#i might not answer right away but i love getting asks

[bewitched-hours]

haii can I request Mafioso x bunny hybrid reader who basically can be a healer and a sentinels at the same time? I like to think that gubby thinks that the reader is like them (because they're both a bunny) also the reader pronouns is they/them btw 🐰🐇

OOOO I love that! And the love for Gubby is honestly adorable, we all love Gubby ◕⩊◕

But yeah, reader's pronouns are they/them kek-

You were a surprise to the other survivors.

You looked like a perfect mix between a bunny and a Robloxian.

This on its own wouldn't usually be that much of an issue but what was shocking was your ability to be both a healer and a sentinel.

You'd heal them right after stunning a killer and while they were grateful, you were a mystery to behold.

Especially with your build not looking so tough to begin with.

You were taller, sure. But you looked more like a stretched bunny. Able to eat for days but with arms that didn't show much muscle to them in comparison.

Most killers found you annoying. You were like Elliot but with the ability to stop them dead in their tracks and it made chases with you more infuriating.

At least you couldn't heal yourself to balance that out a bit.

But Mafioso? You reminded him of Gubby in a way. The white fur and your more instinctive behaviours certainly didn't help your case against him and he caught himself sometimes leaving you as LMS intentionally just to watch your reactions to when you were cornered without hope.

But when you weren't left on your own? You had quite the sassy mouth against the killers. And over time you even gathered courage to speak up on your own as well.

Were the other survivors encouraging you? Or maybe the endless dances of life and death you were stuck in were starting to seem more dull over time?

Whatever it was about you, the killer was strangely interested in learning more about you.

All that lead to this round. He had brought Gubby along as bait for you and when you were unknowingly the LMS, Gubby did as told and lead you to a couple generators to build trust.

Gubby seemed especially interested in you, believing you two were almost one and the same species. Just with you being more Robloxian.

But upon getting to the last generator, Mafioso had been waiting there for you. You could only watch in horror and realization as Gubby carelessly hopped into his arms. You fell for the bait hook-line-sinker.

You didn't immediately stun him. You needed him to get away from the generator. And he knew this very well.

Which is probably why he refused to move.

"Caught ya, little bunny." His voice was eerily calm, making your ears twitch. You were trying to prepare for anything he might throw at you but hearing Gubby squeak at you kept dragging your attention back towards them both.

For now, it seemed you were both just waiting out the timer... It seemed...

Although you tried to convince him to leave the generator, it was clear he saw right through your words. And he kept trying to talk to you as though you were interesting which just confused you.

The round was slowly coming to an end though... And you had more questions than ever at this point before suddenly popping back up at the cabin with a small note stuffed into your hand.

'Meet us in the middle' ... How ominous.

The other survivors were just as confused as you, asking questions and leaving little room for you to answer but what you didn't tell them was that you fully intended to go.

'The middle' was likely referencing the middle of the map. And you needed answers.

But you waited for the next round, checking that you and Mafioso wouldn't be picked before heading out.

You weren't even sure where the middle was. No one knew where or how far the killer cabin was so it was hard to tell how big the map really was. You made sure to be careful though. You didn't need to overestimate it and land right in front of the killer cabin on accident nor underestimate and end up being nowhere near the middle.

But you were luckily not the only one it seemed.

Mafioso appeared out of the darkness ahead, smirking at your appearance with Gubby perched on his shoulder. You couldn't help but chuckle a bit when you noticed he dressed Gubby up to look like him. You didn't take Mafioso for a guy who enjoys dressing up animals.

He seemed more lighthearted outside of rounds, chuckling with you and promptly setting Gubby onto your head. It was cute how much the little thing squealed with curiosity and joy. You were just trying to make sure the little guy wouldn't fall down.

And unbeknownst to you, it brought a smile to Mafioso's face. A genuine one.

This became sort of a habit you kept secret. You'd claim you were just going out to take a stroll and would be safe from the killers but really, you were meeting one of them to see Gubby and have conversations about your lives before this realm. It was surprisingly casual and friendly...

"If we ever get out, how about a coffee?" He suggested, earning your typical "Is that a date?" before the two of you just agreed you'd find each other again.

Like an unspoken promise between lovers... You would be on the lookout...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Wingman For Life

bradley bradshaw x fem!mitchell!reader

Call Sign: Ghost

The door to the hangar slammed shut behind her with a sharp clack, but Ghost didn���t even flinch. She was too busy walking like she didn’t just spend the last twelve minutes kissing Rooster behind the fuel rig.

“Where were you?” Phoenix asked, not even looking up from the maintenance checklist in her hand.

“Bathroom.”

“With your hair messed up like that?” Payback snorted. “C’mon, Ghost. You might be stealth in the sky, but you ain’t stealth in love.”

Ghost glanced down at her flyaway strands and bit back a grin. Rooster always did that — buried his fingers in her hair like he wanted to memorize it. She smoothed it down quickly.

“Bathroom,” she repeated flatly.

Phoenix finally looked up. “You know your dad’s gonna find out eventually, right?”

Ghost just rolled her eyes. “Not if we don’t tell him.”

“Not if you don’t tell him,” Hangman corrected as he walked by. “The rest of us are just counting down to the explosion.”

⸻

Ten Hours Earlier

It was nearly midnight when she slipped out the back door of Maverick’s little beach house. The porch light flickered twice — the secret signal. Rooster had gotten lazy about it lately. She told him he was going to get them caught.

“I don’t care anymore,” he’d whispered last week, cupping her face in his hands like she was some precious thing. “I hate pretending you’re not mine.”

But pretending was easier than facing Maverick’s silence. Easier than disappointing the only parent who ever mattered.

So she’d kept sneaking out — into his Bronco, into his bed, into his heart, again and again.

Tonight, they didn’t drive. He was already leaning against the porch rail when she came out, hair a mess, hoodie zipped halfway, the sleeves pushed up to show his tanned forearms.

Her weakness.

“Took you long enough,” he teased, pulling her into his arms.

“My dad’s still up.”

“I heard. He almost caught me walking up.”

“Bradley!”

He just laughed, holding her tighter. “Relax, Ghost. He’s not gonna kill me.”

“He will if he finds out I’ve been climbing out the back door like I’m sixteen.”

“You kinda act like it,” he smirked.

She smacked his chest, but he caught her hand before she could pull away. “Hey,” he said softly, “I’m serious. We’ve been doing this for almost a year. He’s gotta know by now.”

She looked down, heart thudding. “But knowing and seeing are two different things.”

Rooster leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “He’s not gonna hate me forever.”

“I don’t think he hates you,” she whispered. “I think he’s just scared.”

“Of what?”

She didn’t answer.

He already knew.

⸻

Back to Present Day

Ghost was running post-flight diagnostics when she felt him — like always. She didn’t have to turn around to know Rooster was watching her from across the hangar. She could feel his gaze, hot and steady, like the sun through a cockpit window.

He walked up behind her under the pretense of checking the flight logs.

“Nice landing,” he said quietly.

“You almost clipped the tarmac,” she muttered.

He grinned. “You noticed.”

“I always notice when you’re being cocky.”

“I’m always cocky.”

She bit back a smile. “Exactly.”

He leaned in a little closer. “You coming over tonight?”

“My dad’s off tomorrow,” she said. “He’ll be home late.”

Rooster’s eyes sparkled. “So you’re saying… back door at 2300?”

“I’m saying—” she started, but then a voice barked from behind them.

“Ghost.”

They both straightened like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Maverick.

She turned slowly. “Yeah?”

Maverick stood ten feet away, arms crossed, aviators on even though they were inside. Classic.

“Debrief in ten,” he said. Then, without looking at Rooster: “Alone.”

Rooster cleared his throat. “Copy that, sir.”

Maverick didn’t even acknowledge him. Just turned and walked away.

Ghost sighed. “That’s new.”

Rooster shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s not even trying to pretend he doesn’t hate me now.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Rooster gave her a look.

“He doesn’t,” she insisted. “He just… has to protect me.”

“From what?” he asked. “From being happy?”

“From losing me,” she whispered.

Rooster softened instantly.

“I’m not your dad,” she added. “I’m not going to leave someone I love because the sky is calling.”

He stepped closer. “You love me?”

She blinked.

He grinned. “You said you love me.”

“I said it hypothetically—”

“Nope. I heard it. Loud and clear. Ghost loves me.”

She shoved him away, blushing. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She did — behind the wing of her jet, hands in his hair, mouth against his like the whole world was quiet.

⸻

Later That Night

Maverick stood in the hallway outside her room. He watched the porch light flicker once, then twice.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t say anything.

Just watched her go.

And whispered, so quietly even the walls wouldn’t remember:

“You better be worth it, Bradshaw.”

———

(2 days later)

She should’ve known it was too quiet.

She stepped into the kitchen in a hoodie and shorts, hair still damp from her morning shower, expecting an empty room and maybe half a leftover donut if Rooster hadn’t raided the box last night.

Instead, her father was standing at the counter. Coffee mug in hand. Reading glasses on. Waiting.

She froze like a kid who’d snuck in past curfew.

Maverick didn’t look up. “Sleep okay?”

“Fine.”

“You?”

“Fine.”

He finally raised his eyes to meet hers. “You were out late.”

She didn’t flinch. “So were you.”

Touché.

He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. The air between them stretched thin.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked softly.

Her stomach dropped. Her hands went cold.

She tried to buy time. “About what?”

“About where you’ve been. Who you’ve been with.”

Beat.

His voice lowered, dangerous now:

“Who’s been sneaking into my house after midnight.”

Her heart thudded. He knew. He knew.

“I—” she started.

“Save it,” Maverick said sharply. “I’m not stupid. You think I haven’t noticed the lights flickering? The quiet footsteps past my door? The Bronco that disappears before sunrise?”

She looked down, ashamed. “I was going to tell you.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When I wasn’t afraid you’d blow it all up.”

Maverick’s jaw clenched. “You’re my daughter.”

“I’m also an adult.”

“You’re my kid. My only family. And you’re sneaking around with—”

“Don’t,” she said, voice trembling. “Don’t say it like he’s just some guy.”

“He’s not just some guy,” Maverick snapped. “He’s an aviator. He’s exactlythe kind of man I never wanted for you.”

“But you raised me in this world. You taught me to fly. You made me love the sky—”

“Because I didn’t want you to love someone who would leave you for it.”

Silence.

Dead, aching silence.

She stared at him, chest heaving. “So what, Dad? You’d rather I be alone forever than risk being happy?”

“I’d rather you live.”

“I am living.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I’m in love.”

The words hung in the air like gunpowder.

Maverick blinked, and for the first time, he looked unsure. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve been serious,” she whispered.

He exhaled, pacing now. “You could have anyone. A doctor, an engineer, hell, even a barista—”

“I don’t want a barista.”

“You want him?”

“I want Rooster.”

Maverick rubbed his face like he was exhausted. “Do you even know what this life costs?”

She looked at him steadily. “You do. And you still chose it.”

“I lost everything for it.”

“And now you’d make me lose him too?”

He didn’t answer.

——

(Later That Day)

Rooster could feel it before she even opened her mouth — something had happened.

She walked up to him slowly after training, helmet under her arm, eyes glassy.

“You okay?”

She nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He knew better.

“Ghost…”

She exhaled and looked up at him. “He knows.”

Rooster froze.

“What’d he say?”

“That I’m playing with fire.”

Rooster swallowed. “Do you believe that?”

“No,” she said instantly. “Do you?”

He looked at her like she was gravity and he was the sky. “I believe you’re the only thing that’s ever made me want to land somewhere.”

She let out a shaky breath and touched his chest. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

———

Maverick’s house… Rooster knocks

It was stupid, probably. But he couldn’t keep walking around like a ghost in her life. Not when he knew what she meant to him. Not when she’d stood up to her father for him.

Maverick opened the door slowly.

“I didn’t come to fight,” Rooster said.

Maverick stared.

“I love her,” Rooster said. “I’ve loved her for a long time.”

Nothing.

“I didn’t want to sneak around. I wanted to tell you from the start. But she was scared.”

“She had every right to be,” Maverick said quietly.

Rooster nodded. “I know.”

Long pause.

Then:

“She’s the best thing I’ve ever had,” Rooster said, voice cracking. “I don’t want to hurt her. I want to build with her. I want her in every part of my life.”

Maverick didn’t answer.

Rooster turned to leave, heart in his throat.

But then, softly:

“If you break her heart,” Maverick said, “you better pray the Navy finds you before I do.”

Rooster turned back slowly.

Maverick wasn’t smiling.

“But if you love her the way you say you do… then I’ll try.”

Rooster blinked. “You will?”

Maverick nodded once. “I’ll try.”

———

( 4 Months Later)

Rooster and Maverick taxi down the runway after a two-plane training run. The sky is impossibly blue. The silence in the post-flight hangar is thick.

Rooster knows he has to do this now or he never will.

They step out of the jets, flight suits half-unzipped, dust clinging to everything. Maverick pulls off his gloves, waiting for Rooster to speak. He can feel it — the tension, the unspoken question. And Rooster’s been different all day. Nervous. Too careful.

Maverick finally breaks the silence. “You gonna say what you dragged me out here to say?”

Rooster exhales.

“I want to marry her.”

Maverick looks at him like he’s just heard enemy radar lock.

“I figured,” he mutters.

“She’s everything to me,” Rooster says. “You know that.”

“I know what this life can do to people who get left behind.”

Rooster steps forward. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I’ll fight every goddamn day not to.”

Maverick stares at him. There’s no yelling. No threats. Just the quiet pain of a man who knows what it means to lose.

“You know what you’re asking me to do?” Maverick says. “You’re asking me to let her go.”

“I’m not asking you to lose her. I’m asking you to share her.”

Maverick’s jaw tightens. “I’ve been the only man in her life since she was born. I held her when she couldn’t sleep. I patched her up after every scraped knee. She calls me when she’s scared.”

“I know,” Rooster says quietly. “And when she says yes to me… she’s not replacing you. She’s building something new with me. But you’ll always be home.”

Silence.

Maverick stares off into the desert, the sun catching the silver at his temples. Then he reaches into his flight suit and pulls out something small — a dog tag.

“Her mom gave this to me when she was born. Said one day, I’d pass it to the man who’d take care of her.”

He drops it in Rooster’s palm.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Rooster’s voice breaks. “I won’t.”

Maverick finally, finally smiles — small and sad and proud all at once.

“You have my permission.”

———

(WEDDING DAYYYYY)

Phoenix helps zip up her dress. Ghost stares at herself in the mirror, overwhelmed. Not because of the gown, or the flowers, or the hundreds of tiny details. But because this day should’ve never worked.

Bradley waiting at the end of the aisle? That shouldn’t have been possible. Maverick giving his blessing? Even less likely.

Yet here she was.

Phoenix squeezes her hand.

“He’s gonna lose it when he sees you.”

Ghost snorts. “He cried at a detergent commercial last week. He’s a goner.”

They both laugh. But Ghost still pauses before leaving the room.

“I just wish Mom was here.”

Phoenix cups her face gently. “She is. In every step, every breath, every beat of your heart.”

And Ghost whispers:

“Then I hope she sees how happy I am.”

The sun paints the ocean gold. The Dagger Squad stands in dress whites, with Jake surprisingly looking respectable as best man. Maverick waits at the back of the aisle, his arm locked with Ghost’s. The second he sees her in that dress, something in him breaks wide open.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

He nods, blinking fast. “You look just like your mother did.”

When they reach the altar, Maverick kisses her cheek, holds Rooster’s eyes with a long, silent stare, and nods.

“Take care of her, kid.”

Rooster’s already crying.

Ghost speaks first.

“There’s no part of me that doesn’t love you. Even the broken parts. Especially the broken parts. You see every side of me and never flinch. You’ve flown beside me through storms I didn’t think I’d survive. I’ve never trusted someone with my life the way I trust you with my heart.”

Rooster wipes his face with a trembling hand.

“I didn’t believe in fate until you. You’re the call sign I never earned but somehow deserved. I want every deployment, every flight, every sunrise to be with you waiting for me to land. You are my forever wingman.”

The officiant barely makes it through the pronouncement before they’re kissing.

————

Everyone’s had a few drinks. Maverick’s smiling for the first time in weeks. Ghost is sitting in Rooster’s lap, glowing, champagne in hand. Hangman stands to toast.

It starts okay. Respectable. Touching, even.

“When Rooster told me he was dating Mav’s daughter, I said, ‘You’ve got bigger balls than brains.’”

Everyone laughs.

Then he keeps going.

“But hey, turns out, he just couldn’t resist the cockpit privileges, am I right?”

Silence.

Dead. Silence.

Ghost chokes on her drink.

Rooster’s eyes go wide.

Maverick stands.

“Oh hell no.”

Jake: “Wait, wait, Mav—bro—I was kidding!”

Maverick starts storming toward him like he’s gonna reenact a dogfight with fists.

Bob, Payback, and Fanboy IMMEDIATELY leap up to intercept.

Bob: “Captain! Sir! Let’s breathe!”

Fanboy: “He’s an idiot, but unarmed!”

Payback: “You wanna go back to prison or cut the cake?!”

Jake’s hiding behind the cake table now. “IT WAS A COMPLIMENT!”

Ghost just leans into Rooster, wheezing from laughter. “God, I love our dysfunctional little squad.”

Rooster kisses her forehead. “You married into it, sweetheart.”

————

The plane lands in Naples mid-morning. Rooster’s hand hasn’t left hers since they boarded in San Diego. The second they step off the jet, the Italian summer air wraps around them like a warm blessing.

Their driver winds them through coastal cliffs toward Positano — where pastel villas cling to the mountainside and the ocean stretches out like sapphire glass.

Ghost is practically hanging out the window, wide-eyed. “Bradley,” she whispers, “are we in a postcard?”

He squeezes her hand. “You said you wanted magic.”

Their villa is secluded, hidden behind olive trees and stone walls. It has a private terrace, infinity pool, and a view of the Tyrrhenian Sea that looks painted.

As the sun sets that first night, she steps out onto the balcony in a white linen dress and no shoes. Rooster’s waiting, two glasses of wine in hand. His eyes trail over her slowly.

“Mrs. Bradshaw,” he murmurs, “you’re gonna make me forget we have dinner reservations.”

She grins. “Who said we’re leaving this balcony?”

Day 2: They rent a Vespa. She makes him stop every five minutes so she can take pictures of flower-covered balconies and little cats sunning themselves on warm bricks. He teases her until she threatens to drive.

Day 4: They take a private boat out to Capri. She jumps in first, shrieking from the cold. He follows, holding her close as they float together, the sun turning the water gold.

Day 6: They get lost wandering through lemon groves. They kiss under the trees. He picks one, tries to bite into it like an apple, immediately regrets it. She laughs so hard she falls over.

Day 8: Rain. Gentle, steady, all day. They stay in. She reads aloud from a battered poetry book in bed while he sketches little doodles on her arm with his fingers.

Day 10: Dinner in Ravello. A string quartet. Candles flickering. She’s in a silky dress, and he can’t take his eyes off her. At one point he leans in and says, voice barely above a breath:

“You know I’d marry you a thousand times, right?”

She smiles slowly, tears in her eyes.

“I’d say yes a thousand more.”

Their last night is quiet. The sea murmurs against the cliffs below. They’re on the rooftop, wrapped in a blanket, watching the stars.

Rooster brushes her hair from her face. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

She shifts against him. “We can’t. But we get forever anywhere we are.”

There’s a pause. Then he asks:

“What do you see when you think of forever?”

Ghost turns to face him. She hesitates.

“A house. Dogs. Maybe a little pilot running around in a flight suit three sizes too big.”

He grins. “That sounds like chaos.”

“That sounds like us.”

————

The tan lines are fading, but the memories haven’t. Their wedding bouquet, now dried and hanging in a glass case Maverick helped them mount, still carries the scent of Amalfi lemon and salt air. Italy lives in little pieces around their home — a magnet on the fridge, a hand-painted dish they keep their keys in, photos thumbtacked to her vanity mirror.

The days are warm and soft, a slow rhythm of post-deployment domestic bliss.

Rooster makes her coffee every morning before her desk shift.

Ghost laughs too hard at his half-burned pasta experiments.

And Maverick — begrudgingly — is adjusting. He even gave Rooster his own key to the house last week. (“Don’t lose it. And don’t wake her up before 0600 ever again.”)

It’s perfect. Unshaken. Peaceful.

Until one morning, about eight weeks after the honeymoon…

Ghost is brushing her teeth when she suddenly doubles over the sink, gagging.

Rooster rushes in, worried. She waves him off. “I’m fine. Probably that gas station sushi you swore was ‘authentic.’”

But something shifts. Over the next few days, she gets tired faster. Her flight suit’s just a little tighter. She starts turning her nose up at coffee — coffee.

And then one morning, while Rooster’s on base early, she sits alone in the bathroom…

Staring down at two pink lines.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

She just sits there, heart pounding, hand trembling as it rests over her stomach.

And when she finally tells Maverick?

We’ll cut it right there.

Because nothing’s ever going to be the same.

———

Ghost paces the bathroom floor. The box lies open on the counter. The pregnancy test sits in her hand. Positive. Two solid pink lines. Two. She’s read the instructions three times, even Googled a few things just to be sure — but she knows.

She’s pregnant.

And she’s never been so scared and so calm in her life.

——

Rooster comes home around 1800. Still in his flight suit, hair windblown from a long day of drills. His grin fades slightly when he sees her waiting for him in the living room, not moving, just sitting still with both hands folded tightly in her lap.

“Everything okay?”

Ghost swallows. Nods. Then quietly, she stands. Walks up to him. Presses the test into his hand.

Rooster looks down. Then back up at her.

Then back down again.

“…Are you serious?”

She nods again, blinking fast. “I’m sorry if this is—”

He kisses her before she can finish. Hard. Desperate. Like he’s trying to anchor himself to this moment. His hand finds her belly — not even showing yet, not even close — but he rests his palm there like he’s already protecting someone.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” he breathes.

She laughs, breath catching. “Yeah.”

And that’s when he actually does tear up.

———

The Next Morning — Maverick’s House

They sit across from Maverick at the kitchen table. Ghost is unusually quiet, and Rooster keeps rubbing her thigh under the table like he’s the one who needs comforting.

Maverick narrows his eyes. “Alright. Either you’re being deployed to Mars or someone wrecked my motorcycle.”

Ghost straightens her shoulders. “We’re pregnant.”

Silence. Just for a second.

Then Maverick leans back, eyes wide.

“You’re serious.”

Rooster nods slowly. “Yeah, Mav. We’re serious.”

Maverick doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at his daughter. Something flickers in his expression — not fear, not anger — just a kind of stunned wonder.

And then:

“Holy shit. I’m gonna be a grandfather.”

He laughs. Actually laughs. Stands up. Walks around the table just to hug her tight, hand pressed gently between her shoulder blades like he’s afraid she’ll break. When he pulls back, he looks at Rooster.

“You better be ready.”

Rooster nods. “I will be.”

Maverick claps him on the back. Then turns to the both of them with a grin that makes him look twenty years younger.

“I’m gonna make the kid an aviator.”

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . I COULD NEVER HATE YOU

WARNINGS : ANGST. MANIPULATION. HURT NO COMFORT. and more?

you always come back when something’s wrong—after you upped and left right when you were better, not answering anyone.

it was like you only came back for the thrill of it—knowing you could get anything out of him if you gave him those big sad doe eyes. or if you stuck around long enough to whisper sweet words into his ears, knowing he couldn’t resist.

it doesn’t matter how long it’s been—three weeks, three months���your name always shows up on matt’s phone, like you never left. his heart always jumps before his brain can tell him to stop caring about you. before he can remind himself what happened the last time.

and the time before that.

and the time before that.

it was always “can i come over?”, “can you send me something for gas?”, “i just need a place to think, i promise i won’t stay long.”

it was never to text asking how he was or how he was doing. it was never to ask if he’d finally found himself someone or if he was sleeping okay at night. you never called.

it was never things he hoped you’d say.

and even though he knows he should say no to you every time—he can’t bring himself to. that’s not who he is. so instead he’ll give chance after chance, telling himself that one day you’ll change and maybe he’ll finally hear the words he wants to hear from you.

but you never change—it’s always the same—no matter how many times it’s happened.

and he always lets you.

matt doesn’t ever ask you questions about things. he doesn’t say, “why didn’t you text me?” or “how many times are you going to keep doing this?” he can’t ever bring himself to. maybe it’s because he cares for you—he does—or maybe it’s because he loves you.

so when you show up—he just hands you a hoodie and asks if you’ve eaten anything that day—every time.

he’ll let you crawl into his bed while he takes the floor.

he’ll give you money and never ask you when you’ll pay him back.

he’ll listen to you cry about other people who never showed up for you, like he isn’t sitting right there.

you never stopped for a moment to notice how tired he looked when you talk about people who aren’t him. never stopped to consider how draining it was for him to keep doing all of this—you never notice how much of him you take.

or maybe you do and it’s just easier to pretend you don’t.

the thing is—you’re not a bad person. you never did bad things—you were always so kind to everyone else around you. everyone portrayed you as an angel who just had a fun side.

you’re not a bad person—you’re just hurting.

and surely matt knew that with how opening and welcoming his arms always are for you, right?

you don’t mean to use him…you just—know that he’s safe. you know that he’ll answer. and you know that he’s not going anywhere, even if you do.

a lot of the time you seem to love him in the way people love blankets when they’re cold oddly enough—only when they’re cold and need something warm.

and then when you’re doing better, you vanish completely. no texting, calling, letters—nada.

you’d start going out again. posting again. and laughing at the things he doesn’t get to see. like you were mocking him—telling him he has to sit there and suffer while you go out and give all of your—his—happiness away to other people who aren’t him.

you don’t ever tell him when you’re leaving—you just up and leave and stop answering all together.

and matt? he never texts twice. he never wants to be the one who’s too much for you—because maybe too much of his love might just push you away for good. so he just watches your stories and double taps your selfies—because he’s still allowed to be proud of you, right?

not like he didn’t help pick you up off the floor two weeks ago. like you didn’t cry into his t-shirt at 2am and tell him, “i don’t know what I’d do without you.”

chris brings it up once to matt—he didn’t want to be too harsh to him about it. but he could see what was happening and didn’t like it. “do you ever think she only calls when she needs something?” he asked.

and matt just shrugs. “so?” but chris knew his brother better than that—could see the way matt’s expression wavered just the slightest when the thought of you using him came up.

so chris urged on. “so… maybe you should stop answering?” matt knew chris was right. that he shouldn’t answer your calls and texts when you needed his help. but every time he thought about it while laying in his bed at night—or even now. he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“she needs me.” matt replied back quietly, his gaze now avoiding his brother completely so he wouldn’t have to see the look on chris’ face. it wasn’t disappointment—he was just worried for matt’s health.

but chris doesn’t argue after that.

because everyone who knows matt—would know he would rather break his own heart than let you sit with yours alone with no one to hold you.

you text him again eventually and he just stares at your name, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, and for a second—just a second—he thinks about ignoring it. just to see what it feels like to not have to bear your weight in his shoulders anymore.

but he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t.

so when his fingers type “hey, are you okay?” in reply to your simple “hey.” he knows you’re not. and of course he still cares even after people have told him to not—his own heart even.

you’ll show up at his door, looking tired and cold. and beautiful to him, somehow.

you’ll smile at him like you didn’t disappear for months on end. like you didn’t take whatever was left of his heart and crush it into a million little pieces. like none of it ever happened.

he’ll step aside to let you inside—because no matter how many times you leave, no matter how much of him you take, and no matter how much it hurts—

he could never hate you.

even if he should and even if part of him wants to. and that part—soon enough it’ll grow stronger and bigger. big enough to finally let his finger click the block button on your contact. big enough to finally end it all.

but for now you’ll stay for a little while.

and you’ll get better.

and then you’ll go.

and matt will wait for the next time you fall apart. because that’s what you do. and that’s what he does.

it’s a never ending cycle—because he could never hate you.

a/n : more angst :)

[solrburst]

this' my girl — tommy miller x reader

����equest: “tommy miller x fem reader he like plays his guitar for her and like reader starts to get horny af watching him play and he’s like come here and he puts her on his lap and smut ensues 😇😩”

𝒮ummary: Watching Tommy Miller play his guitar on the porch does things to you—and by the time he’s done strumming, you’re in his lap, begging for more than music.

𝒲arnings: riding, light degradation, unprotected sex, praise & aftercare, dirty talk, tommy calls reader his girl!!, reader teases everyone, tommy loves it, age gap

𝒜uthor’s 𝒩ote: fuck yeah i love him

𝒲ord 𝒞ount: 4,7k

The sun had barely dipped below the treeline when Tommy picked up his guitar.

The day had been long—but the evening was calm, soft with the kind of golden hush that settled over the town like a warm blanket. You were on his porch now, arms draped over your knees, sipping lukewarm beer from a bottle and watching him tune each string with quiet focus.

He always looked like this when he played—half in the world, half somewhere else entirely. The porch creaked under his boot as he leaned back in the chair, one thigh lazily spread, fingers nimble over the strings. His brows furrowed slightly, not from frustration but from care, like he was coaxing something private from the guitar’s belly. A low, twangy chord shivered into the dusk air.

You didn’t mean to stare. But once you did, it was hard to stop.

The way his forearms flexed when he adjusted the tuning pegs. The line of his throat when he tilted his head, listening. The casual ease of him, shirt clinging to his back where the sweat from the day hadn’t dried yet, collar loose, a sliver of his collarbone showing through the open buttons.

Then he started strumming. Slow, deliberate. Something bluesy, with a drawl and drag to it that matched his voice when he murmured your name on quiet nights. His boot tapped a slow rhythm against the porch. And you sat there, mouth just slightly open, chest too tight, the beer suddenly forgotten in your hand.

It wasn’t just the music.

It was him—Tommy, lost in the song, unaware of how goddamn good he looked doing it. How his fingers moved like they could undo anything—clothes, thoughts, you.

You bit your lip, throat dry.

"Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?" he asked, eyes still on the strings, voice dipped in that slow Southern ease that always made your stomach twist.

You tried to answer. You really did.

But all you could think about was those fingers on your skin instead of the guitar.

You didn't answer right away. Just took another lazy sip of beer, then let your tongue run across your bottom lip—slow and deliberate, like you knew exactly what you were doing. Because you did.

Tommy glanced up at that, eyes catching yours over the curve of his guitar. His gaze lingered, then dropped to your mouth. His fingers slowed, the song bleeding out into a low, unfinished hum.

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, voice syrupy and wicked. "Just thinkin' you might be better with those fingers off the strings and on somethin' else."

His brows arched, just a twitch, like he couldn’t quite believe how fast you flipped the switch—but not even close to annoyed. That was the thing about Tommy. Older, steadier, yeah, but you’d learned real quick that he liked how your mouth ran. He liked how you said shit that made his jaw clench and his hands curl.

He strummed another lazy chord, grinning now. “That right?”

You nodded, smug. “Might be the only instrument I ain't heard you play properly.”

He let out a low whistle, shaking his head, setting the guitar aside with a soft thump. “Jesus, girl.”

You leaned forward, elbows on your thighs, chin in your hand. “What? Can’t keep up?”

That got him. Just like always. Tommy chuckled, deep in his chest, and leaned back in his chair, eyeing you like you were both a problem and his favorite pastime.

Then he patted his thigh. “C’mere.”

You didn’t hesitate. Tossed the beer onto the porch floor with a soft clink, then stepped over, sliding right onto his lap like it was the most natural seat in the world. His hands came to your hips instantly, rough and warm, anchoring you there.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he muttered, voice low against your neck. “Mouth on you don’t ever quit.”

You grinned, settling your weight so the pressure between your legs hit just right. "Wouldn't you miss it if it did?"

Tommy groaned, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. "Shit. I really would."

You were already grinding without meaning to, slow and lazy, lips brushing his ear as you said, “Told you. Those fingers should be on me.”

He didn’t argue.

His hand slid up, fingers pressing under your shirt, calloused tips dragging heat across your skin. His other hand held your thigh firm to him, and he looked up at you with that soft, amused smirk—like he couldn’t believe the things you said, but he loved every damn one of them.

“You always this needy when I play, or just tonight?” he asked.

You met his gaze, bold. “Always. But you looked too fuckin’ good this time. And I was sittin’ there thinkin’—‘if he don’t touch me soon, I’m gonna start humpin’ the goddamn railing.’”

He laughed, loud this time, mouth pressed to your throat. “Christ.”

“Don’t worry, I’d scream your name anyway.”

And that—that—made him groan again, deep and sharp, as his hand slid lower and his mouth caught yours.

His mouth was hot against yours—slow, deep kisses that made your toes curl in your boots. He kissed like he had all the time in the world. No rush, no hurry. Just the slow burn of knowing exactly what he was doing and exactly how it was affecting you.

His hand drifted down again, teasing the curve of your ass through your skirt. He squeezed once, hard enough to make you roll your hips into him, chasing friction, but he didn’t give you more. Not yet.

"Always talkin'," he murmured against your mouth, "but look at you now."

His fingers crept under the hem of your shirt, brushing over bare skin with maddening softness. Calloused fingertips circled just above the waistband of your jeans—never low enough. Just light, slow sweeps that made your breath catch and your thighs clench.

You squirmed in his lap, trying to grind against the growing heat between his legs, but his grip pinned your hips down. Not enough pressure. Not enough anything.

"Tommy—"

"Shh," he said, mouth trailing down your jaw. “You get me all riled up with that mouth, then act like I’m the impatient one.”

You huffed, hands in his hair, tugging a little. "Then do something, old man."

He just laughed, low and rough. “Oh, I will. Just wanna hear what kind of noise that mouth makes when you’re not usin’ it to sass me.”

Then he moved.

His hand slipped down the front of your skirt, slow as hell. Just the pressure of his knuckles first, sliding against you through your panties—barely grazing where you needed him most.

You gasped, jerking your hips, but he caught your wrist and held you still.

“Nuh-uh,” he whispered. “You wanted this, baby. Now you’re gonna sit right here and take it.”

His fingers finally dipped lower, dragging over the soaked fabric between your legs.

“Well damn,” he drawled, cocky grin curling against your throat. “You been sittin’ there this wet the whole time I was playin’?”

You couldn’t even answer. You just whimpered—high and sharp—biting down on your lip.

Tommy groaned, voice gone thick with heat. “Look at that. Little mouth won’t shut up 'til I get my hand on your pussy, huh?”

You nodded, desperate.

But he didn’t move faster.

He rubbed lazy circles, maddening and featherlight, just enough to make you twitch. You rolled your hips again, whining under your breath, trying to get him to push harder—but he just kept up the teasing pace, watching your face with dark eyes and a smug little smile.

"Go on," he murmured, “use that mouth again, baby. Tell me what you want. Beg for it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, panting. “Fuck, Tommy. Please—touch me for real. Don’t fuckin’ tease—”

“Oh, no, no,” he chuckled. “You don’t get to boss me around now. Not after runnin’ your mouth all evenin’ like that.”

His fingers pressed a little firmer then, just enough to draw a sharp, shaky moan from your throat. You clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into muscle.

"That's it," he whispered. "Sound like that again, and maybe I'll give you somethin' to grind on proper."

You cried out when he finally pushed your panties to the side and dragged two fingers through the slick heat between your thighs—slow, then sudden, plunging inside without warning.

"Jesus fuck," you gasped, hips jerking forward, voice cracking on the end of the curse.

Tommy groaned, low and dark, like he could feel it all the way up his arm. “Shit, baby… that pussy’s already grippin’ me like you don’t wanna let go.”

His thumb found your clit, slow circles at first, but this time he didn’t hold back. He curled his fingers deep inside you, finding that spot that made your legs shake in seconds. Your back arched, your head dropped onto his shoulder, and you let out a broken, needy moan you couldn’t even pretend to control.

“Look at you now,” he muttered into your ear, fucking his fingers into you harder. “You talk all that shit, sit on my lap actin’ like you’re in charge—now you’re just whimperin’. Soaked through. Desperate.”

You clawed at his chest, babbling something between a moan and a curse, but he didn’t let up.

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me how bad you need it. C’mon, baby. Use that filthy little mouth.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The slick sounds of his fingers working inside you were loud in the quiet porch air, and you were soaking his jeans, hips bucking against his hand like you had no shame left.

“Fuck—Tommy—I need it—need your cock—please—fuck me, please—”

He grinned against your throat, biting down just hard enough to make you yelp. “That’s more like it.”

He pulled his fingers out slow, wet and gleaming in the low light. You watched, dazed, as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean with a low groan.

“Taste like you’re already close,” he said, voice husky. “You gonna cum just from beggin’? You want me to ruin you right here on the porch, huh? That what you need?”

You nodded frantically, grinding down on the hard line of his cock through his jeans. “Yes—yes, fuck, just—need you inside me, now, Tommy, please—”

That broke him.

He was unbuckling his belt before you could blink, dragging his jeans down just far enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking. You whimpered at the sight of it, grinding harder.

“Goddamn,” he growled, gripping your hips. “You’re so fuckin’ needy. You think I’m just gonna slide into that tight little pussy 'cause you’re cryin’ for it?”

You nodded, breathless.

He lined himself up, rubbing the thick head against your dripping folds—but didn’t push in.

“Say it,” he snapped, voice low and mean now. “Tell me you want this cock. Tell me how bad you need it stretchin’ you open.”

“I want it,” you choked out. “I need it—I need your cock—please, Tommy, just fuck me already—I want you so deep,want you to ruin me—please—”

That was it.

He slammed into you in one rough, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and your scream echoed out into the dark.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder as he held you there, trembling around him. “Tight as fuck—so fuckin’ wet.”

You clung to him, nails biting into his back, mouth open and gasping.

He gave you no time to adjust—just pulled back and slammed in again, hard, fast, relentless.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice wrecked. “That what you wanted, baby? Huh? Talkin’ all that shit, grindin’ on me like a bitch in heat—now you got it. Now you’re gonna take every inch.”

You could barely answer. Just moaned, eyes rolled back, tears prickling from how good it felt. Your pussy clenched around him, sucking him in like it needed him, and he felt every twitch.

“You gonna cum for me?” he rasped, pounding into you. “Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?”

He didn’t let you cum.

Not yet.

Right when your moans pitched high and your body started to tighten, that wave crashing just at the edge—Tommy grabbed your hips and stilled you.

"Uh-uh," he growled, breath hot against your neck. "You don’t get to cum like that. Not after all the shit you’ve been talkin’."

You whimpered, squirming, trying to roll your hips, but his grip was like steel. His cock pulsed inside you, thick and deep, and the stretch of him had your legs shaking.

"Want that release?" he asked, voice thick and cruel with amusement. "You’re gonna work for it."

He leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs wider, dragging you up just enough for your cunt to clench around the tip of him. Your whole body trembled at the loss of him.

"Go on, baby," he said. "Ride me."

You blinked at him, fucked-out and breathless. “W-what—?”

“You heard me.” His hands stayed heavy on your hips, but no longer guiding. “You want to cum so bad, you’re gonna bounce on this cock like the desperate little slut you are. Show me just how needy that filthy mouth of yours really is.”

You let out a choked sound—half a gasp, half a moan—but he didn’t give you time to hesitate. “C’mon. Be a good girl. Take what you want.”

You started moving, slow at first—lifting yourself and sliding back down with a whimper, your thighs already burning from how badly your muscles shook.

Tommy groaned, head falling back as he watched you. “That’s it. Fuckin’ hell, look at you. Runnin’ that mouth all night just to end up cock-drunk and grindin’ on me like some needy little thing.”

You moaned, bracing your hands on his chest as you picked up the pace. His cock filled you perfectly, every thrust down hitting deep, his thick length dragging along every spot that made your vision go white.

“You gonna cry for it now?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Beg me again while you ride this cock, baby. Let me hear that sweet little voice.”

You were panting, wrecked, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you fucked yourself on him harder. “Please—Tommy—I need it—need to cum so fucking bad—please, I’ll do anything—”

He grinned, dark and proud. “Yeah, you will.”

His hands finally moved, thumbs brushing over your nipples through your shirt before gripping your ass, guiding your rhythm now—harder, faster.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Bouncin’ like a goddamn toy. Mouth’s not so smart now, huh? All you can say is please—ain’t even words anymore.”

You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think. Just the sound of his voice, the wet slap of your bodies, the brutal grind of your clit catching on the base of him with every desperate thrust—

“You close?” he hissed. “You better be. You better cum fuckin’ hard after makin’ me wait this long.”

Your nails dug into his chest as the pressure snapped all at once. Your orgasm hit like a goddamn freight train—crying out his name, cunt clenching around him, your whole body trembling uncontrollably.

Tommy cursed, hips jerking up into you as he chased his own release, growling through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, that’s it—milk my cock, baby. So goddamn tight—fuck—”

He spilled inside you in deep, heavy pulses, holding you down tight, growling into your throat as he came.

For a long moment, there was just the sound of your panting, the creak of the porch, the crickets in the dark.

Then—

“You always this mouthy,” he rasped, pressing a kiss to your temple, “or just when you’re about to be split open on my cock?”

You gave a breathless, dazed laugh. “Ask me again in five minutes. I might still have somethin’ to say.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “Then I guess I’ll just have to shut you up again.”

His breath was still warm on your skin, chest rising and falling beneath you, both of you coated in sweat and satisfaction. You lay slumped against him, spent and boneless, your forehead resting against his shoulder, lips slightly parted as you came down from the high.

Tommy didn’t say anything at first.

He just held you.

One hand traced slow, grounding circles on your lower back, the other tangled gently in your hair, fingers brushing through the strands like you were something fragile and precious. His cock was still buried inside you, thick and warm, twitching every so often with the aftershocks of release.

“Jesus,” he muttered into your hair, voice low and rough but sweet underneath. “You really tryin’ to kill me.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut, heart still pounding. “S’only fair. You do it to me every time.”

He chuckled, soft and warm, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You okay?”

You nodded against his neck. “More than okay.”

Tommy shifted just enough to wrap both arms around you tighter, pulling you fully into his chest. You stayed like that—your body molded to his, your thighs draped over his lap, sticky and trembling and safe. The night air cooled your sweat-damp skin, but his body was solid heat beneath you.

Neither of you rushed it.

He didn’t pull out, didn’t even try. Just stayed there, letting you keep him inside you, like he knew the way it kept you grounded. You could still feel the dull throb between your legs, your muscles twitching every now and then with the memory of how hard he’d fucked you.

“Shit, darlin’,” he whispered, brushing a hand over your thigh. “Look at you. All used up and still clingin’ to me like I’m gonna disappear.”

You huffed a lazy breath. “Mm. Not lettin’ you go until I can feel my legs again.”

“I can work with that.”

His palm moved slowly along your back, kneading gently, checking you without saying anything. That was the thing about Tommy—he always noticed. The tremble in your hands, the way your breath hitched, the way you tried to bury your face a little deeper into his neck.

"You did so good for me," he murmured, voice dropping softer. “Took me so sweet. You always do.”

You didn’t answer—just sighed against his skin, your fingers curling into his shirt. You could feel his heartbeat now, steady and strong under your cheek.

Time passed.

Eventually, when your breathing evened out and your body stopped twitching, Tommy kissed your temple again.

“You ready?” he asked gently.

You nodded, just barely. He held your hips steady with one hand and slowly pulled out, careful and unhurried. You whimpered at the stretch and the emptiness, but he was already wrapping his arms around you again, cradling you back against his chest before you could move.

“Gotcha,” he whispered. “Still gotcha.”

And you believed him.

Because no matter how rough he got, no matter how filthy your mouth got or how loud the sex turned, after—it was always this.

Him. Holding you like you were the only damn thing in the world he wanted to keep close.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You mumbled something in protest—too content, too boneless to move—but he was already lifting you gently off his lap. You winced a little at the sensitivity between your thighs, and instantly his touch went even gentler.

“Easy,” he said, steadying you as you stood on shaky legs. “I got you.”

You did your best to walk inside, but your knees buckled a bit, and before you could catch yourself, Tommy had already scooped you up into his arms like it was nothing.

“Mouth works fine, but them legs? Useless.”

You smacked his chest lightly, hiding your face there as he laughed.

He carried you straight into the bathroom, setting you down on the closed toilet lid while he turned on the shower. Steam started to rise almost immediately, curling into the air, soft and warm.

You watched him move—still shirtless, jeans slung low on his hips, hair a mess, scratches on his neck from your nails. You should’ve been tired, but your heart swelled a little instead. Something about him, like this, just looking at you like he wanted to take care of every last inch.

When the water was warm enough, Tommy came back to you, crouched in front of where you sat, and reached for your jeans.

“Let me?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

He undressed you slow—gentle fingers unbuttoning your skirt, peeling the fabric down your thighs. You lifted your arms when he needed, letting him strip you bare. His gaze never left yours long, always checking, making sure you were okay. When he helped you up and led you into the shower, the warm water hit your skin like a breath of relief.

You stood under the spray, eyes closed, head tipped back, and when you opened them, Tommy was stepping in behind you, still half-clothed, pulling his shirt off over his head and letting his jeans drop to the floor.

“I can clean myself, y’know,” you teased, voice soft, lazy.

“Sure you can,” he murmured, stepping in close, hands already reaching for the soap. “But I wanna.”

He lathered the bar between his palms and ran them gently over your shoulders, down your back, over your hips. His touch was careful now, reverent almost. No more teasing. Just warmth. His hands lingered at the backs of your thighs, then slid between them with soft, slow care, cleaning you with practiced tenderness.

You hissed a little at the sensitivity, but he kissed the side of your neck, whispering, “I know, baby. I know. Just a little more.”

You let him care for you.

Let him wash your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp slow and soothing. Let him rinse the soap off your skin, trail his hands over every inch of you like you were something holy he’d fought to protect.

And when it was done, when the water ran clear and your body felt lighter again, he turned off the tap and wrapped you in a big, worn towel. Pulled you into his chest one more time, damp and soft, lips against your forehead.

“No more back talk tonight,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re sleepin’ the whole damn night in my arms.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t talk in my sleep,” you mumbled.

He chuckled again, kissed your temple. “God help me.”

And he carried you to bed.

Still warm from the shower, still sore in all the right places, still held like you were something he didn’t plan on letting go of.

Not tonight. Not ever.

The smell hit you before your eyes even opened.

Something warm and buttery, eggs maybe. Coffee, definitely. The sheets were soft, still tangled around your legs, and the soreness between your thighs made you smirk into the pillow. Your muscles ached in that perfect way—like a reminder, like a reward.

You stretched with a slow groan and sat up, blinking in the early morning light pouring through the window. Tommy’s side of the bed was empty, but the faint clatter of pans and the low hum of a country song drifted in from down the hall.

You found your shirt on the floor—not your shirt, his, oversized and worn soft—and tugged it on without bothering with anything else. Your legs protested with every step, but you made it to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame, arms crossed, grin already in place.

There he was.

Tommy Miller. Shirtless. Hair still messy. Standing at the stove with one hand on the skillet and the other around a mug of coffee. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, back flexing every time he flipped something in the pan.

God help you.

“You know,” you drawled, voice still scratchy with sleep, “if I’d known breakfast was part of the aftercare package, I’d have let you fuck me stupid a long time ago.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, smirking the second he saw you. “Sweetheart, you did let me fuck you stupid. That’s why you’re walkin’ like you just got off a horse.”

You grinned. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

He let out a low whistle, flipping an egg. “There’s that mouth again. Thought I broke it last night.”

You stepped into the kitchen, coming up behind him to wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his warm back.

“Nah. You just put it on snooze.”

He laughed—soft and low—and reached down to take your hands, lifting them to kiss your knuckles. “Sit. Food’s almost done.”

You let go reluctantly, padding over to one of the chairs and flopping down with a sigh, legs spreading instinctively under the hem of his shirt.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Eyes flicked down, lingered, then back up to your face with a slow shake of his head. “You’re a menace.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted, scooping eggs and toast onto a plate. “But one of these days, you’re gonna sass me at the wrong time, and I ain’t gonna wait 'til we’re behind closed doors.”

You smirked. “Promises, promises.”

He slid the plate in front of you with a wink, then leaned down to kiss you—slow, like he wasn’t in a hurry. Just your lips, the faint taste of coffee, the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

“Eat,” he murmured. “Then maybe I’ll see if that mouth of yours is still good for anything else.”

You picked up your fork with a grin. “Spoiler alert: it is.”

Tommy sat across from you, his own plate in hand, watching you like he already knew exactly how the rest of the morning was going to play out.

And he wasn’t in any rush either.

You were halfway through breakfast, Tommy halfway through his second cup of coffee, when the knock came.

Three solid raps on the front door, followed by the familiar creak as it swung open.

“Tommy?” Joel’s voice, gravel-thick and unmistakable, rolled through the cabin. “You up?”

Tommy didn’t flinch. Just glanced toward the door, then at you, his brow arching.

You raised your mug and muttered, “Do I have time to put pants on, or are we just doing this full feral?”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “Think we’re past first impressions now, baby.”

Joel stepped into view just as you stood from the table—Tommy’s shirt hanging long over your bare thighs, no shame in your posture as you sipped from your mug and gave the older Miller a once-over.

Joel’s eyes flicked from you to Tommy, then back, a brow raising ever so slightly.

Tommy stood up behind you, easy as anything, stepping close to rest a hand on your lower back—warm and firm, right where the hem of the shirt barely covered.

“Joel,” he said simply, “this’s my girl.”

Your heart gave a little lurch, like a caught breath—but you played it cool, shooting Joel a smirk over your cup.

“Hey,” you said, voice dry. “Nice to meet you. Heard you were taller.”

Joel blinked, clearly recalibrating, but his lips twitched like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or leave.

Tommy, on the other hand, definitely laughed. “Told you, Joel. Mouth on her don’t quit.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on you another beat—measuring, not unkind—and then he gave a slow nod, jaw ticking. “Well, ain’t she a handful.”

You flashed him a grin. “I prefer ‘a lot to handle.’ But I’m flexible.”

Tommy groaned softly behind you, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck. “God damn, woman…”

But his grip never left your waist.

Joel looked between the two of you again, something settling in his face—not approval, exactly, but something close enough.

“Well,” he said, “I was just stoppin’ by to drop off those spare tools. But I’ll, uh… let you two get back to your mornin’.”

You leaned into Tommy’s side, deliberately smug. “Oh, we were done with the mornin’.”

Tommy choked on a laugh and Joel just shook his head, muttering as he turned for the door, “Y’all are trouble.”

When it shut behind him, Tommy exhaled and muttered into your ear, “You tryin’ to kill me with that mouth?”

You turned, arms wrapping around his neck. “You called me your girl.”

He gave you that smile—soft, sure, the one that always made your chest tighten.

“That’s 'cause you are,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You think I let just anyone sass my brother with no pants on?”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"No offence, but you look like a corpse."

"You've been oddly cheeky for a hostage."

They stared at each other - both ready to strangle the person in front of them - and forced respective smiles.

The hero crossed their arms in front of their chest, shrugging. They couldn't pull themselves together. They loved annoying the villain a little too much.

"I'm just saying, if you do collapse, I won't do the heroic thing and cardiac massage you back to life."

"I doubt you'd be able to perform any type of cardiopulmonary resuscitation correctly anyway," the villain answered. The hero's smile twitched.

The villain was already getting on their nerves again. It hadn't even been half a day as the villain's hostage and the hero was losing their mind.

"Our great doctor here is in a good mood, I guess," the hero pressed out between gritted teeth. "No need to rub in past mistakes."

"You brought it up first, darling," the villain said. Their eyes widened. They leaned in, their breath tickling the hero's neck and their voice dropped shamelessly. "Don't start wars you cannot win."

"I'm gonna kill you," the hero whispered back. The villain smelled like coffee. But there was something else, something gentler. Vanilla, maybe? The hero's heart dropped inexplicably.

"I'd love to see you try." The villain's smirk didn't falter, but that didn't mean the hero couldn't see the dark circles under their eyes. The hero stared at the villain's face, looked at the shape of their nose, their lips...they supposed their nemesis was quite attractive when they weren't stuck in that ridiculous suit of theirs.

Although, the hero did like the new design they were going for - it was much simpler, darker. It was quiet. Subtle. Somehow comforting.

"What?" the villain asked. This time, their voice was gentler than the taunting melody from earlier. The hero hadn't even realised that the villain's chest was basically pressed against theirs.

They looked away.

"I'd appreciate it if you let me go," the hero said. "You bore me."

"I bore you?"

"You do. You're boring. You constantly work on this stupid thesis of yours and I am supposed to sit still and wait until the city comes up with a ridiculous amount of money in exchange for me." Their eyes narrowed. "You have your ultimate nemesis right in front of you, yet choose to work all day."

"Do you want to spar?" The villain's fingertips brushed the hero's wrist. Purely accidental.

"Do you think sparring in your condition is good for you?"

"That again? One might think you are worried," the villain said. They towered over the hero, but found enough mercy (or cruelty) to bend lower. Once again, their lips were hovering next to the hero's jawline. "Don't get attached."

"You've kidnapped me three times this month already. I don't think you are one to talk about attachment." The back of the hero's hand touched the villain's fingers and they moved their head ever so slightly, until they were able to look into the villain's eyes.

The villain's eyes dropped to the hero's lips.

"Touché..." they said, their voice nothing but a whisper.

The hero was certain they could hear their own heartbeat. They touched the villain's knuckles gently. The villain didn't pull away.

Their eyes met again.

So many times, their eyes had met. On the battlefield, in captivity, in public. But right now was different. It was very different.

The hero could see the many colours the villain's irises were composed of. They could feel how warm the villain was.

Right now, the villain wasn't some enemy the hero needed to defeat. Right now, the villain was terribly human. Terribly soulful. Full of personality. Stubborn, smart, sassy. Full of human nature.

They wetted their lips.

"You..." the hero said. They put their hands on the villain's collarbones and as if the villain had waited for it, they brushed the hero's waist with their fingers. Testing the waters; they hadn't grabbed the hero, yet.

"...yes?" The villain still stared at the hero's lips and pushed a strand of hair that wasn't even in the way out of the hero's face. They tilted their head, came even closer. Their lips almost touched.

"You look even more like a corpse from up-close."

They really couldn't pull themselves together.

[cherrywriterrr]

Wires

dealer!rafe x reader

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark themes, toxic relationship, drug use alluded to, emotional dependency, codependency,rough tension, angsty dialogue, power play, rafe begging for touch, themes of guilt & ruin, trauma bonding, manipulation, suggestive + explicit content (not full smut but building toward it)

it’s always like this with him. a knock on your window at 2am.dirt under his nails. blood on his knuckles. teeth gritted like he’s starving for something he can’t name.

he looks like a storm. you look like the eye of it.

“you gonna let me in?” he asks, already climbing through.

you don’t answer. you never do.

you just back up and watch him fill your room like smoke—spreading, staining, staying long after he’s gone.

“you look like shit,” you mutter.

“missed you too, baby.”

“don’t call me that.”

“then stop lookin’ at me like you want me to.”

you scoff, turning your back. “you only show up when you’re empty.”

“yeah?” he says. “and you only open the door when you’re lonely.”

he always knows where to cut

your lip twitches. you say nothing.

he steps closer. “you think i don’t notice how you breathe when i’m near you?”

you tense. he’s right behind you now. close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. to smell the sin on him.

“you think i don’t see the way you shift every time i say your name?”

his mouth grazes your neck. his voice drops lower.

“say it, baby. say my fuckin’ name.”

you turn, shove him back. “you want me to touch you so bad, cameron? go fuck yourself.”

he laughs. it’s bitter. broken. “i’ve tried.”

there’s silence. you don’t say anything.

his hands go to his chest like he’s holding something in. something heavy.

then he breaks. “i don’t feel real anymore.”

you blink.

he looks at you with bloodshot eyes, breathing like it hurts. “i walk around like i’m already dead. like i’m just wires and shit under skin. i sell poison to kids who used to sit behind me in class. i fuck girls i don’t remember the name of. i get high to forget what it feels like to need someone.”

you swallow.he steps forward.

“but when you touch me—”

his voice cracks. “when you fuckin’ look at me—”he’s shaking.“i feel human.”

your throat tightens.

he reaches for your hand, brings it to his chest, presses your palm over his heart like it’ll keep him from falling apart.

“make me feel it again,” he whispers. “please. touch me like i’m real. like i matter to someone.”

your mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

he leans in. his nose brushes yours.

“hatin’ me ain’t gon’ get you loved,” he murmurs. you flinch. he smirks, sad and cruel. “but touchin’ me might.”

your fingers curl in his shirt.

you shouldn’t.but you always do.

he kisses you like it’s penance. like he’s on his knees without ever dropping down.

your back hits the wall. his hands slam beside your head. he mouths at your jaw like he’s starving. your body arches like it remembers this rhythm—chaos first, craving second.

“you hate me, huh?” he breathes against your mouth.

you nod. but your hands are in his hair. your thighs are parting. he bites your neck.

“then why the fuck are you melting for me right now?”

your voice breaks. “because you burn everything you touch.”

“baby—” he groans, dragging his hands down your hips, clutching you like he owns the bones under your skin. “you were ruined before me.”

your nails dig into his shoulder. “fuck you.”

“you already did,” he snarls, teeth flashing. “you’ll do it again.”

he drops his head to your chest, breathing hard.

“you think i wanna be this way?” he rasps. “think i like waking up with blood on my hands and no one to call?”

your heart thunders.

“i only come here because you’re the only thing that makes me forget how sick i am,” he says, eyes burning. “when you touch me, i swear to god—for a second, i believe i could be different.”

you try to pull away.

he doesn’t let you.

“no,” he snaps, gripping your wrists. “you don’t get to run. not when i need this.”

his voice softens.“not when i need you.”

you freeze.

his forehead rests against yours. your breath mixes. “make me feel like a person,” he whispers. “just for tonight.”

you can’t speak.so you kiss him instead.

he groans into your mouth, lifting you like it’s nothing, walking you to the bed you swore he’d never see again.

your shirt is gone before you hit the mattress. his mouth is everywhere, your throat, your collarbone, between your legs like it’s scripture.

he doesn’t fuck you like a boyfriend. he doesn’t fuck you like a hookup.

he fucks you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. and you let him.

because you’re just as broken. just as desperate. and somewhere deep down, you want him to ruin you all the way.

dealer!rafe taglist masterlist

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafescloudie @meetmeintheemeraldpool @sydneysslove @babygoddam @silkylovey @mrspuffdriving @purplerose291 @t0x1cfaerie @k4yr14 @sc05 @viqtoria @devoutedlover @iconiccolo @qversazex @alphabetically-deranged

[bbibintak]

゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 𝓢unday 𝓜orning

pairing: san x reader

contains: pure fluff, established relationship, lowkey skinship

summary: when san gets clingy all over you and just him being downbad in the morning..

a/n: hiiii omg this is my first ever (short) fic might b a bit shit "( – ⌓ – ) hope u enjoy it though! also seonghwa mentioned #yass

It was a casual Sunday morning, and the clock on the nightstand read 11:00 a.m. With sunlight streaming through the curtains, a soft golden glow cast across the room. They lay together on the soft mattress with the covers tangling around them.

San stirred first, his eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was you. He softly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, clearing it from your face. "Can't believe you're all mine," he whispered.

You subtly opened your eyes at the gentle brush of his fingers, "Good morning, love" San said softly, his voice still laced with his sleepy voice "Mmm morning" your murmured while rubbing your eyes as a quiet yawn escaped, San couldn't help but smile as his heart melting a little by your adoring face.

"How was your sleep?" you asked with a soft voice. "It was alright," he replied with a gentle smile. "I had you beside me". You blushed a little at that cheesy statement, "Pfft.. that's such a lame answer," you scoff, jokingly. "Oh, admit it, I saw you blushing," he smirks as he pulls you closer, brushing a kiss against your lips. "Shut up," you giggled as you started to deepen the kiss with your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the end of his hair.

"Y'know," he murmured between kisses, "Seonghwa invited us for lunch." You pulled away for a second, "It's okay, Seonghwa can wait." "Wouldn't it be rude to him?" San raised an eyebrow, giving you a questioning look. You pouted in response, "C'mon.. you're just so warm," you mumbled, snuggling in closer. "Plus, it's freezing outside."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah.. I guess it's better to stay like this for a while." San's eyes lingered on your face as he tucked his arm around your waist, pulling you to his lap, "I had fun last night," he teases. Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you covered your face with your hands. "Why on earth bring that up?" San laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Think you can handle another round?" San said with a sly smile, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your waist.

You smack his chest gently. "Think you can handle this fist if you keep talking like that?" He laughed, "I really like this side of you." he kissed you again—slow and deep, as he started to go down on your neck, leaving marks. You pulled away just enough to speak, slightly out of breath, "Okay, but.. I start to feel kinda bad for Seonghwa we should probably—" "Enough about him you said he can wait right?" he cuts you off with a smirk, gosh that damn smirk.

You exhaled a laugh. "I guess so, fine, just 10 more minutes." San only continues to pepper kisses all over your neck. "I can't promise you that." After all, he makes you forget that 10-minute—or that lunch plan you both had with Seonghwa.

CURATED BY BBIBINTAK, 2025. all rights reserved.

[liquidluckandstuff]

Destiel Drabble

Dean gets hit by a creature who steals memories of their true love (and then poisons those memories and when they give them back they murder their love and then kill themselves) and suddenly he forgets Castiel.

No one realizes what actually happened (and they have no idea what they are fighting) until Castiel shows up to help them out and Dean is like "Woah who is this guy?" and then everyone looks at him like he is insane.

They do a whole "what is wrong with you? Cas is your best friend? He's an angel??" and Dean is saying "We don't have friends. Everyone we know is dead or stays far enough away from us to save their own skin. And an ANGEL being friends with us? You I can see it but ME? Shut up Sammy that's the dumbest thing i've ever heard."

And when Cas and Dean have a moment together, Cas lists all the ways that Dean is worthy of being a friend / he admires him / (loves him) and Dean doesn't know how to take a damn compliment so he blushes or quips back at him. But when that is NOT happening, Dean fuckin flirts. Like quippy flirting like he used to way back in the first seasons.

Everyone is looking at him like he has grown a second head because he says some stuff to Cas sometimes but not to this extreme or this bold.

Dean is still in disbelief that Cas is even an Angel at all. "Angels just don't look like Tax accountants." he says. "They look... like really really tall. Like taller than a chrysler building tall. And are made of rings and a ton of wings of light and eyes but don't look like eyes and ... I dunno man beautiful in a terrifying way. Not all of them anyway. Some of them look... deformed. Not like this guy who looks like he gets his kicks out of buying the newest calculator."

No one else seems to think Dean said anything weird except cas who FREEZES. Like inhuman perfect stone. "You remember that?" That turns everyone's head. "You weren't supposed to remember that."

"Remember what?" Dean asks.

Sam, of course, catches on quick. "Dean... how did you get out of hell?"

"An angel dragged me out." Dean answers with a tone of duh.

"Yeah but which angel?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Sammy said pointedly.

"You remember me?" Cas says in awe.

Dean looks at him like Cas is the one confused. "Buddy, I think we have already established that I don't remember you at all."

"But.... that was me... you just described me..."

Everyone looked shocked.

"You remember Cas?" Someone asks. "His true form?"

"heh, you called him beautiful," Sammy teases. With Castiel still in awe of that revelation, and Dean still confused on what was happening, it was Sam who figured out what was going on.

Part of him wanted to smack his brother in the back of his head for not telling Cas his feeling for so long, the rest of him was terrified of what might happen if he got his memories back. If anyone had the capability to kill an angel, it was Dean Winchester.

It was almost time for the creature to return Dean's memories too. They had to find a way to save them or else... well. Romantic tragedies sucked.

Sam was able to kill the monster, but not in time to save his brother.

Dean got his memories back, and instantly turned to Castiel with hatred in his eyes. He was a terrifying hunter, there was no doubt, and he had his eyes only for Castiel. Once that would have been the only thing Cas could have ever asked for, but now? It broke his heart.

None of them knew what to do. Dean just wouldn't stop. Everyone who tried to get in his way, Dean didn't hesitate to kill. He nearly murdered his brother a few times, but thankfully Sam was skilled in his own right.

"I think I know what to do..." Cas said, though he looked terrified. Sam agreed without thinking, desperate to save his brother.

Cas was lucky when he got the upperhand. He didn't even know how he managed to do it. It shouldn't have been possible. Logically he might have said it had something to do with Grace. Romantics might have said it had more to do with love and profound bonds.

He stole Dean's soul and dragged him to heaven. A place where it was impossible to burn out his eyes as he showed Dean his true form. Something he remembered of him, something beautiful. A light in the darkness, the poison of his memories to bring back the love that had been buried beneath.

Dean remembered everything from hell. Not just the screams and torture. There was a great battle filled with angels and demons all for him. He tried his best to ignore it. Dean didn't want to get his hopes up because that in itself was the worst poison in a place like this.

The Angels themselves were horrifying to look at. Too bright and... strange. Something that belonged on some tortured kids bedroom wall.

Yet the clearest thing he could remember, was the moment Castiel found him. He had burned the demons away with his presence alone. Others fled in terror at the sight of him. A few tried to fight but with the flick of one of his wings they too were gone.

Dean, however, stood there in awe. "My name is Castiel." He had said, and Dean wanted to cry from the sound of his voice alone. It was commanding, yet the kindest thing anyone had said to him in decades.

He didn't want to go with him at first. Dean didn't want to dirty Castiel's wings. They were so beautiful, and something like Dean, who had been torturing for fun survival , didn't deserve something so gentle that.

"I can't. I have to stay here," Dean had said. "I have to save Sammy." Still he couldn't bring himself to look away. It was one gift he was going to give himself before the angel, Castiel, would wise up and realized how horrible a thing Dean was and leave him where he belonged.

"No, Dean. It's time to go."

"I can't," He had begged. It was already to late for him. The soul still strung up on the rack, the whimpering bleeding thing he had already cut into was begging for the pain to stop. Dean couldn't leave it alone. It wasn't fair. What if this was another soul that made some stupid deal? They didn't deserve to be here either. Just some poor human who was tricked into selling their soul.

But Dean had to stay here for his brother. If he found a way to cheat out of his deal, then his brother would pay the price. He had to stay down in hell with the other demons (he was a demon now too wasn't he? That's how it worked?) to keep his little brother safe.

Castiel looked at him with his countless not-eyes and Dean could sense a sort of... fondness? Awe? Either way, Dean couldn't really tell. He had never really met an angel before.

"You deserve to be saved," Castiel said with such confidence, that Dean almost believed it himself. He was cradled in the angel's wing, so gentle and safe that Dean almost forgot he was still in hell. He couldn't remember a time, even when he was alive, that anyone had held him like this or made him feel so safe.

The battle for Dean Winchester continued throughout hell, though no one seemed to notice Castiel had already reached him. Dean could swear that the angel was humming to him, keeping the worst of the screams, the horrible sounds of slaughter away from his senses so he could feel more at peace until there was a bright beautiful light (but nothing could have been more beautiful than Castiel) but he forgot it all in an instant.

"Cas?" Dean said once he saw Castiel's true form for the second time.

"Yes," the angel answered warily.

"I... You look..." If an angel could seem nervous, Dean Winchester was probably the first human to see it. "Wow."

"You called me beautiful a few days ago," Castiel said defensively.

"Well, I wasn't wrong," Dean said with more confidence than he felt. "You must have gotten the good genes in the family."

"Lucky me." Castiel's entire formed brightened as he picked Dean up in one of his wings, and cradled him gently just as he did so long ago.

Dean couldn't help but smile so wide he was sure his face hurt. He knew he should go back down to earth to let his brother know he was alright, but...

"We don't have to go back just yet," Castiel said as if reading his thoughts.

"Okay," Dean responded quietly, not really sure what to say. Simple truth was he was happy. He didn't need to say anything, and neither did Castiel. The angel already about Dean's feelings and there would be time to talk later.

Castiel cradled Dean closer, his many eyes watching over Dean's bright and wonderful soul and said "You know I think your soul is beautiful too."

"Yeah well... don't tell Sam."

[rafeobx]

DIE FIRST

MASTERLIST

kind of a part two to the ghost between us but with a time jump?

pair: soft!exboyfriend!rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

plot: it’s been months since jj died, and it didn’t take long for you to spiral. your pogue friends have tried everything to pull you back—but the only person who truly knows how to reach you is rafe.

warnings: severe depression, mentions of death, cursing, angst, and probably grammar mistake ngl

it had been three months since jj died.

three months of nothing.

y/n hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks, barely slept, barely moved. the days bled together in a haze of numb silence, dirty ashtrays, cold coffee, and panic attacks that clawed at her chest until she passed out from exhaustion.

she’d stopped trying to pretend she was okay.

the house felt like a tomb. jj’s shoes were still by the door and his surfboard leaned against the wall. no one had the heart to move them, not even her.

sometimes, late at night, she'd sit in the shower fully clothed, just to feel something. anything. sometimes she’d scream into pillows until her throat went raw. but mostly, she was quiet. terrifyingly quiet.

cleo, pope, kiara, john b, sarah—they all tried. she knew they meant well but none of them could get through. she couldn’t hear them through the grief. couldn’t feel them through the fog.

because there was only one person who ever truly knew how to calm the chaos in her chest.

and he was long gone.

y/n lay, disassociated, in her bed—eyes wide open, staring through the ceiling like she wasn’t even there. like her body was just something left behind.

kiara hovered in the doorway, fists clenched. pope was in the kitchen, pacing. john b sat on the porch steps with his head in his hands.

they were losing her and they knew it.

“you’re not gonna like this,” sarah said finally, voice low, breaking the silence like glass. “but i think we should call rafe.”

john b’s head snapped up. “are you serious right now?”

sarah didn’t flinch. “she doesn’t eat, john b. she doesn’t move. she doesn’t even cry anymore. she’s slipping away. if he’s the only one she’ll respond to, then we call him.”

john b stood, frustrated. “he’s with someone else. and after everything—”

“come on john b, everyone knows rafe isn’t really over y/n,” sarah cut in, sharp. “you think that girl he’s dating means anything? he loved her, probably still does and she needs him right now.”

none of them said anything after that.

because she was right.

his phone buzzed once. then again. and then again.

he ignored it as he laid back on the edge of the bed in a house that never felt like home. his girlfriend—whatever her name was—called out from the bathroom, asking if he wanted to go out tonight. he didn’t answer.

he stared at the ceiling like it might give him something. a reason, a distraction, anything.

the buzzing didn’t stop. he finally looked up, grabbing his phone rather aggressively, his heart dropping. sarah.

sarah: she’s not talking. sarah: hasn’t eaten in days. sarah: she’s not gonna make it if you don’t come.

he sat up slowly, the air punched out of his lungs. his chest tightened like it always did when he thought of y/n and the way things ended—fast, messy, wrong.

she hadn’t spoken to him since the night of the funeral, hadn’t answered a single call. she didn’t even look at him when he showed up at the house that day—eyes empty, body shaking, grief radiating off her like heat.

he didn’t blame her but that didn’t stop him from loving her.

he stood up. grabbed his keys off the nightstand. his girlfriend called after him again—something about dinner or a movie or whatever—and he shut the door behind him without a word.

this wasn’t a choice and it never had been.

if she needed him, he’d be there. no matter what he had to walk away from to get to her because even after everything—she was still his.

the pogues were on the porch when he pulled up, but no one said a word. pope looked away., john b tensed, and kiara stood with her arms crossed, a sharpness in her eyes that didn’t soften when she saw him.

only sarah met his gaze, a single nod toward the front door.

he walked past them without speaking, shoes heavy on the steps. the front door creaked open behind him, and the silence of the house wrapped around him like fog.

it was too quiet. like everything inside had given up. her door was open just a crack.

he didn’t knock.

she was curled on the bed in jj’s hoodie, smaller than he’d ever seen her. the fabric drowned her, her knees were tucked to her chest, her hair was a mess, her face pale, her eyes wide but empty—staring at nothing. it was like the world had faded and she couldn’t remember what color felt like.

“y/n.” her head turned slowly, like it took more energy than she had.

“rafe?”

he nodded. “yeah.” her brow furrowed. “what are you doing here?” he walked over, sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. “you don’t have to do this alone.”

“i told you to leave,” she whispered.

“you did,” he said. “but you didn’t mean it.” she looked away. her fingers trembled in her lap.

“you hated him.”

he exhaled. "yeah, i did, but i came for you.”

her voice cracked, her eyes finally meeting his blue ones. “i don’t know how to do this anymore. i can't sleep, i can't eat, i get up and he’s still gone. and i—i don’t know how to be here without him.”

“you don’t have to figure it out right now,” he said gently, reassuring her. “you just have to breathe. i’ll be here when you do.”

she blinked fast, jaw clenched like she was holding something in. maybe panic, maybe tears, or maybe both.

“i feel like i’m losing myself.” she whispered it, like saying it any louder would make it real.

he didn’t hesitate this time, he reached for her, slow but steady, and when she didn’t flinch, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him.

“i’ve got you,” he murmured. “you’re still here, you’re still you. even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

she didn’t answer right away, but her hand gripped his shirt, tight.

she let herself fall into him, her forehead against his chest, her breath hitching and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself cry.

quiet. shaking. but real.

he held her through all of it, not saying much, he just sat there. when her breathing finally slowed and the tears dried on her skin, she looked up at him, voice cracked and raw.

“i love you.”

his response came instantly, no hesitation, no breath between.

“i love you too.”

he said it like it had never stopped being true. like it was the one thing in his world that hadn’t changed.

and this time, when she closed her eyes and leaned into him again—

she didn’t feel like she was falling.

she felt like she was home.

[bewitched-hours]

HAI I really love your writing. Like I may have found my favourite blog and Congratulations for 50+ followers 🎉🎉. Could you do a domestic fluff HC or oneshot whatever you feel up for about Guest 1337 or 1x4 ( I recommend this on a post you made a while back). Anyways do you plan on writing for other fandoms( I may or may not be planning to ask for Apothecary Diaries one shots) Anyways Bai and take care of yourself

- New Anon

Afraid you failed to make yourself anonymous there lol But instead of just one, how about I do headcanons on both? That way I get to write more and bring a little more diversity to my posts after all! And to answer your second question, I do plan on writing for more fandoms (hopefully soon) and I'd be honestly interested to see what you might request for my favourite anime of all time- (Maomao is so me, chat-)

Anyhow, reader's getting they/them for these~!

Guest 1337

I like to imagine he can't cook past the quick and simple recipes but he would adore your cooking. It makes him feel somewhat nostalgic and he might thank you at times for all the love and effort you put into your dishes.

He definitely holds you in his sleep. Even if you two try to sleep with your backs against each other, you always end up in a cuddling position by the time you wake up.

He absolutely adores watching you in rounds he didn't get picked for and (unknowingly) annoying the others with his praise of you whenever you manage to trick or fight the killer off.

After rounds he helps you clean up. Even if wounds don't persist in this hellish realm, the exhaustion is more than real and he will make sure you take a shower every few rounds just to be sure.

Need a personal heater? Just go right up to him and cuddle, you get warmth and some affection so it's a double win~

1x4

She might be more grumpy on the outside but by the time you two are together, you see right through him.

He's like a cat. Affection comes at her terms but if you're in serious need of comfort she might tone it down a bit to care for you.

Absolutely would try to cook something for you but don't expect it to be edible...

She'd probably drag you away if you're a survivor during a round with him and just tell you to stay in a specific spot until the other survivors are dead so he can go on to just go easy on you and potentially cuddle until the timer runs out. (You won't be spared from dying though)

You betcha she's protective of you. He's the only one allowed to badmouth you because she never means it seriously.

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[rosedaie]

BOB X READER HCS

🖤 Bob (Void) x Reader – “I Like You So Much It’s Physically Unnerving” Headcanons 🖤 (he’s floating again. that means he’s nervous.)

Bob has a huge crush on you and it’s obvious to literally everyone except you.

He talks to everyone else once a day. He talks to you and malfunctions like a broken Roomba.

Calls you by your full name because nicknames feel “too familiar” and it freaks him out.

Tries to make casual conversation like “hello. you consume food. that’s… cool.”

Has a secret folder of things you’ve recommended (songs, books, weird YouTube videos). He treasures it like an ancient relic.

If you fall asleep near him, he does not move for hours. Barely breathes. Scared he’ll wake you.

Will offer you tea or coffee and pretend it’s not a big deal. It is. He made six test batches to get it right

Bob texts you way more confidently than he speaks to you. Uses punctuation. Proper spelling. Little dry jokes.

Will say things like “be careful” or “don’t get hurt” in that haunted monotone that feels… weirdly intimate.

If you compliment him? He short circuits. Looks away. Phases into a wall. Might drop a “you too” even if it doesn’t apply.

Starts fixing your stuff (silently) because that’s how he shows affection. You think the kitchen light magically repairs itself? No. It’s Bob at 2am, glowing softly and being in love.

Glitches when you touch him accidentally. Like. Literally sparks.

Once phased directly through a vending machine because you smiled at him.

You ask “hey, are you okay?” and he answers, “I have no idea.”

Eyes go brighter when he’s flustered. No one’s brave enough to point it out.

When you leave the room, he watches for 0.2 seconds too long and then panics about it for 3 days.

[zyart-jpg]

“The Worm Question”

Pairing: Park Hajun/Joker x Reader

Summary: The worm question, but he was the one asking.

Tags: Fluff, Slightly suggestive ending, Established relationship

A/N: because someone asked for Hajun hehe

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

You froze mid-application—lips still puckered in that ridiculous O you always made when trying to blend yet another absurdly complicated lip combo before a shower.

Slowly, stiffly, you turned to him from your spot at the vanity, lip gloss still pressed against your bottom lip. He was perched on the bed, staring at you like you held the secret to the universe, thumb hovering over his phone as if your answer might determine the fate of mankind.

“Baby—” you said slowly, like you were making sure you hadn’t misheard. “What did you just say?”

He didn’t blink. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Same tone and the same eerie seriousness he always holds.

You blinked at him.

He blinked at nothing.

“...Stop watching Tiktoks,” you said, squinting at him before turning back to the mirror, picking up where you left off with your lips.

You heard the creak of the bed, the familiar shuffle of his steps—unhurried, deliberate. Then the dip of the chaise as he sat beside you, the warmth of his hands settling on your waist like it belonged there.

“You didn’t answer,” he said, voice low and level right by your ear. “What if I was a worm?”

You caught the movement in your periphery first before you felt the faint pressure of his chin flopping heavily onto your shoulder. He didn’t say a word, just hunched his tall frame over your side like a sullen cat demanding affection, the crown of his head almost bumping yours as he leaned in.

His proximity made your shoulder dip slightly under the weight, and yet he just stayed there, perfectly still, his cheek brushing against the soft cotton of his own oversized shirt you had on.

You didn’t look at him right away. Instead, you kept smoothing the last swipe of gloss across your lips with the kind of overdrawn precision only reserved for a pre-shower ritual and existential couple debates. Your eyes met his sulky reflection in the mirror, head tilted against you like some tragic statue of a man burdened by love—and wormhood.

You sighed. A light huff of breath that wasn’t quite annoyed, but wasn’t exactly indulgent either. Your brow rose slowly, caught between exasperation and a smile you were fighting to suppress.

“Hajun,” you began, voice flat but your tone dangerously close to teasing, “if you were a worm, you'd most likely be buried in dirt. Or, I don’t know… halfway through a bird’s digestive tract.”

You capped your lip gloss with a loud pop for punctuation, placing it down like a mic drop.

From the corner of your eye, you saw it—the tiny, almost imperceptible furrow of his usually unreadable brows, the smallest twitch of betrayal. 

Then, silently, he shifted. 

One of his hands slid forward, sneaking under the hem of his shirt—your shirt—and settled against the bare skin of your waist. His fingertips were cold, but they didn’t flinch; instead, they curled lightly there, as if soaking in your warmth could erase your callous answer.

He let out a slow, wounded-sounding exhale against your neck. “So that’s a no, huh..” he murmured. “You wouldn’t love me if I turned into a worm right now?”

The dramatics were delivered with his usual monotone, but you could feel the pout buried in the words.

You turned your head just enough to catch his expression properly—and nearly snorted.

He wasn’t even trying to look normal anymore. His face was blank, like always, but his eyes were narrowed ever-so-slightly, like a betrayed Victorian heroine. He looked ridiculous—like someone just told him he wasn’t getting the eggs on sale.

It was stupid—and kind of adorable.

You pressed your lips together tightly to hold back a laugh. 

“Why would you turn into a worm right now?” you asked, like you were actually considering the logistics of it. “Is this a mid-life crisis? Are you okay, baby?”

Silence. His fingers shifted minutely on your waist. Then—

“I think I’d be a very respectful worm,” he said with utter seriousness. “Polite. Low-maintenance. I’d still find a way to hold your hand.”

That was it. 

That broke you.

Your laugh came out sharp and sudden, stifled into your shoulder as you reached up to push lightly at his face. “Get off me, you idiot.”

He didn’t budge. Just nuzzled in closer, the ghost of a satisfied smirk playing on his lips even as his expression stayed perfectly deadpan.

“You’re laughing,” he noted, smug in that uniquely quiet Joker way.

“I’m laughing at you, not with you,” you managed, even though you were still trying to stop grinning.

“That’s fine,” he said, pulling you a little closer. “Even worms need affection.”

Before you could fire back another quip, he tilted his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek—soft and lazy, like he’d been planning it the whole time. Then another one, a little closer to the corner of your mouth this time, until you turned toward him fully—letting his lips press against yours.

It was sweet. Unrushed. A little smug, too—like he knew exactly how to disarm you.

You sighed dramatically when he pulled back. “Great. Now the worm ruined my lip combo.”

He glanced at your lips with faint amusement. “You were wearing, like... four different colors.”

“Five,” you corrected, brushing a thumb over his now equally glossed lower lip. “And they were working until someone got all clingy and curious about wormhood.”

He leaned in close again, voice low near your ear. “Maybe wormhood is my final form.”

You groaned. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm,” he hummed, thumb brushing lazily across your hip. “Shower?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Because you feel guilty about messing up my lips?”

“No,” he said, already standing and offering you a hand. “Because I want to see if you can make them  waterproof.”

You rolled your eyes, but you took his hand anyway.

“Romantic.”

[mybworlds]

Chapter 11: Beyond Desolation

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N) | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W.C.: 2.5K

Summary: Your life sounds perfect: you live with a perfect man, you live in your dream house, you do the job you love, you don't miss anything, except love and passion.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, use of you, reader is a photographer, reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to, unspecified age gap, Joel and reader are two cheaters, for a while. Smut, use of pet names, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected PiV but the first time, creampies, comeplay, oral (both f and m recieving), exhibitionism, size kink, personal use of an unspecified sex toy. No outbreak here. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N We come to the end of this story and writing the epilogue was not easy because I wanted to give a fair epilogue both to this much hated Joel and to the female protagonist. You probably won't agree with this ending, but I hope I've still entertained and involved you in some way. Thx xxx

Masterlist

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics

Taglist @harriedandharassed

“Hey,” he says looking you in the eyes. Even though he hurt your feelings, you can't help but miss a beat.

“Hey,” you say using his same tone. He looks tired, his curly hair is a messy mess as if he's run his hands through it over and over again. There are obvious dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for days. Despite this, he’s always good looking.

“I'm here to fix the glass.” he tells you.

Your heart is pounding so hard you fear he might hear it.

“I thought you sent someone to do this,” you tell him trying hard to control your voice.

“For a moment I thought it was better to do it this way,” he continues.

Please, remember what he did to you!

“So why did you come?” you ask him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, silent for a moment. “Sorry, actually.”

You cross your arms regaining control of yourself and the situation, “For what?” Your voice shakes slightly, but you disguise it with a little cough.

“For ruining your life. For not understanding the discomfort I caused you.” His words burn deep inside, your insides seem to tighten painfully. “I said things to you and did things that… were easily misunderstood. I was an asshole.” You nod. “I’m sorry.” He adds again.

“Okay.”

Only then you notice a duffel bag, “I’ll fix the damage my daughter did and then I’ll go away.” he tells you in case you were thinking of something else.

You step aside, letting him in, then close the door. He waits for you to go ahead and lead him, which you do, and then you go into another room.

What does he expect you to say to him? Okay, don't worry, you just broke my heart and destroyed my life, don't worry, these things happen! You’ll never be able to give this answer, even if you simply wanted to help him clear his conscience.

You hear him fiddling in the other room, while you're struggling to work on the computer on the latest shots taken for the Santa Barbara fashion house, you'd like to enhance the clothes in the right way by modifying the light and the contrast, but your mind always takes you there, in the other room.

Damn, he was such an asshole!

You get up from your desk and reach out to him, you don't know how he did it, but he's cut the broken glass and he’s inserting a new one.

You look at him with your arms crossed, he looks up at you from time to time. He probably notices your stiff posture, the embarrassment for the whole situation because he clears his throat now and then.

“Sarah… she… she, well, she made a real mess,” he says, trying to start a conversation with you.

“Uh, uh.” you grumble, walking over to the fridge to get some water. You close your eyes as you hear him cough in embarrassment at not hearing any more words from you.

You drink a couple of glasses of water, then you turn to him and see him working, you notice his focused expression, how he wrinkles his forehead and how a very noticeable wrinkle forms between his eyebrows, at that moment you notice that he’s wearing large work gloves, surely to avoid cutting himself.

At other times you’d have found that expression so absorbed and concentrated incredibly sexy, now you just feel uncomfortable being in his presence. You clench your hands nervously, it’s Joel again speaking to you, “I apologize again for what Sarah did. When I get home…”

“No need.” You interrupt. “You’re repairing the damage, end of story.” You add, your heart pounding in your chest. You bite your lower lip, trying to look out the balcony.

It's been months since you saw him and yet that burning humiliation still hasn't left you. You have always been honest with him, he has been ambiguous and cruel and, best of all, Tess.

“I’ll weld the glass and then I’ll leave,” he informs you.

You hum without looking at him.

“I'm going to get the equipment and be back.” he says, you notice out of the corner of your eye that he’s looking at you, but you don't look back at him at all.

You just want him to go away. It hurts to be with him. And you don't want to feel any more hurt because of him.

A few moments later, he returns. He works in absolute silence, the only noise being the hum of the machinery he uses.

You look up at his face from time to time, you think back to how much you fantasized about him and how with that same face he watched you disintegrate your life and destroy your heart.

“Finished,” he announces.

“Good.” Only then you look him in the eyes. “Thanks. Um… do you want – do you want a glass of water?”

“If it doesn’t bother you.”

You nod, turning your back on him and walking towards the fridge, your hands shaking slightly as you pick up the glass and pour the water. You turn around and he's a couple of steps away from you, his dark eyes looking first at your face and then at your shaking hand as you offer him the glass, he grabs it and, frowning slightly, begins to drink.

You watch his thick fingers grip the glass and his lips press against the glass.

Damn.

He swallows, then asks you, “You okay?”

You decide to be honest, “No. Your very presence hurts me. It makes me feel so bad, Joel.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step toward you, but you immediately take a step back.

You shake your head, “No.”

You and him stay at a safe distance, he puts his hands on his hips, he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it and sighs, “You’re right. I was horrible to you. Ours wasn’t supposed to be anything more than sex... I thought we would never get further, but you immediately knew how to make me lower my guard and helped me bring out things that until that moment I had kept to myself.” he looks you in the eyes, he seems really sorry “I was wrong to do it because I let you into my life and that made you somehow involved in my private sphere. It’s not your fault.” he punctuates the last words, you look up at him again “I was the one who made the mistake with you. I had ambiguous attitudes and.. I shouldn't have told you all those things, I - I..."

He’s in trouble, you see it, so you decide to intervene by telling him “Don’t be afraid. Got it. Thanks to you I realized that love and any kind of relationship are a scam.” you say feeling a lump in your throat and understanding how bitter your words are and how much this truth you just confessed to him hurt you because Joel has given you such a disappointment that you know will prevent you from trusting someone else completely as you’ve done with him or in the past “I’ve become a heartless bitch like you. Thanks.” you say melancholically, looking him straight in the eyes and crossing your arms. “But unlike you, I won’t be able to use others just for a little pleasure.”

His eyes become even darker and more serious, subtly sad. “You’ll never be like me.” He pauses. “I’d never wish that on you. I hope that one day you find love and that you find someone who believes in it just like you do.”

You shake your head slowly, “You know, the last few times we were together, I thought that…” you huff a little, suppressing the lump in your throat and trying to control your voice “I thought we were making love, I was so sure of it.” you sigh finding it difficult to confess everything to him, but you have to say it, “I thought there was no need to say those three words because I thought that certain attitudes and care towards each other were enough.” your eyes sting “Think how stupid I was!”

“I'm sorry,” he says, lowering his head and staring at the empty glass in his hands.

“Is that all you can say?” you see him tighten his fingers even more tightly around the cup “You once told me that you are afraid of commitment and.. and I understand that, I accept that, but when you realized that you were becoming important to me, why didn’t you..?” you sigh “When you realized how much you meant to me, you immediately walked away and moved on to the next one, Tess.” you add by telling him everything that was in your head and that for a while you had managed to keep aside and not think about it.

You feel better because you have given voice to everything that hurt you about his manners.

Joel purses his lips, “Tess..” he whispers her name, then looks at you “I tried to start what I had done in the past and then with you.. I tried to.. to be with her, y’ know,” your heart is beating furiously in your chest, you don't want to hear certain things, but you imagine you have no choice “but, I froze.”

“Should I care or feel sorry for you now?” you ask him acidly, shaking your head slowly.

“No, but I just wanted you to know that there’s nothing left between me and Tess. I repeat, I tried, but… I thought about the pain I caused you and so I thought I didn't want to hurt anyone else.”

“So you reserved the podium for me for having torn my heart out!” you exclaim, you huff taking the glass from his hands “You know what? It’s okay.” you blurt out putting the glass in the sink “Thanks for telling me. Thanks for making your position clear on this.” you pause for a moment “I sincerely thank you for just one thing,” he looks at you curiously “Thank you for making me understand that I wasn’t happy with Patrick.” he lowers his gaze as if struck by a sudden sense of guilt “He deserved better? Yes. Me? Fuck, yes. You?” you take a long pause, your almost angry tone fades to become softer “You too.” only then does he look up while maintaining an almost unreadable expression “I loved you, it's true, but then I also hated you. But now that I see you... I don't feel hate, only... bitterness and pity.” You find yourself swallowing and almost suddenly you feel better and the lump in your throat seems to slowly dissolve.

“Ever since my ex-wife left me accusing me of only thinking about work, I told myself that I would never let anyone else into my heart, ever again. In the end, who lost out? Me.” A long, heavy silence follows. The man who seemed so sexy and confident to you and then so cruel, now seems to have decided to show his true self.

“I’m sorry you’ve built this horrible mask because you’ve forbidden whoever she is to know you. You’ve made yourself miserable.” you sigh, deciding not to take it any further.

“I think we have now been truly sincere.” he mutters under his breath, you find yourself nodding faintly, having agreed with him after so long, “Do you have any whiskey by any chance?”

“Sure.”

You pour the distillate into the glass and hand it to him. You see him sigh heavily before taking a big sip.

“We'll be fine,” you tell him, offering him a friendly look. He nods, giving you a quick glance before taking the last sip.

You don't say anything else, but for now it's enough for you. You feel more serene and you know that from today on it will probably be better, you were stuck in that limbo where Joel Miller himself had pushed you.

You greet each other with a handshake and a long, silent look. You don't know if you'll see each other again one day, if you'll talk to each other or if you'll pretend not to know each other again, or if you decide to start something again that will last this time, what you know is that you can now forgive him and let him go.

Now your life can begin again...

[puffy-peachy]

making me mad

People who dumb down peeta as just the "lover boy who's only thing is katniss" YES he does love her and has spent his life yearning for her. But he also is more then THAT, like it feels somtimes watching the capital talk when I see some of these posts about peeta??? I also hate the term "new peeta" after he was highjacked???? TF you mean NEW?? he's still the same, just the most the memories of katniss have been flipped to paint her as terrible, he still has every other memory and interest?! He was just more protective of himself and was "sassier" and talked back and was no longer lover boy who put himself last, but that whole "ass hole peeta" arc lasted maybe a couple of months, intill he started to break away from it?! Like... I just hate the concept that he's new

I think the quote from johanna is really good (page 267 in mockingjay)

"Haymitch says he's getting better," she says

"Maybe. But he's changed," I say.

"So have you. So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beete. Dont get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don't you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?" She asks me.

"No," I answer.

"That's the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about. There's no going back. So might as well get on with things."

So why must we call him new??? Everyone changes? And to hold that to him just under plays his trauma?!

Peeta truly is such a good character that the Fandom will dumb down, he I would say has done way more anit capital shit ON purpose then katniss ever has done, he's so vocal about it as well???

Don't talk down on my man Peeta Mellark!!!

[belit0]

Ugh, I have been eating your HS AU up!! It's good, and I'm planning to read the Ao3 collection soon. Do you think you could write something for Obito where he's obsessed with a girl and is possessing every aspect of her life but instead of feeling suffocated she doesn't mind his actions and is still loving toward him because she's been kind of ignored by her family and doesn't have much friends at school bc people think shes a teachers pet for getting good grades. She's just so welcoming and sweet to him he can't he but want to eat her up! Could you maybe also throw in how Obitos' cousins react (specifically madara and indra) to him having such an obedient and loving girl. (Could you also make it suggestive or maybe somewhat smutty, pls)

You pips are feral for HS! Obito

(Y/N) didn’t ask questions when Obito started showing up at her classroom door between every period.

She just smiled, like it made sense for someone like him, dark hoodie, bruised knuckles, half a scowl on his face, to be waiting for her like a stray dog.

She didn’t even blink when he pulled out a cigarette and lit it beside her locker, daring anyone to say shit.

Didn’t care that teachers whispered. That the girls who used to ask to borrow her notes now crossed the hallway just to avoid looking at her.

She just kept walking beside him like she belonged there.

Like he was part of her day now, part of her routine, part of her bloodstream.

And maybe he was.

Because Obito was obsessed, and obsession had no brakes.

He knew her schedule better than she did.

Every class, every shift, every walk home.

Her phone? His thumbprint unlocked it now.

Her bedroom window? He climbed through it more than her family opened the front door.

Not that they noticed. No one did.

That’s what gutted him most, the way her eyes softened when he showed up with her favorite drink, or a charger, or nothing at all.

Like the world had ignored her so long that she didn’t care if he stole everything from her. As long as he kept coming back.

He started showing up at her house before sunrise. Pretending he was just checking if she was awake.

Truth was, he couldn’t sleep knowing someone else might talk to her.

Look at her.

Touch her.

Even exist near her without her looking away first.

And she welcomed it.

No resistance.

No fear.

Just that quiet, sun-drenched smile that made him feel rabid inside.

-You don’t have to do all this for me, Obito,- she whispered once, curled into his chest after school, head tucked under his chin.

-I know,- he murmured back, pressing a kiss into her hair, hand low on her waist, clenching like she might vanish. -But I want to. I have to.-

He meant it.

He had her passwords.

Her scent on his clothes.

His toothbrush in her bathroom now.

There wasn’t a single piece of her life he hadn’t claimed or planned to.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

So when Madara and Indra caught them one afternoon in the backroom of the abandoned gym—door barely shut, her legs across his lap, her body soft and warm and smiling up at him like she didn’t care they were no longer alone—Obito didn’t stop.

Madara leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze sharp and cold like a blade that hadn't drawn blood yet.

Indra said nothing, as always. Just stood there, unreadable. Like a black hole in human form.

-You serious with this shit?- Madara scoffed, flicking a lighter open and closed. -She's that sweet, and you’re already playing house? Thought you were just pretending to be the golden boy. Didn’t think you actually went soft.-

Obito didn’t answer right away.

His fingers were still brushing her hip under the hem of her skirt, slow and possessive. Not to tease her. To remind her. Of who she belonged to. Who watched over her. Who made her feel seen in a world that treated her like wallpaper.

She leaned against him more fully.

Obito smiled without humor.

-She’s not sweet. She’s mine. That’s all that matters.

Madara rolled his eyes. -Fucking pathetic.-

Indra tilted his head just slightly, voice low. -You sure you can handle it? All that obedience. That kind of softness? One day she’ll want more. She’ll want space. And when she pulls away—

-She won’t.- Obito cut in, something ugly curling under his words. -She doesn’t need anyone else. She doesn’t even want anyone else. Not after what I give her.-

(Y/N) looked up at him, doe-eyed and trusting, like he’d just said something romantic instead of something that sounded like a threat wrapped in devotion.

Madara exhaled smoke and walked out first, muttering something cruel under his breath about “puppy love with a body count.”

Indra lingered longer. Stared at the girl, at the way she leaned into Obito’s touch like it was instinct. Then at Obito, the wreck of a boy clinging to her like his lungs needed her more than air.

-You better hope she never learns to run.

The door shut with a low click behind Indra.

The sound felt final.

Not loud, but it echoed anyway.

Like everything outside that room had disappeared. Silence washed over them, heavy and full of breath.

His hands were already on her, one hooked possessively around her waist, the other still resting just above the bend of her thigh, where his fingertips had paused mid-trace for a second. Now, they resumed their path with aching slowness.

Knuckles brushing fabric.

Then skin.

Light, barely there, like he was touching something sacred.

(Y/N) didn’t look away, didn’t ask, didn’t breathe wrong.

She just eased her legs apart by an inch. Maybe two.

Like muscle memory.

Like obedience.

Like belonging.

It wasn’t about sex.

Not really.

It was about proximity.

About closing every inch of space between them until there was nothing left untouched, unclaimed, unseen. Until every fold of her, every breath she took, was shaped by him.

Tied to him.

Dependent.

He leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers, their noses brushing, their exhales shared.

-You don’t care if they see it, do you?- he asked softly, voice low and hoarse, like gravel soaked in honey. -What we are. What you are to me.-

She blinked, lashes slow and soft.

Then nodded. Tiny. Absolute.

-I want all of them to know,- she whispered, the words threading through his veins like a drug. -That I’m yours. That you take care of me.-

Something cracked inside him. Or maybe it was him solidifying. Cement hardening around the edges of his obsession.

He shifted lower, his mouth trailing down her jaw, then her throat.

Slow. Reverent. Like he was praying, but to her.

His fingers skimmed again, a breath higher on the inside of her thigh this time. Still not touching where she burned for him. Just hovering there. Drawing warmth out of her with the nearness alone.

She trembled, not with nerves, but with relief. Like every second he wasn’t touching her felt too quiet, too separate.

-You always open for me like this,- he murmured against her skin. -Like your body already knows who it belongs to.-

Her eyes fluttered closed. The way she tilted her hips forward said it all. The way she breathed deeper, pressing into his chest like her bones only settled when he was near.

She wasn’t begging for more.

She was inviting him.

Because she wasn’t scared of the dark parts of him. She curled into them. Welcomed the shadow like it was her missing half.

And Obito was worshipping her.

Not the way gods are worshipped.

But the way madness worships quiet.

The way the forgotten worship being seen.

And in that cramped locker room, with the scent of old sweat and tobacco in the air, and the ghosts of his cousins’ judgment still hanging in the silence, Obito didn’t care about anything else.

Not school.

Not family.

Not rules.

Only her.

Legs parted.

Chest rising and falling.

His fingers moved over the thin fabric of her underwear, indulging in the addictive cruelty of it, the power of making her ache, making her shiver and moan, without even touching bare skin.

The tension between denial and control turned electric.

He knew every reaction was his to command, every inch of her mapped and memorized. The way her body opened for him wasn’t chance; it was learned, rehearsed. He knew exactly how to make her legs tremble, how to coax her pussy to part, aching and obedient, without ever rushing.

He’d come to understand the way she liked it: innocent in appearance, but laced with a quiet depravity. Subtle. Tethered to the weight of her own ghosts.

She needed to be guided, handled like something delicate, not because she was weak, but because she craved the feeling of being wanted with care.

The school uniform, the skirt hitched just high enough, her ruined underwear clinging damp to cunt for the rest of the day; Obito knew all of it thrilled her.

The risk of being caught, the press of fingers where no one should dare.

She wanted to be held like she mattered. Like she could break. And he gave her that, always, until the darker edge of him started to stir.

His fingers moved in tight, relentless circles over her clit, the friction of the soaked fabric and the rawness of the moment tightening the air around them.

It was obscene.

Her breath hitched, moaned in that high-pitched voice, sharp enough to spike through his spine. She came hard, body twitching with one last grind of her hips, and let out an innocent giggle that felt like surrender.

He owned her without chains, without orders.

Just choice.

And that made her his kind of dangerous.

Obito stayed still for a long time after that.

Breathing her in. Holding her close. Hands unmoving.

Just there.

She touched his jaw gently, coaxing his eyes back to hers.

-I’m not going anywhere, you know,- she whispered, a kind of sad certainty in her voice. -Even if they don’t get it. You do. That’s all I ever wanted.-

And that’s when he knew.

She wasn’t the one who’d get devoured.

He was.

[vevobly]

hii, your work is amazing!😭

i was wondering if you could write yellowjackets with depressed (or sad/struggling with mental health) reader?

thank you in advance, no pressure and take care of yourself!! 🖤

Yellowjackets With Depressed Reader Headcanons!

A/N: Sorry in advance! I only realized after finishing this that it wasn't clear whether you wanted a story or a headcanons post. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie would notice right away if you’re not feeling like yourself. The thing is that she doesn't always know how to go about and approach it. She'll insist on taking you out for a perfect date—dinner, ice cream, or maybe a drive—thinking it’ll help cheer you up instantly. It doesn't, but it makes you feel a bit better at least. So Jackie counts that as a success.

Jackie is pretty much clueless on how to comfort other people because she's more used to being the one being comforted instead of the other way. So she might say stuff like “you’re too amazing to feel this way” and it could come off as dismissive to you at times, but she’s just trying to remind you how much you mean to her.

Whether you wanted it or not, Jackie would go out of her way to try and get Shauna or the other girls on the team involved in “helping” you. She thinks you just need more support from people who love you. And while that is a very sweet thing to do for you, she kinda has a tendency of making you out like this wounded animal to them and it makes you feel annoyed a bit.

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna wouldn’t push you to open up but she would take notice of the little things you do differently, she’d just quietly ask “you okay?” to you when the two of you are alone. Besides that, Shauna is pretty great at comforting you through small gestures. Lending you her favorite book, making you snacks, or sitting in silence with you while you process your feelings.

Shauna might not have all the answers to your problems but she’d let you know she’s there for you, always. She'd write you these notes or leave little messages around for you to find that says “thinking of you” and so. Shauna feels guilty about not always knowing how to help you, so she overcompensates for it by being overly attentive toward you during your worst days.

Shauna worries about you a lot but she doesn't always go around expressing it openly. She's usually just showing her concern about you through her actions. When you open up about whatever's eating you up, she'll always be there for you. Listening carefully to you, her expression purely soft and attentive. She'd really struggle with giving you advice because she's unsure of how to deal with emotions and feelings herself.

Taissa Turner:

Tai is incredibly perceptive, she would immediately pick up on the changes in your behavior and go into problem-solving mode. She'd go around searching for whatever information is available for her to get about how can help you and so. Struggling to get out of bed? Tai will be encouraging you to come to soccer practice or to get out of your house for a walk at least, knowing from researching that physical activity can help sometimes even if you're reluctant about it.

Whether you'd do it intentionally or not, Tai would absolutely not allow you to isolate yourself. Telling you “we’re a team, okay? You’re not doing this alone” before dragging you out to whichever place would let you get some air and feel a bit better. Tai would be very fiercely protective of you. If anyone makes a comment about your mental state, she'll immediately just shut them down and maybe even confront them after it especially if the comment was horrible towards you.

Tai will be checking in on you from time to time but in a way that isn't overbearing and feels natural, she would know when to back off and when to gently push. Although it seems like she has it all together and knows exactly what to do for you, she doesn't. She'll falter occasionally, especially when she feels completely powerless to help you. So instead, she'll just get really quiet and sit beside you—letting her presence there speak for her to you.

Van Palmer:

Van would use humor to make you feel better, to lift your spirits up. She'll crack jokes or tell you all sorts of ridiculous stories she has just to make you laugh, to make you happy. She'd make it very clear that she's there for you by saying things like "hey! I'm not going anywhere, even if you try to get rid of me" and when you ever need to cry, she'd hold you without saying a word while just letting you let it all out.

Van would invite you to watch movies or go out for long drives with the excuse it's just to "get out of the house" when it's just her really hoping it would give you some peace of mind. That, or she'll just show up out of nowhere at your doorstep during the night with some junk food and cheesy horror movies to distract you when you're down—dubbing it as silly stuff like "Van's Anti-sadness Marathon Night" or "No Cry Tuesday" and such.

Van is incredibly patient with you and will sit with you for hours, doing nothing in particular, just to make sure you're not alone. She knows fully well that she can't solve your problems, but damn that! She will do whatever she can do to make you feel better, to make you smile until your cheeks are hurting or laugh until your stomach hurts just so she can take you away for even the briefest moment from your own mind.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Whether you would admit it or not, Nat is really observant. She would quickly realize when something is off with you but wouldn't push you around about it. Instead, she'll open up to you about her own problems just so you feel less alone. She won't baby you, but she will be checking on you from time to time—just offering to hang out or sneak you a cigarette when she knows you're feeling especially low.

Nat would be the type to just show up at your window late at night, asking if you want to drive around or maybe go stargazing. She'd be extremely understanding about your depression and would not judge you for it one bit because she knows what it's like to be in your position. Nat would be there for you when you're pouring your heart out at 2AM, her hand on top of yours as you do so. And she just has this soft look on her face while you're at it.

She’d also have no problem skipping school or practice, just to hang out with you even if it’s just sitting in her room in comfortable silence. Nat would make mistakes for you, filled with songs she thinks that you might like. And she doesn't know, maybe resonate with you? Some are sad and some are uplifting. Nat wouldn't sugarcoat things but instead talk to you honestly and openly. It's a good thing in your opinion, she's not feeding you any crap to make you feel better.

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie has a very odd and uncanny ability to somehow sense when you're feeling low, even when you hide it so well and it's not obvious. She also always seems to say the right thing too. Lottie just has this really calming and soothing presence that makes it easier for you to open up about what's on your mind, what's your problem and so. She's empathetic, never forcing you to feel better. She'll just sit with you while you're trying to process and make sense of your feelings.

When you're having a particularly horrible day, she'll take you to these quiet peaceful places like the woods or by a lake where you can be together and forget about all of your problems for just a moment. Lottie surprises you often with these small thoughtful gestures, like bringing you flowers or writing you encouraging notes that remind you just how much you're loved. She'd be reminding you from time to time to take things one day at a time and checking in to see how you are.

Whether you like it or not, Lottie would guide you through grounding exercises like deep breathing or simply sitting outside and soaking in the sun. And sometimes, she'd even encourage you to try yoga or meditation. Lottile would ask you to hang out with her and do whatever she knows you would enjoy, like reading a book or just wandering to a quiet spot where you could talk about anything and everything. Oh, and she'd also always hold your hand or have one on your back.

Laura Lee:

Laura Lee would be endlessly patient and gentle with you, reminding you almost every day that it's okay to feel the way you do. She'd write little players or uplifting quotes and leave them for you to find in your locker or bag. Laura Lee would pray for you and offer to pray with you if that's something you're comfortable with. No worries if you decline! She would never push her own beliefs on you or force you to do anything you didn't like at all.

Laura Lee would know just how to gently encourage you to talk about your feelings, listening to you talk about it without any judgment at all. She'd offer to take you wherever you wanted so that you could clear your mind off, offer you these small words of wisdom she got from her bible studies and give you hugs whenever you needed It the most. She'll always, as much as she can, remind you that you're loved and valued even if you don't feel like it.

Laura Lee means well, she really does. She wants to help you in any way she can, but the way she tries to help you out is always tied down to her faith. Always with “god has plans for you” angles. While she genuinely believes it, it just sometimes makes you feel more alone. But when she sees that those aren't helping, she'll adjust. She stops doing it and starts just being present. Holding your hand, giving you reassurance. She’ll be there, even when she doesn’t know how to help.

Misty Quigley:

Misty is great. But she's just too much sometimes. Too intense, too clingy, and too eager. This girl will literally act like your personal nurse, tracking your moods, and “helping” you even when you didn't ask or need it at all. She desperately wants to be needed by you, and that desperation can unfortunately be overwhelming. You love her. God, you do. But it feels like you can't do anything without her constantly hovering over you or asking you how you're feeling.

Misty has zero chill when she thinks you're sad, and maybe trying to hide it. One blank stare across the table during lunch? Yep, she's gonna tell everyone on the team at practice to leave you be because you feel terrible. She'll panic if you don't need her. Like, genuinely panic. You mentioned offhand that therapy helped that week, and suddenly she's nervously asking if she's still doing enough. If she’s being replaced. If you’ll leave her like everyone else does.

Misty believes that love equals usefulness. So whenever you feel depressed, she thinks the solution is doing more for you. On your better days, you try to explain that her love feels like pressure. That she doesn’t need to “fix” you. That just her being there is enough. She listens, sort of. But you can see it in her eyes that she doesn’t believe it. She wants to, but it goes against everything she's built herself to be. But at least she tries for you, right? And you love her for it.