, what flowers you like, and how do you feel about his chaos? He'll even manipulate things around you, just to see how you might react. (Is it fucked up? Yeah, lol! But isn't it equally endearing? He seems to think so.)

-You have frequent reoccurring dreams about him in this period of time. You've only seen him from a distance at this point, but you can't quite shake him from your thoughts. What's very important here is that you realize that your thoughts are not your own. Acknowledge that he's watching, and make sure that he's aware you're aware. Be that by purposefully doing something he could recognize as acknowledgment, or outright saying that you're aware he's messing with you. He values curiosity and intelligence in a person, if you can break yourself out of his cycle he's 100% sold on you.

-It doesn't take much longer after that for him to make his first official appearance. Bowing gracefully in front of you as he materializes from thin air, smiling like a man driven mad by infatuation.

-Believe it or not, he's really not all that creepy or pushy. He's very playful and charming, and while you have the knowledge he'd been watching you for a long time at this point, it's hard not to fall for him. He flirts with an ease that no other cookie really has, and he's so very funny never failing to get a smile out of you at his jokes.

-Now, this may go against what others characterize him as a lot, but I don't believe he's the type to steal you away and lock you up. Shadow Milk is a cookie who wants to be wanted, he doesn't want his feelings to be entirely one-sided, it would really hurt him to pour himself into someone who does not want to reciprocate his passions.

-He's unbelievably patient with you. Despite what the mental manipulation from earlier implies, he allows you to set the pace and make the moves, mostly nudging you gently in the direction he wants you to go now that he has your attention. Again, he wants you to choose him. He wants you to love him, so he will happily wait as long as it takes for you to realize and accept your longing for him.

-He gives you the flowers you like, and listens to you talk about your exceedingly boring days (with rapt attention, of course, he loves listening to you talk as much as he loves talking). If you ask, he'll take you anywhere you'd like to go on earthbread with a snap of his fingers, showing you sights you'd only dreamed of seeing. (Whether or not these are illusions are still up for debate).

-It's very hard not to fall for him with all this considered, and he knows that of course. He was just waiting for you to confess, and you have to confess. He won't do it even if you make it clear you want him to. It's not something he'd ever admit to you -- or himself -- but he doesn't want to risk even the slightest bit of rejection. It would break him more than he's already been broken, so you'll have to do it for our poor little jester.

-When you do though? Oh, he's over the moon! Practically swooning as he scoops you up and spins you around in celebration. He's so overjoyed. He is wanted, there is someone in this world who loves him genuinely. There's no false platitudes or any worshipping done, just raw affection between the two of you. (Just the tiniest bit of manipulation at the start, but obviously you've dismissed and forgiven that at this point).

-Again, he doesn't immediately take you away from your life if you don't wish to be. He does heavily encourage you to come spend your days with him, though. He can take care of you, he's literally a god, you'll never ever want for anything so long as he can control it (which he can, duh).

-I feel it very important to emphasize that in a relationship with him, you are equal. Even if you literally cannot be equal in stature and power, you are equal in the relationship -- if anything you have more sway over him than he does over you. He's very, very in love with you, and he will do just about anything you ask of him so long as it doesn't interfere with obtaining his souljam.

-Having established that, let's get to the fun stuff.

-Shadow Milk Cookie is very physically and verbally affectionate. If you are around him it's likely he's touching you in some way. Whether that's him literally hanging off you like a baby monkey or just a hand on your arm, he likes to have a physical tether to you.

-Plenty of messy wet kisses all over your cute little face, he loves seeing you get all flustered and feeling your dough burn up from his barrage of affections.

-It's also very common for him to carry you around in various different styles. Over the shoulder, piggback, princess style, like a sack of potatoes... doesn't really matter. It's also a regular occurrence that you fall asleep as he floats around the spire of all knowledge. He doesn't need sleep, and he does not sleep often, but he likes holding you while you do so. It's proof of your trust in him, and he usually uses the time you are sleeping to be more genuinely affectionate. Soft words whispered in your ears bringing you sweet dreams as he runs his hands up and down your back, kissing the crown of your head with such love it would make a grown man blush.

-He calls you cute little nicknames, like shortcake or sweet thing. The most common, and his favorites, are doll/dolly and little star. (Little star is something he hums with such affection it makes you weak in the knees. You know he's feeling more adoring when he uses it.) Talks about how cute you are, how pretty you are, how desirable you are. How any cookie would be so lucky to have you -- too bad they could never compete with him!

-That being said, most of his affections are pretty surface-level stuff at the start of the relationship. At least, what you get to see. He has a hard time opening up to others, he's a very sensitive cookie deep down in his dough. It takes quite a while to get him out of his shell and start showing you who he is as himself.

-Who he is, is a very aching cookie. He lost so much, struggled with his own corruption, and still hasn't fully accepted it himself. He feels as though he has been betrayed and discarded by everything he once loved, it's no wonder he has a hard time showing you such ugly sides of himself.

-You warm him up, melt him slowly, and you get to see peaks of genuine love and adoration behind those heterochromatic eyes. He may never allow you to see all of him at once, but you do get to know him. If you continue to love him despite seeing the uglier side of things, there is a distinct shift in the way he showers you in affection.

-Initially, he's very showy with everything, his love is a spectacle for the two of you to watch. It's almost like he's put himself outside of the relationship rather than in it. After he opens up, it's quieter, more intimate. He's more involved in it, like it's less about showing you how much he loves you, and more about sharing that mutual feeling between the two of you.

-You didn't have much room to show him how much you cared for him, but now you do. He allows you to initiate physical affection and doesn't flinch away at the touch. He accepts your words of admiration for what they are, not questioning your intentions for any reason.

-Kisses are softer, more full of emotion. Less like he's drowning you and more like he's trying to swallow you up. Desperation to have you as close to him as possible can take him over quite frequently during make-out sessions, and they leave you breathless and fuzzy rather than burning and flustered.

-Now, you can't write Shadow Milk without acknowledging how fucking jealous he is all the time. Now, I believe it's less of a jealousy thing (though, that really is something that is frequent), and more of a possessive/protective thing.

-He doesn't get jealous of the average cookie, alright, not unless you show interest for whatever reason. They're not really a threat to him, and why would they be? He's secure enough to know that you wouldn't leave him for some random half-baked simpleton. HOWEVER, he DOES get jealous of the other beasts and especially Pure Vanilla Cookie.

-The other beasts aren't as powerful as him, but they're still powerful and cunning (some of them at least). Truly, on a level of divinity and ability to care for you, they are his closest competition. Even still, he only gets jealous if one of them seems to want to stake a claim on you, or you become too fascinated with one of them.

-If neither is the case, he highly encourages you to form relationships with them. They are cookies that, seemingly, he cares for. While they can be difficult to get along with, if you are someone Shadow Milk deems worth his time, you are someone they will also deem worth their time.

-Ah, I should also mention he gets... pouty about Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. He doesn't see either of them as a threat, so I couldn't say he's jealous... he just gets annoyed when you're being attentive to them when he's around. Black Sapphire is smart enough to set hard boundaries with you to start, for both of your sakes, but your relationship with him is very positive. You are Shadow Milk Cookies partner, after all, you're a very important Cookie and Black Sapphire has no reason to be unkind to you.

-Candy Apple Cookie on the other hand is the one who's jealous here. You find her positively adorable and her little crush on Shadow Milk is nothing but endearing in your eyes, but she very much is huffy about your relationship with him. Of course, she can't do anything to you, that would only turn against her in the end so she just pouts. You can win her over slowly, though, just by being sweet to her and comforting her when Shadow Milk rejects her once again.

-Your relationship with them seemingly pleases Shadow Milk, though you can't really tell if he's happy or not. Sometimes he seems pleased, other times he's pouty, so who really knows other than him.

-However, the cookie that really seriously gets under his skin the most is Pure Vanilla. He does everything in his power to keep the two of you as far away from one another as possible, but it's almost inevitable that you meet PV, especially when he becomes Truthless Recluse.

-Pure Vanilla is everything Shadow Milk is not. Kind, gentle, patient, soft-spoken, and of course truthful. He's very afraid you may meet PV and realize that you do not want to be with him anymore. You would rather have someone like Pure Vanilla Cookie to dote on you in a fashion that he cannot bring himself to do openly yet.

-Of course, you don't, but that doesn't stop the fear from seeping into his dough. The only way to ease him is by being patient and displaying your loyalty through and through. He won't really be calm until Pure Vanilla is take care of, but you can assure him that you won't be leaving him for his other half anytime soon.

-Circling back to his possessive and protective tendencies, Shadow Milk does see you as an object of his affection. He is fully aware you are your own cookie, you are not something he ever wishes to control entirely and remove autonomy from, but you are his. His to keep and love and protect.

-He's very obsessive about your well-being and happiness. If something hurts you (alive or not), it's gone, destroyed. He won't even make a show of it, it just disappears. If you are upset, he is there doing everything to make you feel better. Whatever you want, whatever you need! He's here for you, please rely on him (he needs you to rely on him).

-If you are out and about he keeps an eye on you, which you are aware of. It's rather obvious, so even if he doesn't tell you, you can feel him watching you. Ignoring it becomes easier with time, but if anything happens to you he wastes no time in popping up and taking care of whatever happens.

-This leads into my next headcanon (inspired by the ever-talented @rollingeevee go check them out!), he has a bite of sorts that he uses as a means of monitoring you. It's something he uses to pinpoint where you are at all times, even when he's not monitoring you actively. The bite acts as a connection between you and him, emotionally and physically tying the two of you together.

-You can feel what he feels through the bite, anger, sadness, joy, pretty much anything he feels you can feel. It also acts as a reminder to you that you should not stray too far from where he is, sending an uncomfortably heavy feeling through your dough. (This is a manifestation of his worry, and it only really happens when he notices you've gone somewhere a little too far from the safety of the spire).

-However, this goes both ways. He can also feel what you feel at the same intensity that you feel it. You can, likely less so, also tell where he is. There is a pull in the back of your mind from the magic telling you where to find him at all times, and it only lets go when you are in proximity of him. If you miss him, he feels the same heavy feeling in his dough reminding him that you would like him by your side.

-Now, finally, we have to address the topic of mortality. Shadow Milk is likely more aware than you ever will be of how mortal you really are. This is why he's so very protective and possessive of you, he doesn't want to lose you prematurely.

-However, if you are okay with it, he is completely fine with artificially extending your life span. In fact, he does it happily. He might even start doing it without asking if the topic hasn't been broached in a certain amount of time. He wants to spend as long as you'll allow him by your side, and if that means breaking a few rules of magic and cookie society then so be it. He's a god after all, he doesn't have to answer to anyone (other than the witches).

-Anyway, let's get to the shit you freaks are really here for. (Me, I'm freaks.)

-I don't really think sexual intimacy is something Shadow Milk desires all that much, but he more so likes it because it's... interesting? I'm sure he derives physical pleasure from sexual intercourse, but less so than the average cookie might. Most of his enjoyment comes from seeing you enjoy yourself.

-It goes without saying, but Shadow Milk Cookie is a freak. He's into pretty much anything under the sun (except maybe one thing...), and so long as you're down to try something he's happy to oblige you.

-He is a switch, but he leans dom most of the time, and you won't get him to sub early on in your relationship. That requires a bit too much trust for him, so he'll need time to be cool with giving you that kind of control over him. But he will bottom for you as your relationship progresses, and that's a whole different side to him.

-Lets start with him in a dominant role, though, since it's more common to get from him.

-Obviously, he's a tease, through and through. He loves to watch you squirm and react to the things he does. Tantalizingly light touches drawn over your dough, teeth grazing your soft body almost piercing but never quite getting deep enough, heated breath blown over your most sensitive spots but never relieving you with his mouth as you so desperately need.

-Truthfully he could spend another thousand years just tracing over you, committing each inch to memory until he's satisfied in knowing every inch of you. Unfortunately, (or fortunately), he's not nearly as patient in the bedroom as he is outside of it. Not with all of you on display for him, so trusting and open, ready for him to defile you. Oh, his sweet, sweet little dolly~

-Even with his impatience, his teasing does not stop. His hands continue to ghost over you, making sure you're still squirming even as he succumbs to his need to taste you.

-Oh, and tastes you he does. He doesn't have to subscribe to regular cookie physical limitations, so he somehow manages to swallow you whole. Jaw unhinging so he can get as much as he needs from you, tongue splitting itself to give you attention everywhere, and god is it long and dexterous. He can reach so very deep and it moves with such precision, it makes you cum embarrassingly fast.

-That is if he allows you to cum in the first place. He's a big fan of edging, which shouldn't be a surprise. He likes to get you so close, then deny you of your pleasure. Your whining and grumbling is the cutest thing on all of earthbread, don't you know? He can't help but edge you when you're so damn cute every time.

-Your pleasure is in his hands, and it requires such relinquishing of power and trust. In a weird way it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, especially when you thank him over and over once he finally allows you to come undone after hours of teasing.

-Speaking of, he is a big fan of being praised for the work he does on you. Your moans and pleas are reward enough, but if you mumble out about how good you feel, how much you love him, how amazing he is he'll become drunk on your praise. Chasing after it with fervor, meaning he's going down on you with so much more excitement somehow.

-He's into blood (jam?) play. He likes leaving physical reminders of your relationship all over your body (yes, even ur vag/dick if you let him). With how sharp his teeth are, it's impossible for you not to bleed when he does so, and he does really like the sight of your jam. It's so pretty and so different from his own, another reminder of how different you are, and how much you trust him. (He'll lick it up and purr at the taste.)

-Bruises are also littered about your dough, his grip on you is tight, like you might slip away from him. The treatment is rough and harsh, but it feels so nice to be manhandled by him. The bruises are just nice little reminders of who you belong to. (He gets all proud when other cookies worry about them, like he's done something worthy of praise).

-He likes watching, he's very much a voyeur. Occasionally requests that you pleasure yourself for him so he can watch you struggle to get off, and he'll only help you out when you're near tears begging him.

-He prefers coming across you by himself, without having to request it. Or just feeling waves of pleasure through your bite. He'll watch you quietly fuck yourself without letting you know he's there. (Though, you most certainly can feel his eyes on you, that's what makes it so fun right?) Sometimes he'll join you after, and other and times he'll leave you be, it's 50/50 either way and regardless you still end up happy.

-If anyone else walks in on you when you're alone, he's very unpleasant. Accident or not they'll learn to be more aware of their surroundings next time.

-That doesn't mean he's against being watched though. Actually, he finds the idea of someone else seeing how well he treats you enticing (especially if it's someone like Pure Vanilla hehe). If you are together and someone walks in (or spots you in public), he won't stop. Instead, he'll lock eyes with them and smile big and wide, showing off his favorite little dolly for them.

-He's just so proud of you, and you're so very pretty beneath him, the whole world should get to see how you fall apart for him. He'll even make you look at them just to see how you fluster.

-If the offender tries to do anything other than watch, though, well... I really hope they didn't want to live for much longer. He's very much not a sharer, at all. The idea of anyone even thinking they could touch you and make you feel good both makes him laugh and want to tear them apart at once.

-He's very much into roleplaying and can get really into it. To the point, it loses the sexiness and is just the two of you playing around, which can be a bummer but is usually really fun. He likes things that lean into power dynamics but explicitly avoids god/king and worshipper/subject. A little too close to home for him, and would honestly be too boring and basic for him.

-He loves it when you dress up for him in pretty little outfits, be it lingerie or something more cutesy, he adores it regardless. Going out of your way to pretty up for him is a huge turn-on. He also loves it when you let him dress you up how he likes. Regardless of what you're wearing, it's not coming off the whole night. It will get ruined and he won't apologize for it. Besides, he can just replace it, right?

-Sex is more fun for him, but he can be intimate when he wants to be. Usually, when you're in control, he is at his most gentle. Yes, he's a brat when he bottoms and he'll fight you tooth and nail, but once you get him to submit he's the softest and sweetest you've ever seen him.

-He looks at you like you're the god, wide eyes taking in everything you do with such admiration it might make you crumble on the spot.

-He's much quieter, treating it less like a spectacle. Moans soft and squeaky, like he's not used to using his voice in such a way. He clings to you like a vice at each little movement, almost afraid you might disappear if he lets you go.

-Oh, and he praises you so much. 'So good', 'Thank you', 'You're perfect', and 'I love you' all tumble from him with such genuine gratitude.

-Being allowed to let his guard down and have you take control is cathartic for him, which is why it's so uncommon to have it happen. It's why he fights you for control so hard because this is an intimacy he isn't used to. It is hard for him to allow you to see him so weak, but you never use it against him. You're so very sweet and loving, and it makes him melt like butter in your grasp.

-If you have the bite I mentioned earlier, it only makes things so much more intense. Both of you can feel the raw emotion connecting the two of you, making the pleasure heighten further.

-In fact, when he gives you the bite it's the first time he allows you to top him. To connect you to him makes him very vulnerable, so he would naturally have to be in a vulnerable state already when he does so.

-It's unlike any of his other bites, it's far more painful when he initially bites down, but when his magic flows through it your body feels light and airy. The pleasurable feeling wrapping itself around your spine, and you feel what he's feeling. All that adoration pours into your being at once, and it's overwhelming to really feel how much he loves you.

[sttoru]

Can we have mamaguro and toji go to megumis school sports day event where the kids parents go against each other. Mamaguro wins amongst that games thats for mama's. And well toji yk guys 🙏🏼🤲🙏🏼

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff, one mention of angsty-ish thing. suggestive comment. reader gets called ‘mama / ma, pretty’

“woah, mama’s so fast!” megumi points at you with his tiny finger, watching as you participate in a 400 metres relay race. toji stands right beside the preschooler, grinning from ear to ear as he watches you go.

to say you’re competitive is an understatement. both toji and you have done your best to win all events the parents could participate in during your kid’s sports event. it may not be that serious to the other parents, though for you two, it is.

seeing megumi’s face light up and hearing his giggles whenever toji or you win a competition is all the reward needed for your hard work.

“oh yeah, y’r mama is gonna get that win,” your husband nods proudly. he crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes following your figure as you speed across the other mothers that are participating. toji’s attention is caught by a little hand tugging at his sweatpants.

he raises an eyebrow as he sees the way megumi’s reaching his arms out to him. “hah, little brat. c’mere,” toji lets out a chuckle before scooping megumi up, placing the clingy preschooler on his shoulders.

your gaze is set right ahead, body moving as quick as it could. your ears pick up on two familiar voices, your eyes catching a glimpse of toji and megumi at the sidelines. you smile at the two while you run. you don’t have to look back to keep track of where your opponents are. you’re too fast for them anyway.

“yeahhh, tha’s my fuckin’ wife!” toji yells above everyone else, embarrassing you a little. though, it sure did boost your energy levels and your legs move in an even faster tempo. the other parents look at toji with a frown, some whisper about his vulgar choice of words around little children, but he simply couldn’t care less.

megumi tries to imitate his dad and throws his hands in the air, waving at you with a big smile. “that’s my mama!” the little child shouts at the top of his lungs, having the time of his life. he’s been having fun all day with toji and you, his popularity under his classmates increasing because of the outstanding performances of his parents.

you laugh to yourself as you hear their encouragements. you glance over at them as they stand near the finish line, just waiting for you to pass over it. you wave at them whilst you’re running and watch as megumi happily waves back with both arms.

“mamaaaaa!” the small boy squeals, kicking his legs. he looks at you with big, sparkling eyes—cheering once you cross over the finish line. toji joins in and whistles, impressed by your performance. he walks over to you as you catch your breath.

“how’d i do?” you ask your husband with a smirk. toji nods, humming in satisfaction. he feels megumi squirm around on his shoulders, so he lets the preschooler down. toji faces you again and pinches your cheek in a loving yet teasing gesture, “amazing, ma. y’ did well.”

megumi runs up to you once he’s free and hugs your leg. you giggle and crouch down to hug him. “mama’s so fast. and so cool,” your son exclaims and mimics how you ran, making noises to indicate how fast you were going, “like—woosh, woosh!”

“haha, thank you,” you giggle and kiss megumi’s forehead. a teacher comes up to you and gives you your gold medal for winning first place, a big number one on the middle of the metal. you put the medal around megumi’s neck instead, clearly seeing his eyes light up once you do.

toji follows the gesture and puts all the medals he’s won around his son’s neck as well. those were quite a few since toji’s competitve and athletic self had won every round of the parent matches he’s participated on. out of all the dads present, he’s won most games.

“there y’ go,” toji comments in a proud tone. megumi laughs happily and jumps up and down in place to show his excitement. he sees a couple of his friends nearby and scurries over to them, going to brag about how he’s got the best parents.

your husband hands you a bottle while he keeps an eye on megumi. “thank you,” you nod and take a couple sips of the refreshing cold water. you catch toji glancing at you, looking you up and down. that’s when you already know that whatever’s going to come from his mouth, is going to be out of pocket.

“y’know, while ya ran out there, i couldn’t help but stare at that fat ass of—“

you smack toji’s chest, a warning for him to not finish that sentence. you’re too embarrassed by his words to even look at him properly. “don’t say such stuff in front of literal children,” you whisper shout with a flustered expression on your face.

toji playfully rolls his eyes at your comment. he wanted to give your behind a smack - an appreciative ‘well done’ gesture - but he refrains from doing so. he wraps an arm around your waist instead and squeezes your side.

“ugh maaann, who cares about these little brats,” toji complains and leans his head down to your level, kissing your temples gently. he smirks and gives your lips a quick kiss, “i just wanna appreciate my sexy wife.”

you can’t help but crack a faint smile after toji’s last comment. you kiss him back quickly, keeping an eye out on your son, who’s cluelessly showing his classmates all the medals around his neck.

“we made the kid quite popular,” toji hums as he sees the same thing you have. it warms his heart to see his son enjoy his childhood like this. so carefree, so loved. megumi’s got both of you, both loving parents, which brings the dark-haired man a sense of peace.

toji’s glad that he can give his son everything he couldn’t have as a child. that also means participating in megumi’s school events and the like of it. he’s never had anyone supporting him as a kid and he never wants the same to happen to your child.

“yeah, he deserves it,” you say with a fond smile. as long as megumi’s protected and loved, the rest is fine. you’re glad that he’s taking the opportunity to interact with his classmates, considering he’s usually a bit shy and quiet.

while you’re watching megumi, toji’s staring at you. there’s a subtle smile tugging at his lips because of your own content expression. he looks back at his kid and sighs in relief.

all that hard work was worth it if it meant to have both his wife and son enjoy themselves.

[seumyo]

bakugou’s never been happier to do this alongside you.

The sound of Bakugou’s ringtone—specifically one for those calls—the kind that only came when villains decided to cause trouble at ungodly hours—jolted him awake on the second ring. The kind that meant neither of you were getting any more sleep.

He groaned loudly, his voice raspy from sleep. “Son of a—” He didn’t even finish the curse as he snatched his phone and squinted at the glowing screen. “What the hell is it this time?”

Beside him, you stirred, mumbling groggily as you pulled the blanket over your head. “Is it another one?” you asked sleepily, your voice muffled.

Bakugou ignored you for the moment, his phone pressed to his ear as the barking voice of the dispatcher filled the room. His brows furrowed deeper, his scowl turning deadly as he listened to the report. “Villains in the old district? At this hour? Those bastards don’t sleep or somethin’? Yeah, yeah—I got it. We’ll be there.”

He slammed the phone down on the bed, letting out a deep sigh as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Goddamn it. I hate this stupid job.”

You let out a small laugh beneath the blanket. “Liar.”

Bakugou glared at the lump of fabric that was you—his partner. “What’d you just say?”

“You heard me,” you teased, peeking out just enough for him to see the drowsy smile on your face—which can barely be seen with the dim light of the moonlight outside the bedroom window. “You love this job, Kats. You’d combust without it.”

“Like hell I would,” he muttered, standing up and running a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m only outta bed ‘cause I don’t trust those extras not to screw up.”

“You’re up because you want to. Big difference.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou shot you a glance over his shoulder. “Hurry your ass up. Don’t got time for you to sit there all cozy like we ain’t got villains to blow up.”

You didn’t budge.

“Give me two minutes. I just need to—hey!”

Bakugou had moved without warning, stomping back to the bed and scooping you up in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised squeak as he effortlessly picked you up, blanket and all, and cradled you against his chest.

“Katsuki!” you protested, trying to wriggle free. “What are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, barely sparing you a glance as he carried you toward the door. “You’re slow as hell when you’re tired. This’ll save time.”

“You can’t just carry me every time we get called in!”

“Watch me.”

He stomped down the hallway, his bare feet thudding against the wooden floor, while his voice dipped into a string of curses. “Stupid villains. Stupid middle-of-the-night calls. Stupid hero work. I’m gonna blast whoever’s causing this into the next century.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter now, your head falling back against his shoulder. “You sound like a cranky old man.”

“Keep talkin’ and I’m droppin’ you,” Bakugou threatened. “Why the hell are you laughin’? Think this is funny?”

“Very. You’re like my happy pill.”

“Yeah? And you’re heavy,” he grumbled, though the way he carried you effortlessly said otherwise.

“Excuse me?!”

A corner of Bakugou’s mouth quirked up as he looked down at you, amusement flickering in his eyes despite his perpetual scowl. “I didn’t say nothin’. Quit wastin’ time.”

You smiled against his shoulder, listening to him grumble about this whole ordeal. He sounded pissed—like the world had wronged him personally by waking you two up—but you could see the truth in his actions. His grip was steady, his movements careful as he carried you to where your hero gear was waiting. It was such a Bakugou thing to do: grumble and complain, but still take care of you without hesitation.

By the time you make it to the gear room, Bakugou carefully sets you down on your feet. You wobbled slightly from the sudden shift, and Bakugou’s hand instinctively shot out to steady you.

“Oi, don’t fall on me now.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes before turning to grab your hero suit. “You’re way too grumpy for someone who just carried me all the way here. Admit it—you love being a hero.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You do, though,” you teased, already halfway into your gear. “I know you do.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his voice softened just enough to make you pause. “I wouldn’t do this job if it meant leavin’ you to deal with shit alone.”

You stilled, looking at him from the corner of your eye. He was standing by the doorway now, fully suited up and waiting for you, his face set in his usual determined scowl. But something about the way he looked at you, about the small, unspoken truths in his words, made your chest feel warm.

“Y’know, you’re so sweet to me at the most inconvenient times. Why can’t you say things like that when I don’t look like I’ve been ran over by a truck because I’m sleep deprived?”

“Die.”

“Is that your way of saying you love me too, Ka-tsu-ki?”

He scoffed. “Hurry up, dumbass. We’ve got work to do.”

“Ha! You didn’t deny it, so I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Shut up, you’re annonyin’.”

You smiled faintly, finishing the last of your preparations before walking over to him. “But you love me.”

“Of fucking course,” Bakugou said, opening the door and stepping out into the brisk night air. “Let’s go. Those idiots could only hold out for so long ‘cause they really had to call us in.”

You followed close behind, still smiling to yourself as you fell into step next to him. Despite his grumbles, despite the curses under his breath, Bakugou had never been happier. Because at the end of the day, no matter how ungodly the hour, you were always there—and as far as he was concerned, nothing else mattered.

Because he loves this job—especially when he’s doing it alongside you.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[prosypepper]

“roomates” with satoru gojo

 this is part five of my kinktober event!

word count: 2.3k

warnings: nsfw, roomate au, fingering, gojo has a nasty mouth, pwp!, virgin reader, overstim. (18+ mdni!)

notes: i love the idea of actor and roomate gojo so much,,, may talk about it later. uploading early again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

having the satoru gojo as your roommate is quite the experience.

it was odd—

you had known satoru in college, always somehow getting stuck in the same overflow housing on campus. you had gotten to know each other well, being forced to live with the other off and on. after he had gotten his degree in drama—and you got your degree in a successful STEM major—he proposed moving in together. you needed a place off campus, and he needed someone to room with, because rent was too high for him to afford on his own as a budding actor.

things were fine for a while, daily routines consisted of seeing one another regularly. but then satoru had his first big gig. he disappeared for months, needed for a last minute replacement. he told you about the role; a younger version of a strong—no, the strongest—sorcerer. apparently, he got to play his part in a dramatic friendship breakup, which you figured perfectly suited the way satoru acted normally.

his fame quickly rose, with the series being released only a few months later. after that, satoru never really came around all that often; you saw him maybe twice a month, if you got lucky. but even after that, satoru stayed in the apartment. you didn’t mind, honestly, he kept up with his side of the rent plus some.

but the really odd part?

your social media feed.

every social wouldn’t shut up about him—“upcoming star, satoru gojo makes an impact in new tv series,” “he’s so hot, i’d let him do whatever he wanted,” “I NEED HIM,”

and yeah, maybe curiosity got the best of you when you searched up the fanfiction—but hey, people seemed like they would kill to be in your position. the creative minds of those online made you see your goofy, struggling artist of a roommate in a different light. the way they wrote about his chest, and how smooth and toned it is, or his sparkly blue eyes and how they could make clothes fall of with just a look. recently, satoru had shared in an interview his fingers are 6 inches, and boy did people go feral over that.

they focused on every part. his soft fingertips, and how lengthy his fingers actually are the more you look at them. the subtle veins that ran over the back of his hand and up his arm. his middle and ring finger, how nicely they slide in and out, hitting that spot, coaxing you toward—

“whatcha readin’?”

the abrupt question shocks you out of your trance, making you yelp and practically throw your phone across the room. it lands face down beside your vanity, earning a loud thud when it hits the floor. your heart speeds up as you turn to face your roommate, internal temperature rapidly rising.

“jesus, satoru! what are you doing home?” you ask, praying that he wouldn’t take it upon himself to grab your phone for you.

“it’s my apartment, too, y’know,” he retorts, throwing his hands on his hips dramatically. “i’m gonna be here for a few days, if you don’t mind.” every word off his tongue is laced in sarcasm. it’s annoying.

and just as you try to reply, gojo swoops to the other side of the room to grab your phone, intently staring at the screen before you can even say, “stop!” you want to run away because you just know he’s reading pure filth about himself that you looked up. but you find yourself unable to move whatsoever, only able to watch in horror as your roommate reads fanfiction about himself. immediately, a sly grin overcomes satoru’s expression, and his eyes flicker from the phone to you over his sunglasses.

“this is pretty detailed stuff,” satoru teases. you’re able to tell he is in fact reading whatever you had pulled up on your phone, because he’s taking his sweet time scrolling and reading through all the divine things said about his hands.

“stop, satoru,” you whine, pathetically reaching for your phone. gojo holds it out of your reach, of course, and even though you almost came to grab your phone that was almost touching the ceiling, you can’t quite reach it. “please just go away,” you sigh, giving up and flopping back down on your mattress. you can only look on, still mortified, as satoru continues scrolling.

after a few heavy minutes and some more comments on your choice of fiction to read, he throws your phone back on the bed next to you, placing his hands on his hips once more.

“how long were you gonna keep that from me?”

“never really planned on telling you, satoru. leave me alone.” you reply, grabbing your phone so it’s out of gojo’s reach.

“you could’ve just asked—,”

“go away—huh?” you furrow your brows and look at the taller man, who’s sassily posed next to your bed, “don’t fuck with me like that.”

“i’m not.” he assures you.

satoru wasn’t joking. in fact, he had never been more serious in his life. he’d always thought you were pretty – more like drop dead, breathtakingly beautiful – but never mustered up the courage to talk to you about it. you were his friend, his roommate. he didn’t want to scare you off. but all chances of him not scaring you off were thrown out the window because he knew you wanted him now.

so, yes, he did what he did with every other girl—encouraging a hot make-out session after you got over the embarrassment of what was on your phone. you hadn’t had a chance to think about all those stories you read online, because it was all happening to you in real time.

with your lips in a permanent lock, satoru takes his time rubbing his hands all over your body, grabbing your waist, flipping up the skirt you had worn in the previous hours to run errands—

“wait,” you labored out, breathing heavy as you pushed your roommate’s shoulders away from you, “i’ve never—i haven’t…” your words are tripping over themselves into silence as you try to explain to your – gorgeous, famous, actor – roommate that you’re a virgin.

queue satoru’s head almost exploding. he swears then and there that his nose should’ve started to bleed, and his face turned an awful shade of red at the news. it was unfathomable in his mind that you, his smoking-hot roommate, was a virgin. he swore he saw you come home with your ex-boyfriend plenty of times…but maybe you were saving yourself, or something.

“stop looking at me like that. you were a virgin too.” you scoff at his ogling, crossing your arms over your chest. you’re still trapped against your headboard, the sheer size of satoru making you stay in one place. your legs are draped over his thighs, not quite straddling but close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your clothed pussy.

“do you want me to finger you?”

the crude question rolls off his tongue with ease, and you smack his shoulder with the palm of your hand in return. but again, he’s being serious. it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s being serious, he wants to finger you and it’s written all over his face.

after a few moments and shocked blinks, you nod your head.

satoru’s nosebleed actually happens whenever he gets you in position; you’re laid back with your legs on top of his, knees pressing into his waist. he just stares in utter disbelief at how cute and sexy you look, flustered all because of him. he runs the pad of his thumb over the mound in your panties, relishing in how soft, warm and damp you are. he can’t take his eyes away from how his thumb presses into the flesh, pushing down just to watch how his thumb gets swallowed by it.

“satoru—your nose is bleeding,” you gruffly state, snapping the white-haired man back to reality. one hand stays pressed to you while he lifts the other one to wipe under his nose with the back of his wrist.

low and behold, a few droplets of blood smear on the back of his wrist—but he’s too entranced by you to care. he looks back in your eyes, wiping his face with his shirt grossly.

“i’m okay—can i take them off?” satoru asks, almost politely if he wasn’t bleeding from the nose at how horny he is. his fingers hook into the waistband, eagerly awaiting your nervous little nod that you give him. he rips the thin fabric off your legs, taking it upon himself to lift you up and move your legs so he can toss your panties to the side of the room.

your immediate response is to snap your thighs together, but satoru quickly stops you and holds your legs open, forcing you to show your most intimate area to him. he drools over how pretty it looks, folds spread open and glistening, a perfect display of anatomy. he’s in love with the view alone. a prominent tent pokes in his sweatpants, but he ignores the feeling to focus on the task at hand.

“stop staring,” you meekly speak up, eyes looking anywhere else but at your celebrity roommate.

satoru’s bright irises look up at you before asking, “can i?” with the looks of a child begging for a piece of candy. after another quick, nervous nod, satoru swipes his thumb over your hole, then all the way up to over your clit. the sensation makes you wriggle and gasp, it’s odd being touched by someone else—but it feels good, even better than alone. natural lubrication practically drips off your pussy, so prettily, and satoru continues dragging his thumb up and down, paying close attention to how you whimper or move around when he gets to the bundle of nerves poking out.

you feel particularly needy at his ministrations, they’re so slow and it leaves you aching for more when he moves to less sensitive parts of your cunt. every time your eyes flash to gojo, he’s completely locked on what’s between your plush thighs, making you all the more embarrassed. embarrassment is thrown away, though, when his middle and ring fingers close together and creep up to slowly rub your clit.

your body jolts and satoru silently giggles, god, you’re so sensitive for him, he might go insane. he finds it simply endearing how well you react to him. each small circle he draws over your bud makes your thighs twitch and hole clench, and from his view, he can see it all perfectly. satoru’s eyes look up at you for once, just to see your head thrown back on the pillow and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth to silence yourself.

“don’t be quiet, babe,” he says, and your eyes snap open to be brought back to reality.

“wh—uuht?” you drawl, mind hazy and foggy from just the little bit of pleasure he was providing. but as your mouth is open, he speeds his fingers up, forcing you to practically yell out, “satoru—wait!”

“i wanna hear you,” gojo taunts, his voice light and happy, not at all giving the impression he was playing with your cunt.

he does not wait, or slow down, he only continues to quicken the pace of which his fingers circle your clit. he feels accomplished when you finally begin to let out little moans and suck in air through your teeth, knowing the feeling of his finger pads was becoming all too much. this was the type of thing he lived for—making cute, inexperienced girls (you) lose their mind from pleasure.

it’s the type of pleasure that you weren’t able to achieve yourself; it made the bottoms of your feet tingle, and your legs move on their own—and the familiar feeling of an orgasm was quickly building up. the knot in your lower abdomen grows tighter and more intense, making you whine and thrash below your roommate.

satoru’s other hand comes down to prod his index finger at your tight hole, an unfamiliar feeling to you—especially as it’s being done by someone else. he pushes his finger in, causing another yelp to come from the back of your throat—but it doesn’t hurt. gently fucking you with just the tip of his finger, satoru’s hand focused on your clit speeds up more.

“mm—satoru, think i’m close,” your words are rushed as you warn him, but his movements don’t falter in the slightest.

“yeah? gonna cum on my fingers?” he teases, “gonna cream all my hand?”—and if you weren’t already so close, you would’ve kicked him out at the taunting. instead, you throw your arms over your face and try your best to hold back the feeling—wanting it to last as long as possible. he slowly pushes his finger in more and more, gradually coming to fuck you with one thin, long finger. the first bit he’s fully inside, it’s uncomfortable, but the pressure fades the more he plays with you. the bubble of your orgasm grows and grows until you’re about to topple over the edge.

“i’m gonna cum,” the words come out your mouth in a long, sultry string— satoru’s never heard anyone sound so good while telling him that.

“yeah, that’s it—come on, baby,” satoru encourages you, his voice having dropped multiple octaves to sound a million times more sexy — far from the satoru you’d come to know. his words force the orgasm to crash over you, your body continually jolting and stuttering—beginning to fight satoru because he doesn’t stop.

“i—i finished—stop, satoru—ohmygod—,” you stutter out, and satoru presses his elbows against your thigh, rendering you immobile.

“you’re so sensitive, princess,” satoru teases again, and you catch his eyes in a downright primal stare,

“gonna make you cum on my fingers again, baby.”

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Period relief

Zayne x reader

Summary: When your period hits unexpectedly, leaving you stranded with only one pad and no energy to even go to the store, the last thing you expect is for your plans with Zayne to suddenly fall into place.

Words: 2k

Notes: I wrote it while I was dying on my period (shocking, isn't it, given the theme?), and edited it when I was able to think. I'm still dealing with the consequences of being a woman, so it might not be perfect, but I tried.

Let’s hope a cute doctor can help you too during those tough times.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

You groaned. Great. Your last pad.  Perfect timing.

You had planned to go out tonight to restock—not just pads, but all the other necessities you'd need for your period, which, according to your calculations, should start tomorrow. Not fucking today.

Just as you were cursing internally and debating whether you could manage a trip to the store now, your phone buzzed with a new text:

My surgery took shorter than expected, so I can see you tonight if you're still free.

Right. You’d originally asked Zayne to hang out today, but he had to decline. Now, suddenly, he was available. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve been thrilled. But at the moment? You felt like dying.

It wasn’t just the cramps, fatigue, and general misery of your period arriving earlier than expected. It was also the fact that your relationship with Zayne was still fairly new. And while you liked him—a lot—you weren’t quite sure how you felt about him seeing you like this.

You sighed, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you finally typed:

I’d love to see you, but I just got my period and currently feel like rotting on my couch… after I force myself to go out and buy some necessities.

Immediately, your phone started ringing.

You grumbled but answered, moving weakly to curl up on the couch in a fetal position as you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Hi,” you managed to say.

“What do you need?”

“Huh?”

“I'm leaving the hospital soon. I'll get you what you need,” Zayne said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The familiarity of his voice made you feel safe, but also… vulnerable. He always found ways to take care of you, even when you didn’t ask, and sometimes it made you feel guilty. 

“No, no need. I just took a painkiller. I should be able to go and get something myself soon. I don’t want to trouble you.” You hated how weak you sounded, even if you were doing your best to brush it off. You hated feeling like a burden.

“If it were trouble for me, I wouldn’t be offering.”

His words, simple as they were, immediately softened the knot in your chest. It was the truth, and you knew it.

And just like that, you were reminded why you adored that man so much.

“So, what do you need?”

“Pads,” you admitted.

“Alright. The ones you usually use?”

“Wait… how do you know what I use?” you asked, surprised. You’d never told him, had you?

A teasing lilt came through his voice. “They're in your cabinets. The one you told me to put my stuff in too, remember?”

“Right, right. Of course. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I try to remember things about you. So those?” He sounded so amused, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. Of course, he remembered. He always did. It was one of the things you appreciated in him.

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

You hesitated, not wanting to bother him more.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t be able to get it,” he pointed out.

“Right. Um… mint tea?” you offered, unsure if it was too much.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

You expected him to hang up as you heard more shuffling over his end of the phone call. Yet, he wasn’t done with the conversation.

“Have you eaten?”

You winced. You really didn’t want to admit how bad you’d been about that.

“Umm… you’re not gonna like the answer.” You avoided the question with a pathetic attempt at humor, hoping he wouldn’t push.

“Don’t tell me you took painkillers on an empty stomach,” he said, his voice adopting that doctor-like tone—the one you recognized all too well. 

“I know, I know,” you interrupted quickly. “I forced myself to eat some yogurt and crackers before taking it.”

A disappointed sigh came through the receiver. “Better than nothing, I guess. I’m going to grab us some dinner too, then. Anything you're craving?”

You weren’t really hungry, but you should eat something. Then again, Zayne probably wasn’t going to approve of what you wanted.

“Fries.”

“Fries?”

“Yes. And chicken wings. Preferably spicy.” You knew it wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about nutrition right now.

A pause. You could feel the judgment through the phone.

“That’s not the most nutritious food, especially now when you should be eating things rich in—”

“I know,” you cut him off, hoping to end the lecture before it started. As much as you liked him talking about just anything, you were not in the mood to listen to what you should be eating or doing. “Just get whatever then.” You were glad he was not seeing you right now because you were for sure pouting like a small child, and he would for sure tease you about it.

“Alright. I’ll be there soon.”

And then it hit you. He was going to be here soon.

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. You missed him, and the thought of not having to drag yourself to the store was nice, but… you also didn’t want him to see you like this.

“What is it?” Zayne asked, clearly sensing your hesitation.

“I… um.” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain it.

“You don’t want to see me?” His voice softened. “I wanted to take care of you, but if you’d rather not, I can just drop off the stuff and go.”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just…” you mumbled, “I look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just… I don’t look good.”  It felt silly to admit, but there it was. You didn’t want him to see you like this, and you certainly didn’t feel like pulling yourself together.

There was a beat of silence, and then—

Laughter.

“Zayne, don’t laugh at me!”

“I apologize,” he said, still clearly amused. “You’re in pain. You’re allowed to not look your best. Besides, I can assure you—no matter how you feel, you’re still gonna be beautiful to me.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice. As always. You knew he meant it, but still, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

You swallowed thickly, heart lodging itself in your throat. “If you keep talking like that, I might actually cry.”

“I’ll grab some tissues too, then,” he responded playfully. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

Not long after, the doorbell rang.

You groaned, barely able to muster the energy to move. Every part of you ached, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your body as you forced yourself off the couch. You shuffled toward the door, each step feeling like a small victory, but the effort it took left you feeling hollow. With a sigh, you finally managed to pull the door open.

“Hi.” you said, your voice sounding far weaker than you intended.

“Hey.” His hand brushed against your cheek, and then he pressed a tender kiss there. A gentle touch, a simple gesture, yet it felt like everything you needed in that moment.

“I was right,” he murmured, eyes scanning your face with quiet admiration. “You're definitely still beautiful.”

You felt warmth rushing to your face, your heart fluttering in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you beautiful, yet each time it still made you feel bashful. It wasn’t just the compliment that made you flustered. It was the sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something precious, something worth seeing. Even in your state right now.

Then you noticed it—his own cheeks tinged with a soft flush. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was.

Zayne gently nudged you toward the couch. “Go lay down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he simply raised a finger. “Ah. No arguing. I'm making you tea, and then we’ll eat.”

You huffed but obeyed, shuffling back to your spot and curling up again. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you called out, “Can you heat more water? For my hot-water bottle?”

“Of course.”

You heard Zayne moving around your kitchen effortlessly, the soft clinking of mugs and utensils blending with the steady rhythm of his steps. The way he navigated your space made something stir deep inside you. The way he cared for you so willingly, with no sign of wanting anything in return, made you feel safe, secure in a way that you hadn't known in a long time.

Before long, he returned, balancing a tray with tea, food, your heated pad and tissues. So he was not joking about that then.

“Sit up,” he instructed gently. “You need to eat something. But don’t force yourself if you don’t feel like it.”

You pushed yourself up and accepted the tea first, inhaling the soothing scent before murmuring, “Thank you.”

You were about to take a sip when your gaze landed on the takeout bag in his hand.  “Oh, you actually got me fries and chicken wings!” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you looked at the comfort food you’d craved. It was exactly what you wanted.

Zayne smirked. “And they’re spicy. Just like you wanted.”

You raised a brow. “What happened to having a proper diet?” You’d been so focused on the comfort of the meal that you’d almost forgotten about the usual back-and-forth he always brought up when it came to nutrition.

He shrugged. “It’s better to eat something than nothing. And it’s perfectly fine to satisfy a craving now and then. That said, I did get you something more nutritious as well. I hope you’ll eat it later.”

A fond smile tugged at your lips at his thoughtfulness as you took a bite of a fry. “Thank you, Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne just smiled back, his gaze soft as he settled in beside you. You pulled the hot-water bottle closer, the soothing warmth a welcome relief against your pain, and continued eating. Zayne began eating his portion as well, the two of you slipping into a comfortable silence.

The moment you finished, you let out a deep sigh.

Zayne glanced at you, his brow furrowing just slightly in concern. “Did it not satisfy your craving?”

“It did,” you acknowledged. “But now I feel like eating something sweet.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head fondly as he stood up, gathering the dishes. Before you could even think about getting up to help, he disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned—with your favorite chocolate.

Your eyes lit up as you immediately reached for it. “You’re the best!”

He chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face as he sank back into the seat beside you. “I just want to make your day feel better.”

You unwrapped the chocolate, grinning like crazy. “It already is… since you got here.”

“I’m glad.” 

His lips curled into that familiar, gentle smile, The kind that always made you feel seen, like you mattered. You almost forgot about the chocolate in your hand as you lost yourself in that moment, wondering if he knew just how much his presence had truly transformed your day. The simple truth was, with him near, everything always felt better. Apparently, even your period.

You brushed the thought away and held out a piece to him. “Now eat it with me, sweet tooth.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to that. Sure enough, he took a piece, and you munched on the chocolate together.

After a few moments, he tilted his head. “Anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t often you let yourself be vulnerable like this, but with him, it felt natural. You murmured softly, almost shyly, “Maybe just… cuddle with me?”

Without a second thought, he moved closer. “I can do that.”

And he did.

You nestled into him, his arms warm and secure around you. The steady rhythm of his breathing was a lullaby in itself, soothing and calming. You hadn’t even realized when sleep crept up on you.

The last thought you had before drifting off was just how lucky you were—to have the cutest, most caring doctor by your side.

[maybanksprincess]

brat!

warnings: 18+ mdni, p in v sex, public sex, unprotected (wrap it up please), spanking, pussy slapping, creampie, neck kissing, biting, kissing, choking, hair pulling.

pairings: moody!gf x dom!bf!jj

requested by this ask, might have went a little overboard, but hopefully you like it. (thank you anon🤍) 💋

all day, you had been in a mood. for seemingly no reason to jj. every time he made a joke or poked ur shoulder teasingly, it earned him a scowl in return.

but really, you were angry because jj looked so good and you were sexually frustrated. it surely wasn't helping that girls were eyeing him like he was eye candy. he was yours. not theirs. so why were they always staring so hard?

its not like you meant to snap at everyone. you were just in a bad mood, and you just wish jj would take you back to the chateau and pound you into the mattress of his bed.

the thought made you clench your thighs, and since you two weren't at home, you couldn't fulfill your need.

when kiara came up to you with a crate of beers, it snapped you out of your thoughts. you look up at her with a unknowingly harsh look.

kiara looks confused by the way your looking at her, but she leaves it alone "want a beer?" she asks, already pulling one out for you.

"mhm." you hum, taking the beer without saying thank you. jj watched this interaction and rolled his eyes.

when you come back over to sit on jjs lap, he wraps his arm around your waist. "whats got u in a mood mama?" he asks, with a small smirk on his face.

"shut up jj." you bite back, with a irritated expression on your face, cleary expressing you aren't in the mood for his jokes.

his smirk fades and he looks at you, sitting up with you still sat on his lap. "im sick of your shit. now talk to me and tell me whats wrong with you." he forces you to look at him with a firm grip on your chin

when hes met with more silence, he lets out a deep exhale. "get up." he says, while patting ur ass.

you slowly get up, not knowing what jjs next move was.

he stands up and guides you towards the boat, the rest of the pogues were out riding waves, and drinking beers so the boat was free.

it was parked on a secluded part of the beach where no one went. he helps you onto the boat, and then he bends you over, your ass in the air in front of him.

"j-" you start to protest, but before you can get a word out, he interrupts you with a small 'tsk' noise, and spreads ur legs.

you can hear the faint sound of his shorts unzipping and it makes your heart race. your finally getting what you've been craving all day.

"yeah y' think im stupid baby? i know what y' want. y' jus want some dick, yeah?" he snorts from behind you, positioning himself at your entrance raw.

when hes met with silence again, he smacks your ass hard enough to leave a handprint on it. "answer me, mama. got you all wet and needy for my dick, yeah?"

you moan and tug your bottom lip between your teeth at the sting of the slap. "yeah. jus' needed u jayjay."

he smirks, satisfied with his answer, pushing his girthy length inside of your hole and starts to thrust slowly at first, but quickening the pace.

he groans, "y' so tight baby. squeezin' me an' shit." you can feel his balls slapping against your clit in time with his thrusts.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking it back so he can turn your head to sloppily kiss you, as his dick plunges you even deeper from the position.

his kisses trail down to your neck, and he starts to nip at it, leaving little bite marks.

he lets go of your hair to wrap that hand around your neck instead, squeezing your throat enough to make you feel the pressure, but not quite hurt you.

he thrusts faster, grunting in your ear. "'m gonna cum in this pussy. thas' what u wanted, hm? jus wanted my cum in ur pretty little hole?"

you now have drool, trickling down your chin, your eyes in the back of your head as your ass jiggles with the impact of each of his thrusts.

you breathe out a "yes..."

he move his other hand down to your pussy to slap your clit a few times; knowing it turns you on. "cmon baby, cum for me." he coos.

with a few more of his deep thrusts, you cum around his cock, your pussy convulsing around him. you cry out, riding out your orgasm, as you feel him rubbing slow circles on your nub.

he spills his load into your pussy, groaning as his thick ropes of cum spread around inside of you.

after a few moments, he's still panting softly, but he lets go of your throat.

"don't ever catch a fucking attitude with me again." he pats your cheek

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 12: Fire In My Veins

Summary: Your heat begins. Luckily you have a good alpha to take care of you during your most vulnerable time. 

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, oral fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, knotting, spanking (it’s like once), fluids so many fluids, heat cycles, mating cycles, lots of talk of breeding and mating, biting, brief mention of blood, this is gross y’all, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, and of course a little fluff

A/N: It was quite the ordeal, this chapter, and it's come a long way from when I first wrote it between Sunday and Monday this week. It's pretty much just smut so enjoy!!

The smut starts after the first scene and goes to the end, so only read up to the first green line if you don’t want the smut. You’re not missing much, just Price biting the reader to claim her, but I’ll talk more about that in the next chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“You alright, love?” 

You look up from where you had been staring at the floor, suddenly pulled back into the real world by Gaz’s voice. He had been organizing the nutrient bars and electrolyte bottles in your room while you sat and dissociated to the sound of rustling paper bags. 

You stare at his furrowed brows and worried eyes for a moment before averting your gaze with a nod. “Yeah.” 

The carpet under your feet has never looked quite so interesting before.

Gaz moves to sit next to you on the bed, sinking down onto the mattress with a sigh. “Nervous?” 

You nod in response, clutching the strawberry pillow in your arms tighter against your chest. 

“You’ll be alright.” Gaz says, his hand warm as it presses against your back. “I’m gonna take good care of you, yeah? Both you and Price. I’ll be right outside that door, and I’ll be in and out too. Dr. Keller’s ready in case something happens, but I don’t think anything will.” He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close against him. “You’re in good hands.” 

“There’s no going back after this.” You say, leaning into his side. 

“No, I don’t think any of us would want to anyway.” He smiles down at your surprised face. “What? I thought that was obvious. We all want you as part of our pack. You are part of the pack already, at least in every way but officially. None of us would trade you for anything.”

Your eyes fill with tears at his words. You know it’s just the stress and the hormones and the impending heat that could start at any time, but his words reach some deep part of you that was worried that they were all faking, that they all actually hated you. His words calm you a bit, easing away that stress and fear that you’ve been carrying for the last almost six weeks. 

“Come now, none of that.” Gaz says, wiping the tear that trails down your cheek. “Can’t afford getting dehydrated now.” 

You can’t help but laugh, even though you know he’s right. You’ve had so much liquid over the last couple days you feel as though you might burst at any second. It was necessary, considering the amount of fluid you were about to lose. 

Gaz leans down, kissing all over your face. You giggle, falling back on your bed to try and escape, but he follows you, continuing to plant little kisses all over your face and neck. 

“Kyle!” You shriek, giggling as his kisses tickle your skin. 

He pauses, leaning up so you’re eye to eye, a grin on his face. “You called me Kyle.” 

“That is your name, isn’t it?” You say, blinking up at him. 

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “You can call me Kyle as much as you’d like, love.” He says as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him in place as you kiss him back. His arm snakes beneath you, pressing you tightly against his chest. He groans quietly into your lips, body taught against yours. You can feel every part of him, the muscles under his shirt, the strength of his thighs. Your head is spinning, and you know it’s mostly due to your impending heat. 

You let out a quiet whine as his lips leave yours, trailing down your neck to your shoulder. He leaves a scalding kiss over your scent gland, nipping playfully at the sensitive skin. 

“Can’t wait to see the mark,” He murmurs against your skin, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as your body begins to warm a little. “When Price claims you, makes you his.” 

“Fuck.” You breathe, a shudder running through your whole body. 

Kyle chuckles, sucking a mark on your collarbone. “You won’t be just his, though, huh? Gonna be ours.” 

You let out a whine at his words, your fingers trailing up the back of his neck. He lets out a quiet groan, his body shuddering as you tease the sensitive skin. You feel lightheaded and dizzy from the rapidly shifting hormones of your pre-heat. You’re very close to the start. Any day now you could wake in a sweat with an insatiable ache between your thighs. You're like a ticking time bomb, but neither of the demolition experts you now live with can disarm you. 

If only it could be so easy. 

Kyle presses one last kiss to your lips before he pulls back, smiling down at you. “You’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of it.” 

You can’t help but believe him, especially with those big brown eyes staring down at you. 

It’s sweltering. A fire has started beneath your skin, flames licking your veins, your very cells scorching in the fiery inferno that has overtaken you. An arid desert has bloomed in your mouth, your tongue heavy and sticky. Sweat has slicked your skin, consciousness only bringing awareness to the dampness of your sheets and pajamas. 

It also brings awareness to the pain. 

There’s an intense ache between your legs, your pelvis cramping. Slick has coated your thighs, soaking through your pajama pants, the fabric clinging to your skin. It’s too much, the sensations of your pajamas and the weight of the blankets nearly driving you to insanity. You need to be bare. It’s too hot and the drag of the fabric across your skin makes you want to cry. 

Not to mention the intense need burning through you. 

The mattress protector crinkles as you shift on the bed, every movement taking an excess amount of energy as you attempt to tug your shirt off with fumbling fingers. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, your arms heavy and sluggish as you peel the fabric from your sticky skin, letting it fall to the floor. You lay there exhausted, body twitching as your temperature begins to spike. You blindly reach out, fingers trembling as they grasp at your phone. Your eyes are bleary as you blink rapidly at the too bright screen. You fumble with clumsy fingers on the screen, dialing the first number you see, not caring who it is.

“Hello?” 

You let out a quiet whine at the rough voice, thick with sleep. You can’t get your mouth to move, to form any words as you lay there pathetically, half undressed and soaked in sweat and slick. There’s an ache between your thighs, pulsing in time with your heart. Your free hand fumbles with your waistband, desperate to try and get your pants down, to remove the feeling of your underwear sticking to your slick folds. 

“Help.” You manage a single word, not even sure it was intelligible. You let out a frustrated whimper, your body not cooperating to lift your hips so you can pull down your pants. 

A moment of silence passes before you get a response. “Fuck, be right there, love.” 

The line clicks, and a moment later a door is opening down the hall. You’re silently grateful you hadn’t locked your door last night, as there was no way you would be able to get out of bed and make it across the floor. It opens just enough for the figure to slip in before he closes it, not wanting to let your scent freely flow down the hallway. 

The light of the lamp on your nightstand accosts your eyes as it’s turned on, making you squint. You don’t miss the way Kyle’s nose crinkles for a moment as he catches the sickly sweet, overwhelming aroma of your scent as it pours from your body. His hand is cool against your forehead as he brushes the stray strands of hair sticking to your skin back. Johnny had braided it last night at least to try and keep it out of the way. 

“Easy.” He says quietly, shushing you as you whimper in need. 

You let out a whine as Kyle pushes the blankets out of the way. You’re incapable of caring that you’re half naked in front of him for the first time, and he pays it no mind. You tug uselessly at your pajama pants again, letting out a frustrated whine as you fail to shimmy them down your legs again. Kyle bats your hands away, slipping his fingers under the waistband and tugging the pants down your legs. You sigh in relief as the fabric is pulled away from your skin, a shiver running through you as the cool air hits your slicked folds. 

Kyle gathers your clothes, adding them into the bag of things that would need to be washed as soon as your heat is over before he returns to your side. 

“I need you to drink something for me, then I’ll go get Price, alright?” He says, kneeling down next to the bed as he grabs the electrolyte drink from your nightstand. 

You flop against his chest as he slips an arm around you, helping prop you up. Your face presses into his neck, inhaling deeply. A whine of disappointment leaves your lips as you realize he’s not what you need, your omega dissatisfied with the scent of beta emanating from him. 

“I know.” He says, easing you away from his neck. “Just drink this first and then you can have your alpha.” 

“Alpha.” You whimper, leaning against Kyle’s chest. 

He helps you drink some of the sweet liquid, and you gulp it down, relieved as it eases some of the dryness in your mouth. He lets you drink half of the bottle before he pulls it away, setting it on the nightstand. 

“Good girl.” He praises you, helping you lay back down against your pillow. “I’ll go get Price. I’ll get your alpha.” 

You hum contently at the promise of what’s coming, your omega practically screaming for her alpha, for some relief. 

Kyle slips back out the door, your head buzzing as the intense arousal and need burning within you gets stronger. Your pussy is pulsing, slick dribbling out of you as the need to mate takes over. The primordial instinct to reproduce is strong, your omega clawing at your mind, screaming to be bred, screaming to be bred, to carry pups. You need your alpha. You need his knot. 

You roll onto your stomach, pressing your hips into the mattress. You need something, anything to ease the aching pulse in your body. You begin to rut against the sheets, dragging your clit against the rough fabric. You let out a quiet whine as the friction sends pleasure shooting through you, a slight relief from the pain of your intense arousal. 

The door opens, your head shooting up as the heavy scent of alpha washes over you. Your eyes dilate, a shudder traveling from your head to your toes as the familiar scent of damp earth laced with the musk of arousal invades your senses. You let out another whine as John approaches the bed, your hips still rutting desperately against the sheets. You look utterly ruined, wide eyed and sweat-slicked, panting like an animal in heat. 

You are an animal in heat. 

“Look at you.” John mumbles, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. He stands over you, watching the desperate movements of your hips for a moment. “Needy little thing.” He teases, setting his phone on your nightstand before tugging his shirt over his head. 

You watch as every inch of skin is revealed to you, lips parting as you take him in. The strength of his muscles, the softness of his stomach. You want to lick every inch of him. You want to roll around in his scent, cover yourself in his essence, mark every part of your body with him. 

You arch into his touch as he drags a hand down your back, rough fingers following the line of your spine. You press your ass into his hand as he passes over it, fingers tugging your thighs apart. He groans again as a wave of your thick, sweet scent washes over him. 

“Let me see you.” He growls, sweatpants hitting the floor. 

You hear him, but you’re too busy staring at him in awe. More slick slips out of you at the sight of his cock, red and angry and painfully hard already. You can almost swear it’s pulsing in time with your pussy. A harsh gasp is pulled from your throat as he brings his hand down across your ass, the sound of skin striking skin loud enough to pull you back to reality. 

“I said, present for your alpha.” He says, the rough rumble of his inner alpha coating the edges of his voice. 

You whimper in response, scrambling up onto your hands and knees like a good omega for him as he kneels on the bed behind you.  

“Good girl.” He rumbles, a pleased whine leaving your lips at his praise. 

You push back into his hands as he cups your ass, his hand smoothing over the burning spot on the cheek he’d slapped. You can’t feel the pain from it, far too lost in your heat-riddled brain to register anything but the need pulsing between your thighs and the alpha staring at your soaked pussy. Thumbs part your folds, slick dribbling onto the sheets as he stares at your pussy. 

“So fucking slick for me.” He groans, dragging a thumb along your slit. 

“For you alpha!” You gasp, pressing back harder against his hands. 

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he drags his thumb through your folds again, pressing the digit against your clit. Your gasp is broken by a whimper, your clit already sensitive from you humping against your bed like a needy pup. You bend your top half down, relaxing against the mattress as you grind back against his hand. He lets you, keeping his hand still as he lets you work yourself to pleasure on your own. 

“Please! Please!” You beg, mind going numb with pleasure as his thumb brushes your clit with every rock of your hips. Your legs are already shaking, body trembling as the pleasure starts to build and build, the promise of relief coming at the hands of your alpha. 

“Eager little thing,” He rumbles, his breath fanning across your folds. 

You moan as his tongue drags along your slit, tasting your slick. Your fingers sink into the sheets, holding on as his tongue prods your entrance, his mouth slurping at the slick dripping from you. It’s obscene, but either of you care, both of you too lost in your need. 

Your knees nearly give out, your pussy clenching around his tongue as he applies more pressure against your clit, drawing slow circles with his thumb. He’s groaning against you, the quiet sound rumbling deep in his chest. He’s losing his own sanity, his alpha taking over as your heat triggers his rut instincts. His alpha has to be screaming as much as your omega is to mate. 

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, washing over you with a power that almost makes you black out. Slick spills out of you as your pussy flutters, soaking John’s face and beard in your juices. He’s relentless, not giving you even a second as he continues to fuck you with his tongue as his thumb rubs tight circles on your clit. Your legs are shaking, eyes rolling as the pleasure continues to build. Despite your orgasm, it’s not enough. Your brain knows it and your body knows it. You need a knot before you’ll be able to relax, before the pain and the need fades enough for your brain to relax. 

Even then, it will only be for a moment. 

“Alpha!” You whine, pushing back against his face, seeking out more. 

John growls against your pussy, the sound vibrating into your very soul. You let out a whimper in response, clutching at the sheets desperately. He pulls away from your pussy, licking his lips. You wish you could see him, the way his face shines with your slick, his beard soaked with your release. He licks his lips, savoring every last taste of you he can get as he sinks his fingers into you. 

You clamp down around the thick digits, a groan leaving his lips as you squeeze around him. You’re desperate for another orgasm, another chance at relief from the blazing inferno under your skin, the painful need still pulsing in your pelvis. 

“Please, alpha!” You whine, bucking back against his hand. “Hurts.”

He shushes you, continuing to fuck you with his fingers. The wet squelch of your pussy is loud in the small room, obscene and depraved, but you cannot bring yourself to care who might be able to hear as another orgasm rushes through your body. You whine in pleasure as slick dribbles out around his fingers, forced out by the fluttering of your walls. You can’t stop, don’t stop, as you continue to rock back against him. He watches you, holding his hand still as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You’re still desperate for more, still needing the one thing he won’t give you yet. 

He pulls his fingers from you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Your pussy is still pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, still trying to clench around nothing. John curses as he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your slick and your release across the sensitive skin. 

“Tell me what you need.” He rasps, the edges of his voice harsh as his alpha begins to take over.

“Need your knot, alpha.” You whine, pushing your hips back, searching for anything that might offer some more relief. “Please.”

He lets out a pleased rumble, shifting behind you. You bite your lip in anticipation and excitement, your body twitching as his rough hands smooth over the skin of your hips. His touch is electric, amplified by the sensitivity brought on by your heat. You want to feel him against you, you want to feel him inside of you. You need him, every fiber of your being, every cell in your body reaching out to him, inviting him in. 

A quiet mewl escapes you as he drags the head of his cock through your folds, gathering your slick on his hard length. Your entire body flutters in anticipation as he pushes against your entrance, meeting no resistance as he presses into you. Your body aids him, relaxing around him as it welcomes the intrusion. There’s no pain, no discomfort as he stretches you open, aided by the copious slick that still seeps out around his cock. You practically shudder in relief as you finally get what you want, what you need. 

Your alpha’s cock inside you. 

His grip is tight on your hips as he begins to move, rocking his own hips as he presses deeper into you. He shifts his legs around yours, pressing himself closer until he’s flush against your ass. You can feel him deep inside you, and you’re almost certain you could see it if you looked. You brace yourself against the bed, instinct taking over as you begin to move with him, rocking back to meet his thrusts. It’s lewd, the sound of skin slapping skin as he sets an almost frantic pace, sharp thrusts accentuating the wet squelch of your pussy around him, and the sound of his hips meeting your ass. 

His fingers dig into your hips almost to the point of pain, but you don’t care. You’re far too lost in your instincts, and the pleasure, to care much about anything. The hormones and endorphins block it out, only one thought on your mind, playing on repeat. 

Knot knot knot knot.

You moan loudly as Price ruts into you, not caring who might hear, or who can hear. Price moans and growls, the sweetness of your scent blocking out all thoughts except how much he needs to breed you, how much he needs to be a good alpha and take care of his omega. 

You just want to be a good omega for your alpha. 

You cum again with a cry, pussy fluttering around his cock as more slick dribbles out of you, soaking the sheets below you. John doesn’t stop, save for a slight falter of his thrusts as you squeeze around him tightly, your pussy trying to milk his own orgasm from him. Your body is shaking, his hands the only thing keeping your hips upright as more and more pleasure continues to build despite now three orgasms that have rocked through you. 

You need him to cum, you need him to fill you up with his knot. You need to feel the warmth of his seed inside you, the heaviness of it as it fills you. Drool begins to pool on the sheets below your face, adding to the mix of fluids soaked into your already damp sheets. John’s pace never falters, even as sweat begins to build on his brow, sliding down the sides of his face. You want to lick it, follow the trail of salty liquid as it falls down his neck and onto his chest. 

Sweat drips from your own skin as another orgasm begins to build. You can tell John is close too as his grip tightens on your hips, the pain registering just for a moment at the back of your mind. You’ll forget it by the time your heat ends, the momentary pull to awareness lost in the haze of mindless pleasure and a need to mate. 

“C’mon.” John growls, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck. “Give it to me.” 

You let out a whine, knowing what it is he wants, what it is you need as you push yourself back up onto shaking arms, the adrenaline the only thing giving you the strength to move. John moves your braids to the other side of your neck, his chest pressing against your back. It changes the angle of his thrusts as he grinds against you, the swelling at the base of his cock catching on your walls as he continues to thrust deeply into you. 

“Please,” You whimper, bearing your neck to him as he kisses along the line of your shoulder. “Please alpha. Wanna be yours.” You whimper, arching into him in an attempt to get closer as his teeth drag across your skin. 

“My good omega.” He growls, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin right next to your scent gland at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “My good girl. Gonna take my knot like a good omega? Let me fill you up with pups as I make you mine?” 

You let out a high pitched whine at his words, trying to press your neck closer to his mouth. “Please, alpha! Please! Wanna be a good omega!” 

He curses under his breath, his arm wrapping around your body to hold you up. His knot presses into you, stretching you open as it continues to swell until he’s locked inside you. You cum around his knot at the sensation of being filled so completely, his hips continuing to grind against you as he chases his own orgasm. 

You nearly black out as his teeth sink into your skin, the pinch lasting only for a second before pleasure rushes through you. You let out a loud, high-pitched sound as he claims you, marking you as his forever. Another, sudden orgasm slams into you, his arm holding you still as you try to writhe on his knot. He growls into your skin as he stills, hips jerking against your ass as he cums inside you. 

Your arms give out as he releases your shoulder, blood dripping onto the sheets below you. Your head is spinning as he drags his tongue across the raised skin, cleaning the mark he’s left on you. 

He shushes you as you let out little whimpers and whines, gently easing your body so you’re laying flat against the bed. “Easy, that’s my good girl.” He praises you, pressing gentle kisses against your neck. “My good omega. Take my knot so well.” 

Your vision slowly fades to darkness as exhaustion takes over, a small smile tugging at your lips from his praise. 

His eyes are dark and glazed as he stares up at you, mouth parted as he breathes heavily. Your head is thrown back, the sweetest little moans and whimpers leaving your lips as you bounce on his cock. His hands hold your hips, far too tight to be comfortable against your sweat-soaked skin as he guides your movements, but you offer no complaint. His thighs are soaked with your slick and a mix of fluids that seems to endlessly drip from you. Your own thighs are shaking around him, exhaustion prevalent in your sloppy movements. You’re close, eyes fluttering as your grip tightens on his shoulders. Your nails bite into his skin but he doesn’t care. He can’t feel much of anything but pleasure at the moment. 

He guides you through your orgasm as it rocks through you, your body shuddering around him. His hips press up against yours as he reaches his own end, spilling into you as his knot locks into place, connecting you two once again. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, nor does he care. All he wants is to be inside you, fucking his seed into you until you’re swollen with it. He stares down at where you’re connected for a moment, your pussy spread open around his knot.

He guides you against his chest as your body gives out, the haze of his instincts lifting just momentarily. His body aches, soreness settling in as his mind clears. You lick at his throat, tasting his sweat-slicked skin. Sweet little whimpers and whines leave your lips as you rest against him, completely boneless and at his mercy.

He reaches over to the nightstand, wrapping an arm around you to hold you still so he doesn’t tug on the knot as he grabs the bottle of electrolytes. He unscrews the cap, gently easing you back. You’re both still breathing heavily as he cradles the back of your head with one hand, helping you drink the electrolytes. You gulp it down even in your exhausted state, your body recognizing its need for sustenance. 

He drinks the rest after you finish, tossing the bottle onto the floor with the others. He picks up one of the nutrient bars, peeling the wrapper off before he begins to eat, feeding you bites of it as he does. You’re half asleep, chewing slowly as you rest against his chest, body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of another of what’s now a countless number of orgasms. 

He gives you the last little bit of the bar before he relaxes back against the headboard, keeping his arms wrapped tight around you. The skin on your shoulder is still angry and slightly swollen from his claiming bite. It doesn’t help that he’s sunk his teeth into that spot twice now since he first claimed you. 

He swells with pride upon seeing it, the proof that you’re now his, a warning to others not to mess with you. It’s a slight weight off his shoulders. He has to worry less about someone trying something. Some haughty, cocksure alpha getting it through his head that he wants what he can’t have, that he can just take what’s not his. A low growl rumbles through his chest at the thought. 

He shushes you as you stir in response to the warning growl, a purr rumbling through his chest as he eases you back into a relaxed state. His good little omega, his sweet little omega, taking his knot so well. 

You make a quiet noise as he twitches inside you, the feeling of being enveloped in your tight heat almost like heaven. He closes his eyes, calming his inner alpha. He knows you need to rest. You need a little break before you start up again, before your heat continues to ravage you. 

Before he continues to ravage you. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

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[softspiderling]

god, it's brutal out here | r.c.

summary:

“And yet you’re still thinking of your ex,” Barry finished the sentence, rubbing his chin. “Why don’t you get back together with her?”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“God, fucking Country Club,” Barry snickered. “You’re fucking dense.”

OR; 5 times your friends share their unsolicited opinions about your and Rafe’s break up.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of c*caine

word count: 5,4k

author’s note: the long awaited sequel of so obsessed with your ex! this can be read as a standalone fic, but there are little easter eggs hidden all over, which will be more fun if you read the first part! it's a little bit longer than I had planned, but there was no way around it. I hope you enjoy it so so much!!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I Wheezie

“Hey Wheeze.”

You had accepted the facetime without looking at your phone, keeping it rested on a shelf while you were halfway into your closet, trying to find a dress.

“Does Rafe have a new girlfriend??”

Pausing, you shut your eyes, letting out a silent exhale before you picked up the phone, giving Wheezie a wry smile through the camera.

“Nice to see you too.”

The girl only looked at you, unimpressed and her arms crossed. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, knowing you didn’t have a way out of this conversation. Grabbing your phone, you sat down on your bed.

“Yes, Rafe has a new girlfriend.”

“I knew it!” Wheezie shrieked, throwing her arms up, and you only shook your head in exasperation. The tendency for drama clearly was in the Cameron genes. Wheezie frowned, getting closer to your phone as she looked at you.

“Why am I more upset about this than you are?”

You bit back another sigh. “Because Rafe and I are broken up, Wheeze. He’s allowed to date other people, matter of fact, I’m really glad that he has moved on.”

“Bullshit!”

“Wheezie!”

Wheezie rolled her eyes, but she sat back down, crossing her arms over her chest again. “I don’t like her.”

“You don’t even know her,” you sighed, rubbing your temple, feeling a migraine coming on.

“This is crazy!” Wheezie exclaimed. “You and Rafe never should’ve broken up in the first place! Rafe is probably only dating her to make you jealous so you’ll take him back.”

You couldn’t help but snort at that, Wheezie clearly watched way too many rom-coms. She frowned at you.

“Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny, this is, like, super un-funny.”

“Because, Wheeze,” you started, plucking a feather out of your pillow. “This isn’t some 90’s rom-com where I see Rafe with Rebecca and suddenly a sad song is playing. This is real life. We are broken up.”

“I still don’t understand why.”

“Remember when we used to fight all the time? And I was just always sad?”

Wheezie was quiet, her lips still pursed. “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything. Couples fight all the time, doesn’t mean you just have to break up.”

“Yes, couples fight all the time and they don’t have to break up, but it was the right decision for me and Rafe,” you said, your tone final. Wheezie looked at you, her frown slowly smoothing down.

“If you say so,” she muttered, not quite convinced. She stared down at her chipped finger nails, before she looked up again. “Can we still talk?”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Of course we can still talk, why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know… I mean, you’re gonna find a new boyfriend and maybe he has a younger sister as well and then I’ll just be your ex’s younger sister.”

“Wheeze,” you said, fondly, knowing where she was coming from. You had been in her life for most of her teenage years, it must be weird not having you around anymore. “We’ll still talk, no matter if I get a new boyfriend or not, even if he has a cool younger sister, or even three.”

Wheezie smiled, rolling her eyes at you. “You’re so dumb.”

“Yet you still want me around,” you teased. “How about you, Sar and I go get some ice cream and then to the movies this weekend?”

“Sounds good,” Wheezie replied with a big smile. She paused when someone called her name from somewhere in the house, before she turned back to her phone. “I gotta go, Rose needs me. I’ll text you later.”

“Alright, Wheeze. Talk to you later, be good.”

Wheezie waved into the camera, before the facetime ended. Your smile dropped and you tossed your phone on your bed with a sigh, letting yourself fall back on your bed. Even six months after the break up it was still hard to talk about Rafe, and now that he had a new girlfriend, you thought it’d be easier to get over him, but all it did was hurt more. It didn’t help that Rafe was still texting you every now and then. Nothing scandalous, just small texts, but you never replied. You both agreed on no contact after the break up, because you thought it’d give you a better opportunity to heal. You should’ve known he’d break it. Picking up your phone, you unlocked it, swiping to your messages.

Rafe [11/30/23: 1:43 am]: couldn’t sleep. remember when we took out the boat at two am bc we both drank a red bull at ten?

Rafe [11/30/23: 11:22 am]: sorry, i was drinking. didn’t mean to text you. hope you’re doing good

Rafe [12/25/23: 2:44 pm]: merry christmas. it’s weird without you.

Rafe [01/01/24: 01:02 am]: happy new year’s.

Rafe [01/05/24: 9:56 pm]: are you really not gonna text me back?

Rafe [01/27/24: 3:07 am]: i miss you

Rafe [02/12/24: 12:05 pm]: saw you at the party last night. you looked so fucking pretty. took everything in me not to talk to you.

Rafe [03/01/24: 7:12 pm]: idk if you care or not, but i still wanted to let you know. i’m seeing someone

You never replied to any of the texts, knowing it was for the better. You could block him, but you never brought it over your heart to do so, telling yourself you wanted him to reach you in case of emergency, but deep down, you didn’t want to block him.

Just incase.

II Barry

“Want some C?” Barry asked as greeting, presenting Rafe a small baggie with white powder in it as soon as he walked onto the lot.

“Nah,” Rafe declined, already feeling jittery enough without it, “Won’t say no to a beer though.”

Barry let out a grunt, tossing the baggie on the table, disappearing inside the trailer. Rafe took a seat in one of the chairs, running his hand over his buzzed head, bouncing his leg nervously. He had needed to get out of the house for a while. Ever since Rebecca pulled the picture out of the drawer, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Again.

Which is fucked up, really. He thought he got over you, he didn’t want to be the guy who thought about his ex while having a whole ass girlfriend. The door to the trailer opened with a slam, Barry exiting with two beer cans, handing Rafe one of them. The can was ice cold in his hands, and the cold liquid helped with his racing heart. He let out a sigh, rubbing a thumb over his eye brow. Rafe took another gulp of the beer, almost drinking the entire can in one go, while Barry watched him, assessing.

“You good?”

Rafe nodded, setting the can on the table.

“Yeah, jus’ stressed.”

“Work, or…?”

Barry trailed off without finishing his sentence and Rafe didn’t answer, wiping a finger over his jaw, which was clenched to the max.

Barry eyed him skeptically, leaning back in his chair. “How’s Mrs. Country Club?”

Rafe let out a loud sigh, tipping his head back, like he always did when he was annoyed with Barry.

“Barry, I don’t know if all the drugs you’re taking are starting to get to your memory, but we broke up.”

“Don’t be fucking rude,” he said, kicking Rafe’s chair. Not hard enough for it to tip over, but hard enough for Rafe to grip onto the arm rests, glaring at his friend. “How’d you know I wasn’t talking ‘bout your new girl?”

“Because you always call her Becky,” Rafe pointed out, giving him a look.

Barry shrugged, taking a sip from his beer. “You still know who ‘m talking about, so what’s the problem?”

“Problem is, it’s disrespectful. You know that’s not her name.”

“You’re still hung up on your ex while dating Becky, so who’s really disrespecting her?”

Rafe’s head shot up and the glare he sent Barry was deadly.

“Fuck this shit, and fuck you,” he snapped, pushing himself up from the chair, but Barry grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Boy, sit down.”

Rafe scowled at him, before sitting back down, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. He did not come all the way out to the cut to get called out like this.

“If you came here to be coddled, you went to the wrong person.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Rafe muttered with an eyeroll. “Just wanted to let off some steam.”

“So?” Barry snorted, waving his hands around. “Steam away.”

Rafe scoffed, scooting down in his chair, shaking his head. “Do you think I want to think of her? I fucking hate feeling like this. Bex is nice, and she’s hot. And yet-”

“And yet you’re still thinking of your ex,” Barry finished the sentence, rubbing his chin. “Why don’t you get back together with her?”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“God, fucking Country Club,” Barry snickered. “You’re fucking dense.”

“Nah, you don’t fucking get it, “ Rafe sneered, leaning his head in his hands. And he didn’t, not really. Which really wasn’t his fault. Rafe just didn’t want to talk about the break up with his friends. Physically couldn’t. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t told anyone why you broke up. Just made it feel all to real, he guessed.

“Nah, you’re right, I don’t,” Barry said, shaking his head. “All I know is, one day you’re all fucking sunshine and the next you’re more emo than that Friday girl.”

“What?” Rafe asked, lifting his head to stare at Barry in confusion.

Barry waved him off. “You know, that freaky girl from Netflix with the black lipstick.”

“Do you mean Wednesday?”

“Yeah, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, all the same to me,” Barry huffed. “Point is, life’s too fucking short to do things that don’t make you happy.”

“Bex makes me happy.”

Barry gave him a long, hard look, squinting his eyes at him. “Yeah, right. Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

Rafe stared back at him before shaking his head, finishing the last of his beer before crushing the empty can in his hand, declining to answer, because he knew he couldn’t convince Barry.

He wasn’t even convinced himself.

III Topper

top [05/03/24: 4:06 pm]: gonna be at alex’s later tonight with rafe and rebecca just fyi if you wanted to come

mrs. rafe [05/03/24: 4:57 pm]: k, thanks for letting me know

—— NEW MESSAGE ——

top [05/04/24: 1:37 am]: can you pick me up?

It was Saturday night, a little past your bedtime for a night in. You were getting ready for bed, exiting the bathroom when your phone buzzed in your hand. Lifting it, you read the new text, not quite believing he’d make you do this. What the fuck was he thinking asking you to pick him up? Shaking your head in disbelief, you typed out an answer.

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:41 am]: topper no

Before you could put the phone away, your phone already buzzed with an answer, and you nearly didn’t want to read whatever lame ass excuse he came up with, your hand stilling when your eyes flit over his text.

top [05/04/24: 1:41 am]: please, i don’t want to get a ride with rafe and rebecca

top [05/04/24: 1:41 am]: she asked me so many questions about you and i can’t be around rafe rn or i’ll tell him

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:45 am]: … fine

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:47 am]: you’re so annoying

Cursing Topper and yourself for not going to bed sooner, you put on a sweatshirt and grabbed your keys and purse, typing out another text before you headed out of the house, getting into your car.

mrs. rafe [05/04/24: 1:49 am]: be there in ten

top [05/04/24: 1:50 am]: omg i owe you <3

Barely ten minutes later, you pulled up in front of Alex’ house, looking out for Topper, before you spotted him underneath a tree. You rolled to a stop next to him, giving him the most unimpressed look.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Topper groaned, getting into the car, shutting the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes, pulling off the curb without another word, driving towards Topper’s house.

“I’m really sorry for asking you to come get me, but Rafe was looking for me and I had too much to drink already to lie in his face,” Topper said, leaning his back against the headrest, shutting his eyes.

You desperately wanted to know what Rebecca had asked but you didn’t want to come off as the nosy ex, even if this was Topper. So as nonchalantly as you could, you asked: “What did you talk about?”

“Jesus,” Topper said, running a hand through his hair. “She asked me how you guys broke up and wanted details, too. Was super insistent, I was kinda scared actually.”

Okay, so just normal sussing out the ex, you could deal with that.

“What did you say?”

“That it was a mutual break up and I didn’t know why you broke up, just that you suddenly disappeared from each other’s lives.”

You sighed. That was the vaguest answer you’d ever heard.

“Why didn’t you just tell her why we broke up?”

Topper glanced at you, his brows knitted together.

“How can I tell her something I don’t know?”

“What?”

You slammed on the breaks, nearly sending Topper flying through the windshield because the idiot hadn’t buckled up, while you stared at him.

“What do you mean you don’t know why we broke up?”

“I don’t!” Topper exclaimed. “Rafe refuses to talk about it and you never told me either.”

“Because I assumed Rafe has told you! It’s been like six months!”

Blinking at Topper, it took you a few seconds to process, jumping when someone honked their horn at you, when you remembered you had stopped in the middle of the street.

“Shit,” you muttered, shifting gears to keep on driving, eyes flitting to Topper repeatedly.

“So…” he started. “Why did you guys break up?”

You gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, letting out a deep breath. When you had left to come pick Topper up, you hadn’t expected having to tell him why you and his best friend had broken up.

“I was getting so worried about him. He was so stressed about the company every day, took home so much work and Ward was breathing down his neck to keep the numbers up. I told him that I thought he should take a step back, maybe take a break or something, tried to convince him of going on a trip or something, but the more I said, the more he seemed to be pushing himself into work. It got so bad that we were fighting basically every day, and it just wasn’t working anymore. It felt like we were going in circles.”

You cleared your throat when you felt yourself getting choked up, vision turning a little blurry from the tears in your eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Topper exclaimed, patting himself down, looking for some tissues.

“Don’t worry about it,” you snorted, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You were so wrapped up in trying to retell the break up, you hadn’t even noticed that you already reached Topper’s house. “I shouldn’t even still be getting so worked up over this after all this time,” you sniffed, turning your car off.

Topper looked at you, with that typical look on his face and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t believe Rafe hasn’t told you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? I think he might be in denial about it.”

You scoffed at him, shaking your head. Why was everyone so hung up over your break up?

“It’s been six months.”

Topper didn’t reply, his hand on the car door and you expected him to bid you good bye, but that was too easy.

“… Do you think you guys will get back together?”

“He has a girlfriend, Top.”

“Still. I don’t think that Rafe and Rebecca are gonna last very long.” Topper looked at you, pressing his lips together, before shaking his head. “Sorry. Thanks for coming and for getting me home. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a small wave, and waited until he got out of the car, shutting the door behind him, before you turned your car on, pulling off.

“What the fuck,” you muttered to yourself, wiping the rest of the tears off as you drove home.

IV Kelce

“Kelce!”

Kelce looked up from the pool table, a smile growing on his face when he saw Rafe come down the basement, his friend wrapping an arm around him for a brief hug.

“Happy birthday, man,” Rafe said, handing Kelce a bottle of the expensive whiskey he always drank when he was at Rafe’s but too stingy to buy it for himself.

“Ah shit, you didn’t have to,” Kelce uttered, though his eyes were sparkling as he looked at the bottle in his hands. He handed the pool stick to one of the guys next to him, leading Rafe to the bar. He grabbed two glasses from the shelves, pouring Rafe and himself a good amount, offering one of the glasses to him.

“Cheers to you.”

The two clinked their glasses, before sipping on the whiskey. Kelce really enjoyed it, too, with the way he closed his eyes, and Rafe only snorted in his glass. Kelce peaked his eye open, shoving his friend fondly with a grin.

“Rebecca here?”

“Yeah, upstairs.”

Kelce hummed in thoughts, nodding absentmindedly. He stared into his glass, swishing the amber liquid around before he spoke up again.

“You know she’s here, too, right?”

Rafe tensed, knowing exactly that Kelce was talking about you, but he had expected it. Firstly, because you and Kelce had always been friends, and secondly because he had heard Sarah making plans with you to go together. Didn’t mean this felt any less of a punch to the gut. He really hoped he wouldn’t run into you, because he wasn’t quite sure what he’d do; all he knew was, that Bex wasn’t gonna like it. Rafe cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound nonchalant.

“I figured, yeah.”

“That okay?” Kelce asked, and Rafe was starting to get annoyed, rolling his eyes. Why was Kelce questioning him about you on his damn birthday? He tried to dampen his anger though, not wanting to ruin the night.

“Yes. It’s your birthday, man.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Rafe knew he did a shit job of hiding his emotions, and Kelce eyed him suspiciously.

“I don’t get you guys,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You got a new girl, but you still haven’t gotten over your ex, clearly, but every time I mention her, you act like it’s the worst thing in the world, but neither of you have said a bad word about the other.

Rafe scoffed, though his heart started to race at the thought of you talking about him. He wondered what you had said, if you cared enough to ask about him, or if you had long moved on.

“Are you ever gonna tell me why you guys broke up?”

“Maybe next time.”

Kelce gave him a wry smile, knowing this was Rafe avoiding the topic again. He lifted his head when more people starting coming down the basement, curling his hand around Rafe’s shoulder to give him a squeeze.

“I really hope you figure it out bro, because this right now is not it.”

He then excused himself to welcome the new arrivals and Rafe gripped his glass, before downing it in one go.

“Alright, who wants to get destroyed in a round of pool?” he asked, clapping his hands together as he approached the pool table. Anything to stop himself from going upstairs to look for you.

V Sarah

“Oh my god, I thought you were gonna keep talking to her forever!”

You gave Sarah a look. She hadn’t even waited a minute after you left Rebecca on the couch before she started talking about her.

“I don’t have a problem with her.”

Sarah groaned, linking her arm with yours as to not lose you in the crowd that has formed in Kelce’s house. You were glancing around, hyper aware that you could run into Rafe any second, but you didn’t want Sarah to notice.

“I don’t understand how you can be so chill. Did you not see the picture she had in her purse?”

You sighed, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. Was this ever going to stop? “Sar, please.”

“Hello?? That was super freaky.”

“Maybe she was just cleaning up and wanted to throw it in the trash and forgot it in her purse.”

Sarah laughed dryly, shaking her head. “Bullshit! Admit that you find it weird.”

“Okay, maybe it is a little weird,” you admitted. “But don’t you do things that are a little weird sometimes? Maybe she’s just a little insecure. Which I wouldn’t blame her for, you’re so mean. Shouldn’t you try and be her friend or something?”

“Why? She’s not gonna be around much longer anyways, and I already have a friend.”

You rolled your eyes, fishing your keys out of your purse to unlock your car. Again with the sentiment that Rafe and Rebecca weren’t gonna last much longer. You decided against deeming that statement with an answer and got into your car, with Sarah getting into the passenger seat.

“Do you want to grab some burgers?” She asked, buckling up, like she hadn’t just told you that your ex and his new girlfriend weren’t gonna last.

You gave her a look as you tossed your purse to the back.

“What do you mean do I want to grab burgers? I thought you wanted to leave because you’re meeting John B early in the morning.”

Sarah blinked at you, before she reached out to give you a shove on the forehead. “I was lying so we could get away, stupid.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, starting your car as Sarah protested.

“What? I was getting weirded out by you being all besties with Rafe’s new girlfriend. I don’t even understand how you can be so nice to her knowing she’s all up on your man.”

“Pray tell, who’s my man again?”

“Don’t even,” Sarah huffed. “You guys dated forever, I know you still love each other. And let me tell you one thing,” she said, raising her eyebrows at you. “If you got a new boyfriend? Rafe would not be this nice to him like you were to Rebecca.” With that, Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, settling back against her seat.

You only sighed, starting your car in silence.

“Do you want to get burgers now or not?” you asked, extending a peace offer while looking over at Sarah. She glowered at you, before nodding with an eyeroll.

“Yes.”

BONUS + I Rafe

“I did, at the party last night… She said she’s happy that you have me, that she was worried about how you work too much.”

Rafe pushed the pasta on his plate around with his fork, too engrossed in his thoughts to even think about eating. He didn’t even notice how Dennis had stopped talking. Rafe looked up from his plate, only to see Dennis look at him intently, an amused grin on his face.

“Sorry, were you saying something?”

“I was saying a lot, but you seemed like you were on a completely different planet,” Dennis noted, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Rafe winced, putting his fork down.

“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

“I can tell,” Dennis mused. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Something like that.”

Rafe sighed, leaning back in his chair. Ever since you broke up, Rafe has been assuming that you didn’t care about him anymore, that you had long moved on from him and your relationship. He thought that you resented him, blamed him for the break up, which was honestly the main reason why he went back to the dating scene so quickly; to get over you. But hearing that you still cared about him? Enough to be nice to his new girlfriend and even ask about him? He wondered if there was still a chance for him and you to be together again.

If it weren’t for the fact that he already had a girlfriend.

“Can I give you some unsolicited advice, son?”

“Do I have a choice?” Rafe asked with a wry grin and Dennis only let out a belly laugh, shaking his head.

“Rafe, most relationships these days end because of your own ego, from both parties. No matter how big the fight or problem seems, will it really be that important in hindsight?” Dennis asked him. “How long have you an your girl been together? Almost 5 years, no?”

Rafe nodded, not daring to correct Dennis. He had never outright told him that you had broken up in the first place.

“See, that’s half a decade. I can assure you, in another half, you’re not even gonna remember this fight.”

Yeah, I don’t know about that, Rafe thought.

“Do you love her?”

Turning his ring on his finger, Rafe let out a soft exhale, before nodding. “Yeah, I do.”

“See. Problem solved.”

Rafe lifted his head to grin at Dennis.

“Thanks. Is it okay if we cut today short?”

“Sure,” Dennis said, waving Rafe off when he reached for his wallet. “Lunch is on me. Go get your girl.”

“I will,” Rafe promised, pushing his chair back to stand up. “I just gotta take care of something else first.”

BONUS + II You

You were staring at your phone, text thread with Rafe open. It was Saturday night; you and Sarah had went out to a small beach party. Sarah had gone to fill her drink back up and you had used that time of solace to overthink. About Rafe.

For the past few week, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. And you blamed your friends for it, really. First Wheezie, then Topper and then Sarah? Somehow all of them said that the break up was the worst idea, and even though you had always second guessed the choice to break up, this was the first time you actually actively regretted it.

The way Sarah seemed so sure that Rafe and Rebecca weren’t going to last long. Maybe you were wrong and they weren’t as happy as you thought. But then again, it wasn’t any of your business, was it? Who were you to put your nose into their relationship?

God, you shouldn’t be doing this.

“How long does Sarah need to fill her drink back up?” You muttered to yourself, finishing your vodka soda and burying the cup in the sand next to you, when you heard foot steps approaching.

“Finally! I was about to send a search group out for you!” you exclaimed, standing up and dusting the sand off your lap. “Seriously, how long does it take for-”

You froze when you turned around just to see Rafe standing in front of you, instead of Sarah. Swallowing thickly, you blinked at him, caught off guard.

“Rafe, hey,” you said, opting for casual. “Sorry. I thought you were Sarah.”

The corners of Rafe’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, I could tell.”

You looked at him, sighing a bit wistfully (mostly) internally, before you shifted on your feet nervously. “It was nice to see you,” you said, and it was true. “But um… I think I’ll go look for Sarah.” You gave him a small smile, before walking towards, and then past him.

“You’re still worried about me.”

You let out a startled laugh, pausing mid-step to turn back to him. “What?”

“You told Rebecca that you were glad that I had her and that you worried I work too much.”

“Of course I’m still worried about you,” you huffed, brushing your hair back. “You can’t be surprised about that.”

Rafe looked at you, and you could tell that this was news to him.

“Rafe.”

Rafe let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “You didn’t reply to any of my texts. I thought you were mad at me or somethin’.”

“I didn’t reply to any of your texts because we said we’d do no contact for a while.

“Still,” Rafe muttered, kicking a rock. “I didn’t think it would be so easy for you-”

“And because you were happy with Rebecca, do you think it’s easy for me to see you with someone else?”

“I broke up with Rebecca last week.”

“What?!”

Mouth agape, you stared at him and Rafe only rubbed the back of his neck. “She… Wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Oh,” you only said, letting out a soft exhale. “I’m sorry about that.”

Rafe sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His gaze was trained on the floor for a bit, before he lifted his head to look at you.

“I want to try again… I want us to try again.”

“Rafe…”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes wide and you didn’t move as Rafe took a step towards you, reaching for your hand. Your fingers were cold in his but they quickly warmed to his touch, and the way he laced his fingers with yours, felt all too familiar.

“I love you. I never should have agreed to breaking up. It was arguably the second stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“And what’s the stupidest?” you asked, corners of your mouth lifting.

“Not listening to you when you were just trying to help,” he answered, looking down at you, so vulnerable like you hadn’t seen him in a long time. “I rearranged my schedule at the company so I could take on less work, take more time off and relax. Take the time to get us to where we were before it all went shitty.”

Your heart was in your throat as you listened to him talk, unsure what to say.

“Rafe, I don’t know… “

“Baby, please,” he begged, squeezing your hand. “Do you love me, still?”

You scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Why? Because you do?”

“Of course I still love you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. “Do you know how hard it was for me to ignore your texts? To see you with another girl, so happy?”

Rafe shook his head, lifting his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I wasn’t. Not really.”

You let out another sigh, looking at the way your hands were intertwined, how your heart had stopped racing, before you nodded, looking up at him. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

A smile spread across Rafe’s face, so big it was so uncharacteristic for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It was like that word switched a flip inside of him, as he grabbed you by your nape gently, to kiss you, slotting his lips against your, and as your lips touched, it felt like you were finally home again. You only pulled away to breathe, both of you staring at each other like you couldn’t quite realize this was happening.

Sarah [05/11/2024: 10:45 pm]: (sent to 4 contacts) [picture attached: blurry photograph of you and Rafe kissing at the beach]

Topper [05/11/2024: 10:46 pm]: thank god.

Kelce [05/11/2024: 10:51 pm]: FINALLY!

Wheezie [05/11/2024: 10:59 pm]: !!!!!!

Barry [05/11/2024: 11:02 pm]: read at 11:02 pm

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: sooo.... what are we thinking?

[valsverse]

⠀⠀(୨୧) BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK

. .⠀FEATURING⠀⟡⠀ percy jackson, leo valdez, jason grace, luke castellan (respectively) x gn!reader

﹙🏹﹚ in which ：they get jealous. (and it looks good on them) ── masterlist

percy jackson ; percy’s eyes track your every movement as you laugh at something someone else said—a sound that usually belongs to him.

he leans back against the tree, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his bicep in a rhythm too slow, too measured for the thoughts running through his head. across the campfire, you're caught in conversation with someone who seems a little too interested in every word you say, leaning in just a bit too close. the guy’s smile, belonging to a new camper he doesn't quite recognize, is bright, easy, but percy sees the intent in his eyes. it’s the way the his gaze lingers on you a moment too long, the way he leans in as if he’s trying to get just a little closer, as if he thinks he has a shot. percy pushes off the tree, his movements smooth and unhurried, but there’s a coiled tension in the set of his shoulders. he walks over to the group, slipping into the conversation with that casual air that comes so naturally to him, but there’s something different about the set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. “what’s so funny?” percy’s voice rings out, deceptively light but edged with a bite that makes the newcomer falter. the camper catches the tone and falters for just a second before recovering with a grin. “just telling them about the time i—” percy doesn’t wait for him to finish. he reaches for your hand, pulling you away before another word can leave the guy's mouth. as you move away from the fire’s warmth, the tension in his body begins to ease, though he remains silent until the murmurs of the campfire fade into the background. “everything okay?” you ask, even though the answer is already etched in the harsh set of his jaw and the tight grip of his hand in yours. percy shrugs, his attempt at nonchalance as he tries to mask his irritation. “yeah, i just—” he stops, running a hand through his tousled hair, the frustration evident in the way he looks back toward the campfire, his gaze a storm of irritation. “i don’t like it when people think they can just—” he trails off, the words left hanging, but you know exactly what he means.

a smile tugs at your lips.“percy jackson, are you jealous?”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes with an air of exaggerated nonchalance, but the embarrassed blush creeping up his neck betrays him. “of him? please.” still, you notice the way his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly. leo valdez ; you realize he's the jealous type barely three days in. it’s subtle, the way he inches closer as you text a friend, not out of curiosity but a need for attention. “who’s got you so wrapped up?” he asks, draped lazily beside you, lips pulling into a soft pout.

“an old friend. we’re catching up—it’s been a while.” your eyes stay glued to your screen, your smile growing at the messages. his gaze lingers on you, a moment of quiet before he lets out a dramatic sigh and collapses onto the bed, voice heavy with faux despair.

“you’re abandoning me,” he laments, eyes fluttering shut like the thought alone is unbearable. “guess i’ll just have to die.”

“leo, stop,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but unable to fully hide the smirk creeping onto your lips.

“i'm not gonna make it.” he declares, sitting upright with wide eyes, his hand clutching at his chest as if wounded. "any final words for your dying lover?”

you laugh, finally setting your phone aside and leaning in. you cradle his face, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “you’re impossible.”

jason grace ; you’re sprawled on jason’s bed, explaining your favorite character from a new show you’ve been devouring, your eyes bright with excitement. jason, on the other hand, is brooding in the far corner of the bed like a wet dog.

jason slumps on the far edge of the mattress, a moping shadow cast over his features as he listens to your praise. “so,” he interjects, the pout on his lips deepening as you lose yourself in the narrative, “you’re not still caught up on that guy, right?”

his gaze remains fixed on you, sighing in exasperation when you take a second to respond. “seriously, i can’t believe this,” he adds, the words coming out as a half-whine, half-plea.

you glance over at him, observing the childish distance he’s placed between you two, the slight frown tugging at his mouth. “jason, are you really jealous of a character who doesn't even exist?”

after he doesn't respond and attempts to escape your gaze in obvious embarrassment, you laugh and reach out, fingers tracing the line of his jaw with gentle affection, a contrast to his earlier mood. “c'mon, you know you’re my favorite,” you coo at him, your voice a soothing counterpoint to his frown.

jason’s pout gradually fades, replaced by a smile as he leans into your shoulder, his embrace warming. “yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, his voice muffled but sincere. “guess i need to hear that more often.” luke castellan ; luke’s been staring at you for a while now, stretched out on the bed with narrowed eyes, assessing you like you’ve committed some unforgivable crime. “you remember you’ve got a boyfriend, don't you?” his words are lazy, almost drawled out, but there’s a bite underneath that’s hard to miss.

you don’t even bother to look up, your mind drifting somewhere far from the edge in his voice. “what are you talking about?” your voice is absent, your attention elsewhere, which only fans the flames of his irritation.

he lets out an agitated sigh, one of those exaggerated, weight-of-the-world exhalations, and points an accusing finger at the source of his distress. “i don't know. just seems like you forgot.” the accusation lingers in the air like a challenge.

you follow the line of his gaze, your eyes settling on the supposed rival—curled up in utter contentment on your lap, blissfully unaware of the brewing conflict. you snort, the sound half amusement, half disbelief. “luke, he’s literally just a cat.”

“tip his stupid ass over."

you laugh as you shake your head. “are you seriously jealous of your own cat?” the question is more teasing than incredulous, though you can’t help but be a little entertained by his sulkiness.

i’s not really jealousy—more like the gnawing need for attention he’ll never fully admit. with a quick, decisive movement, he scoops up the cat, who wakes with a startled jolt, all sleepy confusion and disgruntled meows. luke unceremoniously deposits him on the couch, far from his coveted spot.

you gasp, half in mock outrage and half in genuine concern. “you woke him up!” but luke’s already sliding into the now-empty space, settling in peacefully. his head finds its way onto your lap, and he looks up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“what?” he says, voice dripping with mock innocence. “i’m the boyfriend here, remember?”

(luke is a certified cat owner idc.)

©valsverse— do not steal, edit, or repost my works. plagiarism is prohibited.

[be4chywritez]

crush on the waitress | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

Luke has a big fat crush on his waitress, and he thinks he blew his shot, but did he?

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

Luke hadn’t been back in Michigan long—just a few days into the break, and he was already back in the routine with his old teammates. Same group, same effortless banter, like no time had passed at all. Tonight, they had settled on some casual restaurant near campus, the kind of place that felt familiar even if you hadn’t been there a million times.

Luke wasn’t even paying much attention at first, just laughing at something Ethan said, but then he saw you.

You were waiting tables, moving easily from one to the next, balancing plates and conversations like it was second nature. And Luke? Luke got stuck. Mid-sentence, mid-laugh, mid-whatever he was doing before you walked into his line of sight.

He barely even noticed how long he had been looking until Mark leaned over.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

Luke blinked. "Huh?"

Mark followed his gaze, then smirked. "That’s a no."

Mackie turned, catching on immediately. "Oh, this is good."

Luke felt his face heat up and quickly looked back at his menu, pretending to be extremely interested in the list of burgers. "I wasn’t even—"

"Yeah, you were," Ethan cut in. "You’re still doing it."

Luke sighed, but he couldn’t exactly deny it. You were just… effortlessly pretty. Not in some intimidating, untouchable way, but in a way that made it impossible not to look twice. Or, in his case, five or six times.

Before anyone could make another comment, you walked up to the table, pen and order pad in hand.

"Hey, guys! Welcome in," you said, offering a polite smile. "Can I get you started with something to drink?"

Luke knew he should just answer like a normal person, but instead, he sat there like an idiot while the rest of the table casually rattled off their orders. Then you looked at him, expectant, and he suddenly forgot how to function.

"Uh… water’s good."

You nodded, jotting it down. "Alright, I’ll be back in a minute with those."

You lingered just half a second longer, eyes narrowing slightly. "You look really familiar."

Luke knew that look. The same one people gave him when they were trying to place him but couldn’t quite connect the dots. He should probably just help you out—mention his name, drop something about hockey. But before he could say anything, you gave a small shrug.

"Maybe you just have one of those faces."

Luke opened his mouth to respond, but Ethan got there first. "Or maybe—"

"Don’t," Luke cut in, shooting him a look.

Ethan held up his hands in mock innocence. "I wasn’t gonna say anything."

"You absolutely were," Mackie said, shaking his head.

You glanced between them, amused but still a little confused. "Alright, well, let me know if it comes to you."

And with that, you walked off toward another table, leaving Luke to glare as his friends immediately turned on him.

"You’re useless," Mark said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, that was brutal," Mackie added. "Not even a ‘what’s your name?’ or a ‘do you go to Michigan?’ Nothing."

Luke just groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. "Can we please not?"

Ethan grinned. "Oh, no. We are absolutely talking about this."

Luke tried to shake it off, really, he did. But it was impossible not to look when you were right there, moving through the restaurant like you’d been doing this for years. There was something about the way you worked—effortless but focused, quick but never rushed. He caught himself watching the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, how you leaned in slightly when customers spoke, like you actually cared about their orders and weren’t just going through the motions.

It was oddly attractive. Not just the way you looked, but the way you carried yourself. Like you were completely in your element.

"Luke," Mark said, dragging out his name like this wasn’t the third time he’d had to get his attention.

Luke tore his eyes away, but it was too late. Ethan followed his gaze across the restaurant and immediately grinned.

"Alright, this is getting embarrassing," Ethan said. "At least pretend to look at your phone or something."

Luke ignored him, reaching for his drink. He wasn’t about to let them get under his skin.

And then you walked over to the bar, leaning on the counter as you talked to the bartender. Luke couldn’t hear what you were saying, but you were smiling, laughing at something he said.

And just like that, Luke hated him. Not in a serious way—he wasn’t delusional. He had no claim here. But still.

"Ohhh," Mackie hummed, noticing immediately. "Looks like you’ve got some competition, Hughesy."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

Mark leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "I don’t know, man. He’s got the upper hand. He’s already back there, cracking jokes, getting smiles."

Ethan nodded in fake sympathy. "Tough break."

Luke took another sip of his drink, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Damn," Mackie added, shaking his head. "You think she writes her number on his arm with a Sharpie at the end of the night? Or just hands it over on a napkin?"

"You guys are idiots," Luke muttered, but he couldn’t help glancing back over toward the bar. You were still talking to the bartender, your expression relaxed, comfortable.

Yeah, Luke definitely needed to get his act together.

By the time you came back with their drinks, the restaurant had gotten noticeably busier. You barely had time to set them down before you were already moving toward another table, greeting new customers and juggling orders.

Luke didn’t even pretend not to watch you. It wasn’t just that you were pretty—though, yeah, that was a big part of it—but there was something about the way you handled everything so smoothly. Balancing plates, dodging customers, laughing at something an older couple said like you actually enjoyed being here.

"You’re still staring," Mark muttered, smirking over the rim of his glass.

Luke didn’t even try to deny it this time. "Shut up."

"Great comeback," Mackie said. "Really showed us."

Luke ignored them, glancing toward the bar again. The bartender was helping another server, barely paying you any attention now. Not that it mattered. Luke knew his friends were just trying to get under his skin, and he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

Eventually, the restaurant started clearing out. Tables emptied one by one.

You came by, collecting empty glasses from the table, clearly in less of a rush now that the dinner rush had died down.

"Still hanging in there?" you asked, stacking the glasses with practiced ease.

"Trying," Ethan said easily. "You must be wiped."

You shrugged. "Not too bad. Closing shifts get slow toward the end."

Mackie leaned forward slightly. "You do this full-time or just while you're in school?"

"Just while I’m in school," you said, setting down a fresh napkin that someone had knocked onto the floor. "I’m in law school at Michigan."

Luke, who had been quietly sipping his drink, blinked.

Law school.

"Jesus," Ethan said, eyebrows raising. "I barely made it through undergrad."

"Yeah, I think you barely made it in, too," Mark added, smirking.

"Okay, rude," Ethan shot back before turning back to you. "That’s impressive, though."

"Thanks," you said, smiling. "What about you guys? You all go to Michigan, right?"

"Yeah, we did," Mackie said. "Most of us played hockey here, but now we’re scattered in a few different places. Luke’s in Jersey, I’m in Montreal, Ethan’s—well, Ethan’s still here."

"Hey," Ethan said, feigning offense.

You laughed, glancing toward Luke, who had been suspiciously quiet. "What about you?"

Luke, who had been very much not listening, snapped his head up.

"Huh?"

The table went dead silent for half a second before Mark burst out laughing.

"Oh my God," Mackie said, shaking his head. "This is embarrassing for you."

Ethan grinned. "Didn’t hear a single thing she said, did you?"

Luke’s face burned as he scrambled to figure out what he had missed. You just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"I was just asking if you needed a refill or anything," you said, biting back a smile.

Luke groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I’m good, thanks."

Mackie sighed dramatically. "Man is down bad."

As the night stretched on, the restaurant emptied even more. A couple lingered in the corner, finishing off their drinks, and one guy sat at the bar scrolling through his phone, but aside from that, it was just you and Luke’s table.

You grabbed their check from the counter and made your way back over. "Alright, guys. I’ll leave this with you," you said, setting the little black folder in the middle of the table. "No rush."

"Appreciate it," Mark said, reaching for it first.

Before he could open it, Mackie leaned over, lowering his voice just enough to be mostly subtle. "Alright, Hughes. This is your shot."

Luke, who had been so close to getting through the night without another round of this, exhaled through his nose. "What?"

"Leave your number," Ethan said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Luke blinked. "No."

Mark smirked. "That was fast."

"Come on, man," Mackie nudged him. "You’ve been making heart eyes at her all night."

Luke shot him a look. "I have not."

"You definitely have," Ethan said. "At least a little."

"Yeah, at this point, it’s kind of sad if you don’t," Mark added.

Luke shook his head. "Not happening."

Mackie sighed dramatically. "What a waste."

"You guys are the worst," Luke muttered, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

They all threw down cash for the bill, Mark tossing in a tip before closing the folder. You came by a second later, grabbing it off the table with a quick, "Thanks, guys! Have a good night."

"Yeah, you too," Ethan said pointedly, dragging out the words and raising his eyebrows at Luke as they all walked toward the door.

Luke ignored him.

They stepped out into the cool night air, making it about halfway down the sidewalk before Luke suddenly stopped short.

Mackie turned. "Oh my God, are you actually going back in there?"

Luke groaned. "Shut up."

"You are!" Ethan grinned. "Oh, this is incredible."

Luke didn’t even give them the satisfaction of a response before turning and jogging back inside.

You were behind the counter, flipping through the checks and tucking them away when you looked up, surprised to see him. "Hey, everything okay?"

"Yeah," Luke said quickly. "Just—uh—" He held out a few extra bills, more than enough to bump up the tip Mark had left.

You glanced down, brows raising slightly. "You didn’t have to do that."

"I know," Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just—"

You smiled, taking the cash and slipping it into the folder. "Thanks, Luke."

He nodded, standing there for half a second longer, like maybe he should say something else, but—nope. His brain had officially shut down.

So instead, he just gave you a small, sheepish smile before heading back toward the door, where his very entertained friends were watching through the window.

Mackie clapped him on the back the second he stepped outside. "You are so painfully awkward, man."

Luke groaned. "Can we go now?"

Ethan grinned. "Oh, don’t worry. We got everything we needed."

A few days passed, and Luke tried not to think about you.

He was back in Michigan, hanging out with his brothers and some old friends, doing what he always did during breaks—skating, goofing off, grabbing food with the guys. But every so often, his mind drifted back to the restaurant, to you.

Not in some overly dramatic, can’t-think-about-anything-else kind of way. More like a huh, I wonder if she’s working tonight kind of way.

And then, before he could stop himself, he was already thinking of excuses.

At first, he convinced himself he just wanted food. But then he remembered he had already eaten. Then he thought, Well, maybe just a drink, but that felt dumb, too. Eventually, he just sighed, stood up, and grabbed his keys.

"Where you going?" Jack asked, glancing up from the couch.

Luke hesitated for half a second before shrugging. "Just out for a bit."

Quinn, who had known him long enough to recognize when he was being weird, narrowed his eyes slightly. "Out where?"

Luke sighed. "Just a restaurant."

Jack smirked. "Are we supposed to pretend we don’t know which one?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "I hate you guys."

"You like her," Jack sing-songed as Luke walked out the door.

"I don’t," Luke called back, but Jack’s laughter followed him all the way to his car.

—

Luke pulled into the parking lot, telling himself it wasn’t weird. People went to restaurants alone all the time. He wasn’t being weird.

(He was absolutely being weird.)

Still, he walked inside, trying to act casual as he approached the host stand.

"Table for one?" the host asked, grabbing a menu.

"Uh, yeah," Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck.

He was being led toward a small table when he suddenly heard, "Luke?"

He turned, and there you were, standing near the bar with your bag slung over your shoulder, coat draped over your arm.

You were clocking out.

Luke, who had not planned on seeing you this soon, completely blanked for a second. "Oh. Hey."

Your lips quirked up in a small smile. "You here alone?"

Luke glanced at the empty table he was being led to, then back at you. "Uh. Yeah."

Your smile widened, clearly amused. "Bold move."

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I—uh—I was just, you know… hungry."

"Right," you said, nodding, the teasing in your tone impossible to miss.

There was a beat of silence before Luke, like the absolute dork he was, blurted out, "You wanna sit?"

You blinked, like maybe you weren’t expecting him to ask, and Luke was this close to taking it back when you smiled. "Sure."

He tried not to look too relieved as he sat down, watching as you pulled out the chair across from him.

"So," you said, setting your bag down. "Big fan of solo dining?"

Luke exhaled a small laugh. "Huge fan."

You grinned. "Sure, Hughes."

There was a moment of comfortable silence before you asked, "So, what’s your deal?"

Luke raised an eyebrow. "My deal?"

"Yeah," you said, sipping your water. "I know you play hockey, but, like, what else? What kind of person voluntarily sits alone at a restaurant instead of just ordering takeout?"

Luke shook his head, laughing under his breath. "I don’t know. I guess I just like being out sometimes."

You hummed, considering. "Interesting. So, are you the type that just, like, people-watches and makes up stories about strangers?"

"Maybe," Luke admitted. "Are you?"

"Obviously," you said. "It’s the best part of working here. So many weird people."

Luke smirked. "Am I one of them?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm. You did come in alone after a group of guys bullied you into leaving your number and still didn’t leave it."

Luke groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You heard that?"

"Oh, I heard all of that," you said, grinning. "Very entertaining stuff."

Luke just shook his head, biting back a smile. "Great. Love that for me."

"You should," you said, leaning forward slightly. "It was kind of cute."

Luke blinked. "Wait. Really?"

You laughed. "Yeah, Hughes. Really."

Luke wasn’t sure how he got here, sitting across from you, somehow making conversation despite definitely being an idiot earlier that week. But he wasn’t about to question it.

You, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. Like sitting with him was the most normal thing in the world. Like maybe you didn’t think he was a total dork, despite the overwhelming evidence.

"So, law school," Luke said, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. "That’s intense."

"It is," you admitted. "But I like it. Keeps me busy."

"Busy enough that you don’t get to go out much?" he asked.

You smiled knowingly. "Why? You gonna tell me I should get out more?"

Luke huffed a small laugh. "I mean, I’m here alone, so I don’t think I can judge."

"True," you said. "But, yeah. I don’t get out much. Between classes, studying, and working, I don’t really have a ton of free time."

Luke nodded, thinking. "That’s kinda cool, though."

You raised an eyebrow. "Working all the time?"

"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Just—being that focused on something. Knowing exactly what you wanna do."

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "You don’t?"

Luke exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "I mean, I do. Hockey’s kind of my whole life, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think about what’s next and it feels—" He paused, searching for the right word.

"Big?" you offered.

Luke nodded. "Yeah. Big."

You tapped your fingers lightly against the table. "I get that. When I first started law school, it felt like I was standing at the bottom of a mountain and had no idea how I was supposed to get to the top."

Luke met your eyes. "So what did you do?"

You shrugged. "Just kept climbing. One day at a time."

Something about the way you said it—so simple, so sure—made Luke feel lighter.

He liked this. Sitting here, just talking. No pressure, no expectations. Just… getting to know you.

And apparently, you didn’t mind getting to know him either, because the conversation kept flowing. You asked about his brothers, his favorite places to travel, how he got into hockey in the first place. He asked about your favorite classes, your dream job, whether or not you actually liked working at the restaurant.

The restaurant itself started slowing down even more, the last few customers trickling out. The staff wiped down tables, stacked chairs, getting ready to close.

You glanced at your phone and sighed. "I should probably head out soon."

Luke nodded, even though he wasn’t ready for the night to end. "Yeah, of course."

You grabbed your bag and stood, hesitating for a second before looking at him again. "So, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

You smiled, amused by how quickly he straightened up, suddenly on full alert. "You gonna keep coming here alone, or are you finally gonna ask for my number?"

Luke blinked, processing, before his brain fully caught up. "Oh. Right. Uh, yeah, I should—yeah." He fumbled for his phone, nearly knocking over his water glass in the process.

You laughed, shaking your head as you reached out and took his phone from him. "Relax, Hughes. You act like I just asked you to propose."

Luke groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is so embarrassing."

"Not at all," you said, smirking as you typed your number into his phone. "Very endearing, actually."

Luke exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. "Glad I can at least be entertaining."

You handed his phone back and took a step toward the door, but then—before you could think twice about it—you turned back around.

Luke barely had a second to register what was happening before you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Except—he moved just slightly at the last second, and instead of landing on his cheek, your lips brushed the corner of his instead.

Luke froze.

Like, full-body shutdown.

And if he was a little pink before? Oh, he was definitely red now.

You pulled back, biting back a grin at the completely stunned look on his face. "See you around, Hughes."

Then, like you hadn’t just short-circuited his entire brain, you turned and walked out, leaving Luke sitting there—phone still in his hand, heart fully in his throat.

For a solid five seconds, he just stared at the door, trying to process. Then, he blinked down at his phone, your name and number still on the screen.

Jack was never gonna let him live this down.

But honestly?

Totally worth it.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Clutter (Dean Winchester x female reader)

You've recently moved into the bunker, and your "girly stuff" in the bathroom confuses Dean.

Read it on AO3 Teen. 910 words. Dean x female reader. Domestic fluff. Moving in together. Cosmetics. Dean being difficult (but he comes around).

You’re walking down the hallway, about a month after you’ve moved into the bunker, when you hear clanging coming from the bathroom, followed by a hearty: “Son of a bitch!”

Closing the distance to the door, you carefully peek in. Dean is standing in front of the bathroom counter, hands raised, several small tubes and tubs and glass bottles upended before him. You walk in with a frown on your face.

“What are you doing?” you ask, making Dean turn around.

“Your weird girly stuff is everywhere,” he complains, looking frustrated. You raise your eyebrows in response.

“My girly stuff?” you repeat, stepping a little closer.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “It used to be just toothbrushes and toothpaste on here, maybe a razor once in a while, and now it’s all... this.” He underlines the last word by motioning towards the mess in front of him.

“Dean,” you say, shaking your head but unable to hide your amusement at his agitated state. “It’s just moisturizer and some nail polish. It’s not like it’s a bunch of stuff.” Dean makes a face.

“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” he replies. You push your fists into your sides.

“I know you know what nail polish is,” you answer, “and moisturizer… I mean, it kind of explains itself, no?” Dean is about to respond something, but you can tell your calm response is making him realize how silly his reaction to his own clumsiness is. You’re pretty sure half of it is embarrassment at pushing over the stuff in the first place.

“Well,” he continues, not quite ready to drop the topic, “what about this?” He points at a small glass bottle.

“My perfume?” you ask, walking closer to him. “You like my perfume.”

“Yeah,” he immediately replies. “When it’s on you. Not when it’s standing around, taking up space.” You lean one hand on the counter.

“And what’s your proposed solution?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “Can’t you keep it in your room?”

“Sure I could,” you respond. That really takes the wind out of Dean’s sails.

You have no intention of moving the stuff to your room, since it would mean you would have to move back and forth between your bedroom and the bathroom much more than necessary. But if there’s one thing you have learned about discussions with Dean, it’s that not meeting him halfway on his irritation usually ends the thing before it even begins. Sam could really take a page out of your book.

Like now, Dean is already looking embarrassed. He looks back at one of the tubes that has fallen over, rights it.

“I mean,” he says, not looking at you, “you don’t have to. It’s your bathroom too. But maybe some of it can go in the drawers?”

“Absolutely,” you say, turning to open one of the drawers he mentioned, and placing a majority of the products in there. You close the drawer by pushing your hip against it as you turn back to Dean. He has his hands shoved into his pockets and his lips are pursed.

“And I guess I could have just asked you that in the first place, instead of making a scene,” he says, still not looking at you directly.

“Yep,” you say, then move closer to him and wrap your arms around him.

Dean chews the inside of his cheeks before he looks at your face. “And you’re not even gonna make me feel bad for being an idiot?”

“Please,” you say, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Your idiot side is, like, my fifth favorite side of you.” Dean raises his eyebrows.

“What’s number one?” he asks.

“When you’re all rueful and sorry about being said idiot,” you say, kissing him again. “And want to spoil me to make up for it.” Dean chuckles abashedly.

“Right,” he mumbles, then looks at your face again. “I’m sorry.” You smile up at him.

“Already forgotten,” you reply. Dean studies your face for another second, then wraps his arms around you too, presses his face into your neck. You giggle at the way it tickles you.

The two of you stand like that for a minute, before you feel Dean inhale deeply, like a drowning man coming up for air. He really does like your perfume on you.

“What the hell is moisturizer?” he says into your neck and you can’t help but laugh.

“It’s what you’re gonna have to start using at some point,” you answer, “if you don’t want to look like Skeletor by the time we’re sixty.”

“Skeletor’s ripped,” Dean mumbles against your skin.

“That’s not the part I was referring to,” you point out, kneading the back of his neck. To your disappointment, Dean disentangles his face from you and looks at you, frowning.

“Wait, are you saying we’re still gonna be together when we’re sixty?” he asks and you nod.

“Which is why,” you add, “you have to start taking care of yourself. Otherwise people are going to ask, why is that gorgeous, smooth-skinned woman with that old, ugly—hey!”

Dean has wrapped his arms around your waist and picked you up, thrown you across his shoulder. You’re giggling like crazy when he carries you out of the bathroom.

“Dean!” you squeal. “What are you doing?” Dean playfully slaps your butt, all caveman-firefighter-style.

“Spoiling you,” he answers, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: epilogue | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 3,077

—  warnings: swearing, breastfeeding, mention of blood, mention of abortion, and teasing

—  author’s note: the adventure with this jk and oc has come to an end, and it honestly makes me so so sad! 😭 i am not ready to say goodbye to them because man, i enjoyed so much writing this series 🫶🏼 i’m gonna drop a little note because i’ve so much to say and don’t want to make this part long as hell 😅 thank you for everything, guys!! hope you’ll enjoy this last part of the series 🫶🏼

Epilogue: papa and mama

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans the second your baby’s loud cries echo through the house.

The cries yank you out of sleep like a slap. You throw a hand over your ear in an attempt to muffle the noise, but it’s useless. With your werewolf super hearing, it’s like your baby is crying right into your ears.

“I’ll go,” Jungkook whispers into your mind before dragging himself out of bed.

Slowly, you turn around to grab your phone from the nightstand. It’s 6 am, so it’s time to wake up. In a matter of time, Kai and Arya will storm into your bedroom. With a quiet groan, you sit up against the bed’s headboard, rubbing the sleep from your face and bracing yourself for the chaos about to hit.

Seconds later, Jungkook makes his way to the room, holding your third child, Minho, tightly in his arms. A smile grows on your face as you see them. Minho isn’t crying anymore, he seems absolutely delighted to be in his dad’s arms.

“This little man is starving,” he says.

Jungkook places your baby in your arms so you can breastfeed the little monster. When your eyes meet your son’s, it’s like the world stops moving. Your hand caresses his sweet face. Even though it isn’t easy at all to raise a little being, it is so fulfilling and filled with love.

While you breastfeed your youngest, Jungkook—or should you say your husband—sits next to you. Three years after the birth of Kai, you got married to Jungkook. You wanted to take your time because marrying him wasn’t a small thing.

Through this marriage, you’d become the werewolf queen, and you’d leave behind your normal and human life. You took your time because you wanted to mentally prepare yourself for it. Saying goodbye to your students was hard, but it felt like a new chapter was starting.  

A year before your marriage, you had given birth to your daughter, Arya. Just like her brother, she was a very desired child. However, she wasn’t born from an insemination. She was born out of an act of love. Well, a very dirty one, but still a loved one.

Right after your marriage and coronation, you got pregnant. Well, actually, you got pregnant on that exact day. Minho was born a couple of days earlier than the due date, but yeah, nine months after that special day, you gave birth to your third baby. Minho was a surprised baby. It was not in your plans to have a baby at that time.

At the time, Arya was still very young, you had just become queen, and you wanted to give yourself a little time to adjust. But life had other plans. Minho arrived sooner than expected. Now, with Jungkook, you're both open to the idea of a fourth child, but you're not rushing it. You're not actively trying for another baby, just leaving it to fate. After all, Minho is only six months old. There's no need to add a fourth little one just yet

Having three young kids is quite a challenge. They run everywhere, constantly want to play, scream whenever they aren’t happy, but they love with their entire hearts. Minho is a bit too young for that, but he still screams when he’s not happy. And let’s not speak about their powers.

All three of them are incredibly powerful for their young age, far stronger than any other werewolf you’ve ever known. Kai, as the firstborn of a ruling king, seems to hold the greatest strength. You believe that’s why his power surpasses even Arya’s and Minho’s. Both of them radiate a fierce energy too, but like all young ones, they haven’t yet mastered control over their abilities. At least not fully, because when it comes to being silly, they seem to know how their powers work.

You and Jungkook have been trying to guide and help Kai and Arya to deal with it. But sometimes, they don’t get it, which you understand perfectly. How can a four and a two-year-old child understand how to control their powers? Thankfully, they haven’t turned into a wolf yet, which reassures you and your husband. Since this is all uncharted territory, you’re constantly scared that they’ll shift too early.  

Together with Jungkook, you’ve been running blood tests on your babies, searching for answers to the mysteries behind their strength. Their blood is remarkably close to yours, a clear proof that they are fully hybrids, carrying almost as much human blood as you do. But it’s their father’s blood that gives their werewolf side an extraordinary power. And layered on top of that, the Shadow’s blood stirs a force that neither you nor Jungkook ever possessed.

With Kai, you’ve already seen what that means. He inherited both the Blood’s healing abilities and the Shadows' vanishing powers. When he loses control of his emotions, he can simply disappear, turning invisible even to Jungkook’s keen senses. Only you can still see him. For his healing abilities, you remember the first time so clearly: Kai healing a bruise on Arya’s knee with nothing but a touch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

What you've learned is simple, yet staggering: your blood and Jungkook’s are equally strong. Neither side overpowers the other, and the human blood didn’t collapse under the sheer force of the wolf; it stood its ground.

And because of that, because of the balance inside them, your children are something rare, something powerful. A new beginning.

The three of them were born with a blue and a red eye, making them the first three werewolves belonging to two packs. They clearly are the new generation of the royal family. They are going to be the first mixed and hybrid werewolves. And you’re proud to be their mother.

“I wish we could sleep a bit more on weekends,” Jungkook mumbles while pressing a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

“Then, you shouldn’t have had kids,” you say, looking at him.

“I know,” he whispers. “Can’t wait for them to be older.”

You shake your head with a big smile on your face.

“And you’re also the one begging for a fourth,” you add.

Before Jungkook even gets to answer, you hear little footsteps behind the door. Very slowly, the door opens before Kai’s head pops out to check if you’re awake. As he notices you both sitting in bed, he opens the door and walks with his sister to the bed. They literally push Jungkook and sit down between you and your husband.

“Always pushing me away from you,” Jungkook says through thoughts.

The good thing with this soulmate connection is the fact that you can speak through minds without being heard by your kids. Jungkook definitely uses it to whisper the nastiest things when the kids are around.

“Good morning,” they both say while looking at the two of you.

Arya instantly goes into her father’s arms. She’s definitely a daddy’s girl, and Jungkook isn’t going to complain at all about that.

“Grandpa Felix is coming today to pick you up,” you tell your kids.

Felix will be looking after these monsters for the next four days because you’re going on a little romantic trip with Jungkook. Since you became parents, you have barely had any alone time with your husband. You do get some, but the kids are always around. This time it will be just the two of you. There won’t be Kai, Arya, and Minho.

“And you will be staying with him and Iris for four days, okay?”

Your father found love again almost three years ago. He was very hesitant at first, but man, he’s head over heels with her. Iris is an incredible woman, and she deeply loves your father. She has three children of her own, and they became like family, too.

“Will Atlas be there?” Kai asks.

Atlas is Lexi’s child. Surprising, right?

Atlas wasn’t supposed to exist, he was a little accident. The result of a broken condom. Lexi and Elias, her boyfriend, didn’t want to keep him because it was never in their plans to become parents. But after a lot of thinking and consideration—and a lot of crying too—they decided to keep him. However, they made sure that Atlas would be their first and last child. She got her tubes tied, and he got a vasectomy.   

Kai was only ten months old when Atlas was born, and they are very close today. You hope this bond will never be broken, and you’ll make sure it never does.

“Yes, and maybe, Iris’s grandchildren will be there too,” you add.

Iris already has quite a few grandchildren, and they regularly visit her. Your babies and Atlas have been growing up with her grandchildren, and you’re glad your children have more cousins to play with.

“Yeaaah,” Arya jumps with excitement.

“No jumping in bed, Arya,” Jungkook scolds her.

“But papa…” she pouts, trying to push her father to let her do whatever she wants.

“There’s no papa,” he tries to resist. “We don’t jump in bed.”

Jungkook is, without a doubt, the coolest dad on earth. He showers your children with affection, always prepared to whisk them away on spontaneous adventures or sneak them a treat when no one is looking. With him, laughter is never far away. He makes even the smallest moments feel magical.

But as much as he spoils them with love and attention, he’s also firm when it comes to what truly matters. Rules are rules in the household, and Jungkook stands by them. Respect, kindness, and responsibility; he ensures they grasp the significance of these values.

He’s the kind of father who can turn discipline into a lesson of love, making your children feel safe rather than scolded. And somehow, he strikes that perfect balance: being their hero and their anchor, all at once.

“Pff,” she mumbles before sitting down next to you.

“Now she doesn’t love me anymore,” he says to you through thoughts and rolls his eyes.

You smile while brushing Minho’s hair with your fingers.

“You know it’ll only last 5 secs,” you answer. “She loves you too much.”

“So,” Jungkook begins. “Let’s get dressed while mama finishes nourishing Minho.”

Your husband grabs your son and daughter, carrying them on his shoulders before disappearing. Your eyes focus once more on your youngest.

“Very soon, you’ll be joining those two munchkins and make our lives miserable,” you whisper to him.

Even though he can’t speak yet, his powers express everything his tiny heart feels, and the words he hasn’t learned to form. A strong, tender warmth wraps around you like a second skin made of pure love. It hums in the air between you, vibrant and alive, pulling you closer without a single touch.

This energy, this invisible bond, was something you felt even during your three pregnancies. Each of your babies radiated the same fierce, protective warmth before they even opened their eyes to the world. It never gets old, never loses its magic. Every time, it settles into your soul like sunlight through the clouds, comforting and anchoring you all at once.

Around them, you feel safe in a way that nothing else could ever replicate. Like nothing in the world could ever truly harm you, not while these little lights exist.

“It never ceases to surprise me how strong you are,” you add. “Just like Kai and Arya.”

Arya and Minho were different babies than Kai. Since they both heard their siblings' voices during the pregnancies, they instantly protected them as well once out. It’s always so incredible to see. And to be honest, you can’t wait to see what they will become once older. You also want to see their wolf shapes, but there is still time for it. Hopefully, you still have six years before Kai has to navigate through his first shift.

Once Minho drank all the milk he needed, you both decided to join Jungkook, Kai, and Arya in the dining room after putting on some clothes. The two little monsters are already driving Jinwoo, Jungkook’s footman, completely crazy. Poor man. You absolutely feel sorry for him.

There’s a little crib in the room, and you put Minho there so you can take your breakfast. It’s definitely not going to be a peaceful one. There hasn’t been one since Kai’s birth.

“Arya,” Jungkook says with a threatening voice. “Sit down and stop running around with the bread.”

She looks at you, searching for a savior, but you only shake your head.

“Listen to your dad,” you tell her.

The little monster vanishes, a move she's mastered whenever she doesn't want to be caught. But Jungkook, ever prepared, doesn’t even stand. He slides his chair back, extends an arm, and effortlessly grabs the back of her t-shirt, pulling her right out of thin air.

Out of the three kids, Arya is the troublemaker. Bold and mischievous, she does as she pleases. She’s already skilled at wielding the invisibility power she inherited from you. She doesn’t bother trying it with you anymore, she knows it doesn’t work. But Jungkook always knows how to catch her.

“Do I need to punish you this early in the morning?” Jungkook’s voice cuts deep.

Kai, sitting quietly on his chair with a piece of bread in his hand, attentively watches his dad holding firmly his sister’s shirt. Clearly, this isn’t new to him.  

“Papa,” she whines.

She reappears before he places her on the chair next to his.

“Now stay here and finish your bread,” he says. “Then, you’ll apologize to Jinwoo for the mess you made on the floor with the bread.”

She only nods, cheeks puffed out in defiance. You almost laugh, but you keep your poker face. A skill you’ve perfected ever since your kids decided your life was a full-time comedy show.

“Don’t laugh,” Jungkook’s voice echoes in your mind. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“But you’re dying to…” his eyes meet yours. “Should I also punish you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s too early for that shit, Jungkook.”

“It’s never too early.”

“You’re so nasty,” you almost sound disgusted.  

“Last night, you weren’t complaining…”

Before he even continues, you cut his thoughts short.

“Don’t ever continue that sentence with the kids around.”

Jungkook bites his lip, trying and failing not to laugh, especially after scolding Arya. The kids wouldn’t understand that you’re talking silently. They would probably think that the situation is funny, which it shouldn’t be.

As Jungkook struggles not to laugh and you hold onto your last shred of parental dignity, a sudden thud pulls both your attention. You both turn just in time to see Kai standing on his chair, trying to spread jam on his bread, and managing to get half of it on his face instead.

"Kai, sit," you say, trying to sound stern, but your voice wavers with amusement.

"I'm making it fancy, mama!" he beams proudly, showing off the very questionable, and very sticky piece of bread.

Jungkook shakes his head, a chuckle slipping out despite himself. It was surprising that Kai hadn’t done anything yet. Kai and Arya always create a mess when having their breakfast. It’s like they can’t start the day without going wild.  

"Artist in the making," he mutters, wiping his mouth to hide his grin.

Arya, now back on her chair and pretending to be the model of good behavior, speaks up.

"I'm better at making fancy bread,” she says, shaking her bread in the air.

"Nooo, I'm better!" Kai insists, waving the jammy bread dangerously close to his hair.

Before a full food disaster can unfold, you lean over and steady his hand with a smile.

"You're both amazing," you say sweetly. "But maybe let's keep the fancy on the plate, okay?"

“Papa, can you put more jam on my bread?” Arya asks as she keeps shaking the piece of bread.

This little girl has been leaving breadcrumbs everywhere in this room. You already feel sorry for the staff who will need to clean.  

Jungkook grabs the bread, places it on her plate, and carefully spreads the jam. Arya studies his every move, making sure he’s putting enough jam.

“Good?” your husband asks her.

She nods before grabbing it and resuming to eat it.

As you look around you, a big smile spreads across your face. The house is a mess, the bread is on the floor, and two of your children are showing off their jammy breads, but you wouldn’t trade a second of it. Even amidst the chaos, nothing fills your heart more than being in the middle of it all.

Your entire life, you dreamed of having even just one child. That desperate, stubborn hope led you down the path of insemination, a journey paved with fear, strength, and a faith you had to hold onto even when everything seemed uncertain. And you got your miracle, and then life, in all its wild generosity, gave you three.

The past four years have been a beautiful blur: filled with laughter that shook the walls, cries that shook your heart, and love so big it sometimes felt overwhelming. There were sleepless nights, tearful days, and moments you doubted yourself, but there was never a moment you wished for another life.

Watching Kai, Arya, and Minho grow into their mischievous, stubborn, endlessly fascinating selves fills you with a pride so fierce it almost hurts.

The journey you started alone, driven by pure longing, didn’t just give you Kai. It gave you a partner who loves you fiercely, two more children you never knew you needed, and a life that is louder, fuller, and infinitely richer than you ever dared to dream. Being their mother feels as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the sunrise.

And when you think back to life before them, it feels distant and pale, like a story that belonged to someone else.

It isn’t easy every day. Some days, it’s messy and frustrating and exhausting. But even then, even in the hardest moments, their laughter cuts through the noise. Their smiles light up the darkest mornings. And their love—raw, unconditional, and chaotic—is the purest magic you’ve ever known. You wouldn't just live through it again, you would choose it. Every single time.

This is the life you fought for, and it’s more beautiful than you ever dared to imagine.