#half silly/cursed half sincere

[allsoundwavesarebeautiful]

some of my personal favorite canon TF moments

-RID01: Side Burn being dtf Megatron -Marvel: robot birth -G1: Galvatron killing his psychiatrists -IDW: the scene of everybody opening their Matrices at the end of MTMTE -G1: Dare syncing up with the ship breaking thru Unicron's eye -G1: YOU GOT THE TOUCH -BWII: Starscream having to teach Megastorm and Galvatron how to count

[lowkeyremi]

Hey pookie, love your work and I hope you’re having a great day so far. I would like to request Haikyuu men x reader but instead of them giving reader silent treatment, we’re giving them the silent treatment. I would also prefer if it’s the same guys too. Hope this isn’t too hard and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to do it. Sorry if in any way it sounded rude, love your style and all of your posts ❤️

SILENT TREATMENT PT 2 !

pairing: suna, tsukishima, ushijima, osamu, sakusa, and iwaizumi x fem!reader (separate) note: hiii lovely!!! u don’t come off as rude at all so don’t even worry!! if anything I’m glad to write this. It’s just what I needed after coming back from my break. summary: men can be so irritating sometimes! what better way to deal with it than ignore them? (don’t do this irl, communicate is key!!!) content: slight angst to fluff, silliness, established relationships (marriage for a few + plus the same babies from the prev fic), cursing, reader is sassy, not proofread!!!! wc: 3.3k

SUNA:

“Are you seriously ignoring me right now, babe?” Rintaro stared into your soul waiting for an answer. He knows the answer already but he’ll do anything for you to talk to him.

Instead of giving him answer, you just scoff and make your way to the bedroom, where you will most definitely lock him out.

“Come on, I’ve already apologized. What else can I do?” The brunette is right on your tail. Sometimes you forget that his height allows him to cover more space than you. He’s practically right behind you.

“You can leave me the hell alone, Suna.” Last name treatment? Yep. He’s 100% fucked up. You know in his eyes it’s not a big deal but you see it as a big deal.

Your boyfriend was supposed to pick you up from work today but he had forgotten, and one top of that he went out and got drinks with his friends. Not to mention you waited a whole hour thinking maybe he was running late or something. Once you called him and realized he forgot, an uber was called and you went home.

Just as you’re about to reach for the doorknob of your bedroom, Rintaro grabbed your wrist forcing you to stop.

“Let. Go.” You say through closed teeth.

“Please listen to me,” He’s… pleading? Your boyfriend never pleads for anything- well that’s an exaggeration, he rarely pleads for things.

“Start talking.”

“As I said earlier, I am very sorry, baby. I felt like I was forgetting something today, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Next time you need me to come get you, send me a text an hour before you get off work, okay?” His voice is tender and soft. Nothing like his usually snarky and playful attitude.

There’s a petty urge to not forgive him just yet, but at the same time, he’s being super sincere and honest. All you do is sigh and take your hand out of his grasp.

“If you’re really sorry, buy me dinner.” His mouth ticks up into a small smirk.

“What do you want to eat?” He asks.

TSUKISHIMA:

Kei tries to go in for a kiss, again, with no luck. He’s looking at you with the most lovesick look, because you always fall for it.

“I wasn’t laughing at you.” He says AGAIN, which is a lie. He was laughing at you and of course you’re mostly immune to Kei’s quips and remarks, but you were feeling a little butt hurt after he laughed at you.

“You WERE laughing at me, Kei.” His long, pale arm reaches for the baseball cap on your head, but before he can take it off you grab his hand and squeeze it as hard as you can.

“Ow- shit, that hurts.” He says trying to pry his hand from your grip.

“Yeah well that’s how I felt when you laughed.” You let go of his hand and turn away from him. You’re both sitting on the couch but you’re facing away from him.

“I’ve already told you, I wasn’t laughing at you, it just caught me by surprise.” A little “hmph” leaves your lips and you cross your arms.

Before Kei went to go get the groceries you told him you were going to do something to your hair, a slight adjustment. He’d only been half listening at the time, so when he walked in to see your hair, he started to laugh on instinct.

Of course you felt insecure and went to put on a baseball cap to cover it up.

“Can I see it again?” He asks very softly, his hand ghosts over your shoulder and you don’t lean away from his touch this time.

“Fine, but I swear if you fucking laugh, you’ll have to asking Yamaguchi if you can stay over at his place cuz I’ll kick you out.” His angelic little chuckle blesses your ears.

“Kick me out of the place we both pay for?” He asks, quite assumed at your statement.

“Yes.” Before he can get another word in you slowly take the cap off for him to see.

His hand creeps toward your head, he hesitates right when he’s about to touch your hair.

“Can I?” He’s so polite despite how mean he can be.

In an effort to remain salty you say, “I don’t care.”

His fingers are so gentle when touching your hair that you feel little tingles in your body.

“It’s really cute, babe. Let me just-” He moves a baby hair that’s sticking out, then his eyes meet yours. They’re so beautiful, but so are yours.

“I’m sorry for laughing.”

USHIJIMA:

It had been an accident therefore he didn’t even realize you were ignoring him. He thought that maybe you just wanted some time to yourself.

You waited hours for him to realize you were upset with him, but it never came. If anything you thought he was ignoring you. (That wasn’t true at all though)

Nao notices his parents haven’t talked to each other most of the day, so he comes to you. It’s almost his bedtime and you see that Wakatoshi had given him a bath and he’s got his pajamas on.

Little Nao climbs up your bed and crawls up to you, “Hi baby, what’s up?”

“You not talkin’ to Daddy?” Nao is very perceptive for a three year old.

“Um.. no.” He tilts his head at your response.

“Why?” How can you explain it in kid terms??

"Mommy's not happy with Daddy right now." He nods in understanding but proceeds to ask another question.

“Oh. But why?” Now that you’re thinking about it, it’s kind of childish.

This morning when the two of you woke up, Wakatoshi had asked if you’d seen his wedding ring. Then, proceeded to explain that he had taken it off when he went to work, because he left the chain he usually wears it on at home. So, he assumed it was somewhere in his bag. Of course he found it, but it just ticked you off that he had taken it off with little regard for it.

“A little disagreement is all.” Your son nods again and gives you a hug. He doesn’t like when you guys get into the occasional argument.

They don’t happen often, because you two are able to work stuff out. When they do happen you both agreed that they shouldn’t be in front of your son. Not only because it’s not right, but because Wakatoshi had grown up in a household where his parents constantly argued with little regard for how he felt on the matter. He would never subject Nao to that.

“It’s time for bed, Nao.” Wakatoshi says. How long has he been standing there?

“Okay, Daddy.” Nao kisses your cheek before scurrying off of your bed. Since he’s not good with noise control yet, you over here him asking Wakatoshi to make up with you, because he doesn’t like when you guys are unhappy with each other.

After twenty minutes your husband returns. “So you were upset with me?” It’s so like him to get straight to it.

“Yeah, I was kind of ignoring you until you came to me, but I forgot you can’t really pick up on those queues.” He nods, almost abnormal like. He rids himself of his shirt and turns the lights down.

After he’s done doing that, he joins you in the bed.

Right as you’re about to explain yourself he speaks up, “it’s because I had forgotten my ring, right?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

“Yes, and I see now that it was childish of me. You’re human, we all slip up.”

“No, no, I understand. I think I would be a little upset if you’d taken your ring off and tossed it somewhere.” He says, olive colored eyes looking into yours.

“You tossed it?” He shakes his head at the misunderstanding.

“I did not. I was just using it as an example.” Relief washes through you and you scoot closer to hug your husband. His skin feels so warm.

“Okay, good.”

“Are we alright now?” He asks hugging you back.

“Yes.”

OSAMU:

Never in a million years would you have thought you’d be staying at Atsumu’s place instead of your shared home with his brother, but yet here you are.

Speak of the devil Atsumu knocks on the guest room door and you tell him to come in.

“What’s up?” You’re pretty sure he’s going to ask you to talk to his brother. He’s been calling and texting you for the past three days. He’s probably been calling Atsumu too.

“Can ya just talk it out with him? ‘Samu’s been blowin’ up my phone, ‘n I know he’s probably been calling ya, too.” He looks tired of the both of you and you feel bad putting him in the middle of this mess, but there’s no way you’ll be talking to your husband anytime soon.

“No.” Atsumu sighs almost knowing you would say that.

“He’s worried about ya, ‘n I’m sure he’s very sorry too.”

Three days ago Osamu had a very busy and stressful day at the shop, it was just awful. When he arrived home it was evident that his day was shitty, so you tried to cheer him up.

That only made matters worse, as he proceeded to yell at you to “leave him the fuck alone.” and “your voice is making my head hurt.” Even though you knew he was saying that in the heat of the moment and he didn’t mean it, it still hurt to hear.

You yelled back at him telling him that you were doing what you could to make him feel better and that he was an asshole. When he didn’t say anything in return you rushed to the bedroom to pack a few days worth of clothes and get the hell out of there.

Was that a little bit extra? Yes. You could have probably just slept in your own guest room or on the couch, and then talk it out in the morning, but you were so pissed that your logic went straight out the door.

“Well… er… I-” You could see the guilt in Atsumu’s eyes when a string of loud knocks were heard.

“You called him over?” Atsumu looked away as not to meet your eyes.

“I caved when he said he was worried about ya ‘n ya didn’t even tell him where ya were goin’” Atsumu faked a cough before excusing himself to get the door.

Within seconds you see your husband standing at the bedroom door and your heart breaks when you see him. It had only been three days (2 nights) and he looked exhausted and miserable.

Before you could get a word in he dashes over to you and embraces you in a tight hug.

“Baby ‘m so so sorry.” He chants over and over.

“Please don’t do that again, ya scared the livin’ shit outta me.” Osamu was always better at hiding his accent than Atsumu, but when he was really stressed it would come out.

“I didn’t mean for you to worry like that, ‘Samu. I didn’t really think when I left.” He sits himself down on the bed not letting you go, he places you on his lap and you’re basically straddling him.

You squeeze him back just as tight. “I was so mad that you talked to me like that.”

“‘n I’ll never do it again. Even on my bad days ya don’t deserve that.”

You take in a big whiff of his cologne and you audibly relax in his arms.

“You better not because I might slap you next time.”

“Feel free to.” He says.

Atsumu ruins the moment with the most obnoxious fake gag, “Are ya straddl- actually I don’t fuckin’ care. Do that at yer own damn place!!”

SAKUSA:

When you woke up to your alarm, you realized Kiyoomi already left for work. Which that in and of itself wasn’t a problem. It was the fact that he left without dropping your daughter off for school.

Not to mention that you had a very important meeting with a client today. You got ready for work thinking about how you were doing well on time… until you noticed your daughter’s lunchbox sitting on the counter with nothing in it.

In breakneck pace, you ran to your daughter’s room to see that she was peacefully sleeping. “Oh baby, wake up we’ve got to go.” She starts to gain consciousness, her eyes squinting open when you turn on the light.

“Huh? I thought Daddy was taking me today.” Your little girl rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“He was but I guess he already left,” you search frantically for something simple but presentable for your daughter to wear.

“Oh, you’ve got your fancy business outfit on… is there something important today?” You’re so grateful to have a daughter who can read between the lines.

“Yes, there is but Mommy’s gonna be late.” She frowns up at that.

“Sorry.”

“Honey it’s not your fault, your father was the one who was supposed to take you.” She nods.

The two of you work together to get out of the house quickly so you won’t be that late.

Your daughter will only be running a few minutes late for school… as for you, your meeting started four minutes after you started driving to her to school, and the school is a twenty minute drive.

You’re gonna fucking kill your husband for this.

When you get to your daughter’s school she hops out immediately and says her goodbyes.

“Bye sweet girl! Have a great day at school!!” Of course you won’t let your anger get the best of you… for right now.

Luckily, your client was kind enough to excuse you being almost thirty minutes late, but it was still embarrassing nonetheless.

Some of your coworkers teased you a little bit afterwards.

“Slept in?” One who’s particularly close to you (he calls you his work wife and Kiyoomi hates it) asks nudging your arm.

“Nope, my husband forgot to take our daughter to school this morning.” A loud sigh leaves your lips and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Yikes, bet he’s gonna be in the doghouse for awhile.” He snorts.

“Hell yeah he will be. I’m just wondering, how in the world did he forget?? He’s better at remembering things between the two of us.” And that’s the truth. You’re curious as to what his excuse will be.

“Well he’s human too, ‘course he’s bound to screw up at sometime.” Even though he’s right, you let your pettiness take over and decide that you won’t give Kiyoomi the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m home,” you hear your husband shout from the genkan. Your daughter is at the table doing homework and you’re sitting with her browsing through your phone.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He walks in to the kitchen greeting his daughter with a kiss on her forehead.

“Hi, Daddy.” She says with a small smile.

“Hey baby.” As he leans in to kiss your forehead too, you dodge it.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, “You okay?” Kiyoomi smells like his body wash and shampoo. Usually you’d be happy to have your nostrils filled with the smell of his post practice shower, but right now it just upsets you.

You got up from the table and walked away without answering his question. He obviously attempted to follow you to the bedroom, only for the door to be shut in his face.

“Hey what’s up with you?” You can hear the irritation in his voice through the door. He has no right to be irritated though.

Instead of answering him you make yourself comfortable on the bed.

After ten minutes of him trying to ask you what was wrong and literally begging you started to feel bad enough and open the door.

“What’s wrong is that you forgot to take our daughter to school this morning, causing me to be late to a very important meeting with a client.” His eyes widen in horror at your statement.

“Shit, I’ve been so focused on how I was going to go about this upcoming fan event for the past couple of days, that I completely forgot. You have every right to be mad.” Right, your husband still isn’t very social, and he still hates receiving gifts from his fans. Of course he’d been trying to figure out how to make an appearance, but not interact with anyone.

“Damn right, luckily my client was nice but it was still embarrassing.” He frowns.

“I apologize, and I’ll make sure to do better next time.” You roll your eyes and pull him in for that kiss.

“Yeah yeah, I guess you forget things too.”

IWAIZUMI:

Iwa hasn’t realized it, but while helping out this girl at the gym (he’s an athletic trainer and he couldn’t sit there and watch that girl screw up pull ups any longer) he was so oblivious to her obvious flirting.

She would bend over in those tight leggings, or hold onto his bicep for support. And yes, it was dumb for you to be upset with him, because one, you’re his wife and he only has eyes for you, and two, he didn’t even realize she was flirting with him.

“How are your sets coming along, baby?” He came over to ask you while the girl was getting water. Yeah, you know how to do all of these work outs, but you like having your man right there to spot you and correct your posture in the slightest way.

You pretend you don’t hear him, because you’re listening to music in your headphones. To sell the deal, you even mouth the lyrics of the song.

He raises a brow in concern. As soon as he goes to say something, the woman returns, “Iwazumi-san? I’m ready to continue!”

“I’ll be back.” He says, running back to that woman. You roll your eyes as you come down for a squat with a 25 lb kettlebell in your hands.

By the time you’re cooling down on the treadmill, Iwaizumi returns to you.

“What’s wrong with you?” He knows you can hear him, because even when you’re working out together, you keep your headphones at a reasonable volume, so you can hear him.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s up with you letting that woman touch all over you?” In an effort to ignore him again you turn the speed up on the treadmill.

“Really? Baby, you know my job requires me to touch people.”

“God, I know that. I’m not even talking about you, I’m talking about how she was all over you, and you didn’t even notice or anything.” He’s laughing? You just told him how you feel and he laughs?

He walks over to the front of the treadmill where all the buttons are and slows it down to a walking speed.

“Honey, I told her to stop touching me more than what was necessary. It was indecent and inappropriate. Then I told her I was married to you and I think she decided to keep going…” He pauses for a second waiting for you to come to a walking pace.

“Wanna know what I told her next?” He takes your silence as a sign to keep going, “I said ‘I suggest you stop provoking my wife, she knows how to fight and I would hate to see her behind bars for something like this.’” He smirks at you and you look away in embarrassment.

“And you were really going at it during your workout so I’m assuming she took my word for it.”

You stop the treadmill and hop off to stand right in front of your husband.

“Sorry for being so petty.” He just smiles at you.

“No don’t apologize, I don’t blame you babe. I’d be the same way if some guy was all over you, with no good reason.” You grab him by the collar of his compression shirt, “You’re so damn hot. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

Note: last purple post!! 🥹 since i started this while my theme was purple. the hardest part of writing this was coming up with something sensible to be upset about 😭

[hemmingshouse]

a long forever / chris sturniolo

summary: chris tries to make things right with you after he fucked up big time.

warnings: swearing, mentions of prior cheating, angst (but semi happy ending!!)

let me know if yall want a part twoooo x

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“if you truly don’t give a shit about me and fuck me over in the first place, then why the fuck are you here?” you asked him sternly, sighing deeply before rubbing your eyes - the crying you had done prior had irritated them massively. “please enlighten me christopher, because i have no. fucking. clue.”

the brunette sighed softly, letting his hands roam through his hair. he had messed up so bad this time and he wasn’t sure how to fix it - if that was even possible to begin with.

you and chris had been keeping it on the down low with each other for a while now. you went on silly little dates, got to know his best friends and brothers and loved to spend most of the week at his apartment; lounging around the place and exploring every inch of each other’s bodies for around five months now.

it all went so well. slowly you started to appear more on his tiktoks and the sturniolo channel, making the fans think you two at least spent time together because of the massive tension between the two of you. you met his family, had even stayed in boston for the holiday season and went on a little getaway together for your birthday.

“i care so fucking much about you! i- just- please listen to me,” chris pleaded as he stood in your kitchen, hands running over his face in pure desperation, “i have never felt this way before. about anyone. i swear.”

you scoffed at his words, shaking your head in disbelief, “remember when we said we’d at least be honest if we felt this wouldn’t work out so the friendship we had wouldn’t go to waste?” you motioned between the two of you, “you lied to me. god, you’re the biggest motherfucker i have ever met, christopher. i wasted my time on you. on us. on whatever the fuck we were.”

ouch, full government name - for the second time. he knew you weren’t fucking around.

he deserved all of that. every curse word you spat at him, every raise of your voice. it pained and sickened chris to see you go from adoring him so much till it hurt to now hating every inch of his fiber. to see you hurt because of his actions made him sick to his stomach. he had never meant to kiss the girl back after she tried to force herself onto him, but he knew there was no fair explanation towards you to begin with.

“babe,” he spoke up, voice trembling as you held your hand up to silently stop him from speaking up more. he noticed how your lower lip quivered and how salty tears were pricking your eyes, the fatigue taking over your body after fighting for three and a half hours.

“you kissed her back,” you spoke, a shiver running down your spine. “and i know we were never official to begin with,” you acknowledged, “but you truly made it feel that fucking way.”

it happened when he was in downtown la, where he and his brothers joined sam and colby as they were filming a brand new series about the cecil hotel whilst you were busy finishing your last year of marketing. they got drunk, went out to meet up at one of sam’s friends and one thing lead to another.

his confession back then was enough for you to silence him with a nod, grab the duffel bag he brought on his trip and push him out of your apartment. his pleas came from the other side of the door, hoping you’d let him explain what exactly happened during that night.

you didn’t wanna hear it. you didn’t wanna hear anything about chris and another girl, not when you thought he was done with fucking around when he started dating you. you figured that meeting his family, spending time with his friends and appear on his channel actually meant he wanted to be serious with you too.

“you don’t deserve any of this bullshit i put you through,” chris told you sincerely as he watched you calm down a bit, anger replacing itself with a self conscious mindset. “i’m so fucking sorry y/n, there’s no explanation for any of this. i know you don’t wanna hear it but i wanna show you what you truly mean to me. promise i’ll make it right.”

“you do know your promises currently mean nothing to me after everything, right?” you asked him while pouring yourself a glass of wine, “you could be begging on your bare knees for me and i still wouldn’t believe a single word you say.”

“i know,” chris sighed softly, running his hands across his face. “i wanna be better for you. for us. you deserve so much better- i just want you to know it didn’t mean anything to me, alright? i- you- fuck, i love y-”

“do not finish that sentence,” you warned him before taking a sip of your wine, “i don’t wanna hear it if you’re not sure.”

“who says i’m not sure?” he asked you sincerely, “and what do you want to hear?” chris asked you seriously, arms crossing in front of his chest. “i’ll literally do anything if it proofs i’m only into you. i wouldn’t have let matt drive me here trying to make you forgive me if i didn’t care about you. i fucking miss you,” he breathed out, shaking his head slowly, “i don’t have the words to say how sorry i am i messed it up. how i messed us up. and i’ll do anything to gain your trust, let you know how much you mean to me, okay?”

his words caused your heart to flutter slightly, palms a bit sweaty as you were starting to fall back into old habits. chris had a way with words and the way he sounded so sincere made you think that maybe - after all - he was speaking the truth about the entire fiasco.

you shrugged your shoulders, sighing softly, “i just hope you know you’re a fucking asshole and i hate you,” you cleared your throat, your voice coming out soft and quiet, “but i appreciate the fact you got me flowers and tried to calm me down with some wine.”

chris couldn’t help but grin at your statement as he noticed you turned your body away from him whilst sitting on the high barstool at your kitchen island. it was something you usually did when you two had an argument because you knew if you looked into his beautiful blue eyes - you’d be a goner and would forget what you guys even fought about in the beginning.

“yeah?” he asked you, the smirk clearly tinting his voice as he stepped closer to where you were sitting on the barstool, “look at me, please?”

you let out a sigh once again after taking a large sip of your wine, placing the glass back onto the marble kitchen counter. your eyes darted upwards a little, noticing how close chris had gotten in the meantime. his unruly hair, sleepy eyes and curious gaze had you hooked - you knew you were fucked and putty in his hands once again.

“i’m supposed to be so mad at you,” you mumbled as chris placed his hands onto your clothed thighs, spreading them apart so he was able to stand in between your legs.

“you’re still allowed to be,” he admitted, one hand raising upwards to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his hand cup your jaw afterwards. “as long as you know i’ll forever try to make it up to you. in every single way possible.”

“forever’s a long time y’know,” you spoke softly, playing with the hem of his oversized t-shirt as you gazed into his eyes.

he chuckled, “as long as i can spend it with you, i truly do not mind.”

[pitchsidestories]

Promise me II Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze

masterlist I word count: 1274

a/n: hi, this was inspired by the current transfer rumours, we hope that you still like it despite the topic.

Lucy was on the phone with her agent while Ona was napping in her lap on their sofa. They had a tough training session in the morning and untypical for Barcelona it has been raining the whole time, one could hear the rain drops falling against the windows.

This sound has been a constant background noise for the entirety of this afternoon. The weather seemed to know which news were about to break into this peacefulness.

“But..”

 “I’m sorry, Lucy. They don’t plan to extent. Not with Alexia staying.”, he apologized with such sincerity that it hurts the English woman even more when he said it the first time a couple of seconds ago.

“Two old players are too expensive, right?”, she hissed.

 “That’s what you said.”, the man responded cooly.  

“Yes, because that’s what everyone is thinking!”, Lucy answered enraged. The player’s body turned tense. Even in her sleep her girlfriend noticed that change, struggling to find the comfortable position she was in before.

“It basically is.”, he admitted.  

“Fuck.”, Lucy cursed under her breath.

“Luce?”, Ona stirred up from her sleep.

“Sorry, love.”, the older defender bit her lip guiltily.

“What’s wrong?”, the Spanish woman asked big eyed, sounding deeply concerned.  

“Keep sleeping.”, Lucy tried to reassure her, pressing a kiss to the forehead of her girlfriend.

“But you said fuck.”, Ona gave her a mildly amused look.

“Yes, because they won’t extend my contract.”, the English defender explained, sadly.  

 “What?!”, the younger woman exclaimed furiously.

“I don’t have the Alexia bonus.”, Lucy added.

“We’ll find a solution, I’m sure.”, Ona shook her head stubbornly.

“Sorry, little one.”, the older player whispered unhappy.

“No, you can’t leave.”, she stated firmly and stood up from her sofa.

“Ona where are you going?”, Lucy raised an eyebrow. The Spanish woman mouthed an apology before she went to get her sneakers and left to meet someone who might help them.

Meanwhile Lucys mood was almost as bad as the weather outside, but Ona’s optimistic smile chased her sad thoughts away when she returned to their shared home.

“I talked to Alexia. I think she can help.”

“Oh, Ona. I’m not sure about that, but I appreciate your effort.”, the older woman was in awe of her girlfriend’s unshaken optimism.

“Of course, it’ll work.”, the younger defender replied confidently.

“We’ll see, okay?”, Lucy responded.

“Okay. Just promise to not go too far away. “, Ona nodded, although letting her girlfriend gave her a comforting hug.

“I promise it won’t be the USA.”, the older player joked.

“I was hoping you’d say that you stay in Spain. But that’s something.”, the younger woman remarked, the sadness was still lingering in between them, but that silly reply of the English defender made her smile again.

“I’ll tell my manager that I won’t take any clubs that are too far away from you.“, Lucy half-joked.

Ona bit back a small smile: “Thanks.“

“You’re welcome.“

“That calms me a bit.“, Ona admitted, unsure if she felt better because of Lucys words or the lightheartedness she brought back into this conversation.

Lucy smirked: “Anything else I can do for you?“

“Hug!“, Ona yelled and immediately bridged the gap between the two football players to jump into Lucys arms. The English defender had to react quick to catch her and not lose her balance.

Laughing, she looked her girlfriend that clung tightly to her body: “Better?“

“Yes.“

“Agreed.“, Lucy grinned.

“Thanks, Luce.“, Ona said, relaxing into her girlfriends embrace.

Carefully, Lucy set the Spanish football player down and asked: “What do you want for dinner?“

“Something Portuguese.“,Ona ordered in hopes that Lucy would treat her with one of her delicious family recipes.

The older defender just gave her a nod of approval: “Alright.“

“Thanks.“

“No worries. Sit down, I’ll start cooking.“

Lucy disappeared into the kitchen, Ona following close behind her. The Spaniard sat down at the kitchen table and watched attentively as her girlfriend started to cut some vegetables.

“You don’t need any help?“, Ona asked.

“No, thanks.“

She shrugged: “Fine, I’ll watch then.“

“Good.“ Lucy continued to focus on the food. Ona, however, chose to focus on Lucys backside while she was busy.

“Nice view though.“, she remarked, her head propped up on one hand.

“Oh, yeah. I was pretty proud, the market still had this amazing fish.“, Lucy continued to talk about her cooking, completely ignoring what Ona had meant.

The younger defender smiled to herself, Lucy always was in her own world when she started to cook. So she decided to let work in peace.

Only as the ingredients started to simmer and fill the kitchen with a mouth-watering smell, Ona sniffed once: “This smells so good.“

“It’ll taste even better.“, Lucy promised her.

“Can’t wait.“

“It’s almost ready.“

Ona took this as her cue to jump up and set the table in the meantime. “I’ll get the wine.“

“Perfect.“

Lucy placed the pan on the table while Ona filled their glasses. “Here, we go.“

“Cheers.“, Lucy lifted her glass to clink it to her girlfriends.

“Cheers.“, she echoed.

Both of them took a sip of their wine before Lucy started plating the fish. For the time they sat there in the kitchen, having dinner, the conversation they had earlier seemed far away.

“Don’t be sad.”, the English woman stated after noticing that her girlfriend had stared absent minded at the wall.

“I’m not. I would just miss this.”, Ona quickly replied in a sincere tone.

“Me too.”, Lucy admitted seriously.

“Even though I do ask myself, who’s going to cook for me if you’ve to leave.”, the younger player only half joked.

“Maybe Olga?”, the older defender suggested smiling mildly.

“No. I don’t want to be third wheeling. It’s going to be alright, because I can cook.”, Ona reassured her girlfriend. She recognized the sceptical risen eyebrow by the woman sitting in front of her. That was why the Spanish player added:” I’ll survive.”

“I hope so because I’ll leave my heart here.”, Lucy told her earnestly. Hearing her saying this out loud made Ona’s heart sink.

“Oh, Luce.”, she muttered.

Immediately the English defender’s hands went up.

“Don’t say anything more, that was embarrassing.”

“It was the cutest.”, the younger woman responded, giving the older one a kiss to her temple. With a cheeky grin she continued:” I’ll get that tattooed.”

“No, it doesn’t go with the rest of your pretty tattoos.”, Lucy protested, while pulling the smaller player onto her lap.

“But it means a lot to me.”, she confessed, looking into the green eyes of the woman she loved and hoped her glance would transfer her feelings which run as deep as the tattoos on her skin.

“Ona, I love you.”, the English defender muttered in a raspy voice.

“I love you too.”, she said, while her girlfriend started to kiss the many freckles on her face to highlight what she was saying only a couple of seconds earlier.

“No, matter what happens.”, Lucy remarked in between the kisses.

Under the touches of the older woman Ona felt something like hope fluttering in her chest.

“We’ll make it work somehow.”, the Spanish player answered optimistically.

“Yes, we did it before too.”, the taller defender reminded her.

“Exactly.”

“Let’s enjoy this while it lasts.”, Lucy murmured.

“Hopefully longer than until summer.”, the smaller woman whispered into the ear of the older player while holding on to her like Lucy personified the little hope that was left of her staying and hopefulness always dies last.

There was the reassuring feeling that no matter what happened over the next months that they were going to be alright.

pictures are from pinterest.

[ohkkotsuu]

𝐈𝐁𝐓 — 𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆! choso kamo.

ৎ୭ PAIRING: choso kamo x gender neutral reader (they/them pronouns used, unspecified anatomy)

ৎ୭ ABOUT: your boyfriend never experienced many things from the normal human world, as a half-curse. he's fully convinced that he needs to be a better boyfriend. so, he'll do his best to be the best for you. he sets some rules to be a boyfriend, a good one.

ৎ୭ CW/TW: SFW. choso is just so sweet i wanna bite him, overprotective behavior (a bit), choso is a simp and he wants to marry you, this is really just him being head over heels for you, choso calls you some petnames, itadori and nobara are mentioned (not as a couple)! fluff. straight up fluff. i just wrote a lot of him being silly about you lololol maybe this will become a series?? with other characters maybe. also, please, if you enjoy it, tell me about it! i would love to interact more with reblogs and comments from you all.

CHOSO never knew what to expect from the future, always being surprised by the violent turns in his life. lose two of his brothers, find a new brother — and certainly, he hadn't expected to have his heart so deeply won by you. nor win yours back. a sweetness of fate after so much sourness, which he hoped to make it last.

so choso became your partner (apparently, a modern term is boyfriend, so that works too). however, he has no idea how to be a good boyfriend. that makes choso resort to the best wingman he knows, an expert in people and relationships — his brother, yuuji itadori.

and it's from there that choso actively engages in what yuuji called “intensive boyfriend training”.

said training consists in watching hours of romantic movies, flipping through cliché books with good male leads, even retorting to reading shojo manga to know how to act romantic. yuuji even enlisted the help of a friend, nobara, so they only have quality content for training. no toxic male leads, no weird unconsensual stuff. only the best examples so he could become the best boyfriend. choso wants to know everything about how a guy should act to be a good boyfriend. after all, you're his world, and you deserve the best and the best only.

curses acquire information from the brain of the vessel they inhabit, but choso himself has no relationship experience. Centuries of his life were focused solely on protecting his siblings, and that is still one of his priorities — but, another priority is also you. he sets down some personal rules to himself, just so he can guide his heart through this whole “being a good boyfriend” thing.

his number one rule is never lie to you. never. doesn't matter the circumstances, choso will absolutely always be truthful and honest with you. relationships are based on trust, love and sharing. you are the person who showed him that there are ways to love someone beyond platonic — and, in return, you'll have his heart and he'll have yours. you are a partner for life in his eyes, and he would trust you with everything.

he's always truthful about things: where he's been, who he's been with, how he's feeling, he doesn't hide anything. choso even overshares every now and then. in his eyes, there is not even a single reason to lie to you. originally, he hesitated at the question of “how are you?” if he wasn't doing alright. choso wanted to be your white knight, the one who could protect you and his brothers without having to be weak. he slowly opened up as he realized it wasn't wrong to be weak. another valuable lesson you taught him.

if he is not feeling well, he will be sincere and say that he is not feeling well. choso will usually asks for what he wants — hold your hand, cuddle, kisses, anything really. he is also very honest when you ask for outfit opinions, for example — he admires how different colors suit you, how different types of fabrics of many different looks adorn your body. you usually need to call him more than once.

“choso.”

“hm? yes, baby?”

his heart skips a beat when he sees your smile. “you're staring. did you like this one?”

unfortunately, his opinion for visuals isn't exactly helpful, per say. he thinks everything look pretty in you, and he'll be very straightforward about it, because it's never about the attires you wear for him, no — you are insanely perfect. you're what makes this clothes pretty, not the opposite. you are what makes his world more worth living.

“I love everything you wear. you look amazing in everything.” the corners of his mouth lift up a bit as he give you the usual lovey-dovey stare.

you giggle a bit, unable to stop yourself from thinking that he's just so cute, staring at you like that. as if you were the moon and the stars. or even more than that.

“thanks, choso, but we've been here for half an hour. I need help to pick an outfit.”

the second rule he sets for himself is to protect you and care for you. he's absolutely never taking you anywhere risky. he'll do anything to be sure you're safe — anything he can. choso is always off guard for you, you make him feel safer than ever. but he's not relaxing about other things.

he would never forgive himself if you were hurt because he's too relaxed. he doesn't always have to be perfect, he knows, but he will still give every last drop of his own blood for your safety and your smile.

he's always keeping an eye out for suspicious people or cursed energy. if any signs of danger appear, he is ready to catch you on his arms, bridal style, and just run away to get you somewhere safe — which has already created some situations that are as embarrassing as they are amusing. another option is him entering on this intimidating mode, if not the immediate fight response.

he also doesn't like curses, even weak ones, around you. he acquired the habit of killing them immediately, being careful not to splash the purple blood of the spirits on you. he also carries around a tissue, either to wipe his face if a drop or two has spilled or to wipe his hand — he would never hold your hand while his is dirty like that. this is his version of “boyfriend who kills bugs for you” (to be fair, he would kill bugs too, if they're bothering you). choso was surprised when he learned that this is something boyfriends do for their partners, watching it on a romance series where a guy kills a bug when his love interest was too scared to do the same.

he's protective, but he's trying to be careful not to scare you or be creepy. he pulls you by your waist, always so gentle, staring daggers at a guy at the mall, scaring him away.

“choso.” he turns his head to you, and his eyes soften immediately. “what are you doing?”

“that man was staring at you.” he says, a bit grumpy. you only giggle and lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek — something that makes his face pink and a soft smile creeps it's way into his expression.

“thank you. but you didn't had to scare him, I know that guy. he's an acquaintance of mine.”

“oh. should I get rid of him?” he asks.

“choso, no, that's not what I meant—”

the third rule is something he made up seeing romantic movies: be a gentleman. he was doing that already, by taking care of you, showing his love, but according to yuuji and nobara, people love when their boyfriend is kind and does stuff for them. which made choso really confused.

“people get..impressed, when their loved ones show affection and minimum care or respect?” he can't really understand it, but if it's what will make him a better boyfriend, he'll become the most cliche of a gentleman.

(he's totally unaware that he is one already, and that no one was expecting him to do more).

so he looks for all kinds of opportunities to do something for you. place your orders in stores if you are too shy to do so, carry your shopping bags for you, put his coat over your shoulders when it's cold.

the “problem” is that it becomes something on a medium-large scale. you don't carry anything around choso, he carries everything for you. even small bags. the only thing with you should be a purse or backpack (if you wear any of those), and even with that he offers to carry it for you.

then there comes a day when you two are walking and choso stops. before you can ask him what's wrong, he picks you up on his arms. you cling to his shoulders with a surprised yelp. one of his arms is under your legs and the other supporting your back like a groom carrying his bride — as he hopes that one day, he will be that to you. and much more.

he just carries you for a few moments more without even complaining. he never complains. he loves carrying you, doing things for you, and you weight nothing to him.

“choso, what are you doing? what was that for?” he looks down at you.

“there was a mud puddle in the way, dear. if you crossed it, you would get your shoes dirty.” he explains nonchalantly, with you still on his arms. he seems ready to put you down, if you ask for it.

you both know he would have you bridal-style on his arms for a whole day if you let him.

hearing your giggle makes his heart flutter. although, one of his eyebrows raise softly.

“choso, we could have just skirted around the puddle.”

“oh.” he hadn't thought of that.

the fourth and final rule is never forget. he should never forget anything about you or involving you. dating anniversary, your birthday, this man has it engraved on his memory. he understands that these are special days not only for human customs, but for him personally — after all, your dating anniversary is a celebration of one of the happiest days of his life. the day you and him became a couple.

he certainly thinks that day would only be surpassed by your future wedding anniversary. but these things can wait. the wedding can wait. he's happy just by being with you.

it memorizes all your preferences, from the simplest to the most complicated. he knows what kind of movies you like, which series you hate, which food you prefer for every situation. he has your favorite brands decorated so he can get those for you. choso memorized all your orders in coffee shops or diners so he can order for you, too. it also learns if you have allergies.

sometimes he can't really believe that humans have such organisms. resist some diseases, but if you eat a tomato being allergic, something like this kill a human? impressive.

if you are in a situation where another person is hanging out with you and they ask for something “wrong”, choso will politely correct them.

“no, actually, they're allergic to those.”

“my partner asked for this, actually.”

people may think he's being arrogant, by correcting everyone about what you want — but what surprises everyone, even you, is that he always get it right. he knows your gift preference: what items you like the most, or, if you like it, handmade gifts. he learns how to do those for you.

with a lot of help from the internet, yuuji and some moral support from nobara, choso sucefully made you a bracelet. he hands it to you carefully, a bit scared that you won't like it. it's one of those bracelets with letters on it, it reads:

“cho loves you”. you look at him, and he seems shy. this is the first time he actually made something instead of buying something.

“ran out of letters, so there was no way to have another S and O.” his tone is a bit apologetical, and his cheeks are pink. “I made it for you.”

before he can say anything else, you pull him for a gentle, sweet kiss. even such lovely action knocks the breath out of his lungs and makes his head spin. your smile when you lean back makes choso think he's in heaven.

“thank you, choso. I loved it, I loved it so much! help me put it on?” you ask with those cute puppy dog eyes.

and of course you could put the bracelet on for yourself, you both know it. but he accepts any excuse to touch you, and you want to see him do it. while he helps you with your new jewelry, it reminds you of the day he slipped a dating ring on your finger.

“done, baby.” he says softly, eyes laying on the bracelet and moving to your hand, where a ring that matches his adorn one of your fingers. his fingertips touches it softly and he smiles, whispering: “I'll marry you someday.”

“what was that, choso?”

“nothing.” he looks away, embarrassed. but in a way, you both know it: it's a promise.

©OHKKOTSUU on tumblr.

[milksnake-tea]

The Stellaron Hunters were a group renowned and hated across the galaxies, both feared and respected by the factions. But under those skillful manipulations and operations, was an organization as put together as a monkey circus. You should know this best, as a member of this menagerie.

stellaron hunter!reader (no specific pairings)

contains: cursing, possibly ooc, written before version 1.2, just a bunch of silly shenanigans, unedited, can be read as romantic and platonic !!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i had to rewrite this like... 4 times bc tumblr kept deleting it :// anyways night dancer got me through this piece so :D u can tell i have a blade preference but listen he's hot

Before we get on with the sillies, let's lay down some groundwork.

Every Stellaron Hunter has a specific role in mind. Blade is the feral dog that you throw at people, Kafka pisses people off (and shoots ig), and Silver Wolf gets past all defenses.

You're the expert on espionage and disguise. With the power of masks, voice changers, and makeup, you can become basically anyone if you put your mind to it. Even people with completely different builds than you, you could pull off - as long as the holographs don't start glitching out.

You're often paired with Silver Wolf in order to infiltrate various bases. Silver Wolf can transcend any physical barriers, while you sweet talk your way into the inner circles of any leaders. Sometimes, you implant ideas into people's heads in order to guide them towards a certain path, sometimes you just do it for the fun of it.

Your favorite victim so far has been the Express. Ever since the Trailblazer joined, you've entertained yourself by posing as them or other members of the Express (the only ones you can't figure out are Welt Yang and the conductor, Pom-Pom).

And it was surprising, how easily you could trick March 7th and Dan Heng. You had no idea where the original Trailblazer was (probably up some poor soul's dumpster), but frankly, you didn't care.

You somehow managed to trick the two for the better half of a day. It wasn't until you didn't jump at the sight of the first trashcan on the Xianzhou Luofu that the duo realized that something was off.

"Who- Who are you?!"

March stepped back, Dan Heng already drawing his spear. But you weren't going to give in so easily. No, you wanted to see just how far you could take this.

"Guys?" You feigned hurt and confusion as you faced the two. "What're you..."

"Don't play dumb," Dan Heng cut you off, thrusting his spear under your chin. "You're not them. The real Trailblazer would've started ransacking that trashcan by now."

What kind of freak-

"C'mon guys, I have taste," you sighed, crossing your arms. "The trashcans here don't compare to the ones at Belobog. They're not as shiny."

"Trailblazer said that appearance doesn't matter when it comes to trash!" March shot back, her bow appearing in her hands. "Enough games, who are you really?"

You paused for a moment, contemplating your options. You could try to bullshit your way out of this, but you sincerely doubted you would be able to. What kind of freak personality did Silver Wolf program into the vessel, anyways?

You sighed, making the two tense up. Your face, still that of the Trailblazer's, twisted into a condescending sneer, before you doubled over in laughter.

"Ah... Damnit, and here I thought I was doing well!" You stretched your arms, March backing away from you. "Well, that just goes to show, I still have much to improve."

With a snap of your fingers, your disguise melted away, revealing your true appearnce.

"You're-!" March gasped. "You're one of the Stellaron Hunters!"

"Am I really that famous?" you pondered, leaning back on the railing. "And here I thought Kafka or Silver Wolf were more popular."

"What're you trying to pull," Dan Heng growled, "pretending to be the Trailblazer? What did you do to them?"

"Oh, nothing," you replied simply, popping your bone. "I just sent them a coupon for that restaurant down the street. So don't worry yourselves, I'm just here to have a little bit of fun."

Before the two could comprehend the stupidity of their companion, you jumped onto the railing, balancing on your toes.

"Well, it's been fun, Nameless." You waved cheerfully, taking a step back into the open air. "Let's meet again sometime soon, yeah?"

"Wait!" They rushed to the railing, adamant on catching you - but you had already vanished.

The world might see you as a complete weirdo, but honestly, you aren't even the worst of the Stellaron Hunters. In your humble opinion, you're the lesser evil compared to your comrades.

If you're going to survive in this job, you have to get used to Kafka bullying you. Don't worry, she does it to everyone, it's not just you. But signing up to become a Stellaron Hunter also means you sign up to a life of relentless teasing.

You roll your eyes at the feeling of a familiar gun barrel against your head. Kafka holds it against your temple firmly, but you know her finger isn’t anywhere near the trigger. It’s not like you’re Blade, who somehow survived getting thrown off a four-story building.

“Now who do we have here?” Kafka muses lazily. “A potential spy from the IPC? Or perhaps, one of the Xianzhou Cloud Knights?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Kafka,” you turn around, unimpressed. With one move, you pulled off your mask, glaring at her pointedly as you grab a bottle of water. “I know that thing isn’t loaded.”

“Oh, it’s you, [Name],” Your senior gasps mockingly, removing the gun. “When did you come in? I could’ve sworn an intruder-”

You throw the bottle at her. She dodges because of course she does.

And Kafka isn't even the least of your worries. At least she has a sense of financial responsibility.

There's no doubt that Silver Wolf is integral to the workings of the Stellaron Hunters, especially with her hacking abilities. She's certainly skilled with her work, and she has saved your ass many times before.

But sometimes, you have to play babysitter to her, because homegirl may or may not have a gambling addiction, especially when it comes to whatever those gacha games of hers. Whenever she visits the city's nearby arcade or casino, either you or Kafka have to be around so that she doesn't end up gambling all of your funds away. You would get Blade to do it, except he couldn't care less about your financial problems.

“Let me go! I’ve almost got it, I know I do!”

Silver Wolf kicked at your shoulders wildly as you hoisted her up. You paid her no mind as you left the arcade, Blade walking in tow. You kept a firm grip on his sleeve, making sure he didn’t run off and start any trouble. You saw the look he gave the claw machine. If you hadn’t dragged Silver Wolf away, he would’ve likely broken the thing out of impatience.

“I was so close!” The girl on your shoulder whined, like a kid who didn’t get their favorite toy.

“You already spent 500k on it,” you replied bluntly. “It’s a scam, don’t you know?”

“So what?” Silver Wolf retorted. “I would’ve won!”

“Yeah,” you shifted her up, your shoulder getting sore. You weren’t really built for hard labor. “After you spent another hundred thousand credits, sure.”

“I wasn’t!” She’d stopped fighting you, now hanging limply so that her entire weight pressed down on you. “I could’ve hacked it-”

“Really? You’d put that much effort into a claw machine?” Before Silver Wolf could argue, your phone dinged, as did Blade’s and Silver Wolf’s - successfully interrupting your bickering. You glanced at Blade as he checked his phone for the three of you.

“It’s Kafka,” he reported, typing out a quick response. “She says it’s time to go back.”

“Tell her we’ll be there in 10 minutes, if Silver stops her tantrum,” you said, looking pointedly at Silver Wolf. The hacker kicked you in response. 

“I am not throwing a tantrum,” she huffed. You rolled your eyes.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Speaking of which, Blade is like your guard dog. A very intimidating guard dog. With a sword. And attitude issues.

Come to think of it, he's more like a cat if anything.

When he's not being launched at the faces of various enemies, Blade often finds himself acting as your shadow. He just follows you around, doesn't say anything, and the second he smells a whiff of a threat, the sword comes out and you have to talk him down before someone calls the cops.

It seems that you’re the only one unaffected by the suffocating tension clogging up the clothing store. There’s an obvious circle of space surrounding you and Blade as you browse through various suits, intent on finding one that would fit the man standing behind you. Elio’s next script required that Blade and Kafka go to a dinner party, and knowing Blade, the man didn’t have any clothes other than the ones you and the other Hunters got for him.

It wasn’t that Blade didn’t have an eye for fashion, rather, he simply didn’t care much for it. Shopping wasn’t exactly his cup of tea either. His hands itched for action, but he did have to admit that this was better than sulking around in his room all day.

You pulled out another suit that had caught your eye, a simple black one with a bronze lapel. It would fit the vest you’d already picked out for him. Holding it out in front of Blade, you squint as you try to picture what it’d look like on him.

Decent enough. You hummed in satisfaction, turning the suit around to show it to him. “What do you think?”

Blade shrugs, only giving the suit a brief glance. “It’s fine.”

You sigh, giving him a look. “Do you like it?”

“It isn’t the worst thing you’ve put me in,” he says nonchalantly. You huff, lightly hitting his chest. For a second, a glimmer of a smile flickers onto his face at your action.

“Watch your attitude,” you reprimand playfully. “Otherwise I’m giving you the shittiest suit I can find in here.”

“You wouldn’t,” Blade says easily as the two of you walk toward the cash registers. “Your heart couldn’t bear to do that to a face like mine.”

“Cheeky brat.”

You remember the day Blade was first brought to the base, picked up by Kafka and Elio like a stray cat. He had a strange resemblance to that of a drowned rat, being absolutely sopping wet.

Your seniors just kinda dropped him off into your room with the only instructions being "Make him look presentable", which didn't give you a lot to work with. You weren't sure how you were going to fix him, but after a lot of bathing, hair drying, and brushing, you soon discovered that the drowned rat had a pretty face.

So basically, you're the only reason why he looks remotely presentable.

And quite frankly, Blade does not make it easier on you. He doesn't care about how he looks, only how his enemies look - and that's dead and unmoving. Sir somehow manages to fuck up his fit every time he goes on mission, coming back with his very expensive clothes, mind you, covered in blood, and his hair messed up.

The audacity of him, to just walk into your room unannounced, clothes completely torn and hair a mess, and plop himself down on your perfectly clean chair and wait for you to fix him up. Granted, you'll do it (you wouldn't allow any of your comrades to leave without a decent haircut), but that doesn't mean you won't rattle his ear off with a scolding.

“Just what did you do to it this time?”

You grumbled as you cut away at Blade’s hair, the man in question sitting in your salon chair and scrolling through his phone. He had just come back from a mission, and this time he somehow managed to cut off the bottom half of his long locks, resulting in a horrendously uneven cut.

“You’re literally so photogenic and then you go and do this?” you huffed, blowing his hair into his face with a blowdryer.

“You can fix it, can’t you?” Blade didn’t even look up from his screen as he texted Silver Wolf, likely using this as an excuse to escape her pleas to game with her.

You scowl, venting your anger as you brushed his hair, cutting a few extra strands. “Just because I can, doesn’t mean I always have the time to do so! Now sit still.”

Oh, and another thing? There's no such thing as privacy when you're with the Stellaron Hunters.

You first learned this when you came back from a particularly grueling mission, early on in your career with the Hunters. You were covered in blood that wasn't (or was it?) yours, drenched from the rain and safe to say, not in the greatest of moods. All you wanted was to take a shower, and preferably, take an undisturbed nap on your warm bed.

Unfortunately, Kafka had other plans.

You opened the door to find her lounging on YOUR bed, IN THE DARK, ruffling through your makeup collection like it was normal. She didn't even seem bothered when you flicked on the light, didn't even acknowledge you until you threw a knife at her.

And what did she say when you made it abundantly clear that she shouldn't be in here? Nothing. She just scrunched up her nose and told you to take a shower.

And that is how you learned that having your own room is utterly useless because every single Hunter could pick a lock. You could try to use an electric one. Silver Wolf sure did. And to her credit, it worked, until a certain dog named Blade came around and just kicked the door down.

Out of all the Stellaron Hunters to creep around in your room, Sam was by far the worse. You could handle Kafka going through your makeup, or Blade judging your taste in books. You can deal with Elio having his fucking shoes on your bed because he's your boss and honestly what are you going to do against an actual seer? Exactly. Nothing. At least his shoes are usually clean.

But Sam? He doesn't visit so that he can go through your things, or just hang around. No. He comes around with the pure intention of scaring the shit out of you.

He just waits?? Outside your door?? In the dark?? Until you open it and he jumps you. It usually ends with someone getting punched, but honestly, it's nothing either of you couldn't handle.

Silver Wolf likes to pretend that she isn't as bad as the other because in her words, she "gives you a warning". Said warning is "You better be decent" before she barges in and starts rambling about the new game she bought.

One time you were not decent and someone had to pay the price. That someone was not you.

There is one good thing that comes out of all this invasion of privacy. Because whatever the others do to you, you get to do right back to them. 

“What does this button do?”

“Don’t touch that.” Kafka playfully whined as Silver Wolf snatched away the console in her hands. The hacker was less than pleased, having returned to her room only to discover that she’d been chosen as the Hunters’ victim for today.

You lean against Kafka’s shoulder, pouting alongside her at your latest toy being confiscated. “C’mon Silver, let us have some fun at least.”

“After you two invaded my room? Not a chance,” she replied, tossing the console to somewhere you and Kafka couldn’t reach. Kafka merely hummed at the loss, leaning back onto Silver Wolf’s messy bed.

“You know, you should really clean up around here,” she commented. “They nearly killed themselves tripping over a stack of DVDs.”

“Agreed, although I wouldn’t mention that last part,” you said, picking up another one of Silver Wolf’s consoles. This one had a fighting game on it. Silver Wolf rolled her eyes as you quickly busied yourself with fighting the boss she had left off on.

“If you don’t want to get hurt, then don’t come in,” she said, plopping down on the bed next to you. Kafka smiled.

“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?” she asked, watching you tap away at the screen. “It was just a suggestion, no need to get all worked up.”

“I’m not, but okay.” Silver Wolf hissed as your character took damage. “If you get my character killed-”

“I won’t,” you retorted, swiftly defeating the boss. You tossed Silver Wolf the console. “See?”

“You’re half dead,” Silver Wolf deadpanned.

“Doesn't matter. I still won.”

Your group chat is an absolute mess, with no one understanding Silver Wolf's slang or dialect. Blade's outdated brain short-circuited the first time he touched a phone, while Kafka just silently accepted her fate. You often have to translate because Silver Wolf sure wasn't going to.

Gambling Addict: Ykw blade

Gambling Addict: This is why u pull no bitches

Gambling Addict: Bc if [name] didnt yassify u 

Gambling Addict: U would have zero rizz

Gambling Addict: Negative rizz actually

You: I see no lie here

Gambling Addict: So stfu about my social life at least i can pull bitches

DONT PICK UP: [Name], translate

Gambling Addict: [Name] i have ur closet at gunpoint 

You: She means Blade can't attract maidens bc he has as much charisma as a blobfish

You: Also stfu silver I know you can't shoot for shit

Gambling Addict: [NAME]

Gambling Addict: Actually no, ur right

DONT PICK UP: Oh, I see

You: I'm always right ����✨

DONT PICK UP: That does sound like Bladie

Gambling Addict: Listen

Gambling Addict: All i know is that blades been real quiet since i said that

Blade: Silver Wolf.

Gambling Addict: And so he speaks!

Blade: Count your days.

You like to fuck with the others by pretending to be them. Blade nearly murdered you because one time you got bored, and decided that slandering his nonexistent image would be ample entertainment.

In minutes, you turned yourself into Blade's lookalike, and spent the afternoon prancing around in a maid dress because what else were you going to use it for? Unfortunately, that also put you as a target for Blade's wrath. Fortunately, you have a lot of experience escaping people you pissed off.

Silver Wolf still has the pictures. Kafka laughed her ass off until you did the exact same thing to her. And that's when she started shooting.

"I can't believe you did this," you sniffed dramatically, fake tears falling from your face. In your hands was what used to be your pride and joy, the beautiful maid dress that you'd spent millions on (lie).

What used to be a gorgeous garment with frills and lace, was now in tatters from Kafka's bullets and Blade's sword. The two aforementioned culprits weren't the slightest bit guilty as they watched you lament over your clothes.

"You should've thought of that before you started walking around like that," Kafka blew at her smoking gun. Blade nodded firmly in agreement, holding his sword close to his chest.

"It was cute!" you huffed, shaking your head. You weren't actually mad at them. You could always buy another dress to mess with them. Besides, you already got what you wanted.

Your gaze met with Silver Wolf's, who grinned back, holding her phone in between her fingers.

None of the Stellaron Hunters know basic first aid, and that includes you. Most of you just slap on a few bandages, some weird smelling ointment, and call it a day. Silver Wolf doesn't even do that, she just downs three bowls of rice and walks off the broken arm like a Sunday hangover.

But one day, just as your luck would have it, you came back to base with an injury that you couldn't just bandage away. No one knew what to do, and you were bleeding out fast. So what did this hardened group of criminals do?

They googled it. They fucking googled it.

Silver Wolf deadass just searched up how to fix you while you were bleeding out next to her. Kafka, to her credit, did hold your hand to try and comfort you (albeit mockingly), and Blade just stood back and watched. If Elio foresaw a way to help you, well, he didn't say anything.

But it all turned out all right in the end. Eventually, Silver Wolf gave up and simply shoved a bowl of her fried rice in front of you. You still don't know how or why, but it somehow worked. It shouldn't have, but it did.

The scene in front of you reminded you of a bunch of school children watching a chemistry experiment for the first time. The Stellaron Hunters crowded around you, eyes trained onto your closing wound with unnerving fascination. Even Blade, who rarely had any emotion at all, was watching you with the faintest glimmer of awe.

"What the hell did you put in that thing?" you turned in disbelief to Silver Wolf, the only unphased person in the room. The hacker was already somewhere else, her thumbs tapping rapidly as she played another one of her rhythm games.

"Trash."

"WHAT." You almost throttled her before she quickly teleported a safe distance away, clutching her phone to her chest.

"Kidding, kidding, no need to get all worked up!" She sighed, clearing a level without looking.

"Just some solid water and protein rice, that's all."

"You mean ice?" You swatted at Kafka, who was poking at where your wound used to be.

"No."

Safe to say, the Stellaron Hunters are an... interesting bunch, to put it lightly. They're all assholes, including you, and seem to thrive over inconveniencing each other. The only time you all can somewhat work together is when you're acting out one of Elio's scripts.

But you'd be lying if you said you hated working at this job. You live for the thrill of things, and being a Hunter was the most fun you've had in a long, long time, even if your coworkers occasionally annoyed you to death.

None of you would ever say it aloud, but you wouldn't trade each other for anything in the world.

[suffarustuffaru]

sincerely emilia (drabble for Day 2 - Injury / Role Swap / “What do I look like right now?” - rezero s3c1 fanweek!!)

Your name is Emilia, just Emilia, and you’re super duper good at everything you set your mind to! 

It was pretty rough learning how to die with grace, but it’s given you so many wonderful opportunities to learn other things as well! 

See, it only took approximately about a dozen or so loops to figure out how to make a suitable enough cake—you really, really don’t bother counting anymore, counting is such a downer unless it’s for something more fun—but, of course, you’re Emilia, and you can’t just half-ass any of the things you do! Ah, but oh my—you really, really shouldn’t be cursing or anything even in your internal dialogue, so you suppose this may call for another loop! Besides, you accidentally put too much frosting in one corner of the cake when you were writing the big important message on the face of it, so you must correct that as well. 

You duck into the nearest bathroom and bite down on your tongue. It’s good practice, given that’s usually one of the deaths you struggle a little bit with, and you like to practice. You like becoming so good at things that no one can think of you as stupid, silly Emilia anymore. You like being so good that nothing can ever touch you again. 

That you never hurt anyone again.

Anyway, this world has given you so many fun opportunities ever since that day in the capitol! Felt may have stolen your insignia at the time, and Elsa was quite an opponent, but you’ve learned all sorts of valuable things ever since! Of course, after your dozen or so loops spent learning to make a cake, you spent some more learning to make the perfect cake. It was only a tiny bit of looping—maybe about another dozen or more? Besides, you already had the chance to catalog even more important information:

Natsuki Subaru is from beyond the Great Waterfall. Natsuki Subaru, presumably, appeared in the middle of that capitol the same day your insignia was stolen. Natsuki Subaru is your knight because you let him mold himself into something stronger. You let him try, like how you always try and try and try. Because Natsuki Subaru is a stupid, stupid boy who lives life oh-so-recklessly, and yet you can’t help but admire his passion. His heart. You wanted to squeeze it, just a little, that one time you found him dead in an alleyway with his murderers panicking because they hadn’t expected to kill him. They weren’t even trying. And, of course, the knights weren’t trying to kill him. Of course not! And, of course, of course, of course, Natsuki Subaru had to follow you everywhere you went like a dumb puppy wagging its tail, but he can’t come back to life like you can. You’re dead weight. He’s even deader weight. But you can come back. After all the crying and vomiting and screaming you did, after all the times you got beat down and never came back up again, after all the times you let everyone around you die, after all the times you saw your own maids and your own father do horrible things you never would have approved of, after all the times you were targeted and stupid, stupid Subaru got caught in the crossfire, after all the times you saw Geuse—Petelgeuse—you figured it out: you can please everyone all at once and as much as possible so long as you used the power you were forced into. This is the one thing you can control: you make yourself beautiful, force your personality into a better place the same way you can force a broken shoulder back into its socket. The same way you can hear your own voice whisper back to you in a void, I love him, I love him, save him, I love him, save, save, save. The same way you can make sure Natsuki Subaru is safe.

And happy.

You can make sure everyone around you all at once is safe and happy. There were—there were a few errors. But you’re good at pushing forward. You even got over your personal hurdle of disliking lying and broken promises. This is because you’re not broken bird Emilia anymore. In fact, your power proves everyone wrong! How could you not be great after everything? You have it down to even the smallest details— 

“Subaru!” you exclaim as you burst into his room. He leaves the door unlocked; this is out of habit, even if he doesn’t remember her, due to all the times a certain maid had been at her bedside before she—before she—haha—

Subaru, of course, startles awake. He’s a little jumpy, though he can be quite the deep sleeper when he’s really exhausted, but he always has this habit of relaxing the moment he sees you! This is related to how the moon is beautiful, isn’t it is a phrase that really means I love you, along with other such foolish things like how Emilia-tan, is Emilia-chan is some childish form of endearment, and how take care are words that have either made Subaru cry tears of joy or tears of complete and utter despair depending on the loop, and how Natsuki Subaru was a lonely little shut-in NEET who imprinted on you like a duckling would with its mother. He’s frightened at first once he’s fully awake now, practically jumping out of bed and looking around like he’s expecting an attack—like that one loop where he died in his sleep, or that other loop where a certain maid died in her sleep instead and he got caught in the crossfire again, like he always does—but then his eyes land on you. His face brightens, and then brightens even further when you say—

“Happy birthday!” You proudly hold out the cake you’ve made for him. It’s butterscotch, exactly as he said he was craving since the first loop of this current period, and you made sure to write out the words Happy birthday in perfect characters onto the cake as well. Pretty poignant, you think, that his birthday is just a few weeks before the anniversary of that day in the capitol. You look up from the eighteen birthday candles scattered amidst the frosting. 

“It’s a new you,” you add with a cheerful smile. “I’m reaaally glad that you’re here, Subaru, and I’m honored to have another year with you as my friend—” You wink at him. A little teasing, but just innocent enough to only be slightly flirtatious. Subaru runs away in a panic if there’s too much. “—and my knight.”

Subaru squeaks in embarrassment at that. You allow yourself a measured giggle at that, hidden behind a polite hand. Subaru’s eyes roam all over you and the cake you’re holding out for him with your other hand; like this, all the muscles you’ve been working on are showing, all pure heroine grace just the way he likes, and your laugh is also pure grace. Just the way he likes. 

Pure, pure, pure. 

You make sure to alter the formula a little with others, though. A person like Anastasia likes being caught off guard by pure, simple sincerity, and you like seeing her narrow her eyes at you every time you already knew what she was going to say. Otto likes to take other people under his wing, as much as he pretends he doesn’t want to, so you indulgently allow him to advise you on everything and anything, and you laugh when he doesn’t know how you’re predicting every possible move he makes in shatranj. Garfiel’s desire for strength is admirable, and your sparring sessions with him have been some of your favorite loops. The moment he declared that he would have to train to become as strong as you tasted like pure victory. Ram’s singing lessons too, have been your other favorites as well, with the curtness of her voice turning soft when she called you a girl with good timing, and even Julius’s lips kissing your knuckle felt nice in the epicenter of the storm that was all those loops where you kept trying and trying to stop Subaru from walking straight into his death. All of this—it’s another way to improvement. It’s another way to experience every good thing you’ve ever had over and over and over again. 

Pure intimacy.

Purity itself.

But now, Subaru’s bright, flustered grin suddenly fades. It sends a panic in you, a bile curling in your stomach and clawing up your throat until you want to slit your throat. “Aww, Subaru,” you say, as gentle as ever. “Is something the matter?” 

Subaru shakes his head hastily. Clears his throat. “N-No,” he says, “Just—how did you learn to write in Japanese?” 

You pause. Then, “Does Subaru not like it?”

“No, no,” Subaru stutters, gesturing his hands around wildly. “I do like it! I really, really like it, Emilia-tan, promise! It’s—god, this is like a birthday cake out of my dreams, I swear, but—I-I wasn’t expectin’ that you’d, um, know how to—”

You smile again and lightly tap Subaru’s nose. It distracts him again, his cheeks bright red, just as you knew it would. “Well, silly, I’ve been wanting to learn for a while! It’s an ancient language hailing from Kararagi, I hear—” Subaru’s journal was an enlightening thing to look through. You figure that with only a few more loops you could read the entire thing from front to back and then recite it from memory. “—and you seem so passionate about it, so I wanted to learn just for you.”

Just for you. Haha, you’re really the most sincere person in the entire universe, aren’t you?

“Really, Emilia-tan…?” Subaru replies, completely awestruck. 

“Really,” you say, with the tilt of your head. This must be the Subaru that blue-haired maid saw, of course. Silly, silly Subaru, always thinking about other—

Subaru stands there, right beside you, biting down on the inside of his cheek like he always does when he’s uncertain about something. That’s your Subaru, always biting down words when he feels the need to. He’s still starry-eyed looking at you, of course, but there’s a bit of hesitation there now for some reason.

“Emilia…” he says, reluctant, “You look…”

“What do I look like right now?” you obediently ask. You have always had to ask these sorts of things, unfortunately. Half-devil witch. Half-devil witch in league with the actual half-devil witch. Half-devil witch who can come back to life after death. Half-devil witch who can return from death any time she wants, save everyone except for the times it really counts. You can look like a witch, but you can't act like one. Rem is gone. Petelgeuse is gone. Puck is gone. Fortuna is gone, gone, gone. Everyone has been gone in every timeline except—

“You looked a little… scary… for a moment,” Subaru mumbles. Then he shakes his head at a rather vigorous rate. “No, no, I was probably seeing things—sorry, Emilia-tan. I didn’t mean to be such a downer, and I don’t mean to insult you or anything, you’re still as beautiful as ever, I promise!”

You smile. You’re very good at smiling and waving. You can already feel your teeth scraping against your tongue again. “No need to apologize, Subaru. We all see things that frighten us for a moment, don’t we?” Your hand pats him on the head. He does this little flustered squeal at that, as always, and you laugh sweetly at him in reward. “Why don’t we go to the dining room and eat your cake there? You still have to blow out the candles, after all, and I need to go make sure your breakfast is all set too.”

“O-Oh!” Subaru startles. “Emilia-tan, you put in so much work for me and you really didn’t have to—”

You hum to yourself. “It’s okay, Subaru, there’s no need to put in any work today when it’s your birthday!” You reach for his hand with your own, the one that’s not holding the cake, and he eagerly holds your hand back. You squeeze it gently. “Come now, let’s just go already so we can celebrate!” 

This will likely take another loop.

“O-Okay, Emilia-tan,” Subaru says with a grin. And everything’s okay. Because Emilia declares it to be. Because, because, because—

Your name is Emilia, the very best Emilia, and you’re super duper good at everything you set your mind to!

[justmystyles]

Now You're In My Life - Part 9

catch up here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: you and Harry have dinner with your family.

warnings: a couple of curse words, but other than that, it's tame.

a/n: this is a very silly fluffy chapter, not going to lie. hope you enjoy it!

*i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

“Are you sure we’re not underdressed?” Harry asked, as you drove through the streets of your hometown. 

You smiled over at him, squeezing his hand, which had been linked to yours for the entire ride. “Promise. My sister and I always coordinate for family dinners. We decided to use tonight as the inaugural run for our new track suits.” Your eyes travel over him, appraising his outfit. “Yours isn’t an exact match, but at least you had something on theme.” 

“Yes, well I didn’t have much warning.” He joked before turning his attention back to the road.

After sitting in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Harry brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing them softly. “I love you, girlfriend.” 

Your heart fluttered as your gaze traveled to Harry. Even though you could only see his profile, the content look on his face was possibly the best sight you had ever seen. “I love you too, boyfriend.” You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to hearing him say it, but you were certain you’d never grow tired of it. 

“So what exactly am I in for here?” Harry asked. “Will your dad be giving me a proper interrogation?” 

“Oh,” you paused thinking it over for a minute. “I actually have no idea. I’ve, well I never…”

“Am I the first guy you’ve brought home?” He asked incredulously. 

You simply shrugged in reply. “Right there, take a right,” you change the subject, pointing out your parent’s driveway. 

Harry pulled in, putting the car in park, you tried to remove your hand from his, but he only squeezed tighter. “Hey,” he tugged your arm gently, you looked up at him in response. “This is kind of a big deal, being the first guy you bring home to your parents. I want you to know that I don’t take that lightly.” 

“Yeah, well you didn’t give me much of a choice. You kind of invited yourself.” You say, trying to lighten the moment. 

Harry smirked and shook his head. “Fine, get out of the car. I’ll come back for you in a couple of hours.” 

“No way, Jose. You RSVP’d, no turning back now.” 

Harry’s expression sombered as he leaned in, resting his hand on the side of your neck, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t wanna turn back. Only forward, only with you.” He loved the back and forth the two of you shared, but he was also desperate for you to be more open and vulnerable with him. He had gotten a taste of it earlier in the day, and he wanted more.

Overwhelmed by his sincerity, you surged forward, pressing your lips against his, deepening the kiss immediately. You lingered like that before Harry pulled back with a chuckle. “Let’s put a pin in that for later, princess. Don’t know that meeting your parents half hard would make the best first impression.” 

“Valid.” You giggled, kissing him on the nose before reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

“And don’t you dare touch that door young lady,” he chastised. 

“I know, I know. Always a gentleman.” You sighed sarcastically. 

Harry comes around, opening your door and helping you out of the car. Your eyes immediately travel to the front window, you see your parent’s faces quickly disappear behind the curtain. You laugh to yourself, you know your family too well. 

You turn the doorknob, stepping into the split level ranch home you grew up in, an instant wave of nostalgia and comfort washing over you. You can see your dad straight ahead in the kitchen, putting together a cheese plate, you glance to the right, your mother sitting on the couch. You couldn’t see her fully with the Christmas tree in the way, but you were sure she was trying to act nonchalant as if you didn’t just catch her gawking at you through the window. 

At the top of the stairs, your family dog is waiting for you, tail wagging uncontrollably. “My sweet little Dubby, my favorite family member.” 

“Heard that,” your mother shouted. 

“You were supposed to.” You snap back. 

Harry chuckles at the exchange. You stop halfway up the stairs so that you are eye to eye with the dog, you cradle her face in your hands, speaking in baby talk to her. 

“Um… love, are you sure she’s not going to bite you in the face?” Harry asks, a little unnerved at the Dalmatian’s teeth on full display. 

You look at him with a furrowed brow before turning your attention back to Dubby. “Oh no no no, she’s smiling! She smiles at me every time I come home!” 

Harry nods and approaches the dog cautiously, still not fully convinced. He holds his hand out, she gives it a quick sniff before licking it and placing her head underneath, encouraging him to give her pets which he eagerly takes her up on. 

“See, you’re in.” You pat him on the back before continuing up the stairs, entering the main living space, Harry following behind. 

“I’m here,” you announce. “I see Mel’s late as usual.” 

“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad comes out from the kitchen, wrapping you in a hug. “Not yet, we told her to be here later.”

“We wanted to meet your guest first.” Your mother continues as she steps up to you.

“Oh, that was actually kind of a genius move.” You nod your head in approval before hugging your mother. When you step out of the embrace, you take a deep breath before linking hands with Harry. “So, mom, dad, this is my boyfriend, Harry.” You feel yourself blush slightly. It was the first time you got to introduce him as your boyfriend, and it just felt right. 

Harry squeezed your hand gently, also loving the feeling of hearing you claim him like that, before letting go to greet your parents. “Mister and misses Y/L/N, it’s a pleasure.” He reaches out, shaking each of their hands. 

“Please,” your mother waves off his formalities. “David and Tina.” 

Harry nods in understanding as your parents lead you both to the couch. You take a seat and Harry sits down beside you, taking your hand instantly. 

“Drinks?” Your father offers.

“Water, please.” You say with a smile. 

“I’ll take the same.” Harry says. Your father nods and retreats to the kitchen. As your mother takes a seat in an adjacent armchair. 

“So, I must admit,” she begins. “You’re definitely much more normal looking than we expected.” 

Your free hand immediately flies to your face. “Starting out strong.” You mumble. Harry chuckles and leans into you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I’m just saying,” your mother holds her hands up defensively. “We’ve never seen any of the guys you’ve dated. We just assumed they were those dirty boys with long hair and tattoos all over the place. Boys who call themselves musicians.” She uses air quotes around the word musicians. 

You and Harry exchange a look, trying not to laugh. She was practically describing him now, and definitely describing him a couple of years ago. 

“So Harry, what do you do for a living?” Your dad asks as he returns with a tray of drinks, placing them down on the coffee table in front of you. 

A single bark of laughter escapes you. You turn to face Harry with an arched brow, waiting with baited breath for his answer. 

“Well, I have my hand in quite a few things actually, I own a couple of busin–”

“No no no,” you interrupt him. “Not all the side hustles, your actual job. And maybe you should take your jacket off while you tell them.” 

He narrows his eyes playfully at you. He knew once they understood what he did and who he was, it would be different. But he didn’t want to just come out and say he was a multi platinum recording artist. 

The conversation was mercifully interrupted by the opening of the front door. “You guys always complain that I’m late, so look at me showing up early.” Your sister announces as she comes up the stairs, greeting the dog on her way by. She freezes in her tracks when she sees you and Harry sitting on the couch. “Why the fuck is Harry Styles in our house?” 

“Wait, why does that name sound familiar?” Your mother asks. 

“Because he’s like one of the most famous singers in the world,” your sister replies. “He was in that band, One Direction. You know? The poster on my wall?” 

You smirk, reminding yourself to thank your sister for the perfect setup. “Yeah, you know he’s the musician on the poster with long hair and tattoos?”

Your parents’ faces turn beet red at the revelation. “I’m very sorry, Harry. We didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” He assures your parents. “You just want the best for your daughter. I want the best for her too.” He turns to you and smiles. “Though, perhaps I went for the wrong sister if she’s the one with the poster of me.” He chuckled, standing to shake your sister’s hand.

“Nope, you got the right one.” Your sister assured him. “You’d be barking up the wrong tree here.” You and your parents laugh, your sister has always been particularly blunt. 

Harry nods in understanding as you stand, greeting your sister with a hug. 

“This explains why you were so distracted when I called the other night.” Your sister observed.”Watermelon sugar, am I right?.” She winked and nudged you with an elbow making you and Harry giggle. 

“What does that mean?” Your parents ask simultaneously. The three of you freeze, your eyes went wide, head snapping over to see Harry blushing. Your sister slaps her hand over her mouth. 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” You say quickly. 

Your mother sighs. “You never want to explain anything to us. We’re not young and cool, we don’t just know things.” 

“I am not explaining what it means.” You shoot daggers at your sister, silently cursing her for bringing it up. 

“Oh,” a moment of realization washes over your mother. “It’s a sex thing, isn’t it?” 

“JESUS!” You shout, covering your face in your hands. You spread your index and middle fingers slightly so that you can see Harry, whose face is a deep crimson from embarrassment. 

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know anymore!” Your father throws his hand up in defeat and walks back into the kitchen. 

You take a deep breath, sinking back into the couch. “This is going great.” 

Harry plops down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. “It’s alright princess, I think things are going just fine.” He kisses the top of your head. 

Your dad returns from the kitchen, handing your sister a drink. “Let’s all just start over,” he suggests. “Harry, how did you end up in the music biz?” 

You drop your gaze, shaking your head in embarrassment at your dad trying to sound cool. Harry laughs again, patting your thigh softly. “Well, I auditioned for this show X Factor when I was sixteen.” 

“Oh, Y/N and I used to watch that all the time!”

“You did?!” Harry says surprised, looking over at you in shock.

“Absolutely, it was appointment television for us. I loved listening to Y/N’s thoughts on the singers, she always knew what she was talking about. She has a good ear for music.” She smiled proudly at you. “Can’t sing for the life of her, but she has a good ear.” 

“And that’s why you’ll never hear me sing.” You say to Harry, before turning your attention to your mother. “He wasn’t on the one we watched though, he was on the UK one.” 

“No, we performed on the American one. A couple of times, actually.” He looks at you with a cocky grin. “Little miss ‘I never paid attention to One Direction’.”

“I obviously wasn’t paying attention if I don’t remember it happening.” You wink at him before turning back to your father. “What’s for dinner anyway? I didn’t smell anything when I came in.” 

As your father begins to explain that he called for pizza, listing off the different things he ordered, Harry leans in closely, speaking low enough for only you to hear. “You’ll be paying for that comment later, missy.” He warned as he playfully pinched your side. 

Despite the awkward start to the evening, things started to simmer down. Harry was getting along great with your family. You didn’t doubt he would for a second. Your dad and Harry seemed to be in a spirited competition to see who could tell the worst joke. You, your mother and your sister were the true losers of that battle. 

After dinner, everyone retired back to the living room except for your dad who made a stop off in the kitchen to light the candles and bring out your birthday cake. He lowered the lights and entered the room as your family and Harry sang happy birthday to you. You looked around the room, unable to contain your smile. You were glad you had never brought a guy home before. None of them would have fit in even half as well as Harry had. 

You looked over to him, he was singing with that wide, dimpled grin that you loved so much. You were so overwhelmed in that moment that you felt tears start to prick your eyes. Harry’s brow rounded in concern, you gave him a reassuring smile and thumbs up as the song ended. You turned back to the cake, blowing out the candles as the people closest to you in the world cheered for you. 

Once the flames were out, Harry pulled you close, placing a kiss on the top of your head and murmuring I love yous into your hair. Your family watched on fondly. They had never seen you so happy, and they were grateful for the boy that had permanently engraved the smile on your face. 

As you were sitting around enjoying your cake, your sister excused herself to the basement. She returned soon after with a familiar box. Your eyes went wide.

“Nope, no way, not happening.” You protested. Your parents laughed as Harry looked on trying to understand what was going on. 

“Absolutely! We always watch home movies and go through old pictures on birthdays.” 

“But this is different, I have a guest with me.” Your tone was pleading. You weren’t ready to be embarrassed on that level in front of Harry. Not yet. 

“Why don’t we leave it up to our guest?” Your mother suggested. 

Everyone looked at Harry expectantly, while his eyes locked on you. He grins, eyes never leaving yours as he answers. “I would love to see all of it.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan with defeat. He chuckles, grabbing your wrists and pulling them down as your sister sets up the videos. He leans in and places a kiss on your cheek. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your revenge when I bring you home to meet Mum and Gemma. I promise.” 

Your exasperated frown quickly became a smile. Everything had happened so quickly with Harry, that you hadn’t thought about going home with him to meet his family. But he clearly had. You got butterflies in your stomach knowing that he was excited for that to happen. 

You were pulled out of the moment by the sound of the television, you looked up to see your three year old self toddling through a petting zoo. “Oh man, you’re really going to start with this one?” You bury your face into Harry’s shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you, his eyes locked on the screen.

As the video continues you work your way around, pointing out animals to your mother who is holding the camera. For some reason, you considered every sheep and goat to be a cow, and informed your parents of that. As you approached one particular ‘cow’ it had its head down, eating some pellets. You bent over, likely to place a kiss on the top of its head, as you often did with your dog and cats at home, when it abruptly lifted its head, a horn butting you right in the nose. 

The room bursts into laughter, Harry included. He turns to face you, seeing that you’re trying to suppress your own laughter while giving him a faux stern look. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to your pouted lips. 

The videos continued, and you knew what was happening. Because it was your birthday, and you had brought a guest, you were the main focus of the selections. There were more embarrassing moments, like the time you rocked too hard on a rocking horse and ended up falling off backwards, but there were also nice memories as well. Dance recitals, school plays, birthday parties and more. 

A video played from Christmas day when you were roughly eleven years old, the whole family was gathered at your grandparents house, and the camera panned around, getting shots of everyone. When they panned into the den, they found you teaching your grandmother the Macerena. You had recently learned it at your friend’s birthday, and you always loved showing your grandmother the cool new things. And she loved learning them from you. 

You watched on, subconsciously shifting, rubbing the tattoo on your left wrist. The tattoo you got for her. You feel Harry nudge you, and you look over to him, tears pooling in your eyes. It had been nine years since you lost her, but there wasn’t a day that went by where you didn’t think of her. There were so many moments in your life you wished you could have told her about, had her there for. So many things you felt like you still needed to learn from her. Harry cupped your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. He looked at you with a question in his eyes, mouthing the words ‘you okay?’ You nodded in response and sniffled, composing yourself before turning back to the screen. 

“Are you going to the cemetery tomorrow?” Your mother asks. 

You freeze, you had been so caught up in the bubble you had created with Harry over the last few days that you didn’t realize that the anniversary of her passing was the following day. “Oh, I didn’t think about it. I mean Harry’s only in town for a few days. Maybe I could go aft–”

“I don’t mind,” he interrupts. “I’ll go with you if you’d like.” 

“Yeah?” You look at him in question, he nods. “I would probably want to pick up my grandfather first, he’ll want to go.”

“Excellent, I can’t wait to meet him.” Harry assures you. 

“Okay then,” you say, turning back to your mother. “I guess I am.” You pause, looking back over to Harry and taking his hand. “I mean, we are.” 

Your parents watched the two of you fondly. They had always been concerned about the kinds of guys you were seeing, especially since you barely talked about them and never brought them around. But seeing you and Harry, how affectionate he was with you, how tender and kind, they knew that he was exactly what they had always wanted for you. 

The night went on a bit longer, you watched a few more movies and went through some pictures. As you were talking and reminiscing with your family, Harry listened with the utmost attention. He meant it when he said he wanted to know everything about you, and this whole night had been an amazing step in the right direction. 

At one point, when it came up that your parents had left your bedroom exactly as it was when you left for college, Harry insisted on seeing it. You took his hand, leading him down the hall to the last door on the right. 

“That door stays open, young lady!” Your mother shouted from down the hall. “No watermelon sugar!” 

“Moooommmmmm gross!” You hear your sister groan

You froze in your tracks, pinching the bridge of your nose. Harry chuckles, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. You open the door and step through. “Here it is.” 

Harry’s eyes sweep the area, taking in every detail. The walls are a pastel green, yellow and white gingham curtains match the sheets on the double bed. He runs his hand along the ornate carvings of the cream and gold headboard, and notices the matching desk and dresser. It’s definitely not the room he pictured for you, until he focuses on the wall decor. 

The first thing that catches his eye are the black angel wings hanging over the window, he then notices the posters, loaded with images of the kinds of guys your parents expected you to bring home. “It is definitely you. Perfectly punk rock princess.” 

“Yeah, well we did the full ‘big girl’ redesign when I was 12, and then my tastes changed, but my family’s budget didn’t, so we just added on.” You shrug. 

“I love it, really.” He assures you. “It’s like your beautiful brain exploded in here, it’s a little bit of everything I love about you.” He places his hands on your hips, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. 

“You know,” you say coyly. “You’re the first boy I’ve ever had in my room.” 

He arched a brow, and smirked. “Really?” You hummed in reply, and he pulled you closer, dropping his lips to yours, deepening the kiss instantly. 

You pull back, slapping his chest playfully. “Harry, my parents are right out there.” 

“Mmm,” he begins trailing kisses down your neck. “Now tell me we should be studying for the big test on Friday.” 

You burst out laughing, pushing out of his embrace. “You’re so fucking weird.” 

“You love it.” 

“Very much,” you look up at him, your expression softening. 

He links your fingers with his, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

You nod in agreement, leading him out of your room. You both say your goodbyes to your family, Harry thanking your parents for their hospitality and promising to come back to see them next time he’s in town. You and your sister agree to get together soon.

“I think they really liked you,” you tell Harry in the car on the way home. 

“I really liked them,” he smiles. “Definitely felt like a part of the family.”

“Good,” you squeeze his hand. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride home. You can’t help but let your mind drift off, thinking about how someday he may actually be your family. You know it’s way too early to be thinking like that, but you can’t and won’t stop yourself. You’re in love, and you don’t expect that to change any time soon.   

[prentissluvr]

two mugs, half empty — luke alvez

pairing : luke alvez x bau!gn!reader (can be read as platonic or romantic) ➖⟢ genre : hurt/comfort ➖⟢ cw : feelings of guilt and shame, nightmare mentions, talk of canon typical violence, crying ➖⟢ wc : 2.8K

“you look like hell.”

“wow, thank you, luke. way to compliment somebody,” you deadpan, even though he said it with a voice full of empathy. he gives you a good-natured roll of his eyes before his face returns to that concerned look you opened your apartment door to.

“but seriously, did you sleep at all over the weekend?” you want to hate how much he cares about you, but the sincerity of his voice has you nearly ready to cave. 

“come in,” you offer, completely ignoring his question because the answer is “no, not really.” he raises his eyebrows at your lack of response, but steps in after you anyways. he can guess the answer well enough from the exhaustion evident in your whole figure.

you sit down with him in the kitchen, grabbing him a glass of water before he can say no to it. his gaze on you is heavy, but you ignore it in favor of examining the wood of the table in front of you. since you won’t say anything, he goes first.

“i came to check on you,” he states the obvious, “i’m– we’re kinda worried about you, you know? like, you haven’t responded to any of my texts all day and you never call in sick, even when you probably should, so i figured you’d probably be bedridden for you to make the choice to stay home.” he pauses for a long moment, as if inviting for you to explain why you’re, in fact, not bedridden, and not really physically sick at all. you don’t say a word. “so,” he prompts, “what’s up? why’d you turn down drinks with the rest of the team on saturday? kinda feels like you’re avoiding us.”

“i am avoiding you guys,” your voice comes out far quieter than you intended. you had wanted to sound nonchalant, and all you got was exhaustion. you sigh before continuing, “because you’re profilers and i don’t want to talk about it.” he sighs too.

“if it’s so bad that you went to the lengths to call off sick from work to avoid talking about it, it seems to me like it’s something you should talk about.”

you turn your head even further from him because you know he’s right. you’ve been holed up in your apartment, agonizing over what happened three nights ago, desperate to scream and cry about it to someone else. god knows you’ve done enough of that with yourself, but you’re reverting to old habits and it feels like you’re back to only knowing how to avoid, avoid, and keep avoiding.

“listen, i don’t want to push you, but i need you to know that i’m here for you.” his hand hovers over yours for a moment, silently asking permission before gently wrapping his fingers around yours. you clench your jaw and bite the inside of your cheek to keep tears from forming in your eyes. honestly, you didn’t think you could produce anymore, but here you are, trying not to cry in front of your coworker turned close friend whom you’ve probably upset by ignoring him.

luke gains a little bit of hope when you squeeze his hand. he squeezes back, hoping you feel the love and care that he puts into it. you do, and it doesn’t help your case with the whole crying ordeal.

“thanks,” you whisper. the thickness in your voice completely gives you away. tilting your head up to try to stop the flow of tears is plain old silly at this point, and he watches with a weight heavy on his heart as they overflow and fall down your cheeks. the tears catch in the light of the only lamp that’s turned on in the room. “fuck. goddammit,” you curse through the tears, well aware they won’t stop anytime soon. “luke,” you cry.

“i’m here,” he replies so earnestly without missing a beat that you begin to cry harder. that’s the last straw for him. quickly, he stands and wraps you up in his arms without a second thought. with you sitting, your face barely reaches his chest, and your arms reach around his lower torso. he’s got one hand rubbing up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head into him. the way you hold onto him is desperate and breaks his heart, but he’s glad to give you something that you so clearly need. comfort.

“i–,” you try to explain, but you can’t get anywhere before choking on your own sobs.

“shhh, it’s okay. just let it out. i’m not going anywhere.” and he sticks to that promise, standing strong and unwavering, even after your tears run out and you can’t find it in yourself to pull away from him just yet. he doesn’t force a thing, just strokes the back of your head gently as a silent reminder that he’s there.

when you finally pull away, it’s only by a few inches, and he keeps his hands right where they are. he looks down at your face as you stare at the maroon fabric of his shirt and the tear stain you left behind. slowly, as if to not startle you, he bends down to be closer to your level. at first, you avoid meeting his eyes, but when the hand on your shoulder shifts up to your cheek and he gently wipes at the leftover tears, you let your gaze meet his. he gives you a smile, small and comforting, before speaking softly.

“i’m gonna make you some tea, alright?”

when you nod, his hands slide away from you, hesitant to let you go. your gaze follows his form as he turns and walks to the counter behind you, first grabbing your favorite mug from the cabinet and taking the liberty to grab one for himself too. then he’s at the pantry for the tea bags and he can feel your eyes on him. once the tea bags are on the counter, he’s by your side again. he gives you another soft smile as he grips the sides of your chair and turns it and you to face the counter. somehow luke just knows that him staying in your line of sight is a comfort to you, proof that he’s right there. he doesn’t want you to have to strain your neck in order to feel safe.

his silence as he fills and turns on the kettle, then sits back down beside you to wait for it to boil is a comfort too. it makes a difference that he’s not making you explain anything.

with him, the passage of time isn’t so horrible, and it’s easy to wait for the tea to be ready. when he sets the mug down in front of you, he tells you to be careful since it’s hot, even though you already know it. that’s when you make the decision that you will tell him what’s kept you holed up in your apartment for three days straight, what made you cry into his arms and skip work today.

it takes you four minutes of failed attempts to open your mouth and force a sound out of your throat before you finally get any words out. four minutes of sipping tea and thinking about how to start or how grateful you are that he’s here.

first comes a big, deep breath and another long moment of quiet. and then you realize you can’t just get into you, so you do your best and start by skirting around the actual problem.

“i know this job–” you have to clear your throat, “i know this job is really hard.” that sentence is kind of stupid purely because of how obvious it is, but you’ve at least started to tell him what this is all about. “and we’ve all learned ways to cope with that. i just– the way that, uh,” you pause to try and collect yourself a bit, but it does nothing to keep your voice from getting quiet, “the way that this last case ended? it, um, it…” suddenly you’re unsure what to even say. luke places his hand over your own, easing its shaking. you take another deep breath.”i can’t– i can’t get it out of my head. i can’t get her dead body out of my head and i can’t shake the feeling that it’s my fault.” 

he’s about to say something, assure you that it absolutely was not your fault, but then everything comes tumbling out.

“i know, logically, technically, that it’s not. i know that, i’ve rationalized this whole thing in my head, even out loud, over and over and over again for the past three days. i know, we didn’t profile him to be so paranoid. i played into his narcissism like i was supposed to, like anyone of us would have, but fuck! it was still my words that set him off, the shit i said got a bullet through her brain.” he squeezes your hand in support. “and when i wake up from the nightmares, i can still hear her whimpers as he held her at gunpoint, even worse, arguably, is her mom begging me to bring her home alive that same morning. you know what i told her? that we were doing everything we could to find her and bring her back, i promised.” the tears start up again. “i told her not to give up hope because the people i work with are incredibly good at their jobs. then i see her sobbing in the corner of the police station after rossi told her that her daughter was fucking dead. and you know what i fucking did? i put my head down and walked in the opposite direction with the excuse that reid could use some help taking down the evidence board.” 

your voice gets even shakier and the furrow in his worried brow deepens as you continue talking. “and i’m so ashamed, i’m so fucking ashamed, luke. i got her daughter killed and i couldn’t even tell her that–” a sob cuts you off, “that i’m sorry,” you cry. “i couldn’t face her. i couldn’t bear to see her crying about it or try and comfort her about it because i was too goddamn guilty to even look her in the eye. and now i see her and her dead daughter everytime i close my eyes.”

the silence after that is colossally heavy. to hear his softest voice calling your name as you stare into your half empty mug is enough to send more tears rushing down your cheeks. he sounds so heartbroken for you, like even he’s choked up by hearing your longwinded confession.

the way he moves is both careful and purposeful as he stands and urges you back into his embrace. this time your crying is quiet, just tears without sobs because you don’t have that left in you. it’s more short lived because it seems like your body’s finally run out of tears to give too. with one side of your face pressed against his shirt and his hands holding you there, it does feel a bit easier to breathe.

when he starts to talk, his voice is as soft as it has been all night. “i don’t want to tell you to just not feel ashamed or guilty. i wish you wouldn’t have to feel that way, really. but i want you to know that i understand. i don’t want to invalidate those things because they are real and they hurt and i understand why you’re feeling them. but it is not your fault. not for one second is it your fault. i’m sure you’ve reminded yourself this already, but we can never forget that it is only ever the fault of the people who pull the trigger on innocent lives.” 

you nod because he’s right, you’ve told yourself that many times. but you realize it makes a difference to hear these things out of his mouth, not just from your mind that was only desperate to ease your guilt. you suppose that’s what he wants too, but it’s somehow better.

he pulls away from you, and positions the chairs so that you’re sitting knee to knee as he holds both of your hands in his. he looks you in the eye as he speaks, every ounce of sincerity visible in his face and easy to hear in his voice.

“and we just can’t be perfect, we can’t be expected to be everything for everyone every time. dealing with family members who have lost their loved ones is one of, if not the, hardest thing that we have to do for this job. rossi was there for her this time, and it’s okay if it was too hard for you. what you did is completely understandable and completely okay. throughout this whole case, you followed procedure and you followed the profile. we all did. so if any of us stood where you did, with the mother and with the unsub, the same exact same thing could have happened. would you blame me for it if i were in your place?” he gently wipes a stray tear from your cheek. 

slowly, with his hand still cupping your face, you shake your head. “and would you forgive me for it?” it takes you a long moment of holding back more cries to answer, silently and slowly again. up and down, just once, you nod your head.

“there’s your answer. you’re allowed to not blame yourself and you’re allowed to forgive yourself. you are allowed to feel okay because we can’t fix this world, but we are making it better and we certainly deserve our own happiness. there will always be people who die and the people they leave behind. we just have to keep going because we are still saving lives. even more, our lives deserve to be protected as much as anyone else’s. we do that by allowing ourselves happiness, a life outside of all of the pain and gore and monsters of the world we work in. i’m sorry, and the things i say can’t make this all just go away. but i’m here for you and i think that being reminded of these things is a must for all of us. today’s one of those days where you deserve to be reminded.”

you don’t even think you could really cry again, even if you wanted to, but you certainly feel like it. only this time, it’s out of relief. your guilty conscience still tries to fight with his words, but the part of you that knows he’s right is holding onto his comfort with all it’s got and it’s making you want to burst into tears again. being reminded of your right to let it go is something you’ve needed, not just for this case, but for months. you didn’t even realize, but you’ve holding onto little things here and there and letting it build up until it all blew up in your face last friday night. so to let that all out and feel comforted is a relief far stronger than anything you’ve felt before.

“thank you.” your voice is back at a whisper, but you hope he can hear how much you mean it. you think he does when he smiles.

“of course. you’ll always have me, and you have everyone else on the team too, you know that.”

you nod and do your best to smile back. “thank you,” you repeat. you don’t even know what else to say. “and um, i’m always here for you too, luke. you know, just when i’m not a complete hot mess.” the lighter tone in your voice as you attempt a joke is luke’s relief, the relief that you’re on the way to feeling better.

“thanks,” he chuckles lightly. the sound makes you glad.

“hey luke?”

“yeah?” he replied in earnest, eager to give.

“can we order some thai food and watch movies until we fall asleep on the couch?”

that really makes him happy, and he grins like he always does to show it. “you know it.” so, he buys you food and tells you to pick all the movies. he lets you lean on him when you get tired, then carries you to bed and tucks you in when you fall asleep halfway through the first film. he stalls in your room by fixing the hair the falls onto your face and pressing a light kiss to your forehead. then he leaves the door cracked, just in case, and takes a while to fall asleep on your couch after putting the leftovers in the fridge. he cries a little, because he hates that it’s so hard for you, and it’s hard for him too. 

at the end of the day though, he’s just glad you’ll be okay.

[sammyluvr]

two mugs, half empty — luke alvez

cw : bau!gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, hurt/comfort, feelings of guilt and shame, nightmare mentions, talk of canon typical violence, crying, 2.8K words. requested !

summary : luke comes to check on you after you call in sick from work, suspicious that there's something more going on.

“you look like hell.”

“wow, thank you, luke. way to compliment somebody,” you deadpan, even though he said it with a voice full of empathy. he gives you a good-natured roll of his eyes before his face returns to that concerned look you opened your apartment door to.

“but seriously, did you sleep at all over the weekend?” you want to hate how much he cares about you, but the sincerity of his voice has you nearly ready to cave. 

“come in,” you offer, completely ignoring his question because the answer is “no, not really.” he raises his eyebrows at your lack of response, but steps in after you anyways. he can guess the answer well enough from the exhaustion evident in your whole figure.

you sit down with him in the kitchen, grabbing him a glass of water before he can say no to it. his gaze on you is heavy, but you ignore it in favor of examining the wood of the table in front of you. since you won’t say anything, he goes first.

“i came to check on you,” he states the obvious, “i’m– we’re kinda worried about you, you know? like, you haven’t responded to any of my texts all day and you never call in sick, even when you probably should, so i figured you’d probably be bedridden for you to make the choice to stay home.” he pauses for a long moment, as if inviting for you to explain why you’re, in fact, not bedridden, and not really physically sick at all. you don’t say a word. “so,” he prompts, “what’s up? why’d you turn down drinks with the rest of the team on saturday? kinda feels like you’re avoiding us.”

“i am avoiding you guys,” your voice comes out far quieter than you intended. you had wanted to sound nonchalant, and all you got was exhaustion. you sigh before continuing, “because you’re profilers and i don’t want to talk about it.” he sighs too.

“if it’s so bad that you went to the lengths to call off sick from work to avoid talking about it, it seems to me like it’s something you should talk about.”

you turn your head even further from him because you know he’s right. you’ve been holed up in your apartment, agonizing over what happened three nights ago, desperate to scream and cry about it to someone else. god knows you’ve done enough of that with yourself, but you’re reverting to old habits and it feels like you’re back to only knowing how to avoid, avoid, and keep avoiding.

“listen, i don’t want to push you, but i need you to know that i’m here for you.” his hand hovers over yours for a moment, silently asking permission before gently wrapping his fingers around yours. you clench your jaw and bite the inside of your cheek to keep tears from forming in your eyes. honestly, you didn’t think you could produce anymore, but here you are, trying not to cry in front of your coworker turned close friend whom you’ve probably upset by ignoring him.

luke gains a little bit of hope when you squeeze his hand. he squeezes back, hoping you feel the love and care that he puts into it. you do, and it doesn’t help your case with the whole crying ordeal.

“thanks,” you whisper. the thickness in your voice completely gives you away. tilting your head up to try to stop the flow of tears is plain old silly at this point, and he watches with a weight heavy on his heart as they overflow and fall down your cheeks. the tears catch in the light of the only lamp that’s turned on in the room. “fuck. goddammit,” you curse through the tears, well aware they won’t stop anytime soon. “luke,” you cry.

“i’m here,” he replies so earnestly without missing a beat that you begin to cry harder. that’s the last straw for him. quickly, he stands and wraps you up in his arms without a second thought. with you sitting, your face barely reaches his chest, and your arms reach around his lower torso. he’s got one hand rubbing up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head into him. the way you hold onto him is desperate and breaks his heart, but he’s glad to give you something that you so clearly need. comfort.

“i–,” you try to explain, but you can’t get anywhere before choking on your own sobs.

“shhh, it’s okay. just let it out. i’m not going anywhere.” and he sticks to that promise, standing strong and unwavering, even after your tears run out and you can’t find it in yourself to pull away from him just yet. he doesn’t force a thing, just strokes the back of your head gently as a silent reminder that he’s there.

when you finally pull away, it’s only by a few inches, and he keeps his hands right where they are. he looks down at your face as you stare at the maroon fabric of his shirt and the tear stain you left behind. slowly, as if to not startle you, he bends down to be closer to your level. at first, you avoid meeting his eyes, but when the hand on your shoulder shifts up to your cheek and he gently wipes at the leftover tears, you let your gaze meet his. he gives you a smile, small and comforting, before speaking softly.

“i’m gonna make you some tea, alright?”

when you nod, his hands slide away from you, hesitant to let you go. your gaze follows his form as he turns and walks to the counter behind you, first grabbing your favorite mug from the cabinet and taking the liberty to grab one for himself too. then he’s at the pantry for the tea bags and he can feel your eyes on him. once the tea bags are on the counter, he’s by your side again. he gives you another soft smile as he grips the sides of your chair and turns it and you to face the counter. somehow luke just knows that him staying in your line of sight is a comfort to you, proof that he’s right there. he doesn’t want you to have to strain your neck in order to feel safe.

his silence as he fills and turns on the kettle, then sits back down beside you to wait for it to boil is a comfort too. it makes a difference that he’s not making you explain anything.

with him, the passage of time isn’t so horrible, and it’s easy to wait for the tea to be ready. when he sets the mug down in front of you, he tells you to be careful since it’s hot, even though you already know it. that’s when you make the decision that you will tell him what’s kept you holed up in your apartment for three days straight, what made you cry into his arms and skip work today.

it takes you four minutes of failed attempts to open your mouth and force a sound out of your throat before you finally get any words out. four minutes of sipping tea and thinking about how to start or how grateful you are that he’s here.

first comes a big, deep breath and another long moment of quiet. and then you realize you can’t just get into you, so you do your best and start by skirting around the actual problem.

“i know this job–” you have to clear your throat, “i know this job is really hard.” that sentence is kind of stupid purely because of how obvious it is, but you’ve at least started to tell him what this is all about. “and we’ve all learned ways to cope with that. i just– the way that, uh,” you pause to try and collect yourself a bit, but it does nothing to keep your voice from getting quiet, “the way that this last case ended? it, um, it…” suddenly you’re unsure what to even say. luke places his hand over your own, easing its shaking. you take another deep breath.”i can’t– i can’t get it out of my head. i can’t get her dead body out of my head and i can’t shake the feeling that it’s my fault.” 

he’s about to say something, assure you that it absolutely was not your fault, but then everything comes tumbling out.

“i know, logically, technically, that it’s not. i know that, i’ve rationalized this whole thing in my head, even out loud, over and over and over again for the past three days. i know, we didn’t profile him to be so paranoid. i played into his narcissism like i was supposed to, like anyone of us would have, but fuck! it was still my words that set him off, the shit i said got a bullet through her brain.” he squeezes your hand in support. “and when i wake up from the nightmares, i can still hear her whimpers as he held her at gunpoint, even worse, arguably, is her mom begging me to bring her home alive that same morning. you know what i told her? that we were doing everything we could to find her and bring her back, i promised.” the tears start up again. “i told her not to give up hope because the people i work with are incredibly good at their jobs. then i see her sobbing in the corner of the police station after rossi told her that her daughter was fucking dead. and you know what i fucking did? i put my head down and walked in the opposite direction with the excuse that reid could use some help taking down the evidence board.” 

your voice gets even shakier and the furrow in his worried brow deepens as you continue talking. “and i’m so ashamed, i’m so fucking ashamed, luke. i got her daughter killed and i couldn’t even tell her that–” a sob cuts you off, “that i’m sorry,” you cry. “i couldn’t face her. i couldn’t bear to see her crying about it or try and comfort her about it because i was too goddamn guilty to even look her in the eye. and now i see her and her dead daughter everytime i close my eyes.”

the silence after that is colossally heavy. to hear his softest voice calling your name as you stare into your half empty mug is enough to send more tears rushing down your cheeks. he sounds so heartbroken for you, like even he’s choked up by hearing your longwinded confession.

the way he moves is both careful and purposeful as he stands and urges you back into his embrace. this time your crying is quiet, just tears without sobs because you don’t have that left in you. it’s more short lived because it seems like your body’s finally run out of tears to give too. with one side of your face pressed against his shirt and his hands holding you there, it does feel a bit easier to breathe.

when he starts to talk, his voice is as soft as it has been all night. “i don’t want to tell you to just not feel ashamed or guilty. i wish you wouldn’t have to feel that way, really. but i want you to know that i understand. i don’t want to invalidate those things because they are real and they hurt and i understand why you’re feeling them. but it is not your fault. not for one second is it your fault. i’m sure you’ve reminded yourself this already, but we can never forget that it is only ever the fault of the people who pull the trigger on innocent lives.” 

you nod because he’s right, you’ve told yourself that many times. but you realize it makes a difference to hear these things out of his mouth, not just from your mind that was only desperate to ease your guilt. you suppose that’s what he wants too, but it’s somehow better.

he pulls away from you, and positions the chairs so that you’re sitting knee to knee as he holds both of your hands in his. he looks you in the eye as he speaks, every ounce of sincerity visible in his face and easy to hear in his voice.

“and we just can’t be perfect, we can’t be expected to be everything for everyone every time. dealing with family members who have lost their loved ones is one of, if not the, hardest thing that we have to do for this job. rossi was there for her this time, and it’s okay if it was too hard for you. what you did is completely understandable and completely okay. throughout this whole case, you followed procedure and you followed the profile. we all did. so if any of us stood where you did, with the mother and with the unsub, the same exact same thing could have happened. would you blame me for it if i were in your place?” he gently wipes a stray tear from your cheek. 

slowly, with his hand still cupping your face, you shake your head. “and would you forgive me for it?” it takes you a long moment of holding back more cries to answer, silently and slowly again. up and down, just once, you nod your head.

“there’s your answer. you’re allowed to not blame yourself and you’re allowed to forgive yourself. you are allowed to feel okay because we can’t fix this world, but we are making it better and we certainly deserve our own happiness. there will always be people who die and the people they leave behind. we just have to keep going because we are still saving lives. even more, our lives deserve to be protected as much as anyone else’s. we do that by allowing ourselves happiness, a life outside of all of the pain and gore and monsters of the world we work in. i’m sorry, and the things i say can’t make this all just go away. but i’m here for you and i think that being reminded of these things is a must for all of us. today’s one of those days where you deserve to be reminded.”

you don’t even think you could really cry again, even if you wanted to, but you certainly feel like it. only this time, it’s out of relief. your guilty conscience still tries to fight with his words, but the part of you that knows he’s right is holding onto his comfort with all it’s got and it’s making you want to burst into tears again. being reminded of your right to let it go is something you’ve needed, not just for this case, but for months. you didn’t even realize, but you’ve holding onto little things here and there and letting it build up until it all blew up in your face last friday night. so to let that all out and feel comforted is a relief far stronger than anything you’ve felt before.

“thank you.” your voice is back at a whisper, but you hope he can hear how much you mean it. you think he does when he smiles.

“of course. you’ll always have me, and you have everyone else on the team too, you know that.”

you nod and do your best to smile back. “thank you,” you repeat. you don’t even know what else to say. “and um, i’m always here for you too, luke. you know, just when i’m not a complete hot mess.” the lighter tone in your voice as you attempt a joke is luke’s relief, the relief that you’re on the way to feeling better.

“thanks,” he chuckles lightly. the sound makes you glad.

“hey luke?”

“yeah?” he replied in earnest, eager to give.

“can we order some thai food and watch movies until we fall asleep on the couch?”

that really makes him happy, and he grins like he always does to show it. “you know it.” so, he buys you food and tells you to pick all the movies. he lets you lean on him when you get tired, then carries you to bed and tucks you in when you fall asleep halfway through the first film. he stalls in your room by fixing the hair the falls onto your face and pressing a light kiss to your forehead. then he leaves the door cracked, just in case, and takes a while to fall asleep on your couch after putting the leftovers in the fridge. he cries a little, because he hates that it’s so hard for you, and it’s hard for him too. 

at the end of the day though, he’s just glad you’ll be okay.

[trashytoastboi]

Day of Greed - Mammon

~Sin-ario M! Version~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

> Male Version

> Word count: 1,796 words

Warnings: NSFW (Teasing, Sex on a pool table, Stripping, Thigh fucking, Overstimulation)

Saturday night had a dual meaning for {Name} and Mammon on one hand it meant date night- on the other, if it was a stay at home date then Mammon loved turning it into a games night. Of course Mammon loved having something of a gambling nature and betting for those games, he’d suggest something like poker, texas hold em, black jack- the kinds of games you’d find in a casino. Mammon was honestly a very good teacher when explaining the rules and putting them into practice with a few rounds that had no real stakes until {Name} got used to things. After that it was suggested poker be the first game, it was one Mammon believed himself to have the highest chance of winning after he saw that {Name} struggled with the concept of a flawless poker face. It started with low stakes, a little bit of grimm, exchanges on the chore roster, desert privileges. Cute and simple bets that would feed Mammon’s satisfaction for winning as well give him some time to slack off and enjoy some easily earned grimm. At least that’s how it was supposed to be. {Name} was blessed by lady luck and won EVERY round, he took home all the grimm that Mammon bet, he was to be in charge of ALL of {Name’s} chores for the next three months, {Name} would get all of his deserts and in a final way to raise the stakes Mammon even bet Goldie and lost. 

{Name} was having more fun watching Mammon get a little more silly and desperate as the night wore on, he wouldn’t keep Goldie away from him, nor make Mammon do all the chores- just on the days when {Name} himself didn’t feel up to it. Mammon in his final effort, proposed something that pleasantly surprised {Name}. Now having lost everything he’d entered the game with, he had only the clothes on his back and that’s exactly what he proposed to lose next- via strip poker. {Name} liked this side of him, finding it more cute than anything so naturally he agreed. Mammon played with more sincerity and no longer going easier on his boyfriend was proving to turn the tides steadily in his favour. Until {Name} claimed the first rounds victory, and Mammon’s jacket hit the floor first with some curse words at his luck tonight. For the first time since they started playing seriously Mammon won and {Name} lost the jacket of his uniform. With the newfound surge of motivation he gets fired up and the competition is neck and neck until they’re left with nothing else to strip. Mammon proposes a sudden death round, winner takes all. Everything that had been bet up until now would be the winners. {Name} truly had no reason to agree when currently they possessed everything and Mammon would be the only one walking away with nothing gained from this. His tenacity was admirable and in the spirit of a good game {Name} agreed. The night had proved that {Name} had incredible luck and a secret talent for things like poker so saying that he bolstered himself with well deserved confidence would not be an understatement. 

The cards are shuffled, dealt and finally it’s time for the final game of the night. Mammon looks at {Name’s} face, noting the anxious way he bit his lip while looking across the cards in his hand. He’s nervous- good news for Mammon. He held four of a kind, surely he’d win. He settled into that false sense of security and for a split second he saw a flash of confidence in his boyfriend’s eyes, something told Mammon he was about to lose, so doing the thing that any reasonable player would do- he drops his cards and pulls {Name} into a sudden and rather forceful kiss. He gasped softly as Mammon pinned him  to the table, deepening the kiss when he heard the faintest moan. His leg inched between {Name’s}  legs, pressing against his half hard cock and without wavering Mammon pulled away for a moment to catch his breath. “What about the game?”  Mammon doesn’t answer, flashing a smile his way, knowing that a charming smile would be enough to pretend the question never existed in the first place as he continued to smother his boyfriend in more kisses. {Name} stopped him, looking at Mammon who pouted when being denied his kisses. “Well?” 

“Who cares about the damn game?” Mammon grumbled, leaning down to nip at {Name’s} earlobe and kiss down his neck, suckling small marks into his collarbone as Mammon just kept moving down. {Name} could already feel through Mammon’s urgency and his raging hard on that he is pretty turned on. {Name} laughed softly, Mammon reminded him that it’s his fault for being too damn cute. He shifts to pull {Name} closer and he rests his cock on the other male’s stomach- almost showing off just how far he’s going to reach inside him. {Name} bit his lip noticing the slight rock of his hips and how sloppily Mammon’s cock dribbled precum onto {Name’s} stomach. The sight of seeing the demon so worked up when they hadn’t done anything but kiss was getting {Name} hotter by the second. {Name} reached to half cup his cock with his hand as it rested on his stomach, rubbing it with his hand, gathering the pre and making it a little more slippery as Mammon cursed and rutted against {Name’s} stomach and between his hand. “Jus’ like that baby”; Mammon hissed through his teeth. Mammon grabbed {Name’s} thighs, and guided his legs till they were over one of Mammon’s shoulders all to make sure his pretty thighs were pressed together as the demon thrust his cock in and out, grazing against {Name’s} cock with every lazy thrust, he angled his hips to make sure every thrust intentionally bumped against the sensitive underside, earning louder moans and trills of praises that fell from {Name’s} open mouth. His pace picks up, driving them only further into their heat, and for {Name} it frustrated him. He felt so close but it wasn’t enough, just a little more.. “Mammon please…I can’t wait” he purred, a whisper in his shaky voice as he begged for him. Mammon was utterly helpless before those words, he knew it and so did {Name}. If {Name} asked for something, Mammon was so utterly weak to him, Mammon could never deny {Name} anything he desired. If it meant going to the ends of the world and back he’d do so. 

He spreads {Name’s} legs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, he keeps a slow uneven rut against him, taking a moment to appreciate just how hard he was…All for him, and only him. Mammon guided his tip to {Name’s} hole, feeling the instant heat the moment the two touched. “Shit…so eager huh baby?” He chuckled, pressing past the resistance while {Name} stretched around him. {Name} reached down to grab Mammon’s hips as he persistently inched further inside, {Name} whined while feeling the stretch was too much to go any further for now. “So tight baby, can’t take anymore of me can ya?” Mammon cooed, pulling out to rut in shallowly, getting his precious boyfriend’s ass more used to his size. Once Mammon felt like he opened up a little more he’d push another insistent inch inside before repeating the pattern of rutting and pushing in, his fingers teasingly trace along the veins on {Name’s} cock encouraging him to calm down. {Name} impatiently tried to grind his hips against Mammon, trying to bite off more than he can chew, Mammon knew it. {Name} would get impatient, take too much and then cry that Mammon’s cock is too big and he can’t handle it. His fingers curl around {Name’s} length, increasing the pressure with a steady pace as he felt {Name’s} insides clenching around him “Gonna cum for me pretty baby?” Mammon smiled, watching how he nodded frantically and his body practically lifted off the table as he was rocked with the earth shattering pleasure that he’d grown greedy for. “Atta boy, think ya can handle the rest now?” he’d asked, and as expected {Name} nodded. Without warning Mammon slammed the rest in without a moment to hesitate, ripping the most delighted high pitched whine from {Name}, he sucked in a breath and let out a long groan at how delectable he felt inside. 

Mammon sets his hands on either side of {Names} head, noticing his cards still turned face down on the table. He thrust hard enough to rock the table as he flipped the cards one by one. “Ya had a losing hand, nothing here coulda won.” Mammon groaned, a new layer of satisfaction swelled in his chest knowing that he actually did win. But regardless of whether he won or lost, he’d already planned to fuck his handsome man on the table. “Ya need to stop being this damn cute” he groans while he pushes him down onto the table, his hands tighten their hold on {Name’s} hips to keep in him place. Mammon grew greedier for {Name’s} pleasure and until he’s satisfied he will not relent. He could feel the way {Name’s} body tensed up and all the knowing signs as his voice got louder, more urgent. Mammon flashed the all knowing grin, and the urge to wipe that smug expression off his face {Name} opted to be a little bratty, the more Mammon insisted on just letting go and feeling good, he whined “Don’t wanna.” Mammon paused, looking down at {Name}. He leaned close and pecked his lips, softly searing gentle kisses down his neck and into his collar bone. He moved with slow, intentional movements making sure he hits that spot he loves oh so much. “My pretty baby…” Mammon groaned, {Name} shivered on the emphasis he placed on the word ‘my’, he looked at {Name} with pleading eyes. “Please be good for me? Give it to me…” his voice was so sweet, the typical depictions you’d hear of how people explain the voices of demons enticing them. {Name’s} protests didn’t last long at all because he gave in the moment Mammon opened his mouth, he sighs and furrows his brows to hold back his own release. Refusing until he felt {Name} constrict around him with all his pleasure, {Name’s} breaths grew shallower as he moaned Mammon’s name in short utterances on repeat, Mammon steadily thrust and kissed him, working through his high until he relaxed in his arms. Mammon purred as he pulled out, frantically rubbing the head of his cock against his twitching hole until he painted him with his cum, smiling at the sight of the mess he’d left. Mammon really…really loved game night. 

Taglist: @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf

[persage]

Remember Me- Steve Harrington

Summary: Every morning Steve shows up at the coffee shop you work in and every morning you hope is the one where the cute stranger will finally talk to you. But it never happens and maybe you don't really need it. Yet, while you wait at the tables with a smile, you can't help but wonder why you feel like you've known him all your life.

Words count: 3.8k

Tags: Fluff and Angst. Post-season4 Steve Harrington / Post War/ Mentions of major character death.

Y/n smells like coffee and lemons. A strange mix that Steve still doesn't know whether its good or not. You move around the shop with a circumstantial smile on your face, a tray in your hands and a green apron used as an impassable wall against the rest of the world, your armor.

Yet you can't take your eyes off that customer, who oders American coffee every morning and sit at the table furthest from people. Sometimes he brings a curly-haired boy with him, other times there's a beautiful girl with big blue eyes - perhaps his girlfriend, perhaps a friend - and with them he smiles slightly more. But he is often alone and clarly wants to be.

You're sorry for that. You don't even know why, you have so much else to think about. You moved in the USA just a few years ago, from your  country you ended up in the middle of nowhere, in Indiana, and when you  arrived you discovered that this place is not as safe and boring as you believed. Strange deaths, accidents, earthquakes, natural disasters like it has been cursed and to be honest you have the feeling of having lost a good part of the time spent here. Now, apart from the fact that this place sucks, you should think about having fun, hanging out with boys, trying to make friends like your aunt says, but you don't. You go home at night and think of a sad stranger and you don't want to, you really don't want to but you do. Silly girl.

"What can I get you sir?" you ask, like every day. When he's alone he usually doesn't reply, he mumbles something under his mouth, looks into your eyes and points his finger at his choice. The menu next to the paper napkins is his voice and you like to listen to it.

"I'll bring it to you right away." There are no smiles between you, even if you would like to. Sometimes you've found yourself wanting a simple "thank you" said properly, not half-mouthed or in a whisper. Yet there's kindness even in the way he moves, the way he isolates himself and it's something you can't explain.

When you place the coffee on the table – a breath away from his fingers – he usually just looks at you. His are not eyes to remain indifferent to. It's not the color that makes them  so special, they're big and dark, but it's their depth, the way they seem to be a portal to that boy's soul, the way they peer into you and seem to contain not a shred of malice and seen too much. They look like a child's eyes, actually. They have something pure, sincere, tremendously tender and at the same time they contain the gaze of a veteran and they defeat you. He looks at you and you are chained. But that's okay, you wouldn't have tried to resist anyway.

He looks at you with something that reminds you of sweetness, hints at a half smile - the first - and this alone is enough to burn you inside,  even if it's snowing outside.

The boy doesn't like snow, he's always in a bad mood when it snows. One day you overheard him talking about it with his friend Dustin, Dexter, something like that. 

"Everytime I fear he is coming back"

"He can't, you know it . We made sure it can't happen again"

"Yes, but at what coast?" and his voice had broken in a yearning way, on the last syllable, like a raging river that you thought you would see burst. When you turned to look at him not a single emotion had appeared on his face. You would like to know what happened to him.

Everyday you look away from him when you realize you've spent too much time staring at him and walk away, ignoring the abandoned baconnotes on the table, silent like him. You feel stupid, a high school girl staring at the mysterious lonely boy. It's ironic and you don't know it yet, but there was a time Steve Harrington was the opposite of mysterious and lonely.

This morning it's different and you don't run away. You linger a moment too long on the marks that can be glimpsed from his shirt, scars on his neck that seem to continue under the fabric of his shirt for who knows how long. You've already noticed some small signs, but usually he's very careful to cover them. Today they are redder and more visible. You notice more scars, these never seen before, on his arms and you realize only now that he has cut his hair and when he moves them you notice and old wound on the left side of his face. 

If he wasn't around your age you'd really think he's a war veteran. You wonder what he must have been through and you don't notice his hand extended towards the cup, which meets yours. For the first time, you feel the contact with his skin, a silent echo of an unexpressed desire. You know nothing about him, barely his name. "Steve" You've heard from his friends. You know nothing of his life; still for an instant you dream of being part of it with all the monsters he must have fought to hurt himself like this. You talk with your eyes for as long as you stay close: you with a silent voice full of questions, he with a single answer. And it's always the same.

To each request, he reacts by moving his fingers, running along your palm and thumb, making red-hot marks that only you can see. You feel them, like burns on your skin, as if you are no longer in the cafeteria, surrounded by people, but in a private place, where every gesture, every touch acquires meaning. And there's no need for him to say anything, you know that today he wanted you to see his scars, he wanted to understand how you would react, he wanted you to see him for real. And you do it, you really see him, and you don't get scared. You never could. You don't know why. 

«Y/n please, could you bring me more coffee?»Another guy asks. He is just another is a customer, an ordinary, common one. Not like him. Just a guy who shows up often, asking you for coffee and smiles. And you're willing to give it to him, you're willing to pretend with the others but not with Steve, with him you only smile when you really want to and it's absurd that in his presence this happens more or less always. 

"Sure! " Breaking contact  with Steve seems more tiring than studying for the last exam, more painful than finding out you didn't pass it. You feel yourself blush as you bow your head and flutter your eyelashes, tucking the tray under your arm. Sorry, you say in one last look, ready to leave him. But he grabs your wrist with the delicacy that distinguishes him, making you turn around again. Blush again.

"I'm Steve." I know, you would like to answer however you avoid doing that. It's the first time you can hear his voice right, with words articulated slowly, fearlessly, spoken for you and you alone .

«Y/n.»

Steve runs his thumb along the inside of the wrist before letting you go, in an almost automatic gesture that he seems to regret immediately. A Last, anxious caress, which reveals what his eyes have always hidden.

"I know"

These words are the most exciting thing you've heard in a while. Suddenly you understand why Steve comes in every day, stealing a look and a few minutes of your life. Or so you believe. You feel a shiver running down your back, turning into a burning caress - the one you would like from him - and going up your spine, up to your ears. It's hope. 

You don't know how or why, you feel as if you already know him, as if in another life your skin has touched nothing but his, and you don't even believe in these things. Maybe he feels the same, the same overwhelming nostalgia for something you haven't even experienced. You hope you're right, you hope he comes here every day  just to see you, to search for a contact that happened by chance - by mistake - and to show you his tormented gaze of him, looking for the peace that he has lost in you. 

«I'll bring you some coffee» You say to another customer, looking at him without seeing him.

I have to talk to Steve. I can't let him go. Not like that. You hurry to get the hot container of coffee and reach the customer's table, dedicating a smile and a moment of your life to him. A moment that he could have, or should have, dedicated to someone else.  "Are you on duty again tonight?" You almost don't hear the question, taken as you are from another table, another customer, one different from the others. Your mind is only on Steve. "Yes," you say, glancing at Steve to make sure he's still there. He is. You suddenly feel calmer. "But only until six."

"It's already dark at six" the boy observes. "I could take you home..."

"There's really no need to, thanks." You walk up to the counter to put the container away. You hear the doorbell ring, and feel the brutal urge to turn around. 

Steve's table is now empty.

*

At six o'clock Steve stares at you from the misted window as you untie the ribbon on your apron, take it off and disappear into the back of the shop. He knows you're tired and you just want to go home. He knows it, because it's the first thing you always said to him after the shift, in another life: before Vecna, before the war, before you forgot about him forever. 

You put on your coat, gloves and wool cap, and say goodbye to your colleague. "See you tomorrow." You pull the scarf up on your chin as you open the door.  

After the war with Vecna and the disappearance of the Upside Down, even the climate has changed. The ice covers the streets, leaving just two gray trails to show the asphalt. There are very few cars parked outside the cafeteria, a badly parked red BMW stands out, it's the only one not covered in snow. Steve smiles seeing you, he holds back from calling you, enjoying the image: a colored spot in the whiteness of winter. You puff. It's cold, and you have to walk home, your high boots sinking into the white blanket, the houses still to be rebuilt across the street are the only sign of the drama Hawkins has experienced. An earthquake so strong that it has destroyed everything. You have been hurt, a head injury big enough to steal a piece of your life. A piece so important that you're only retrieving the fragments of your life here, tales of your aunt, your friends, which for some reason never seem to fit right together 

"Hey." A male voice calls you. You keep moving forward. It is not the first time that some stranger tries to approach you .

«Y/n.» You turn around, you see him and suddenly the snow and the cold disappear and the world is a warm and beautiful place. Steve. "Hello, y/n." You take a step towards him and stop, as if you've dared too much. "What are you doing out here?"

 With this wheater. You think you know the answer. And you hope to hear it from him.

"I'm here for you" Would be the sweetest music. But Steve shrugs, makes an embarrassed noise, pulling his jacket around him. You seem to notice a redness on his cheeck, you wonder if it's not just the cold. "What does it mean?" You ask, letting out a smile, tossing your tied hair. Steve's eyes catch yours, in a silent response that seems to be enough for you. For a moment everything is as before for Steve, you are only you and he is only him and in your eyes he finds the girl he fell in love with during a war that you shouldn't have had to fight. 

You arrived like lightning a year ago alongside the only friend you managed to make in the city at that time: Eddie Munson, and you were the first -together with Dustin- to try to prove his innocence, with all that this entailed: including demobats, Upside Down and Vecna. Now you don't remember anything, and maybe a little part of Steve is happy you don't have to carry the trauma with you, but you don't remember the good things either. You don't remember Eddie. When you look at his old posters or find his photos on the newspapers, to you he is just the killer who terrorized the city and you don't mourn his death. But you did it, you did it until you lost your breath, screaming at the top of your throat in the middle of the darkest night. Steve had to drag you from his  body by force, against your punches and kicks. You melted into his embrace, you vented the pain with such force that he feared your bones might break from the powerful sobs that shook you. Steve lulled you into a tormented sleep and watched over you. And then there was Max. The list of fallen soldiers got longer. Murray.Hopper, again. Will.

And Robin, oh, Rob. 

You were the only thing keeping Steve alive after that. When his best friend fell into his arms, Steve wanted to die and for a moment he stood still, ready to let himself be taken by the same cursed monster that stole Robin from him. But you were there and you needed him, he had to keep you alive. He had to think about Dustin.

Then he lost you too. In a different, unexpected way. When Vecna took you, he thought you were going to die, because the music wasn't playing and you were floating in the air and he, he looked away, like a coward, he gave up. He decided he didn't want to see you die, not like that. He regrets it every day. All he did was prepare to grab your lifeless body, imagining that he would be the next one to die. He couldn't live in a world without Robin.

 But in a world without Robin where he didn't even have you, it was torture, hell. The world was shaking again and the earth was cracking  and Steve desperately wanted to die. But you fell into his arms still alive and breathing and Eleven had killed Vecna and all you had were broken bones and a head injury from the pressure exerted by that monster. Steve didn't know it at the time, but you also had a brain injury, something strong enough to erase everything from the last three years. Everyithing about him. Your family, despite being aware of the situation, has decided not to tell you anything, to keep you away from them, from Steve.

 After all if it wasn't for them you wouldn't have been involved. Also Steve promised to protect you and he didn't. He had failed you , as he did with Robin.

Dustin has kept him alive, keeping him company in the months of solitude spent locked up in his house. Nance forced him to eat every day and Erica, Erica remained silent next to him for hours and that was enough at least for a while. Then, at a certain point, Steve saw you from the shop windows, you were working, smiling. 

And it wasn't enough anymore.

The sky is black, the streetlights barely lit up the street, yet you can understand more about Steve right now, looking at his face wrapped in half-light, than you ever guessed during these endless mornings. «Y/n» your colleague opens the door, investing you with warmth and light, so much so that you lower your eyelids.

"Sorry... I saw you out here. I just wanted to let you know that I'll come early tomorrow so you can go home early." You nod as the door closes. When you turn to Steve, you find him closer than when you last looked at him. You see his breath condense between you and join yours. Heat mingling with heat, and desire meeting desire. Steve nods at the BMW.

"I... I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I can take you home if you want." 

There is a fire inside you, even if you can't explain why. You should be scared of an unknown guy who comes to your workplace every morning and now silently approaches you to offer you a ride home on a dark winter afternoon, but the truth is that Steve makes you feel so many things and fear it's not one of them. You think that this is his car, that the car says so much about people, that you want to see what he keeps inside it, the objects that are important to him. There is probably his scent inside it. 

Steve smells good, clean.You know, you just don't know why.  "That is fine." 

"Steve, can I... Can I ask you a question?" You ask after a few steps in silence. He nods, keeps walking, his arm against yours looking for even the slightest contact. He needs it, or else he'll sink. He needs it to keep himself on his feet when dark comes and in the streets he sees the faces of his dead appear. When your bodies touch, over layers of fabric, you feel your skin melt and you wonder if maybe you're crazy. "Why me?"It's a strange question, you know, you're a little ashamed of it, and you're afraid of scaring him but you feel, somewhere inside you, that maybe he has the answer you were looking for, the missing piece in your story. Or maybe it's just an illusion. He turns around, his gaze softens and he observes you like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. Because there is no other girl.

 He doesn't say it, he can't. He doesn't want to mess with you, he doesn't want to lose you again and scare you. 

"You know y/n, I've never met a waitress as good as you." 

You laugh, putting a hand over your mouth. "You're an easy guy to get Steve Harrington"

He opens his eyes wide and you don't realize it but is'shere, clear, limpid: Steve has never said his surname. You don't notice, not really. You keep walking beside him. "Thanks," you whisper as you let your arm slide, intertwining it with his. What would it be like to really feel his skin? 

Warm. Rough in the points furrowed by scars, soft in the rest of the body. To Feel the sensation of  naked flesh on your lips, the scent of laundry, the saltiness of his body, the pulse of the vein on his neck, where you place a kiss that isn't there, never was. It's a fantasy that looks a lot like a memory. It scares you. "Let's go." He exhorts you, with shyness and a touch of fear his hand moves to your back and your body is warm under his gaze. His breath is against his cheek, slips under the scarf, up to your neck."Yes" he says, holding his breath. It's cold, but not that much, not now, not for you. Not when you feel Steve's nose against your ear, not when he notices your twitch too. Steve closes his eyes, tries to refrain from telling you everything, from holding you tightly to him, it's so difficult now that he has you close again to resist, to keep a distance that hurts and he doesn't want. "Are you cold?" Steve asks  in a low voice, but for you this question is so much like the caress you've been craving since you became aware of his presence in the shop, since you met his gaze."Not at all'."

You feel Steve's smile on your cheek and you feel like you're. You just turn your head, just to give him the opportunity to reach your lips, but Steve doesn't kiss you, he's still with his eyes closed and who knows what he thinks of you, looking for a kiss from someone you don't even know

."You smell like coffee." The words are an incandescent breath on the mouth. His breath join yours,  you can feel the the taste of him – mint and aftershave – before you even smell it, like you've never tasted anything else in your life. 

"You don't like it?" Thrill after thrill, waiting to discover something about him that you don't know yet. Everything, you have to find out everything, but it seems to you that you have known him for a lifetime."I love coffee" You know he is lying. You just know. But you don't care. Just one question goes through your head and in order not to give it a voice you decide to shut your mouth in the best possible way at the moment. You shiver a little when your lips are close to him. You trace his cheek slowly with your lips, waiting for the moment when he pulls back and tells you you're crazy. You look for the right way to kiss him. 

"I don't usually do that. You must have something very special" You whisper against him. And Steve can't take it anymore, like a dam that breaks its banks, he pushes you completely against him, as if you were one. And then, finally, he finds his way. When he kisses you – slowly at first, giving your lips time to get to know each other; then devouring your every thought, as if nothing else exist but you – you find yourself repeating to yourself that you don't want to kiss anyone anymore. Touch no one anymore. Let anyone kiss and touch you except from Steve. 

"Steve" You murmur breathlessly, pulling away from him. "Would you think I'm crazy if I tell you something?"He shakes his head, his lips swollen and beautifully red. "Never"

"I knew you before, didn't I?" Now Steve Harrington no longer has the strength to lie.Steve Harrington has come to get his girl back and far off in the dark of night he swears he can see Robin Buckley smiling at him for it.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Forever Home Masterlist (2)

part one

and the house becomes a home again (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: Dan’s plane lands at one-thirty-two AM (he’s been tracking the flight since it took off, and his stomach’s been flipping with jitters since Dan’s phone switched to aeroplane mode and his texts stopped going through).

Two and a half months, since Dan's been home, and Phil has been going crazy.

(also known as the dan comes home fic)

cat bells (ao3) - N_Chu4Ever

Summary: The catboy photoshoot, except it all goes weirdly wrong because Phil accidentally bought Dan a magic cat costume off the internet. Oops.

cat bells 2: the philling (ao3) - N_Chu4Ever

Summary: Just after rewatching the first three PINOFs, a mysterious package arrives on Dan and Phil's doorstep. Inside is a new cat costume... and Phil has a slightly terrible idea.

🌸 cherry blossom 🌸 (ao3) - natigail

Summary: It had been a silly dream at first. The idea to have a cherry blossom tree in their garden they didn't even have yet. It hadn't felt like it was something that would really happen.

But it was real. Dan was watching their tree, Phil's arms around him, and hoping they would get to see its first bloom soon.

Couch Potatoes (ao3) - ahappyphil

Summary: Picking a sofa for the forever home

Curse of the Golden Pig (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Dan disapproves of some of Phil's interior design choices — and despite all the compromises they've had to make, there's still a whole lot of them in the forever home. If he finds out Phil has snuck any of them into their new bedroom, and they're off-putting enough, he'll even refuse to sleep (or do anything ... else) in the same room as them.

Phil knows his whining is mostly superficial, though — Dan really doesn't mind it as much as he makes it seem, and even just a few kisses will make his facade crumble... a flawless tactic.

Forever Home (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Phil’s wanted a dog for as long as he can remember, and now that he and Dan are moving into their new house, it’s the perfect opportunity. But there’s just one problem: Phil’s allergic to dogs.

home (ao3) - Rawritsamehh

Summary: just a little drabblely thing

home wasn't built in a day (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: “Different, though,” Phil says. He sets the glass down, prisms of light cascading out around it, and then he presses firmly into Dan’s side and speaks with a thoughtful air of bone-deep certainty. “It feels real now. Like we’ve actually finally done it.”

Words lose their way somewhere between Dan’s brain and mouth and end up sticking in his throat. Phil rarely vocalizes his feelings, rarely draws on straightforward sincerity. But here he is, calm and settled at Dan’s side, unequivocally permanent.

“Even if half the lights and plumbing are out?” Dan asks eventually.

Phil’s laugh is soft and low in his chest. “Even if.”

It's Been Years (Thirteen) (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: It’s been years, Dan thinks. Twelve of them, by now. Thirteen, in October. They’re in their thirteenth year. God, he’s gotten older. Less than ten years to go before he’ll have known Phil for longer than he hasn’t.

late night talking (ao3) - theloveofbees

Summary: it surely wasn’t the weirdest thing phil had caught dan doing in their thirteen years of knowing each other, but it was up there.

or it's the summer before dan's tour and they talk on the floor of their office.

made for you (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: Phil, in all the years he's known Dan, can tell what he's thinking with a glance, a lock of eyes. Dan, in all the years he's known Phil, is the same.

aka the fic where they have a super psychic connection and insane communicative skills (real life)

New memories (ao3) - R3ad3r1

Summary: Phil looks at their new house with a hint of sadness. Dan fixes it in the most romantic way.

On The Balcony (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: Whoever said moving to a forever home would be easy was lying.

Overheated (ao3) - kattdan

Summary: Phil's health issues

Returning home (ao3) - philsbignaturals

Summary: In which Dan returns to find a clingy Phil

Based on the selfie Dan took after returning from the European tour

Santa Buddy (ao3) - philsbignaturals

Summary: In which the boys host joint family Christmas in their forever home

Based on the Michael Bublé Santa Baby cover

summer skies (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Dan doesn’t think Phil's left the apartment, but he redials from his recent contacts all the same, listens to the ring for a few beats before he turns back, and there he is, curled sideways on his arm on the daybed, fast asleep in the shade.

(forever home, summer 2021)

Sutures (ao3) - jerseker

Summary: Phil returns to the forever home after a week away, just in time to pull Dan out of his negative thought spiral.

Taking a Break (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Phil has a broken leg.

unpacking forever (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Dan takes charge of the details, once they've moved in.

waking up in your arms with my mind on you and me (ao3) - natigail

Summary: On October 19th 2021, Phil wakes up first. Twelve years ago he woke up way too early, nervous for their first meeting and now they are waking up in their shared bed in their forever home. Phil allows himself to be a little sappy but it's okay because Dan easily joins him.

waking up to a dream (ao3) - vhslucky

Summary: "I missed you..." Phil mumbled against Dan's jacket, reveling in the familiarity of his smell. "I missed you more," Dan whispered warmly. Phil vehemently shook his head, "Not possible." Dan chuckled. Phil found that sound so sweet and endearing that he pulled him even closer.

with water out of sunlight (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Whoever was last in the house has left all the doors open, and there’s light spilling down the hallway and making the white walls glow.

(Dan walks the forever home.)

[prettyboykatsuki]

I love love love yandere tropes I will restrain myself to just one I prommy. Im feeling geto today. Geto & wisteria 💜

a /n ; hello miss aleks... thank u for requesting getou bc im insane abt him. a lot of requests for wisteria!! v interesting

cw ; yandere, captivitity, implied violence, reader talks about being hungry but it's largely metaphorical, gn!reader

W - Wisteria (long life, immortality): “Tell me I’m your god/goddess and I’ll grant you a slice of heaven.”

You're of the belief that your anger will someday mean something.

You hold onto this belief. You nurse it like a child that cries so loud it could shatter glass windows. More than anything, you want this anger festering inside of you to mean something. To be visible or potent. You hope with utmost sincerity that someday you will reveal it to someone and they will be the one to shrink back.

Getou is not above being cruel. He doesn't prefer it. The cruelty is not sadistic in nature - it's not something he draws pleasure from. Not usually. Not often enough for you to notice, though some times there's a gleam to him. A sharpness at the corners of his mouth when he twists your wrist just a little too hard that makes you wonder if you're missing something.

In all the ways Getou is cruel, it's not the violence nor hunger that makes you feel the most vulnerable. It's the indifference to your own humanity that you regard as most inhumane. It is the almost pitiful glare as you push towards him defiantly, unwilling to stand down.

Getou is authoritarian, but not pragmatic. This means, if you bare your teeth at him he will only go so far as muzzling you. Even if it's more practical to shave your fangs down to nubs - the practically of a tamed animal is not enough for Getou Suguru. He would rather you keep them sharp, keep them bared - and to teach you the same lesson until your exhausted. To beat it into you until your howl is faint in the wind.

Getou shows preference for taming. He does not punish your hostility with violence. It's never an eye for an eye. That would assume that you and him are equals and that could never be. There's no such reality where a human being could be equal to him. You can't see curses. You bruise easily. You shout and light your temper rise even easier.

The days pass by. Slowly like time is hesitant to widen the gaps of your sanity, though you know that is unavoidable. You hold on still. Your hands are holding on so tight to the thing within yourself that feels you're sure your knuckles are white.

And Getou remains. Still. Steady. Not omnipotent. Because even a foolish human like you can recognize that only old times Gods are capable of acting selfish.

The chain around your neck feels heavy when Getou enters your quarters. A place with no sunlight and no wind. Getou approaches you like always, a softened smile. Long hair that flows down his back, tied half-up.

He always walks towards you, but never crouches to your height. As if he's waiting for the day you come to him obediently. Crawl towards him on your hands and knees with nothing but desperation. It hasn't come yet.

But he feels merciful. So he bends down and comes towards you, reaching his hand onto to touch you. Your limbs are heavy from exhaustion. Nothing much of a fight today, as he reaches his hand to pet your cheek.

"Tired today, hm?" He asks. He's not smug about it. You almost wish he was.

"Fuck off."

"So cold to me. Such a shame. I really cherish you, you know? I don't do this for just anyone." He says, nauseatingly sincere.

"Is this your idea of being cherished? You're sick."

"Don't be silly. Of course it isn't. I'm disciplining you. Trying to help you understand."

Anger bubbles up within you again. If your throat wasn't so hoarse you would scream.

"Understand what exactly?"

"That you're doomed to this, but you don't have to be." He strokes your thumb with your cheek, growing close. His eyes are so dark you can see yourself in them. You don't recognize your reflection anymore "Tell me I'm your God. Mean it. And I'll grant you a slice of heaven. You'd be happy if you could listen."

"I'll never give in to you. Never." You say, all too bitterly. He gives you a fond laugh.

"I like that part of you too. It reminds me of someone."

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Ephraim's Iniquity

1 "Whenever I want to heal Israel, all I can see is Ephraim's sin and Samaria's wickedness. People cheat each other. They break into houses and steal. They rob people in the streets.

2 They don't realize that I remember all the evil things they've done. Now their sins surround them. Their sins are in my presence.

3 "They make kings happy with the wicked things they do. They make officials happy with the lies they tell.

4 They all commit adultery. They are like a heated oven, an oven so hot that a baker doesn't have to fan its flames when he makes bread.

5 On the day of the king's celebration, the officials become drunk from wine, and the king joins mockers.

6 They become hot like an oven while they lie in ambush. All night long their anger smolders, but in the morning it burns like a raging fire.

7 They are all as hot as an oven. They consume their judges [like a fire]. All their kings die in battle, and none of them calls to me.

8 "Ephraim mixes with other nations. Ephraim, you are like a half-baked loaf of bread.

9 Foreigners are using up your strength, but you don't realize it. You have become a gray-haired, old man, but you don't realize it.

10 Israel, your arrogance testifies against you, but even after all this, you don't turn to the LORD your God or look to him for help.

11 Ephraim, you are like a silly, senseless dove. You call for Egypt and run to Assyria for help.

12 When you go, I will spread my net over you. I will snatch you out of the air like a bird. I will punish you for all the evil things you have done.

13 "How horrible it will be for these people. They have run away from me. They must be destroyed because they've rebelled against me. I want to reclaim them, but they tell lies about me.

14 They don't pray to me sincerely, even though they cry in their beds and make cuts on their bodies while praying for grain and new wine. They have turned against me.

15 I trained them and made them strong. Yet, they plan evil against me.

16 They don't return to the Most High. They are like a defective bow. Their officials will die in battle because they curse. The people in Egypt will ridicule them for this. — Hosea 7 | God's Word Translation (GWT) The Holy Bible, God’s Word® Translation Copyright 1995 by God’s Word to the Nations. All rights reserved. Cross References: Leviticus 26:14; Deuteronomy 28:15; Judges 9:27; Job 35:9; Psalm 12:3-4; Psalm 17:10; Psalm 21:9; Psalm 25:7; Psalm 106:35; Psalm 140:2; Proverbs 5:21; Isaiah 1:7; Isaiah 9:13; Isaiah 28:1; Isaiah 28:7; Isaiah 42:25; Isaiah 64:7; Jeremiah 7:15; Jeremiah 9:2; Jeremiah 28:1; Ezekiel 24:13; Hosea 4:2; Hosea 4:6; Hosea 5:5; Hosea 13:10; Micah 2:1; Nahum 1:9; Matthew 10:16; Matthew 23:37; Romans 1:32; 1 Corinthians 5:6

[all-pacas]

had chase never taken a chance and told cameron that he wants more, how long do you think the fwb relationship lasts? what happens when he gets fired? say, he decides he doesn't wanna be with cameron like that anymore, how does cameron react?

That's a good question I am going to answer extremely indirectly! Because: Chase was always gonna tell Cameron he wanted more.

Chase is constantly in this weird push and pull between learned apathy and incredible over-attachment: he tells House he doesn't care about his father, he says in Birthmarks he hated the man, and yet he ends Cursed implicitly (to the patient) admitting he does love his father, seeking him out, trying once again to win his love. He never wanted to be a doctor; he did what Rowan wanted and became one. He resented and hated his mother; twenty years later he's still emotional talking about her death. He wants to be apathetic, he tries, he fails. He cries in Half Wit when he finds out House "has" cancer, he cries again when they hug. He has very little reason to be so attached to House, in all honesty: he hates House at times, House punches him and bullies him, and yet. He cries. He cares.

And we see it with romantic love. Chase falls for Cameron the second she seems to show interest in him; he falls for Moira the Rebound Nun after one conversation and a bit of heavy emotional rebounding. He is, Cameron tells us, a naive idealistic romantic, and that seems silly but it fits, in all honesty: he's shaken that women are attracted to his looks and not who he is. He ignores 18 red flags before his wedding to wax poetic about the three kids he and Cameron are gonna have; I want to be stuck with her forever, he tells Foreman in all sincerity, in the middle of breaking up with her over her husband's sperm. He attaches hard, he idealizes, he is Charlie Brown and the goddamn football: he wants to be cynical and know better and yet in every single case he gives in and caves and chases his dad one last time, pushes for Cameron to pick him, overlooks red flags in the name of finally, maybe, being loved.

So he was always going to ask Cameron for more, because as soon as she started treating him like a boyfriend, he was going to fall for her. (Which was just about as soon as the FWB relationship began — never forget that the first time we see them after Insensitive they are showering together and spending nights together; this is not an inherently romantic thing but it isn't "casual, unattached, sex only and get out," either.) There are ways this could have been delayed: if Cameron had kept trying to make House jealous instead of giving up on that immediately, Chase probably would have kept his mouth shut. If Cameron had been colder to him, same. But it was a countdown timer, lol. He was always going to get feelings, assume (because he always wants to assume) she has them back, and Confess. Likewise, while there are definitely ways to get him to break up with her (and he did, in Saviors, and in Teamwork), it… would take a little doing. She'd need to be blatantly using him or uninterested, way more than she was during the FWB era. Or being a huge asshole towards him, which isn't really in Cameron's character. Or she would have had to just actually be uninterested in him: he doesn't try anything after Hunting, and he really only starts pursuing her after she dumps him in Airborne because she makes it pretty clear in Act Your Age she does have feelings for him. If she was just straight apathetic, Chase would give up. But give him an inch (see: Rowan), and he's going to be hoping until the end.

But let's say they're still in FWB when Chase gets fired. I think he… just tries to continue things as they are. They can still sleep together while not being direct coworkers! His various insecurities would almost immediately come into play very hard if she's still working for House and not committed in the least, so I don't think it would last at all; if he was fired and Cameron still resigns, that could be interesting, because again, I think the odds are decent they continue sleeping together and things have the potential to get really weird.

The thing is! Cameron cares about him! We're not even talking romantically here. She's a nice person, he's her friend. She's not going to go out of her way to hurt him or dump him; from Cameron's (slightly in denial perspective), the FWB relationship was working perfectly. Chase gets fired and it's not like she's going to dump him on the spot, you know? Especially if she resigns: Foreman is gone, she's not talking to House, Chase is suddenly her only touchstone and I think that does matter to her. She's gonna want to stay in touch. If they're sleeping together, why not keep doing that? But now they aren''t dating. There's no stated feelings. They're in a weird status quo limbo, their relationship is completely undefined, and Chase is going to decide she "chose" him and fall in love with her sooner or later. It could get very messy very fast: I can imagine Cameron insisting they're just casual despite her actions and feelings saying otherwise, I can imagine that carrying them surprisingly far, and of course… as always with these two… blowing up badly in both their faces.