#i mean i could barely sleep last night. still hurts to swallow

[bisousie]

corn cobbin'. | sylus and his mama

hellooooo!! a cute little piece for mother's day ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و since i got a lot of positive feedback on my last one with sylus and his mama, i really wanted to write more about them! so i hope you enjoy!

again, i am no writer. just for giggles.

do not put my writings into ai, thank you.

xxox

549 words

BABY MINE by betty noyes

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 1:18

if they knew sweet little you, they'd end up loving you too, all those same people who scold you.

She could not speak to him—not the way he needed.

Her throat was not built for human syllables. She had tried, once, when he was still small enough to nest in the curl of her claw. Forced air through her massive lungs and twisted her tongue against her teeth until something like his name wheezed out, broken and wrong. It had frightened him.

So she stopped.

She watched him grow in silence, her language made of motion and breath, of scale-press and shadow-shelter. Love shown in the way she curled her tail just so around his sleeping place, or how she warmed his hands between her nostrils and teeth during cold nights. A nudge to wake. A trill to soothe. A long sigh to say I see you.

He’d learned to mimic. She didn’t know from where—birds, probably, or foxes. Sometimes he chirped like wind in leaves. Sometimes like something older. She’d tilt her head when he did it, and he’d beam like the sun was inside him.

But not today.

Today he sat beneath her wing with his arms wrapped around himself, face turned away, his little sounds missing like a song swallowed by fog. He hadn’t chirped since the others came— all winged, crowned in horn and smoke. They had spoken with fire in their throats. Their words were old, sharp-edged, full of insult and scorn. And though her son couldn’t understand the meaning, he felt it. He always did.

She could have burned them for it. Should have. But instead, she let them leave.

And now he wouldn’t look at her.

So she waited, curled around the hollow, watching with her breath held still. Until finally, she moved.

He didn’t flinch when she nudged him. Didn’t lean into her nose. Didn’t blink when her breath ruffled his hair.

That hurt the most.

She nosed lower. Tugged at his tunic. Got no answer.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She corn-cobbed him.

Carefully—lovingly—she opened her jaw and nibbled along his ribs, just where his skin was softest. Just where he always squeaked. She scraped her teeth in tiny rows, barely brushing his shirt, stopping every few beats like a question.

And then—

That sound.

His laughter burst out of him like water through stone. A laugh from deep in his belly, huge and wild and free. He curled forward, gasping and kicking weakly at her nose, his arms batting uselessly at the air. She rumbled, a sound like thunder curling in her throat.

Then she purred.

Not just a hum—this was deeper, older. The sound of molten stone shifting beneath the crust of the world. A lullaby only dragons knew. It turned into a trill, a song her kind only used for hatchlings.

She hadn’t used it in years.

His laughter softened, turning wet at the edges. He buried his face against her muzzle, hiccupping, breathless. But he smiled.

And she—ancient, voiceless, scaled and scarred—pressed her snout to his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Memorized the rhythm. Matched it with her own.

He would never speak her language.

But he was hers. And in every touch, every hum, every bone-deep vibration of her voice, she would say it:

You are loved. You are mine. I do not need words to tell you that.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

[rrysbabydoll]

You Are Home

Pairing: Harry Styles × Reader

CW: Emotional distress, Strained family relationships, Crying, Comfort, Soft intimacy.

Synopsis: After two hard weeks with her distant family, Y/N returns to Harry’s arms, only to break down in the airport. He holds her, kisses her tears away, and brings her home to remind her: she’s safe, she’s loved, and she never has to face anything alone.

Two weeks.

It wasn’t long, not in the grand scheme of things. But when it came to her, it felt like an entire lifetime.

Harry stood still, anchored in place just a few steps past security, his eyes locked on the frosted sliding doors. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his grey wool coat, a quiet nervous energy flowing through him.

He kept replaying the last phone call they had the night before, how her voice had trembled, how she'd whispered “I can’t wait to be back with you” like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Harry wasn’t sure what had happened during her visit to her family. She’d been vague, careful, deflecting any time he asked if she was okay. But he knew her well enough to know something had been wrong. That strained tone. That silence between words.

The doors hissed open.

And then she appeared.

Y/N stepped into view, pulling a small black suitcase behind her, a soft pink sweater hanging off one shoulder. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him.

Harry barely had time to open his arms before she crashed into him, wrapping herself around his chest like she could burrow inside and never leave again.

He held her tight, his arms locked around her waist, her head tucked beneath his chin. She was trembling.

“Hi, angel,” he murmured against her hair, his voice soft, reverent. “Missed you so much.”

And that’s when he felt it.

The wet warmth of her tears against his collarbone.

His brows furrowed. He leaned back just enough to look down at her, cupping her cheeks with both hands.

“Hey… hey, what’s all this then?” he said gently, brushing a thumb beneath her eye.

“I’m fine,” she lied, voice cracking.

He looked at her, really looked, and saw how red her eyes were. How her mouth was set like she’d been biting it for hours. How her shoulders shook.

“Baby,” he whispered, and that’s when she broke.

“I missed you,” she choked out, voice catching, tears spilling over. “I missed you so much it physically hurt. I couldn't sleep. I—” she hiccuped. “I don't wanna go anywhere without you again..”

Harry’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just gathered her tighter, pressed his lips to her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Little soft kisses, like sealing every crack he could find in her.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured. “You’re home, yeah? You’re safe.”

She nodded into his chest, fists clutching his coat like she was scared he’d vanish.

He leaned back again, framing her face with his hands, thumbs gently brushing away every falling tear.

“Look at me, love,” he said softly. “You don’t ever have to go back there if you don’t want to. I don’t care if they’re your family. if they make you feel like this, I’ll protect you from all of it.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I just… I didn’t realize how much I rely on you. I felt so alone, Harr...”

“Oh, baby…” He kissed her forehead. “You’re never alone, alright? Not while I’m breathing.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to see her face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes swollen and glossy, nose a bit red. Beautiful. She was always beautiful. But this—this raw, tear-streaked version of her—made him want to gather every shattered piece and kiss them whole.

She nodded quickly, swallowing a hiccup. “I thought I could handle it. I mean, it’s just my parents. It’s not like I haven’t done this before…”

“But you didn’t have me before,” he said softly. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Another wave of tears came, and he didn’t stop kissing her. Across her cheeks, her eyelids, her jaw, her nose.

She let out a trembling laugh. “You’re gonna kiss the tears off my entire face?”

He grinned gently. “Damn right I am.”

They stayed like that for a while, in their own little bubble while the world bustled past them. Eventually, Harry brushed her hair out of her face and said, “Come on. Let’s get you home, yeah? Hot shower, tea, and my arms around you. That sound alright?”

She nodded, smiling through her tears.

“You’re gonna hold me all night?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Darling,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her lips, “I’m not letting go of you for a second.”

Back at Harry’s place, she collapsed into his bed like she belonged there, because she did. She curled up under the covers while he made her a cup of tea, humming softly from the kitchen. When he returned, she was already watching him with sleepy eyes, like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.

He placed the cup on the nightstand and slid into bed beside her.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

She climbed onto his chest like a sleepy kitten, legs tangled with his, cheek pressed to the spot just above his heart.

“Tell me something nice,” she whispered.

“Hmm,” he considered. “Okay. You’re home. You’re safe. I love you.”

She let out a soft sound, something between a sigh and a sob.

“And…” he added, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “You’re never going back there alone again. Not if it makes you cry like that.”

She tilted her face toward his. “But I have to, sometimes. Obligations.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright. But next time, I come too. Or you stay three days, max. And we’re setting up a FaceTime schedule.”

She giggled, despite herself. “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry arched a brow. “Don’t tempt me when you’re this tired.”

She yawned. “Not tempting. Just stating facts.”

He chuckled, deep and rich, and kissed her forehead again.

“Can I tell you something kind of pathetic?”

“Please.”

“I cried in the bathroom on the third night,” she admitted. “Because I remembered how you make tea for me, and how you rub my back when I sleep, and I realized… I never want to be without that again.”

Harry kissed her again. On her lips this time. “Then you won’t be. Simple as that. And you’re not pathetic. You’re someone who needs to be loved right. And you are, Y/N. You are so loved.”

The tears welled up again, but she didn’t sob this time. She just nodded, buried her face in his chest, and breathed him in like she was trying to refill her lungs after drowning.

“You don’t ever have to hide that from me, yeah? Missing someone you love—it’s not weakness. It’s just proof that you feel deeply. That you’re real.”

He held her for a long time. Stroking her back. Running his fingers through her hair. Whispering things she barely caught but still felt in her bones

Eventually, he coaxed her up for a shower. Not because he wanted to rush her, but because he knew she’d feel better after. He undressed her slowly, reverently, like she might break if he wasn’t careful. She stood in the warm stream while he massaged shampoo into her scalp, kissed her shoulder blades, whispered soft things while her eyes fluttered closed.

After, he wrapped her in a towel and led her back to bed. One of his oversized t-shirts found its way onto her, and she sank into the mattress like it was the only safe place in the world.

Harry climbed in beside her and opened his arms.

She didn’t hesitate.

Curled against him, her head on his chest, she sighed. “I hate that two weeks did this to me.”

“I don’t,” he said softly. “It just proves how real this is.”

She tilted her head up to look at him.

“You know,” he added, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead, “For a really long time, I used to think maybe someone like me wasn’t made for love.. But then you came along, and suddenly I wanted to believe in everything again.”

Her throat tightened. “That’s the kind of thing you say when you’re about to propose.”

He smirked. “Easy, tiger. One emotional breakdown at a time.”

She rolled her eyes, but it made her laugh. That was all he needed.

“Come here,” he whispered, gently flipping her onto her back so he could hover over her, his arms caging her in, but his touch as soft as breath.

“I love you.”

He leaned down and kissed her deeply. “I love you more.”

He kissed her again.

Her jaw. Her neck. Her collarbones. Her lips.

And again.

And again.

Until her eyes fluttered closed and the world went quiet.

No family, no expectations, no bruises left by words unsaid.

Just Harry.

Because with Harry, she wasn’t just loved.

She was home.

[blindmagdalena]

Night Terrors

1.6k homelander x reader. established relationship. pure comfort fic. remaster of this old prompt. very mild spoilers for s4 if you squint. mostly just wanted to self-soothe with some comfort/cuddle fic. gif credit.

It's been decades since Homelander last stepped foot in The Bad Room, but when he wakes from a nightmare of it in your shared bed, it's as if he never left.

Most of the nights you spend with Homelander are peaceful. 

Tonight is not most nights.

The scream that wakes you from a dead sleep is guttural, barely human. Homelander is sitting upright, frenzied and wild-eyed, the ocean blue of them obscured by crimson glow. You're not even sure that he sees you through it when he looks at you. He's panting like he just ran a marathon, and the comforter is ripped cleanly in half, the two sides strewn on either side of him. "John," you call softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerks away from your hand like you've burned him. "Don't fucking touch me," he hisses, wrapping his arms around himself. Sometimes he is small during these fits, curled in on himself, begging you to make it stop. Not tonight. Tonight he is another self, spitting rage and violence through remembered agony. A cornered animal. "I'll fucking kill you!" "John," you say again, pleading. You know he isn't talking to you. He's speaking to the ghosts of his past. "You're in our bed. You're with me. I would never hurt you. I love you, John." His name is a double-edged sword. It cuts clean through to something at the core of him in a way that “Homelander” doesn’t. Each use of it acts like a shock to his irregulated system.

You keep your hands outstretched, but you don't touch him. You show him that you aren't holding anything. Not a pen, not a notepad, not a needle. You show that you don't mean him any harm. 

God knows he's suffered enough. With the sound of your voice, the red glow of his eyes gradually dims, flickers, and then finally it goes out entirely. He's still panting, hands moving slowly down his arms, his torso, checking himself for injury. Though his body bears no scars of the pain he’s endured, his mind knows exactly where each one of them would be. Bit by bit, you watch him come back to himself. He looks around the room, taking in the evidence of your truth. Framed photos, décor, the life you’ve built together. It isn't a concrete dungeon. It isn’t a lab. It isn’t an incinerator. It's home. "Fuck," he says quietly, hiccupping the word into his palm. He says it again, louder, screwing his glassy eyes shut. The third time he says it, it's nearly a sob. It’s agony to wait, but you don’t touch him before he’s ready. You fist the bedsheets, you don’t stop talking. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you. You’re safe. You’re not sure if it’s minutes or seconds before he reaches for you. All you know is you act immediately. You move swiftly up on your knees, climbing over the ruined blankets to take him into your arms, pulling his head to rest against your chest, bringing his ear close to the beat of your heart. You hush him while you work to unstick the words from your throat, unable to help the tears that well in your eyes.

The fear and misery in him is so palpable, you nearly feel as if it’s your own. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap as he weeps against you. It's taken a long time to reach this point. He used to swallow it back like bile, adamant for the longest time that you not see this side of him, this aspect of himself that he thinks ugly, imperfect, broken. You fought for this. As you hold him through these bone-deep sobs, it shatters you that it's taken him this long for him to find someone who would. "You're safe," you whisper, battling to keep the tears from your voice. "You're home. You're with me. You're safe. I love you so, so much." He rocks back and forth, choking on his sobs. “I could feel it,” he tells you, the words barely escaping the clench of his teeth. “It hurt. Every second of it, and they just–they all just watched.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the softness of his hair. You kiss the crown of his head again and again, combing your fingers through his hair where it’s damp with sweat and your own tears. “You’re safe now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. It isn’t enough, but these words and touches are all you have to offer him against the torment of his childhood.

His grip on you tightens. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap you in half.

That scare you? He’d asked you once. How easily I could break you?”

No, you admitted. It makes me appreciate how hard you try not to. It takes time for his breathing to even out. His hold softens, but he doesn't relinquish you. For as terrible as the nightmares are, it's the shame he experiences in the aftermath that often requires the most care. 

You rub firm circles on his back with one hand while cradling the back of his head with the other, trailing butterfly kisses along his temple, his forehead, down to his cheek. Any part of him you can reach, you kiss, murmuring quiet assurances in between, as if to imbue him with each word. Eventually, the rocking stops. He's breathing more steadily now, arms encircled firmly around your waist. He gives a shaking sigh. "Sorry," he whispers, voice strained. That's a word in his vocabulary that rarely comes up, but when it does, it is always drenched in shame. He hates himself for this. "Don't," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair. You sniff back your tears, letting out a breath. "I asked for this. I begged you for this," you emphasize, earnest. You cup his face, angling him to look up at you. "Let me do this for you. Please. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He stares at you with large, watery blue eyes. The whites are red, strained by the force of his grief, his durability tested only by his own power. In his gaze you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over invisible scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this depth of love. You know his violence, his viciousness, but so too do you know the fragile man it protects.

Most of all, the scared boy beneath it all.

His grip on you flexes, his jaw clenched. The nature of your insight into him is both a blessing and a curse to him. He cannot hide from you. You know his shame, and despite how deeply he needs your compassion, your understanding, it’s something he has to bleed for every time. He’s perpetually torn between his desperation to be your perfect hero, and his soul-deep yearning to be safely vulnerable. 

If you have to, you'll spend the rest of your life convincing him that he can have both.

Finally, his shoulders sag. "I love you," he says, quietly defeated by your warmth. "I'll never hurt you. Ever." You recognize the plea in his words. He's terrified that someday it will be too much. You’ll see what everyone else sees, and your love will be tainted–destroyed–by your inevitable fear of him. You hope one day that he’ll understand why that will never happen. Someday the depths of your love will soak in as deep as the misery of his past, and he’ll be able to forgive himself for the human way his god’s heart bleeds. "I know. I know that.” You kiss the top of his head, still rubbing his back, taking your hand away only to swipe the tears from your face. “I love you, too. Every part of you."

Even the parts you hate. Gingerly, he lifts you just enough to lay you back down on the bed. He wastes no time cuddling back in against you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. The bedding is ruined, but he runs warm enough that you hardly notice the absence of cover while he’s holding you. Your legs tangle with his, bodies slotting together easily. He nuzzles as if he can worm his way closer than skin to skin. If you could, you’d open your ribcage to welcome him inside. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

"Will you... talk me to sleep?" He asks, threads of shame lingering in the request. The tension has drained away, leaving him vulnerable and exhausted. His blinks are slow, the curve of his lips mournful. "Of course," you whisper, smoothing your hand up and down his back. This isn’t the first time you’ve talked him back to sleep, and you doubt it’ll be the last. Sometimes you tell him the plot of a book as best you can recall, other times it's random anecdotes from your life. Sometimes it's complete nonsense. To him, it doesn't matter what you say. All that matters is that when he does finally drift back into sleep, it's your voice that safeguards him there. 

Gladly, he rests his head back down on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh while your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the warmth of him as it seeps into the marrow of your bones, the weight of him grounding you.

You tell him stories until sleep finds him. Even then, you continue to speak until your voice frays and you can no longer keep your eyes open. You speak and speak and speak hoping that somehow, in some small way, you can help make up for the years he spent with only his own voice for comfort.

[kiyoomiee]

one. two. three. four. five.

A groan escaped your lips as you clutched your head. What the hell happened last night?

You woke up feeling absolutely terrible. Your head was pounding, your throat felt like sandpaper, and your entire body ached as if you’d been hit by a truck.

The taste of alcohol still lingered on your tongue as fragments of memories came back in your mind.

That voice—low, rough, and unmistakable.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh.

You squeezed your eyes shut as more pieces of the night fell into place. Sukuna. His gaze locking onto yours, intense and unwavering. The weight of his words settling heavily between you.

“I want you.”

You remember passing out in his arms. The memory struck like a jolt of lightning, cutting through the haze of your hangover.

Your throat tightened. How were you supposed to face him after that?

Before you could spiral any further, another wave of nausea hit and you stumbled to get out of bed. The world tilted dangerously as you made your way to the bathroom, vomiting the contents of last night’s bad decisions.

By the time you managed to make it downstairs, the dizziness had only worsened. The lights to the kitchen were on, and that could only mean one thing. Your stomach twisted as you slowly turned your head—and there he was.

Sukuna.

Unlike you, he looked completely fine, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hands. Before you could even open your mouth, he glanced up and immediately scowled.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” you croaked, your voice barely audible. “Do we have any medicine?”

His frown deepened, and you saw something flickered in his gaze. Concern?

Before you could make sense of it, your legs gave out.

You barely registered the moment Sukuna closed the distance between you, catching you before you could hit the floor. Strong, steady arms wrapped around your waist, holding you up with ease.

“Fuck, how much did you drink last night?” His voice was lower now, softer. It felt almost… worried.

“I’m fine.” You tried to protest, but even speaking hurt.

“Shut up and let me help you.” he muttered, scooping you into his arms as if you weighed nothing.

Your hangover must’ve been worse than you thought, because you didn’t even have the strength to argue.

He sets you down on the sofa and quickly wrapped a blanket on your body. As you drifted in and out of sleep, a cool cloth was pressed against your forehead, the quiet sound of a chair scraping against the floor as he moved around to get you some water and medicine.

It wasn’t like him.

You were so used to Sukuna’s was harsh words and teasing insults that his lingering stares left your head spinning for reasons entirely unrelated to hangover.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you mumbled, when you woke up fully.

Sukuna was sitting at the edge of the sofa. His hands that moved to fix the blanket with unexpected care, hesitated.

His crimson eyes flickered to yours with an unreadable look beneath them. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back and ran a hand through his hair.

“You don’t remember, do you?” he asked.

You remembered enough. Enough to know that whatever had happened between you two last night wasn’t a drunken misunderstanding.

Sukuna’s confession. His words, sharp yet desperate. The way your heart had pounded in your chest as you listened to every word.

You looked away, gripping the blanket tighter around you. “I—I do. I just… I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Sukuna exhaled, his voice was steady and unwavering. “I like you. And I know you feel something too.”

You swallowed hard, a thousand thoughts racing through your head. “It’s not that simple, Sukuna.”

His gaze darkened. “Why not?”

You hesitated. “Yuuji wouldn’t approve. You know that.”

Sukuna scoffed and shook his head. “Since when do you care what he thinks?”

“I don’t—” You stopped yourself. “I just… I don’t want things to get messy. Your brother offered me a hand when I needed it the most, I don’t want to go behind his back and fuck his older brother.”

Technically, it was him that helped you because it was his house after all.

Sukuna leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Things are already messy,” he said, voice quieter now. “And I don’t care what anyone thinks, least of all my brother.” His eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. “Yuuji knows I care about you.”

Your breath hitched. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm.

“Sukuna—”

“I know I was an asshole to you when we met. Maybe you think this is a joke and you don’t trust me, but I’m really serious about you.” he interrupted, his tone softer. “I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you to give me a chance.”

You looked at him, really looked at him. There was no teasing smirk, no mocking glint in his eyes. Just him, raw and sincere in a way you’d never seen before.

And maybe that was the most terrifying part.

A long silence stretched between you. Then, slowly, hesitantly, you reached for his hand.

“Okay.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened the moment your fingers brushed against his. His fingers curled around yours instantly, warm and solid. His grip tightened just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Okay, huh?” he murmured, voice low and taunting. “Just an okay?”

Your throat went dry as he leaned in, the heat of his body dangerously close.

“Sukuna—” You tried to sound firm, but it came out more like a breathless whisper.

He smirked. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You’re hesitating…” he breathed, his fingers grazing over your wrist, trailing up your arm, slow and deliberate. “But your body? It’s telling me something else.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as his thumb brushed against your pulse, feeling the way it pounded beneath his touch.

“Great, cocky Sukuna is back.” you mumbled but didn’t pull away.

His grin widened. “You love it.”

Before you could protest, he shifted even closer, his lips a breath away from your ear.

“I meant what I said last night.” His voice was a husky murmur against your skin. “And I’ll say it again, sober.”

You felt his fingers trace along your jaw, tilting your chin up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“I want you. Do you want me too?” he teased, his lips just barely ghosting over yours.

Your heart hammered in your chest, every nerve in your body screaming at you to close the distance.

The way his eyes burned into yours, the way his grip on you was both possessive and impossibly gentle.

Fuck what happens next—you didn’t care anymore.

Instead of answering, you grabbed the front of his shirt and crashed your lips against his.

Sukuna groaned, deep and guttural, before yanking you into his lap without hesitation. His hands were rough as they gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, swallowing your gasp as he deepened the kiss.

It was messy, feverish, filled with so much need. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making you shudder as you tangled your fingers into his hair.

When you finally pulled back for air, his tongue chased yours lips, not letting you go.

Your body felt like it was burning and Sukuna’s smirk was downright sinful when he finally lets you go. “Now that’s more like it.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore how breathless you were. “Shut up.”

His fingers tightened on your hips, dragging you just a little closer. “Make me.”

And, god help him—

You did.

——————————————————————

taglist: @emyyy007 @thebumbqueen @domainofmarie @cheriiepies @jumpinjaxx @mothstvrnz @grveyrd4 @tojisbabymommasblog @realalpacorn @starriesworlds @go-go-gadget-autism @ieathairs @oidloid @krispywhisperswhispers @satorupied @zeunys @chosos-prettyprincess @trsh-kitty @seellove @xlilycoco @chososlvr @7haze @charlie-xo @kunascutie @chiizuyu @aldebrana @bnbaochauuu @junitries @kaidostwin @grignardsreagent

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER SEVEN

WARNINGS — rafe is again very much a jerk, crying, angst, kinda a happy ish ending.

You woke up to silence.

For a second, you thought maybe Rafe was still there. That you’d find him sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you with that unreadable look, waiting for you to apologize without saying a word.

But he was gone.

The only proof he had even been there was the weight of something new on her nightstand. A sleek black box, the kind that came from somewhere expensive, somewhere you would have been giddy to receive a gift from before.

Your stomach twisted as you reached for it. Inside was a bracelet, delicate and glittering—diamonds, of course. Rafe never did anything halfway.

It was beautiful, but it was thoughtless.

You shut the box with a snap and set it aside, curling back under the blankets.

—

You ignored his texts. Then his calls.

It wasn’t an active choice at first. You just… didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Hey, it’s okay that you let them talk about me like that. It’s okay that you laughed. It’s okay that I let you make me feel stupid.

Eventually, the silence became intentional. Maybe you wanted to see if he’d chase you, if he’d care.

He didn’t.

At least not in the way you wanted him to. No messages asking if you were okay. No showing up to make things right.

Just one text: Come over.

Like nothing had happened.

You didn’t respond.

—

“You’re spiraling.”

Your best friend eyed you over the rim of her coffee cup, unimpressed, unsympathetic.

“I’m not spiraling.”

You absolutely were.

You had spent the last twenty minutes picking at the sleeve of your sweater, barely able to look up as you recounted what happened at the dinner.

The way Rafe had smirked at his friends’ comments, the way he ordered for you like usual—but instead of it feeling safe and exciting, it just felt wrong.

The way you had snuck off to the bathroom, only to hear the women whispering about you, laughing about you, like you were some silly little girl playing house with a man too big for her world.

Your friend just raised an eyebrow. “So what, are you gonna end things?”

The words felt heavy, impossible.

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

“Babe.” A sigh. “You knew what this was.”

That stung the most.

Because you did know. You had known from the beginning that Rafe wasn’t soft, that his affection came with condescension, that every time he put his hands on you, it was more about control than love.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Your friend reached across the table, giving your hand a squeeze. “If you don’t like it, you need to leave.”

You swallowed hard, blinking down at your hands.

You could feel the words rising in your throat, the desperate, childish part of you that wanted to say, But I do like it. I just don’t like how it makes me feel.

—

You still didn’t respond to Rafe.

That night, you stayed in bed, scrolling mindlessly, half-waiting for another call, another text, something.

Instead, there was a knock at her door.

Your heart lurched. You knew who it was before you even checked the peephole.

Rafe.

Standing outside in slacks and a button-up, looking every bit the polished, untouchable man he was—so out of place against the softness of your apartment.

You hesitated before opening the door.

His eyes flicked over you, taking in your floral nightgown, the way your hair was still messy from sleep. He let out a quiet scoff, like you were something pathetic.

“Seriously?” His voice was low, unimpressed. “You’re still sulking?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Rafe just sighed, stepping inside without waiting for permission. His eyes dragged over your apartment—the pastel bedding, the stuffed animals, the Sonny Angels still neatly lined up on your dresser.

He smirked. “No wonder they think you’re a kid.”

Your stomach twisted.

You turned away, hugging yourself. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You don’t want to do what?” Rafe scoffed.

“You’ve been ignoring me all day over that? I told you not to take it personally.”

You inhaled sharply, your throat tightening.

“I didn’t like it,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t like what they were saying.”

“They weren’t serious.” His voice was lazy, dismissive.

“You laughed.”

Rafe tensed for half a second, but it passed as quickly as it came. “Yeah? So what?”

That did it.

The tears hit all at once, spilling over before you could stop them. You clenched her fists, your breath coming short, your words tumbling out in choked little sobs.

“I don’t want to feel like this.” Your voice was small, breaking. “Like I’m stupid, or silly, or—”

“Jesus,” Rafe muttered, running a hand down his face.

You knew you sounded ridiculous, knew you probably looked even worse—barefoot, in your floral nightgown, crying over nothing.

But you couldn’t stop.

Rafe let out a sharp sigh before reaching for you.

You barely had time to react before he was pulling you in, dragging you into his chest, forcing you into his arms.

You hiccupped, your breath catching as he pressed your head against his shoulder.

“Enough,” he murmured, his voice a little softer now.

You shook your head against him, your fists weakly pushing against his chest.

“I mean it,” he said, shushing you as he slid a hand into your hair. “You’re being a baby.”

You felt like a baby. Sobbing into his chest, sniffling like a child while he held you in place.

And the worst part?

It felt good.

Even though he had caused this—this awful, twisting feeling in your chest—he was the only thing that made it go away.

Rafe pulled back just enough to wipe a tear off your cheek with his thumb, sighing like you were exhausting him.

You hiccupped, still curled into his chest, your fingers weakly gripping his shirt like you weren’t ready to let him go. Like, despite everything, despite knowing better, you still wanted him close.

Rafe’s hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading lazily through your hair. “You done crying now?” His voice was quieter, almost resigned.

You sniffled, nodding against him.

“Good.” His palm slid down to your jaw, tilting your face up. “Then stop sulking and come here.”

You didn’t even think. You just let him pull you into his lap, your legs draping over his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you belonged there.

He leaned back against the pillows, one arm around your waist, the other resting lazily on his stomach. His grip was firm—possessive, almost. Like he was letting you cling to him, but it was still on his terms.

You chewed your lip, glancing up at him hesitantly. “Can we… can we watch a movie?”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, like you were impossible. “A movie?”

You nodded, already reaching for the remote.

He groaned but didn’t argue, just adjusted you against him as you scrolled through the options.

It didn’t take long for you to settle on something pastel and silly, something familiar, something that made your stomach twist with something childish and warm.

Rafe took one look at the screen and scoffed. “A princess movie? Jesus.”

You grinned, cuddling deeper into him. “It’s a classic.”

He didn’t fight you on it. Didn’t push you away, didn’t leave like he probably should have.

He just sighed, letting his fingers drag lazily up and down your spine as the opening credits rolled.

And you?

You let yourself pretend, just for a little while, that this was enough.

[lovebugism]

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?” 

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson. 

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

[steddieas-shegoes]

in a new light

for @steddie-week prompt 'body swap'

rated t | 2653 words | cw: mild language | tags: body swap, friends to lovers, eddie has a crush on steve, steve fast burns through a sexuality crisis, steve has chronic pain

🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺

Steve woke up in Eddie’s bed.

He woke up wearing Eddie’s clothes.

He brushed Eddie’s hair off his shoulder as he yawned.

Or was it his hair?

He opened his eyes and looked down at his shoulder.

Eddie’s hair.

He brushed it off again, but it just fell to his back.

He sat up in bed, looking around the room. No Eddie.

Steve looked around the room before his eyes settled on his own hands.

Eddie’s rings were on his fingers.

He looked down at his arms, jumping at the sight of Eddie’s tattoos.

Eddie’s pale skin.

He rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, ignoring a deep sense of dread taking over him.

“What the fuck?” He asked out loud, only remembering that Wayne would be home at the last minute.

“Everything okay in there, Ed?” Wayne’s voice asked from the other side of the door.

“Yep!” He squeaked out, Eddie’s voice falling from his lips.

He had to call Robin or Nancy or Eddie-

Oh god. Was Eddie in his body?

He had to get to his house immediately.

He opened the door slowly, hoping Wayne had already gone back to another room. He hadn’t. Wayne was standing right outside the door still, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“You hurt?” Wayne asked.

“No,” he replied, trying to keep their interactions at a bare minimum.

How would Eddie talk to his uncle? He knew they were pretty close, especially since everything that happened in March, so he probably shouldn’t be so standoffish or awkward. Wayne didn’t know everything about what happened, but he knew enough to be suspicious of anyone acting differently than they normally would.

“You need to talk about anything?” Wayne pushed.

Steve didn’t know how to handle an adult actually caring. Was this how it was for Eddie all the time?

“Um…no?” He cleared his throat. “Just a weird dream. I’ll be fine.”

Wayne squinted his eyes, but nodded and walked towards the kitchen. “Makin’ some eggs for breakfast if you want some.”

“Sounds good!”

Steve booked it back to Eddie’s room, closing the door quietly behind him. Eddie had a phone in his room ever since they moved, a requirement that Dustin insisted on so they could easily reach him. Wayne didn’t mind, especially because it meant he didn’t have to listen to Eddie on the phone in the living room while the game was on.

He dialed his house number, hoping that Eddie would answer.

“Harrington residence,” Robin answered.

“Robin! What’re you doing there?” This was good, actually. She could probably confirm if Eddie was stuck inside Steve’s body.

“Uh…I slept over last night? I always sleep over on Thursday nights, Munson. You know that.”

Shit. She didn’t know yet.

“Right. Sorry. Forgot what day it was.” Steve had to think. He could drive over there and check himself. Or he could just have Robin check right now. “So here’s the thing-”

“Oh, there’s the sleepyhead now!” Robin said away from the phone. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve said through the phone before he realized Robin wasn’t talking to him.

“What the hell is going on?” Robin asked, sounding more panicked now.

“Is that Steve?” he could hear his own voice asking. Jesus, is that what he actually sounded like?

“What do you mean? You’re Steve!” Robin’s voice was getting louder, higher pitched than it had been when she first answered.

“Robs, hand the phone over,” Steve said as calmly as possible. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

“This is so fucked.” He heard her say as she handed the phone to Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asked, quiet and unsure.

“So you’re stuck in my body,” Steve confirmed. “This isn’t good.”

“Tell me about it. Are you always in this much pain?”

Steve swallowed around a lump in his throat. “It’s…not always that bad. It’s been worse the last few weeks.”

“Why the hell haven’t you said anything?” Eddie sounded angry, but Steve was having trouble getting past being reprimanded in his own voice. “My head is pounding, my side aches, my knee creaks. Your body is fucked, man.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s it?” Eddie sounded angry. “Get over here so we can figure this out.”

He hung up the phone and Steve stood awkwardly by Eddie’s bed.

“Shit.”

****

Steve managed to avoid questions from Wayne, but did get forced into eating some eggs before he left.

“I swear, you better tell that boy soon,” Wayne said as he made his way to the front porch to have a cigarette. “Can’t handle all this dancin’ around feelings.”

Steve tabled that for now, in too much of a rush to get to his house to figure out what was going on and how they could fix it.

By the time he managed to get Eddie’s beat up temporary truck into his own driveway, Robin was gone and he was watching his own body pace up and down the walkway to the front door.

“Robin?” Steve asked as he walked up to Eddie.

“Her mom needed the car. She’s gonna be back later with the kids apparently so we can ‘figure this out’,” he did air quotes around it. “She said this can’t be that bad of a migraine because I can still stand. What the hell does that even mean?”

“Let’s get inside,” Steve sighed as he pushed Eddie in the house and locked the door behind them. “You already knew I get migraines.”

“I thought they were rare! I didn’t know you just woke up like this.”

“Oh, this isn’t a bad one.” Steve looked at the way his eyes weren’t drooping and his shoulders were still surprisingly relaxed. Most of his bad migraines were too intense for him to even be standing, let alone look this calm. “If you’re upright, it’s manageable.”

Eddie’s face dropped from anger to disbelief. “Do you feel like this all the time?”

“I mean, some days are worse than this. Some days are better. But I guess…yeah. Most of the time is like this.” Steve shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Steve…” Eddie’s hand raised, then he seemed to think twice and let it drop to his side. “Does Owens know? I’m sure he could find something to help.”

“He had more important things to deal with and I didn’t wanna bother him.” Steve walked to the kitchen so he could grab them both drinks as they figured out what to do. “But let’s focus on what’s most important right now.”

“How is your health not what’s most important?” Eddie asked as he followed close behind.

“We can figure it out when it’s my health again!” Steve exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “You’re stuck in my body feeling the way I’m supposed to feel instead of in your own body, which seems surprisingly normal despite the itch on my side. You should get that checked out by the way. It shouldn’t be itchy anymore.”

“Are you seriously telling me to get an itch looked at when you’re in constant pain? You’re kidding.” Eddie stood in front of Steve, hands on his hips. It was weird seeing his own body doing something so familiar from Eddie’s body. Now that he was seeing it like this, it was a little funny. “I can barely see straight and you’re worried about my scars itching a little?”

“Well, I don’t want it to be infected,” Steve started playing with the ends of his hair, no, Eddie’s hair. “If it ever burns, you should get some antibiotics.”

“Steve. For one single second I need you to focus on the fact that you are in pain all the time. You don’t even take anything for it!” Eddie gently took his fingers from where they were wrapping his own hair around them. “Robin said you never even told her about the scars still hurting.”

“It wasn’t important. I barely even feel it anymore most days,” Steve couldn’t help noticing the way Eddie’s hands were still on his. “Other people had it worse.”

“I think the people who allegedly had it worse would have wanted you to say something. The kids wouldn’t want you to hurt like this all the time,” Eddie turned away and groaned, holding his own head. “Fuck, this is awful. How do you accomplish anything?”

Steve didn’t answer, but reached into the freezer to grab his ice pack designated just for headaches and held it up to where he knew his head was hurting. Eddie seemed to deflate, leaning back against Steve.

And that’s when Steve had the realization that they fit together pretty damn well.

Despite the fact that there was only about an inch of height difference between them, Steve’s body fit perfectly against Eddie’s front.

It felt nice. Even being stuck in Eddie’s body, it felt good to be close like this.

He kept holding the ice pack against his temple and left eye, where the pain always seemed to be the worst. Eddie leaned more weight against him.

“Feel good there?” Steve asked, barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah. Perfect.”

“You wanna go back to bed? I can wait for Robin and the kids,” Steve offered.

“Nah, I can wait with you.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

Eddie turned and glared at him, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at his own face.

“Bold words coming from Mr. Overdo It himself,” Eddie mumbled as he took the ice pack from Steve’s hand and made his way to the couch. “Come sit with me. We might as well try to talk through what could’ve caused this.”

“I honestly don’t even know where to begin. I don’t think it’s Upside Down related.”

“Pretty sure if it were, one of us would be dead by now.”

Eddie’s eyes closed as he rested his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“It happened in our sleep so maybe it was a dream thing?” Steve asked as he wrapped his arm around Eddie, pulling him into his side more. “Was I in your dream?”

“Mhm. Always,” Eddie slurred, already half asleep.

Steve was too busy trying to think through what could have caused this to realize what he said until he was already asleep.

He looked down at his own sleeping body, the ice pack starting to fall as Eddie’s hand relaxed more. Steve grabbed it and held it in place while he got distracted by new thoughts.

Wayne had said something about feelings earlier and Eddie had sounded genuinely upset about the pain Steve was in, not just because he was currently living it. He’d admitted that he was dreaming about him always.

Sometimes, Eddie would find excuses to be alone with Steve during movie nights: helping him grab drinks for everyone or offering to help get the guest room ready for the kids. He showed up randomly with Steve’s favorite milkshake from the diner, always remembered to order his favorite beer when they went to the bar, and bought him earplugs so he could go to a Corroded Coffin show without getting a migraine.

“Oh.” Steve breathed out, his heart fluttering in his chest.

So Eddie probably liked him.

But did he like Eddie?

As Eddie turned his face into Steve’s neck, breath sending chills down Steve’s neck, he realized that he did. Probably for a while, actually.

Because when Eddie showed up with his favorite milkshake, the butterflies in his stomach would start fluttering. When he watched Eddie on stage at his concert, he’d felt so proud of him, all he wanted to do was kiss him. When they spent endless hours together while the kids argued or splashed around in Steve’s pool, he fell for him.

“Shit.”

Steve closed his eyes and hoped that they could figure everything out soon. He wanted to kiss Eddie when he was Eddie, not while he was stuck in Steve’s body.

****

When Steve woke up, he felt a dull ache in his head and a sharp pain in his neck.

He opened his eyes and frowned.

Hadn’t he fallen asleep holding Eddie?

Now Eddie was-

Steve sat up quickly, nearly falling off the couch. “Eds! Wake up!”

Eddie’s eyes blinked open. “The fuck?”

“We’re ourselves!” Steve shouted before jumping into Eddie’s lap, legs straddling Eddie’s thighs.

Eddie’s hands instinctively grabbed his hips to keep him from falling backwards in his enthusiasm and Steve’s arms wrapped around his neck to hold on.

“Head still hurt?” Eddie asked him. “And don’t lie to me.”

“A little, but not that bad,” Steve gave a comforting smile. “I promise. The ice pack must’ve helped.”

“Wayne used to get migraines when he kept switching between night shift and day shift. Used to swear by peppermint tea before he went to sleep. I could make you some?” Eddie offered, thumbs rubbing just under Steve’s t-shirt. “We’d have to go back to mine for it, but I’ll drive so you don’t have to.”

“Eds, I’m okay. But I think I’ll grab some at the store tomorrow and you can make me some next time,” Steve wrapped a strand of Eddie’s hair around his finger, much like he did earlier when it was his hair. “Did you really dream about me?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’m hoping the answer is yes,” Steve continued. “So if you have been, I think we could do something about making your dreams a reality.”

Eddie blinked back at him for a long minute.

“That was horrible. Is that the charm the girls always bragged about? Jesus, Stevie.”

They both laughed, Steve’s head falling forward so it rested against Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie’s hands started rubbing his back, slow and cautious, testing the waters a bit.

“I just meant that if you want me like that, I’d like to take you out.” Steve leaned back, but kept his face close enough to lean in for a kiss if Eddie let him.

“Out? On a date?”

“Out on a date,” Steve nodded. “Would you wanna?”

“Steve. I’m seriously asking this question so don’t laugh.”

“Okay…”

“Is it because you saw the size of my dick when you were in my body?”

Steve laughed so hard, he choked on his own breath. “No!” Steve shook his head. “I didn’t even see it. What the hell, Eddie.”

He shook his head, smiling fondly at Eddie, who was smirking back at him.

“You wanna see it, though, don’t you?” Eddie teased.

“I’m not a fuck on the first date kinda guy,” Steve smacked his shoulder. “But maybe for you I could be persuaded.”

“This might be the best day of my life.”

“It could be better if you kiss me.”

The moment their lips touched, Steve’s front door burst open and Robin, Nancy, and the kids rushed into his house.

“El thinks she knows what happened!” Dustin yelled.

“Okay, this is definitely not something Robin mentioned,” Mike said as he turned away from Steve and Eddie on the couch.

“What’s going on?” Robin asked, probably so done with the events of the day.

“Nothing anymore.” Steve slowly slid from Eddie’s lap, but grabbed onto his hand to hold it on his leg. “Back to normal.”

“Just like that?” Will asked.

“Yep. Just like that.”

“What if it happens again?” Nancy asked them both.

“Dunno. But if you don’t mind, we’ve got somewhere to be,” Steve said as he stood up and pulled Eddie to his feet. “We’ll let you know if it happens again!”

They both walked out of Steve’s house and got in Steve’s car.

“You think they’re gonna be here when we get back?” Eddie asked him as they pulled out of his driveway.

“Probably. But I think if we kiss in front of them, they’ll scatter pretty quick.”

“Devious.” Eddie lifted their hands and kissed the back of Steve’s hand. “Where’re you taking me?”

“Milkshakes. I think I owe you one after all the times you brought me one.”

[roseyodditea]

Stiff Joints - Wriothesley x gn! Reader

Summary -> Some mornings are harder than others. (Established relationship)

Warnings -> Slightly suggestive towards the end

A/N -> 850 words, not proofread and self indulgent because I am also having a bad hand day.

**********

Early. Too goddam early to be awake. The sun wouldn’t even be fluttering in the curtains if you could see the damn sun from the bottom of the ocean. The bed around you was too cold, too uncomfortable, too… empty.

“Wrio?” You muttered, sitting up despite the protest of your back. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. Your eyes scanned the dark room until you saw the light underneath the bathroom door. “Wriothesley?” You ask again as you slip out of bed, the metal floor of the Fortress of Meropide cold underneath your feet. You approached the bathroom door only to hear the clattering of something in the sink, followed by the frustrated growl of the man behind the door. “I’m coming in.” You don’t give him a chance to protest as you open the door, only to be greeted by the sight of the man hunched over the sink, wearing only a black t shirt, boxers, and a face full of shaving cream.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up, sweetheart.” He grumbled, not wanting to take his frustrations out on you as he reached for the razor in the sink. 

You stepped close, placing a hand on his back. “Don’t apologize. Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He clawed at the shaving cream on his face, wiping it off, frustrated. “It’s nothing” “Wriothesley.” “It’s nothing.” “Wriothesley” “I said-” He turned to look at you, seeing that worried, and tired look on your face. All the negative emotions dissipate immediately. “You want the truth?”

“I’d greatly prefer it, yeah.” He put the razor down on the edge of the sink. “I’ve been fighting my entire life. Boxing with both gloves and bare knuckles.” “I’ve known this, and yet I still sleep in your bed every night. Is this you thinking you’re too dangerous for me again? We’ve been through this. You know I’ll always love you.” You point out, too early to have your normal patience you grant him, instead offering him rather blunt compassion.

Wriothesley sighed, looking into the mirror. “I’ve all but destroyed my hands. It’s why I wear wraps every day. They hurt, my fingers don’t move right, and some mornings I can’t even grip the damn razor and get this stubble off of my face.”

“Is that it?” “Seems a bit dismissive.” He sighs and looks over at you, hurt in his eyes.

You hesitate, noticing he is in a much more vulnerable position than you’re used to seeing him. “I don’t mean that in a dismissive way, my dear. I just mean it’s something I can help with.” He clenches his still foam shaven jaw. “What could you possibly do to help my broken hands?” “Be your hands for you.” You respond, gently taking the razor from his hand, thankful he didn't make a snarky comment at the cheesy words. You hop up on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth and running it under warm water. 

“My dear you don’t have to.” He responds, swallowing the lump in his throat, trying to hold back his emotions. 

You respond by placing a hand on the back of his neck, guiding him to lean forward, his towering frame shrinking down to reach your waiting hand, the razor running gently across his jaw, taking care of the stubble he found so annoying. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” You guide his face to look to one side, shaving one side of his jaw and down his neck, his icy eyes locked on yours, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thank you so much.” “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You ask as you run the warm washcloth on his freshly shaven jaw. 

He scoffs and doesn’t resist looking the other direction, letting you shave the other side of his face. “What? That my fingers don’t work?” “I mean they were working just fine last night.” You watch as he bites back a smirk, but he couldn't resist it for too long. “There’s that handsome smile.” “You’re the worst, you know… I have a reputation you know.” His eyes soften impossibly further as you finish shaving his jaw and his neck for him. He doesn't hesitate to rest his forehead on yours. “I didn’t want to worry you.” He says softly, answering your question.

“What a silly thing to hide from me you stupid man.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his lips. “What helps your hands the most, hm?”

His lips chase after yours before he lets out a huff. “Heat. Ironic giving the cryo vision.” “Mmm what kind of heat?” You ask with a low voice, your lips still hovering near his, him taking a deep breath between his teeth. 

“That kind works perfectly” He bent down and captured your lips again, his arms wrapping around your waist, he went to pull you off the counter, but stopped when you broke the kiss, placing your hand on his chest.

“Absolutely not. Your hands hurt. Let me take care of you this morning.” You chuckle and hop off the counter, grabbing the collar of his shirt, tugging him out of the bathroom and towards the bed, and of course, he follows without hesitation.

“Of course~”

**********

[katepakulak]

You are Home

Pairing: Harry Styles × Reader

CW: Emotional distress, Strained family relationships, Crying, Comfort, Soft intimacy.

Synopsis: After two hard weeks with her distant family, Y/N returns to Harry’s arms, only to break down in the airport. He holds her, kisses her tears away, and brings her home to remind her: she’s safe, she’s loved, and she never has to face anything alone.

Two weeks.

It wasn’t long, not in the grand scheme of things. But when it came to her, it felt like an entire lifetime.

Harry stood still, anchored in place just a few steps past security, his eyes locked on the frosted sliding doors. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his grey wool coat, a quiet nervous energy flowing through him.

He kept replaying the last phone call they had the night before, how her voice had trembled, how she'd whispered “I can’t wait to be back with you” like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Harry wasn’t sure what had happened during her visit to her family. She’d been vague, careful, deflecting any time he asked if she was okay. But he knew her well enough to know something had been wrong. That strained tone. That silence between words.

The doors hissed open.

And then she appeared.

Y/N stepped into view, pulling a small black suitcase behind her, a soft pink sweater hanging off one shoulder. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him.

Harry barely had time to open his arms before she crashed into him, wrapping herself around his chest like she could burrow inside and never leave again.

He held her tight, his arms locked around her waist, her head tucked beneath his chin. She was trembling.

“Hi, angel,” he murmured against her hair, his voice soft, reverent. “Missed you so much.”

And that’s when he felt it.

The wet warmth of her tears against his collarbone.

His brows furrowed. He leaned back just enough to look down at her, cupping her cheeks with both hands.

“Hey… hey, what’s all this then?” he said gently, brushing a thumb beneath her eye.

“I’m fine,” she lied, voice cracking.

He looked at her, really looked, and saw how red her eyes were. How her mouth was set like she’d been biting it for hours. How her shoulders shook.

“Baby,” he whispered, and that’s when she broke.

“I missed you,” she choked out, voice catching, tears spilling over. “I missed you so much it physically hurt. I couldn't sleep. I—” she hiccuped. “I don't wanna go anywhere without you again..”

Harry’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just gathered her tighter, pressed his lips to her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Little soft kisses, like sealing every crack he could find in her.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured. “You’re home, yeah? You’re safe.”

She nodded into his chest, fists clutching his coat like she was scared he’d vanish.

He leaned back again, framing her face with his hands, thumbs gently brushing away every falling tear.

“Look at me, love,” he said softly. “You don’t ever have to go back there if you don’t want to. I don’t care if they’re your family. if they make you feel like this, I’ll protect you from all of it.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I just… I didn’t realize how much I rely on you. I felt so alone, Harr…”

“Oh, baby…” He kissed her forehead. “You’re never alone, alright? Not while I’m breathing.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to see her face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes swollen and glossy, nose a bit red. Beautiful. She was always beautiful. But this—this raw, tear-streaked version of her—made him want to gather every shattered piece and kiss them whole.

She nodded quickly, swallowing a hiccup. “I thought I could handle it. I mean, it’s just my parents. It’s not like I haven’t done this before…”

“But you didn’t have me before,” he said softly. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Another wave of tears came, and he didn’t stop kissing her. Across her cheeks, her eyelids, her jaw, her nose.

She let out a trembling laugh. “You’re gonna kiss the tears off my entire face?”

He grinned gently. “Damn right I am.”

They stayed like that for a while, in their own little bubble while the world bustled past them. Eventually, Harry brushed her hair out of her face and said, “Come on. Let’s get you home, yeah? Hot shower, tea, and my arms around you. That sound alright?”

She nodded, smiling through her tears.

“You’re gonna hold me all night?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Darling,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her lips, “I’m not letting go of you for a second.”

Back at Harry’s place, she collapsed into his bed like she belonged there, because she did. She curled up under the covers while he made her a cup of tea, humming softly from the kitchen. When he returned, she was already watching him with sleepy eyes, like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.

He placed the cup on the nightstand and slid into bed beside her.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

She climbed onto his chest like a sleepy kitten, legs tangled with his, cheek pressed to the spot just above his heart.

“Tell me something nice,” she whispered.

“Hmm,” he considered. “Okay. You’re home. You’re safe. I love you.”

She let out a soft sound, something between a sigh and a sob.

“And…” he added, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “You’re never going back there alone again. Not if it makes you cry like that.”

She tilted her face toward his. “But I have to, sometimes. Obligations.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright. But next time, I come too. Or you stay three days, max. And we’re setting up a FaceTime schedule.”

She giggled, despite herself. “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry arched a brow. “Don’t tempt me when you’re this tired.”

She yawned. “Not tempting. Just stating facts.”

He chuckled, deep and rich, and kissed her forehead again.

“Can I tell you something kind of pathetic?”

“Please.”

“I cried in the bathroom on the third night,” she admitted. “Because I remembered how you make tea for me, and how you rub my back when I sleep, and I realized… I never want to be without that again.”

Harry kissed her again. On her lips this time. “Then you won’t be. Simple as that. And you’re not pathetic. You’re someone who needs to be loved right. And you are, Y/N. You are so loved.”

The tears welled up again, but she didn’t sob this time. She just nodded, buried her face in his chest, and breathed him in like she was trying to refill her lungs after drowning.

“You don’t ever have to hide that from me, yeah? Missing someone you love—it’s not weakness. It’s just proof that you feel deeply. That you’re real.”

He held her for a long time. Stroking her back. Running his fingers through her hair. Whispering things she barely caught but still felt in her bones

Eventually, he coaxed her up for a shower. Not because he wanted to rush her, but because he knew she’d feel better after. He undressed her slowly, reverently, like she might break if he wasn’t careful. She stood in the warm stream while he massaged shampoo into her scalp, kissed her shoulder blades, whispered soft things while her eyes fluttered closed.

After, he wrapped her in a towel and led her back to bed. One of his oversized t-shirts found its way onto her, and she sank into the mattress like it was the only safe place in the world.

Harry climbed in beside her and opened his arms.

She didn’t hesitate.

Curled against him, her head on his chest, she sighed. “I hate that two weeks did this to me.”

“I don’t,” he said softly. “It just proves how real this is.”

She tilted her head up to look at him.

“You know,” he added, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead, “For a really long time, I used to think maybe someone like me wasn’t made for love.. But then you came along, and suddenly I wanted to believe in everything again.”

Her throat tightened. “That’s the kind of thing you say when you’re about to propose.”

He smirked. “Easy, tiger. One emotional breakdown at a time.”

She rolled her eyes, but it made her laugh. That was all he needed.

“Come here,” he whispered, gently flipping her onto her back so he could hover over her, his arms caging her in, but his touch as soft as breath.

“I love you.”

He leaned down and kissed her deeply. “I love you more.”

He kissed her again.

Her jaw. Her neck. Her collarbones. Her lips.

And again.

And again.

Until her eyes fluttered closed and the world went quiet.

No family, no expectations, no bruises left by words unsaid.

Just Harry.

Because with Harry, she wasn’t just loved.

She was home.

AN: Thanks to @rrysbabydoll on tumblr for this

[holidayinhell]

CWs: captivity Whump, failed escape Whump.

“I know you have it.”

Whumper outstretched his palm. “Hand it over.”

Whumpee hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyes flickering with defiance and defeat.

As soon as Whumpee dropped the box cutter into his hand, Whumper’s fingers snapped closed around it. His cold gaze fell over the flimsy weapon with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, just before tucking the cheap plastic knife into his back pocket. 

He shook his head in quiet disbelief.

“Oh, Whumpee…” he sighed.

Whumpee’s cheeks burned with shame. He never intended to use the box cutter maliciously. Or, at least, he knew he would never be capable of killing Whumper. He didn’t have a plan, he never did, he just needed to feel secure before he trying to find a way out of this fucking place.

After all, he was scheduled to die tomorrow. Surely Whumper didn’t expect him to accept his fate willingly. He had to fight back in order to stay alive.

“Sorry.” Whumpee whispered. 

He had so much to say, yet that was all that came out.

“Yeah.” Whumper murmured, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry…” Whumpee’s voice cracked. “Really, I wasn’t gonna hurt you, I, I don’t even think I could…”

“Sure, Whumps. I get it.” Whumper said in a soft, reassuring voice. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, exhaling. “You’ve been through a lot, I know.”

Whumpee’s shoulders sagged and he looked up at Whumper, searching his eyes for an ounce of compassion.

“But you fucked up big time.”

Whumpee’s breath hitched as he heard Whumper’s tone harden, the last trace of sympathy evaporating.

“Get up, Whumpee. I need you to turn around for me.”

His tone made it clear that any illusion of mercy was gone.

“Please. I’m sorry.”  Whumpee’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, panic bubbling in his chest. “I’ll do anything you want from here out, I’ll be good, I’ll listen--” 

Whumper laughed, a low, bitter sound. “Doesn’t make much of a difference now.”

“Turn around.”

“Please, just, give me a break. Just tonight. It’s my last night, I, I won’t try anything, please I swear to you!” Whumpee’s composure shattered as he choked out the words. “J-just, please, let me have tonight...”

“No.”

His gaze settled on Whumpee’s tear-streaked face.

“Sorry, Whumpee. You fucked up."

Whumper locked a pair of zip ties together behind Whumpee’s back. He instructed Whumpee to climb onto his cot, and made quick work of locking his ankles together too.

Tears gushed down Whumpee’s cheeks as the plastic ties snapped snugly into place.

“A box cutter. Really Whumpee?” Whumper’s grin grew, savoring the irony. “You risked it all, and that was your weapon of choice?”

Whumpee’s throat tightened, dread coiling in his stomach. His shoulders ached from the forced position, but he barely noticed, his mind was consumed with absolute terror. He could barely bring himself to look up as Whumper loomed over him.

“I’d laugh if it wasn’t so goddamn pitiful.” The tall man’s voice dripped with contempt. “The worst part is, well, I was gonna go easy on ya tomorrow. I picked up some good painkillers and booze to make it more comfortable for you.”

"You did?" Whumpee’s voice quivered, the hope fading from his eyes. “...really?”

“Heh, yeah. I wasn’t even going to tie you up.” 

Whumper leaned in, his tone dropping to a menacing whisper. “But now, comfort is off the table.”

Tears streamed down Whumpee’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean t--”

“But you did,” Whumper cut him off. “You did, and you went and fucked it all up didn’t ya?”

“I thought you liked me...” Whumpee mumbled, his words nearly swallowed by his own shame. “...don’t do this.”

Whumper shook his head as he rose to his feet. “It’s okay. You can still sleep on your side.”

“Whumper! PLEASE!”

“I can’t help you.” 

Whumper’s figure cast a long dark shadow across the wall next to the cot. 

Whumpee watched as the tall silhouette crossed into the light, swinging the heavy door closed with a thud, submerging Whumpee in total blackness.

((more Whump oneshots))

[mattsobvimyfav]

roommate (matthew sturniolo)

pt 20-

I led Matt upstairs to my room, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the space.

I handed him a pair of my dad’s old sweatpants and a hoodie, figuring he’d be more comfortable in something other than his jeans and shirt. “Here,” I said.

“Thanks,” Matt replied, she started to slip out of his close and i caught myself in a trance staring at him as he took his shirt off. I quickly snapped out of it grabbing my own pajamas—a loose T-shirt and a pair of shorts, i finished changing and got into my bed, pulling the covers over me.

Matt turned to me as I took in his appearance, his hair slightly messy from pulling the hoodie on. He smiled as he walked over to the bed. “Alright, where do you want me?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Just get in, dickhead,” I said, patting the spot next to me. He climbed in, and we both settled under the blankets, the room growing quiet except for the sound of our breathing.

It didn’t take long for Matt to shift closer, his arm slipping around my waist. “You good?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I replied, though my heart was racing.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine softly at first, then with more purpose. I kissed him back, melting into the moment as his hand slid up my side. My skin tingled under his touch, and for a second, I let myself get lost in it. But then his hand dipped lower, brushing the hem of my shorts, and reality hit me like a freight train.

I pulled back abruptly, sitting up and pushing his hand away. “Matt, no,” I said, my voice shaky but firm.

He looked at me, confused and slightly hurt. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up as well.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Matt. Not yet,” I said, looking down at my hands.

“Why not?” he asked softly, his tone more curious than frustrated.

I looked up at him, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Because I don’t trust you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

His expression shifted, a mix of guilt and regret crossing his face. “Y/N…” he started, but I shook my head.

“You told me I was a mistake, Matt,” I said, my voice breaking. “You can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget it. I’ve been trying to, but it still hurts. And now, with everything that’s happened… I just don’t know if I can trust you”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I know I screwed up,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I didn’t mean it when I said that. I was just scared and being stupid. But I promise, I wouldn’t do that to you again. I care about you.”

I looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes almost breaking me. “I want to believe you, Matt,” I said, my voice trembling. “But I need time. I need to feel like I can trust you completely before we take things any further.”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to take my hand. “I’ll wait as long as you need,” he said softly. “I’m all in if you’ll let me be..”

“Really?,” I whispered, confused at what he meant.

“Yes y/n. I’ll stop. all the girls. All the hook ups. Just us.” He looked into my eyes and for the first time I actually believed him.

We laid back down, Matt wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my back into his chest. I let my thoughts wonder about what it would be like to give Matt a real chance and see if he could truly change after I drifted off to sleep.

My eyes blinked open slowly, and I realized Matt’s arm was slung across my waist, his face buried in the pillow beside mine. His even breaths tickled my neck, and I smiled softly at the peaceful expression on his face.

Last night’s conversation played through my mind, The breakthrough we’d had, the honesty, the vulnerability—it felt good. It felt real.

Matt shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open. When he noticed me watching him, a sleepy grin spread across his face. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, feeling warmth bloom in my chest.

He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Better than I have in a while,” I admitted, my smile widening.

“Good,” he said, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. “Smells like something’s cooking downstairs.”

I sniffed the air, the faint scent of bacon and coffee wafting into the room. My eyes lit up. “Dad must be making breakfast.”

We both got out of bed and quickly threw on some comfy clothes before heading downstairs. Sure enough, my dad was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while the radio played softly in the background. He looked up when he saw us and grinned.

“Good morning, kids,” he greeted, gesturing toward the table where plates of bacon, eggs, and fresh fruit were already laid out. “I figured I’d make a proper breakfast since we’ve got company.”

Matt beamed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks, Mr. Y/L/N. It smells amazing.”.

We sat down at the table, and Matt immediately started piling food onto his plate. “Your dad’s already winning major points,” he whispered to me, making me laugh.

“Yeah, he’s the best,” I said, my heart swelling with affection as I watched my dad work.

When my dad finally joined us at the table, the three of us fell into easy conversation. Matt told my dad some funny stories about college life, and my dad shared a few embarrassing tales from when I was a kid, much to my dismay. Matt laughed so hard he nearly choked on his coffee, and despite my protests, I couldn’t help but smile at how natural it all felt.

As breakfast wound down, my dad clapped Matt on the shoulder. “You’re welcome here anytime, kid,” he said warmly.

“Thank you. That means a lot,” Matt replied, his sincerity evident.

I glanced between the two of them, my heart full as I realized just how lucky I was. This was what I’d been missing—these simple, happy moments.

After breakfast, Matt and I headed back upstairs. As I rummaged through my bag for an outfit, Matt leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with a lazy smile.

“You still up for Black Friday shopping?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, pulling out a pair of black leggings and my favorite oversized hoodie. “Just promise not to ditch me if it gets too crazy.”

He laughed. “Deal. Though I’m pretty sure you could hold your own in a shopping brawl.”

I smirked, tossing my Uggs onto the bed. “You’d be surprised.”

After slipping into my outfit, I brushed my hair into a sleek ponytail and dabbed on some tinted moisturizer. Matt gave me an approving nod as I threw my bag over my shoulder.

“Perfect,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Let’s go.”

The drive to Matt’s house was quick and quiet, the town still buzzing from Thanksgiving festivities. Nick was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone, while Justin was in the kitchen, pouring himself a coffee.

“I’m gonna head upstairs and change,” Matt said, tossing his keys onto the counter. “You good here?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” I said, waving him off.

I wandered into the living room, where Justin had settled onto one of the armchairs with his coffee. He looked up and gave me a grin.

“Y/N,” he said, setting his mug down. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Yeah, Matt roped me into Black Friday shopping,” I said with a laugh, sitting down across from him.

Justin raised an eyebrow. “Brave of you. Matt’s got no patience for crowds.”

“I’ll survive,” I joked. “How have you been?”

We fell into easy conversation, talking about everything from school to his latest projects. Justin’s laid-back demeanor was infectious, and I found myself laughing more than I had in weeks.

Matt came bounding down the stairs, now dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. “Ready to go?” he asked, grabbing his wallet off the counter.

“Yup,” I said, standing up.

Justin gave me a knowing look as we headed for the door. “Good luck,” he called out, grinning.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as Matt held the door open for me.

Matt and I spent the entire day navigating the Black Friday madness, though surprisingly, the crowds weren’t as bad as I’d expected. We started at the mall, where every store seemed to have a massive “50% Off” sign in the windows.

The first store we went into was a shoe store. Matt immediately gravitated toward the Ugg section, spotting a pair of chocolate brown Ultra Minis that caught his attention.

“These are cute,” he said, holding them up.

“They are,” I agreed, but when he walked up to the cashier with them, I nearly lost it. “Matt, no. I don’t need new Uggs!”

“They’re half off,” he said with a shrug, ignoring my protests.

“But I already have a pair!”

“Yeah, and now you’ll have two.” He handed over his card before I could argue further.

I groaned but couldn’t help the small smile on my face. “You’re impossible.”

He just grinned and handed me the bag. “Merry early Christmas.” He kissed my cheek and I couldn’t help but blush.

After leaving the shoe store, we focused on getting gifts for our parents. At a cozy boutique, I found a padigonia sweatshirt that was perfect for my dad. Matt picked out a sleek leather wallet for Jimmy and a set of fancy coffee mugs for Mary Lou.

At one point, we stopped in a home goods store, where Matt dragged me over to the holiday display.

“Do you think my mom would like this?” he asked, holding up a set of Christmas-themed dish towels.

I laughed. “I think she’d appreciate the thought, but let’s find something a little more her style.”

By the time we finished, we had bags filled with thoughtful gifts for everyone.

We had gone too about five different stores in total, from clothing boutiques to a sporting goods store where Matt found something for Justin.

At one point, as we were walking through the mall, I nudged him. “You know, for someone who claims to hate shopping, you’re pretty into this.”

He laughed. “I don’t hate shopping, I hate waiting and people. There’s a difference.”

After hours of walking, we took a break in the food court, sharing a giant pretzel and some lemonade. Matt insisted on dipping the pretzel in cheese, while I stuck with mustard.

“You’re missing out,” he teased, holding up a cheese-drenched piece.

“I’ll survive,” I shot back with a grin.

By the time we finished, the trunk of Matt’s car was packed with bags, and we were both exhausted. On the drive back, I leaned my head against his shoulder.

“Thanks for everything today,” I said softly, glancing at him.

He looked over briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Anytime. We have to get back for the video though. We are reading fanfictions about ourselves and your judging them”

My eyes widened and I started laughing “I’m going to read them about you in my free time” I winked at him

“I know, your obsessed with me.” He clapped back.

A couple of hours later, I found myself squished into the back seat of Matt’s car next to Nick, his phone already in hand as he searched for fanfics. Matt was in the driver’s seat, adjusting the camera angle on the dashboard, while Chris sat in the passenger seat, looking less than thrilled about what was about to unfold.

“Nick, this is a bad idea,” Chris groaned, throwing his head back against the seat.

“Bad ideas make great content,” Nick said with a grin, turning his phone to show me the first story. “Ready, Y/N?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” I said, smirking.

Matt glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Don’t let him corrupt you. These are going to be awful.”

“That’s the point,” I replied with a laugh, Matt his the record button.

Nick started dramatically: “Matt was in the library, headphones on, lost in his music. He didn’t notice her at first, the girl with the messy bun and oversized sweater, until she dropped her books. He rushed to help her, their hands brushing as they reached for the same book. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her cheeks pink. Matt froze. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful.”

Chris immediately burst out laughing. “Matt? In a library? I don’t buy it.”

Matt shook his head, covering his face. “I can’t believe people think I’m this smooth.”

“You are baby trust me” I winked at Matt causing him to smirk at me in the rear view.

Nick continued, grinning. “‘I, uh… like your sweater,’ Matt stammered. She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat.’”

“Okay, okay, pause,” I interrupted, laughing. “This gets a 5/10. Cute, but way too unrealistic. No way Matt’s heart skips a beat over a sweater.”

Matt turned in his seat to look at me. “Maybe it was you wearing the sweater.”

Nick pulled up another one and started reading. “Chris had seen her before, the girl who lived in the apartment next door. She always left her door open just enough for the scent of cookies to waft through the hallway. One night, he knocked on her door, pretending to need sugar. When she smiled at him, holding out a bowl, he thought, ‘This might be the sweetest face I’ve ever seen.’”

Matt snorted. “Chris, cookies? Really?”

Chris groaned. “This is so dumb. Why am I the guy knocking on someone’s door?”

Nick kept reading, barely holding back his laughter. “‘You should come by sometime,’ she said shyly. Chris found himself grinning like an idiot. ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Maybe I will.’”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll give this one a 6/10 for effort, but She should not be just leaving her door open.”

Chris turned around to look at me. “Very true”

Nick smirked as he opened the last fanfic. “Alright, this one’s spicy. It’s a love triangle with Matt and Chris both falling for the same girl.”

“Oh, God,” Matt muttered.

Nick began: “‘She was unlike anyone Matt had ever met. Smart, funny, and completely unbothered by his antics. Chris, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about her smile. One night at a party, Matt cornered Chris in the kitchen. ‘Stay away from her,’ Matt growled. Chris smirked. ‘You’re just mad because she likes me more.’”

Chris groaned loudly, throwing his hands up. “God y/n they wrote a whole fanfic about you” Nick started hysterically laughing.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “Woah watch it. This one gets a 9/10. The tension is hilarious.”

Matt shook his head, trying not to laugh. “This is so dumb.”

“But entertaining,” I said, still grinning.

By the time Nick finished, my cheeks hurt from laughing. “Alright, guys, that’s it for today,” Nick said into the camera. “Make sure to like, comment, and subscribe. And keep sending these fanfics, because they’re pure gold.”

Matt turned off the camera, sighing. “I don’t know why we let you do this.”

“Because it’s funny,” I said, nudging Nick.

Chris leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, funny for you. Embarrassing for us.”

Nick shrugged. “That’s the price of content.”

As we sat in the car, still laughing from the ridiculous fanfics, I pulled out my phone and typed out a message to Matt.

Y/N: Wanna have another sleepover?

I hit send and glanced up, catching Matt’s subtle smirk through the rearview mirror. He pulled his phone out of the cupholder, glanced at the screen, and his smirk grew wider.

He texted back quickly:

Matt: Say less.

I bit back a smile, locking my phone as Nick and Chris kept debating over which fanfic was the most cringe-worthy.

“Alright, guys,” Matt announced, putting the car into drive. “I’m dropping you two off at home first.”

Nick whipped his head toward Matt. “What? Why? I thought we were hanging out?”

“Change of plans,” Matt said nonchalantly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Chris narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What’s the real reason, huh?”

Matt shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “No real reason. Just figured you two could use some rest.”

Nick groaned. “Fine.”

Chris crossed his arms, mumbling under his breath. “Whatever.”

I leaned back in my seat, hiding my smile as the car filled with more playful bickering. Matt met my eyes briefly through the mirror, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that made my stomach flip.

[s1ut-4-rafe]

CHASING THE FIRE | Rafe Cameron | 04

MASTERLIST (Series - In Progress)

Pairing 1 - JJ x Female Pogue! Reader

Pairing 2 - Rafe x Female Pogue! Reader

Summary - Tensions explode when the reader finally confronts the Pogues and JJ about last night, but their answers don't make the sting hurt any less. As emotions run high, her and JJ both realize space might be the only thing keeping them from completely falling apart but deep down, the cracks have already started to show.

Word Count - 3093

Content - Angst, love triangle, tension, conflict, sfw

Navigation - Part 03 | Part 04 |

The room was quiet when you woke up, the only sound being the faint crash of waves in the distance. You didn’t know how long you’d been lying there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the mess of emotions swirling inside you since you first opened your eyes. Your head still ached from the events of last night, and your heart felt heavier with every breath.

The air was thick with a quiet stillness that didn’t seem right. For a moment, you almost wished you could go back to sleep, back to a world where you weren’t carrying the weight of your dad’s words, the unanswered calls, and the empty feeling in your chest.

But now, here you were. In Sarah’s room. In the Cameron house.

You sat up slowly, your body aching as if it had been through a battle. The bed felt too soft, the comfort of Sarah’s blankets not enough to chase away the feelings clawing at your chest.

You could hear Sarah still asleep beside you, the soft sound of her breathing made the house feel emptier, as though it was holding its breath, waiting for something.

You slipped out of bed, your feet cold against the hardwood floors, and made your way downstairs. Your mind was a blur of thoughts, but you weren’t sure what you were looking for. Water? Air? Something to shake off the weight that seemed to have settled on your shoulders.

The kitchen was quiet as you made your way toward the fridge. You opened it, grabbed a bottle of water, and were about to take a sip when you froze.

There, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, was Rafe.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you, his eyes trained on you. The tension in the room was almost palpable. Finally, Rafe spoke, his voice breaking the silence. “I didn’t think you’d call Sarah last night.”

You turned slightly to face him, holding the bottle loosely in your hand. “What does that mean?”

Rafe shrugged, his gaze never leaving yours. “I just thought you’d call Maybank.”

You felt your jaw tighten at the mention of JJ’s name, and you could feel the heat rising in your face.

“Yeah, well, he didn’t answer,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, but the words tasted bitter as they left your mouth.

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared behind a mask of indifference. “No one answered?” His voice was quiet now, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Your grip on the bottle tightened, the cool water offering you no relief. “Not him. Not Kie. Not Pope.” You swallowed hard. “I called everyone. But something must’ve been going on I guess.”

The words hung in the air between you, a rawness in your voice that you hadn’t intended to show. But there it was. You had said it out loud, and now it was too late to take it back.

Rafe stayed silent for a beat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed what you had just said. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “That's why you showed up here?”

You hadn’t planned to admit this much to him, but somehow, the words spilled out. “I showed up here because Sarah’s my friend,” you said, but it came out more defensive than you had intended. “I wasn’t sure who else to turn to.”

Rafe didn’t respond right away. He just watched you, and you could feel the weight of his stare. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until you finally spoke again.

“I didn’t want to go back home,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “My dad kicked me out, anyway. Told me I wasn’t welcome anymore and some other things.” There was a long pause.

“Your dad did that?” Rafe’s voice was raw now, like he didn’t know how to feel about it, like he wasn’t sure how to respond to something so personal.

You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “Yeah. And it hurts. I thought I’d… I thought maybe it wouldn’t hurt this time around, but it does. And now I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do.”

The room seemed to close in around you, but you didn’t dare look away from Rafe.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. More than you know.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

Rafe shifted, his expression darkening slightly. “This house… doesn’t feel like home to me. Not with my dad in it.”

Your heart sank as he said that, despite everything that had happened between the two of you, you were more alike than you had ever known.

“I didn’t realize,” you said quietly, but the truth of it was undeniable.

Rafe looked at you, his gaze more intense now. He stepped a little closer, and for a brief moment, his fingers brushed against your face, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, almost tentative, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

His hand lingered for a moment too long, and you felt the tension between them surge. The moment was too close, too intimate, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. For a second, you thought he was going to lean in. And part of you wanted him to. But something snapped inside you.

You took a quick step back, your heart racing in your chest. “I—I have to go.”

Before he could respond, you turned quickly, nearly stumbling as you rushed back up the stairs. 

You pushed open the door to Sarah’s room, your chest still tight with the weight of everything you had just felt. Sarah was curled up in her bed, her face relaxed in sleep, and the sight made your stomach twist.

“Sarah,” you said, your voice hoarse. “We need to go.”

Sarah stirred, blinking at you in confusion. “Go where?”

“The Chateau,” you replied quickly, not bothering to explain further.

Sarah sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Are you okay?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. No. You weren’t okay. But you weren’t ready to admit what almost happened minutes prior. 

“Yeah,” you said with a weak smile. “I wanted to see if the others were around; they still haven’t gotten a hold of me.”

Sarah didn’t press the issue, but she eyed you suspiciously as she grabbed her phone. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As you both got ready, you tried to push the thought of Rafe out of your mind. But the image of his hand lingering on your skin wouldn’t leave you.

You had to get out of here. You had to see the others.

The walk to the front door felt heavier than it should have. Every step was laced with an unease you couldn’t shake. You weren’t sure if it was just exhaustion or if it had everything to do with the fact that Rafe hadn’t said a word as you and Sarah passed through the kitchen.

But you could feel him. His gaze burned into your back, like he was waiting for you to look at him. You fought against the urge, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

You couldn’t look at him. Not after this morning. Not after almost crossing a line you weren’t ready to admit existed.

Sarah, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, was focused on digging through her bag for her keys. But the silence stretched too long, thick with the weight of something unspoken, and even she seemed to feel it.

When you both finally stepped outside, the warm morning air did little to ease the chill that had settled in your chest. Then Sarah finally looked at you.

“You guys talked this morning, didn’t you?”

Your heart stuttered. “No.”

Sarah scoffed, shaking her head with a knowing smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, Y/N.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You so are.” Sarah’s smirk faded slightly as she slid into the driver’s seat. 

She was waiting, watching, hoping for you to just admit it. But you only exhaled sharply and turned toward the window.

Sarah let it go—for now.

The drive to the Chateau was eerily quiet, the tension still lingering like smoke. Sarah didn’t press you again, but the silence between you both wasn’t easy. It was the kind that made you hyperaware of every single thought spinning in your head. 

You could still feel the weight of Rafe’s fingers brushing against your skin.

You still heard the way his voice had softened, just slightly, when he admitted he understood what it was like to feel like a stranger in your own home.

You didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about the way you had almost let yourself lean in. 

Didn’t want to think about how you had pulled away too fast, or how his expression had shifted just slightly before you ran upstairs.

You needed to push it away.

You needed to focus on JJ.

You needed to focus on the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him.

And, judging by the pit in your stomach, you had a feeling you weren’t ready for whatever you were about to walk into.

When you both pulled up to the Chateau, you felt it before you even got out of the car. Something was wrong.

Everyone was outside—Kie, Pope, John B, even Cleo. They were sitting on the porch, looking drained, like they had been running on fumes for hours.

But JJ wasn’t there.

You barely waited for Sarah to park before you were shoving the car door open, your voice coming out sharper than you intended.

“Okay. Why the hell did no one answer their phones last night?”

Kie’s head snapped up first. Her expression shifted immediately, guilt flashing across her face before she even spoke.

“It was JJ,” she said, exhaling heavily as she stood. “Some shit went down with his dad. We were out looking for him all night.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face. “What?”

Pope ran a hand over his face, looking just as exhausted as Kie. “Luke was on his bullshit again. JJ lost it, got hammered, and disappeared for hours. We were trying to track him down before he did something stupid.”

Your heart instantly dropped.

The familiar ache of knowing exactly how much damage a drunk and angry father could cause spread through your chest like wildfire. But why didn’t he call you about it? He always called you first. The same went for you if shit went down at home, JJ was your first call.

But then, as the weight of it all settled in, another feeling took over—anger.

You took a step forward, your voice low but sharp. “And nobody thought to call me?”

Silence.

Your eyes darted between them, waiting, searching for some kind of excuse. Some kind of explanation that would make this make sense.

Kie hesitated. “We were just trying to find him—”

“I’m his girlfriend,” you snapped. “Why wouldn’t anyone tell me?”

Pope shifted uncomfortably. Cleo avoided eye contact. Kie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Nothing. No one had an answer.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. Your throat burned. You had been standing in the rain, feeling abandoned, while the people you trusted were out searching for your boyfriend without you.

They knew what JJ meant to you. They knew what his dad was like. They knew what your dad was like. And yet, you had been left in the dark.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “That’s fucking great.” you shook your head. “I spent last night alone, trying to find a place to go because my dad kicked me out, and the one person I thought I could count on didn’t even answer me.”

Kie looked stricken. Pope’s expression faltered. Even Cleo, who was usually so unreadable, looked caught off guard.

“You got kicked out?” Kie whispered.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

No one said anything. The guilt in their eyes made your stomach churn.

"We should have called, but we were just trying to keep him from getting himself killed. We weren’t thinking straight. We thought he would tell you on his own." Kie tried to explain.

"Yeah, well, neither was I," you responded. 

Then, before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps crunching against gravel cut through the silence.

You turned just in time to see JJ approaching. You barely recognized him.

His normally bright, mischievous eyes were bloodshot. His clothes were wrinkled, like he had slept in them. He looked strung out, exhausted, like he was barely holding himself together.

But then his gaze landed on you and Sarah. And the frustration in his eyes hardened into something sharp and defensive. His jaw clenched. His entire body was rigid.

“Let me guess,” he scoffed, voice hoarse. “You ran to Rafe for help.”

Your heart lurched. You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head. “No. I called Sarah.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Then went to his house?”

The bitterness in his tone made something snap inside you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you shot back. “Next time I’ll just stand in the fucking rain all night and hope for the best.”

JJ took a step closer, his expression darkening. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Then what, JJ?” You threw your arms out. “What was I supposed to do? No one answered me. I called you. I called everyone.”

His face twitched slightly at that, but he wasn’t ready to back down.

“You could’ve gone literally anywhere else.”

Your voice cracked. “I had nowhere else.”

That shut him up. Your voice shook as you continued. “My dad kicked me out, JJ. And I called you. And you weren’t there.”

JJ’s breath hitched. And for the first time, you saw it—the guilt, the regret. But just as quickly as it had appeared, he shoved it down, masking it with anger.

Sarah cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. “I’m gonna… give you two a minute.”

The others followed her lead, leaving the two of you standing there in the heavy silence.

You felt like you were unraveling. JJ was still fuming, still lost in his own storm. And you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

“You weren’t there,” you repeated, softer this time.

JJ’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply like he was trying to hold himself together. “You think I don’t fucking know that?”

“Do you?” Your voice wavered. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it. All you care about is the fact that I ended up at Rafe’s house. Not that I was stranded. Not that I needed you.”

JJ scoffed, but it wasn’t cocky—it was frustrated, defensive. “I care.”

“Then why didn’t you call me back?” you shot back, shaking your head. “Why did nobody call me?”

He swallowed hard, shifting on his feet like he couldn’t stand still. “Because I was too busy losing my shit, alright?” His voice was rough now, his anger cracking into something raw. “Because Luke showed up last night, wasted out of his mind, and I—” He stopped himself, his hands clenching into fists.

You waited, breath hitching. “And you what?”

His throat bobbed. He didn’t look at you when he muttered, “And I almost did something I can’t take back.”

The weight of those words settled in your chest.

JJ let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face. “And instead of dealing with it like a normal person, I just… I spiraled. Kie and Pope had to come find me before I did something stupid. I barely remember half of it.” His voice dropped. “That’s why no one answered.”

You stared at him, your anger twisting into something more complicated.

JJ shook his head. “And now you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re mad but you still care.”

Your stomach clenched. “Of course I care, JJ. But you don’t get to make me feel bad for needing someone when you weren’t there.”

His nostrils flared, his body tensing again. “And you don’t get to act like you’re the only one going through shit.”

That stung.

JJ must’ve realized it, because his expression softened, regret flickering in his blue eyes. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you cut in, voice thick. “And you know what? Fine. I’m not gonna stand here and beg you to get it. You know what’s been going on with my dad lately, JJ.”

You turned to leave, but JJ grabbed your wrist—not rough, not forceful, just enough. Enough to make you stop. Enough to make your heart lurch.

“I do get it,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard, refusing to turn around. “Then stop acting like you don’t.”

Silence. His grip loosened, and when you pulled away, he let you.

As the tension between you and JJ reached a breaking point, neither of you had the energy to keep arguing. Two people who once clung to each other are now walking in opposite directions.

You didn’t know where you were going, only that you needed air. The weight of the morning, of last night, of everything had settled deep into your chest. It felt suffocating.

A few minutes passed before Sarah found you sitting by the water on the edge of the dock, knees pulled to your chest. She didn’t say anything right away, just sat down beside you, her presence a quiet comfort.

After a moment, she finally spoke. “You know you’re not alone, right?” Her voice was gentle, but there was something knowing behind it, something that made your throat tighten. “I know you love JJ, but… this isn’t healthy. It hasn’t been for a while.”

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your palms against your face. “I know.” The words barely made it out, but saying them felt like admitting something you weren’t ready to face.

Sarah didn’t push. She just let you sit with it.

Later, when you and JJ finally came back together, neither of you were ready to talk about what had happened. There were no apologies, no desperate attempts to fix things, just a mutual understanding that, for now, you both needed space.

And somehow, that felt even worse.

[bitchinbarzal]

Same Team | L Draisaitl

—

You were mad—borderline seething—and in hindsight, maybe you’d let your mouth run too far.

“I don’t care what the media says,” you snapped, arms crossed, pacing across the living room. “They act like you’re the only reason the team’s failing. Maybe if you actually stepped up—”

“Don’t,” Leon said quietly.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. But the low, controlled tone in his voice was enough to stop you cold.

You blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

He stepped closer, the calmness in his voice somehow more intimidating than if he’d shouted. His jaw was tight. His posture still.

“Not when you know what I put into this,” he said, eyes sharp. “Not when you’ve watched it.”

Your stomach dropped. “Leon, I didn’t mean—”

“You did.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Because he was right. You had meant it in the moment. You’d been hurt and angry and let the ugliest part of yourself take the wheel.

“You were angry,” he continued. “So you went for the lowest blow you could find. That’s not how this works. That’s not how we work.”

The silence after that was deafening. All the heat that had surged in your chest during the argument fizzled into shame.

“I’ve never disrespected you,” Leon said. “Even when I’m upset. Even when I’m frustrated. I don’t talk to you like that. I don’t make you feel small.”

You swallowed hard. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” he said, and somehow, it made it worse. “But I’m not going to stay in something where I’m disrespected.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a line in the sand.

Your eyes welled up. “Leon…”

“I’m serious,” he said, softer now, but still unwavering. “You don’t talk to me like that. Not ever again.”

You reached for him—slow, cautious. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into it either. He let you touch him, let you apologize with your silence, your tears.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he murmured. “But you do have to be kind.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room. Not out of the apartment—but out of your space. And that hurt more than if he’d slammed the front door behind him.

You didn’t sleep.

You tried. God, you tried. But the bed was too cold without him, and your own thoughts too loud to ignore. You spent the night curled toward his side of the bed, wrapped in his hoodie, replaying every awful word you’d said.

He’d been right. About everything.

And you hated yourself for how easily you’d let your anger become a weapon.

The apartment was quiet when you padded out the next morning. Quiet in the way that meant things were still broken.

Leon stood at the stove, pouring coffee like it was just any other day. He didn’t look up when you entered, but he grabbed your favorite mug and set it on the counter beside his.

Not close. Not far. Just there.

You stepped forward, slow and cautious. “Morning,” you said quietly.

Leon didn’t speak right away. Just sipped from his own cup, eyes fixed out the window.

“I’m sorry,” you said, this time with your whole chest. “I was cruel. I was frustrated and I took it out on you, and that’s not fair. That’s not who I want to be.”

He turned slightly to look at you, face unreadable. “You really hurt me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s what kills me.”

He finally turned to face you fully, mug in his hand. “I meant what I said last night.”

“I know,” you repeated. “And I heard you. I promise, Leon, I did. I would never want to make you feel disrespected—especially not by me. I was angry and scared and you’ve always been the one person I could push and know you wouldn’t leave. And that’s… that’s not love. That’s selfish.”

Leon’s expression shifted, just barely. A flicker of emotion behind the tiredness in his eyes.

“You don’t get to test me like that,” he said, calm but firm. “I’ve seen what it’s like to be taken for granted. I’m not going to let it happen again.”

“I understand,” you said. “I really do. And I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

There was a long pause. Then he sighed, slowly, and set his mug down.

He crossed the kitchen until he was in front of you. His hands found your waist—tentative, then steady.

“I know people have hurt you before,” he said softly. “I know you get scared. But I’m not your past. And I’m not the enemy.”

“You’re the person I love more than anything,” you whispered.

He nodded. “Then let’s fight the world. Not each other.”

You launched into his arms, wrapping yourself around him as tight as you could. He held you just as fiercely, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other smoothing circles into your back.

“I hate sleeping without you,” you mumbled.

“I hate going to sleep angry,” he said, pressing his lips to your hair.

You leaned back just enough to see his face. “Can we be okay again?”

Leon brushed a thumb over your cheek, eyes full of something softer now. Something still bruised, but healing. “We’re always gonna have hard moments. But I’m not going anywhere—as long as we remember we’re on the same team.”

You smiled, watery and fragile. “Same team.”

And when he kissed you—slow, deep, forgiving—it felt like coming home.

[xo-myloves]

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝕊𝕌𝕄𝕄𝔸ℝ𝕐: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚡𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚜༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

“I’ll do it… I’ll be a gentleman all that bullshit.”

His words hit me, he has to be bullshiting… right? No fucking way he would put aside groupies, whores, free SEX away for me, I wouldn’t fucking take that offer.

He looked me dead in the eye with pure honesty, I still physically couldn’t believe his bullshit, his hand was still on my thigh, just savoring this pure moment, I stood up immediately getting away from his grasp, not letting myself fall for this stupid shit.

We called it a early night, that statement was left in the air, letting the night go on, falling asleep well at least trying to, I kept my distance the whole night, but he couldn’t be serious… no fucking way.

The hotel room was quiet, but your mind was anything but.

You lay on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the steady sound of Axl’s breathing beside you. He was asleep, sprawled out like he owned the place, his red hair a mess against the pillows, lips parted just slightly.

You should have felt satisfied. After all, last night had been wild—he had taken you apart piece by piece, whispered things in your ear that still made your skin burn. But now, in the morning light, all of it felt… temporary.

Because that’s all you were to him, right? Temporary.

You sighed, rolling onto your side, your fingers trailing lightly across his arm. He was too good at this—too good at making you feel like you were the only one, like you meant something. But you’d seen the girls before you, and you knew there’d be more after you.

Axl fucking Rose wasn’t a man who settled down.

A sharp pang twisted in your chest.

You should leave before he woke up. Before you got in too deep.

Before you started believing in something that wasn’t real.

Slowly, you slipped out from under the sheets, grabbing your clothes off the floor as quietly as you could. But before you could take a step toward the door—

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

His voice was rough with sleep, but there was a sharp edge underneath.

You froze.

“I—” You swallowed hard, gripping your shirt in your hands. “I was just gonna—”

“Leave?” Axl sat up, his piercing eyes locking onto you. “After last night?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, Axl. After last night. That’s kinda how this works, right?”

His brows furrowed, irritation flashing across his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, looking away. “Don’t play dumb. You don’t do relationships, Axl. You don’t commit. I’m just another girl in your bed, and I’d rather leave before I start pretending that’s not true.”

Silence.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, jaw tight, expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he threw back the sheets and got out of bed.

You tried not to look—tried not to get distracted by the way his bare chest flexed as he moved, the deep scratches you’d left down his back.

But then, suddenly, he was right in front of you, his hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“You think I don’t give a shit about you?” His voice was low, almost dangerous.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let your emotions show. “I think you care as long as I’m in your bed. That’s not the same thing.”

His grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes were burning now, wild and unreadable.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped even lower. “You’re not just some random girl to me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Then what am I, Axl?”

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. “Mine.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Axl—”

“I don’t fucking share,” he growled, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You think I’d let you just walk out like none of this meant anything? You think I’d spend my nights with someone who didn’t matter?”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. “I—I don’t know.”

“Well, I do.” He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “And I’m gonna make sure you do too.”

Before you could respond, he was kissing you—hard. His hands gripped your hips, pushing you back against the wall, his body pressed against yours in a way that left no room for doubt.

This wasn’t just a hookup.

This wasn’t just anyone.

This was Axl fucking Rose, and he wanted you.

Not just for a night.

Not just for a thrill.

For real.

And as his lips trailed down your neck, his voice low and rough against your skin—

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

—You finally believed him.

[piftamere]

sixteen - covering my ears (wc : 972)

she's strolling through the aisles of the convenience store, her head pounding from one drink too many last night. she has pieces to finish for her exhibit in two weeks, pieces she promised herself she’d work on today, but the thought of picking up a brush right now feels impossible. she’s on a mission to find taiyaki to cure her hangover, but she’s walked the store front and back three times and still hasn’t found it. she’s about to give up when she feels a light tap on her shoulder. she jumps, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. she silently curses the gods above before turning around to discover… atsumu's mom.

“hi sweetheart!” mrs. miya greets her, her voice warm but just a tad too loud for yn’s hungover brain to handle. “fancy running into you here!”

she blinks, rubbing the sleep, or lack thereof, out of her eyes to make sure she’s not hallucinating.

“mrs. miya? hi. yeah… small world.”

“small town.” mrs. miya corrects with a smile. “you look tired, dear. late night?

yn hesitates, “something like that. just... overdid it a little.”

“ah, to be young. and recovering with snacks, i see,” mrs. miya teases, eyeing the chips and energy drinks in the girl’s basket.

yn laughs awkwardly, “yeah, it’s a science. how are you?”

“great!” she chirps, but then pauses, it’s clear she’s dying to say something. “listen, i don’t want to overstep but… did you and tsumu have a fight? he’s been really down lately, and he changes the subject whenever i ask about you.”

yn freezes, the guilt suddenly hitting her like a truck. she uncomfortably shifts her weight on her feet, staring at her hands like a kid in trouble. “kinda.”

“i’m sorry to hear it. do you mind me asking what happened?”

yn swallows hard, unsure of what to say. she glances up at her and something about the woman’s reassuring presence cracks her defenses. she doesn’t know why, but she starts talking.

“it’s been a rough few weeks…” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

mrs. miya reaches out and places a soothing hand on yn’s shoulder. “are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?”

a lump forms in yn’s throat. she tries to shake it off but ends up letting out a shaky sigh instead. “i didn’t mean to… hurt him.”

“i‘m sure you didn’t, dear,” she replies, her voice kind as ever, holding back her questions to not sound too nosy. “sometimes life just gets messy, but talking to your mom always has a way of making things better.”

yn hesitates for a moment before the words slip out, “i’m not exactly close with my mother.”

they've never been close, and yet, in moments like these she can't help but want her mother. who she could have been, who she should have been. and it's frustrating because she knows that she shouldn't, that she doesn't have any reasons to want her, to love her, to want her mother to love her, in fact she has every reason not to. she knows that she's doing so much better without her in her life. but when something goes wrong, there's this small, childlike voice in her head that wishes she had a mom. she wishes her brain could accept that she'll never have that. and she feels like she'll be perpetually grieving the loss of her mother, the loss of the relationship with her mother, even though she is still alive.

“oh honey, why’s that?”

she takes a deep breath, her fingers gripping tightly the handle of her basket. her gaze drops to the floor as she feels her eyes sting, tears brimming in the corners. “it’s just- she always made me feel like i wasn’t good enough, no matter how hard i tried.” her voice falters. she leaves out on purpose her mother’s complicated relationship with alcohol, and her tendency for cruelty, not wanting to burden mrs. miya too much.

“family can be complicated,” she continues, gently, so kindly that yn’s not sure she deserves it. “not everyone is meant to be a mother, and not every mother knows how to show love the way their child needs.”

she mumbles, looking down, embarrassed. “i don’t know why i’m telling you all this.”

mrs. miya replies with a warm smile, “because you need someone to tell.”

yn lets out a small laugh, wiping her eyes quickly before anyone else in the store notices. “you’re really nice.”

“i’ve made my share of mistakes, dear. i try to learn from them. and i think you’re doing the best you can.”

“it doesn’t feel like enough.” the words tumble out before she can stop them. she shrugs, trying to mask the ache in her chest. she feels like she keeps messing up, and everyone around her is bound to realize that she’s a burden too heavy to carry for long. they have every right to be pissed at her, and she’s not sure why they keep putting up with her. and atsumu, there’s no way he’d want anything to do with her if he knew the truth. she feels cornered, by her actions, her lies, and the weight of it all is becoming far too much for her.

mrs. miya studies her for a moment before speaking. “sometimes it won’t be, but that doesn’t mean you stop trying.”

yn hesitates, taking in what the woman just told her, but doubt still lingers. “do you think i should talk to him?”

“that’s up to you, dear. but if you think there’s something worth fixing, don’t let fear stop you.”

yn’s shoulders relax a little and she nods, “thank you.”

“anytime. and get some rest, these energy drinks can only do so much.”

yn laughs a little, waving at mrs. miya as she heads off to the next aisle.

fun facts

hinata was the one who suggested staging an intervention

yn's been spending most of her time at her studio painting, at least she's more inspired than ever

she felt awful after seeing atsumu's mom and it brought back the guilt she had been trying to ignore

kiyoko doesn't care about the gc but she's worried that yn won't forgive her for her words

she thinks noya's plan won't work but she's at a loss for what to do

actually, noya is the only one who thinks his plan's gonna work

yachi's already written her apology for when yn finds out and kageyama is planning on buying her drinks to earn her forgiveness

author's note

before this i didn't know what "armchair psychology" was, who knew writing fanfiction would be bettering my english

the written part was supposed to be much shorter but i got too self indulgent oops

next part is going to be eventful eheh and we're getting close to the end👀👀

play dumb! - next

taglist : open!

@alpha-mommy69 @bakugouswh0r3 @giocriedpower @itsdragonius @haechansbbg @wondipity @iaminyourfloors @na0koz @from-mae @eusaevi @kr1nqu @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @thechaosoflonging @littlemiyastars @seikamuzu @nymphsdomain @r4veeen @shesabeeler @meekydeeks @justanotherweeb666 @bxbygurlisa @lvtilzs @fi-chanwrites

if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Blood/injuries, mild gore, accidental reveal of secret identity, emotional vulnerability, guilt, angst, light hurt/comfort.

Summary → After weeks of silence and emotional distance, a bloodied and exhausted Peter accidentally stumbles into your apartment—revealing a secret that changes everything.

Masterlist

Peter could barely keep his eyes open as he swung through the city, his body aching from the rough patrol. Every muscle screamed in protest, his ribs felt bruised, and the cut on his lip hadn’t stopped bleeding since his last fight. Tonight had been particularly brutal—dealing with a gang war in Hell’s Kitchen was no small task, even for Spider-Man. All he wanted now was to collapse into his tiny bed and sleep for a week.

Reaching his building, Peter clung to the side of the wall, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before slipping through the open window of what he thought was his apartment. In his sleepy haze, he didn’t notice the subtle differences around him. The place was dark, unfamiliar, but Peter’s mind was too foggy to register anything out of the ordinary.

He landed on the floor with a soft thud, immediately pulling off his mask and wiping the sweat from his brow. His face was a mess—dried blood, bruises, and that stubborn black eye that was swelling shut. His torn suit was sticking to the bloody gash on his side. Groaning softly, he leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath, oblivious to the fact that this wasn’t his apartment.

Suddenly, the lights flicked on, and Peter squinted, blinded by the sudden brightness. Before he could even react, he heard a sharp gasp. He looked up, and there you were, standing in the middle of the room, your eyes wide as saucers.

Your heart stopped. There, in front of you, was Spider-Man—without his mask. And it wasn’t just anyone’s face behind that mask. It was Peter Parker. The guy who had been avoiding you for weeks, the same guy who had brushed you off rudely at his door. And now, here he was, battered and bloody, wearing his Spider-Man suit, looking just as shocked as you felt.

You opened your mouth to scream in pure panic, but before the sound could escape, Peter shot a web directly at you, pulling you into his arms. “No, no, no! Please don’t scream!” He whispered urgently, his voice low and desperate. His grip on you was gentle but firm as he held you close, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the adrenaline. "Please, just... don’t."

Your heart raced as you stared up at him, your mind spinning. You were pressed against his chest, the scent of blood and sweat filling your senses. Peter was panicking, but you were too. Peter is Spider-Man. Your brain kept repeating it, but none of it made sense.

“Peter—” you whispered, your voice shaky. “What—how—?”

“I can explain,” Peter said, wincing as he shifted his weight. “But please… just… don’t freak out, okay? I didn’t mean to come in here. I thought—” He groaned, clutching his side where the blood was starting to seep through his suit again. His head was spinning, and he could barely keep himself upright.

You blinked rapidly, trying to focus. This is real. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And he was hurt. Badly. You finally managed to pull yourself together enough to nod, your hands shaking as you rested them on his arms. "You're hurt."

Peter released a shaky breath, loosening his grip on you. "Yeah… I, um… had a rough night," he mumbled, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. "I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t even realize this wasn’t my apartment."

Your mind was still reeling, but when you saw the pain etched across his face, the instinct to help kicked in. "Y-You need help," you whispered, glancing at his torn suit and the blood pooling on the floor. "You’re bleeding."

Peter nodded, swallowing hard. "I… I don’t have anyone else to ask. Can you… help me? Please?"

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice. You had no idea what was going on, but you couldn't just leave him like this. Nodding again, you quickly moved to grab the first aid kit you kept in your bathroom. You returned to find Peter slowly peeling off the top of his suit, his movements sluggish and pained. When he finally managed to get it off, he was left in just his boxers, slumped against your bed, breathing heavily.

You knelt beside him, your hands trembling slightly as you opened the kit. The sight of his bruised torso and the deep gash on his side made your stomach churn. “This is going to hurt,” you whispered softly, pulling out the rubbing alcohol.

Peter gave a weak smile, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve had worse."

You poured the alcohol onto a clean cloth and pressed it gently against the wound. Peter hissed in pain, his hand gripping the edge of the bed tightly, knuckles white. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, trying to be as gentle as possible, but his winces didn’t go unnoticed.

“S’okay,” Peter mumbled, his voice strained. “Just do what you have to do.”

You worked quietly, disinfecting the wound, and stitching it up with shaking hands. Every time you tugged the needle through his skin, Peter’s body tensed, a small grunt of pain escaping his lips. He bit down on his lip, trying to stay quiet, but you could see how much it hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, feeling terrible for causing him more pain, even though you knew it was necessary.

Peter managed a weak smile. “You’re helping. It’s okay,” he said softly, though his voice was thick with exhaustion. “Better you than… someone else.”

After what felt like hours but was only minutes, you finished bandaging him up. Peter leaned back, his head resting against the bed frame, his breathing labored but more even now that the worst was over. His body was still trembling slightly from the pain, but he seemed calmer.

You sat back on your heels, wiping your hands on a towel. "You should really go to a hospital."

Peter shook his head immediately, wincing at the movement. "No hospitals. Too risky." He glanced at you, his expression softening. "Thank you... for doing this. I’m sorry for... everything."

You furrowed your brows. "What do you mean?"

Peter sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “For how I treated you… when we first met. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I just… I can’t let people get close to me. It’s… dangerous.” His voice cracked, and you could see the weight of everything he carried behind his eyes. "I've lost people before... people I loved. I can't—" He swallowed hard, his gaze falling to the floor. "I can't do that again."

You stared at him, your mind processing everything. "I don’t understand all of it," you admitted quietly. "But I get that you’re trying to protect yourself. And… others."

Peter nodded, his eyes filled with exhaustion and guilt. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry. For everything."

You stayed silent, not knowing what to say, but you didn’t need to. Peter’s expression said it all. This wasn’t just about you—it was about everyone he had lost, everything he had sacrificed to be Spider-Man.

In that moment, you didn’t question him. You just sat there with him, offering the only thing you could: your quiet understanding.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗