#in my mind no one is talking about how fine he is

[feral-pixie-dream-possum]

First. Change comes from inside. If the guy is not open to listening, no matter what you say it isn't going to work. Especially since, as pointed out, many men don't even think about other men as people. They lack the theory of mind, seems like. Looking at some specimens in my boyfriend's circle has made me realise that these guys treat everyone the same. They don't understand consent even in a friendship, and they will lash out towards anyone who breaks their script. My tip is to just not bother with the extreme cases. Just don't. It's not safe, it's not productive, it's a waste of energy. Just don't. But it can be done.

You need to get them to listen. They don't listen because they are scared. They have imposter syndrome and can't let anyone get close enough to see the act. They are cowering within a shell. And you need to get pretty fucking close and find the humanity under there. Bond on something real. My experience is that it's easiest if you find the hurt. Not the "my daddy beat me and I turned out just fine"-hurt. Not the ones that they're too scared to face in themselves. Find something that they can talk about, like how they were bullied for their big ears or something. Make them feel seen and heard. From then on you can build an actual connection.

The key is connection. Because at the bottom of it all they're so, so lonely. Show them that they don't have to be. Once they start connecting with other people they might just understand how nice it would be to have a partner who connects with them. But also it's scary to be so vulnerable so they will have the "my girlfriend is for fucking and my friends are for real connection"-phase. It might last years.

Once you have a connection you can start to gently challenge their ideas. It's a process. You have to always challenge one view with a more strongly held view of theirs. Go for core values like freedom, strength. For example if he says it's gay to go to therapy, make him understand how utterly weak it is that a man who is supposed to be the protector of his family can not face his own thoughts, doesn't go to therapy, and ends up hurting his family. A strong man faces the strongest opponent there is: himself.

Start small and work your way up. Be ready for them to lash out, crash out, have a full blown meltdown. It will happen multiple times.

It's of course easier with guys who are less in their shells. Then you just go for the soft spots and nurture those while showing how the horrible parts of their world view are just stabbing their own damned soft spots.

The longer I exist as a loudly proudly gay man the more I think that cishet men aren't actually attracted to women.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ BAD NIGHTS, BOB ‘ROBERT’ REYNOLDS

summary. Nightmares might be too much, but bob’s always by your side to try to make you feel better.

⭑.ᐟfirst time writing for Bob I’m SO EXCITED! Not really any spoilers from Thunderbolts*! he’s such a cutie I might die. I’ve been on the Lewis love train since the strangers prey at night…2018… I’m an OG! Please interact and send requests if you have any( for Bob or anyone on my masterlist!) <3 let me know if you’d like a part 2!

word count. 754

my masterlist

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Bob’s awakened by the sound of scratching. Not normal scratching on the floor, or on the wall. No- it sounds like satin sheets being ripped apart. He hears your body move frantically, and next thing he knows, he’s right by your side running from the bean bag, to your bed.

He’s always there.

You just don’t know it.

Not in a creepy way- he just needs to know that you’re safe.

He hears you mumbling, your body’s hot, sweaty. The crease on your forehead grows bigger by the second, and like always, he can’t wake you up.

He can’t wake you up until you scream.

He’s not sure how long he waits before you sit up, roughly, and let out a blood curling scream.

The others are used to it. Not only does it not wake them up anymore- but they have their own nightmares to worry about. Their own haunting screams- except they don’t have anyone by their side looking out for them during the night.

But you do.

The scream lasts awhile. You hear him- you know he’s there, but it takes you a minute to open your eyes.

Deep down you know he’s here every night, you feel it-him. Maybe you just don’t want to admit it. Admit that it helps- although the nightmares don’t subside- you feel more at peace. Because you know you won’t be alone when you wake up.

It’s unspoken. It’s fear, it’s ignorance but also uncertainty, and maybe that’s what scares you. Everybody knows- including the two of you.

‘It’s okay, just breathe.’ His hands move up and down your back, like they’ve always belonged there.

Your body’s still hot under his fingers, he feels the temperature over your shirt.

He sees your legs tremble from under the covers, he knows that your voice will break the moment you try to speak.

‘I’m sorry.’ You don’t cry. You don’t- but you want to. You want to cry for all the nights you’ve spent being alone, with nobody to guide you until he came along. You want to cry for all the nights you spent waking up screaming, while he ran to your side, to be there for you.

You know why he’s there. Why he does it- and maybe you’re just too stubborn to admit it. Or be the first one to talk to him about it.

‘Stop apologizing.’ He moves to sit next to you, his hand still motioning circles on your back. His other hand going to lay on your thigh.

Maybe it’s because it’s dark, so he’s bolder, less awkward. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that makes him forget how awkward he is- how scared he is to touch people- to touch you.

And yet he still does. He touches you and your skin stays hot.

He touches you and although your mind is somewhere else, you don’t want him to stop.

‘What was it this time? Same thing?’ He asks, your back going to lay on the bedpost.

‘Yeah. It never seems to change.’ You let out a humorless laugh.

He doesn’t join in. He doesn’t laugh. But his heart breaks.

‘It’s not your fault, you know?’ He speaks up again, his voice barely audible- as if it’s only for your ears and your ears only.

You give him a confused look, and you’re too tired to ask- so he continues.

‘The nightmares. I’ll be here every night if I have to. It’s not fair, but you helped me through them, let me help you back.’ He doesn’t want to say that he thinks you’re stubborn. He knows that you know- but he needs you to let him. He needs you to stop pretending to not need him- or anyone. He needs you to let him help for all the times you’ve helped him while you weren’t doing fine.

‘I’m so-‘ your eyes go to stare at your hands in your lap.

‘Please don’t say that you’re sorry again.’ He gives you a small smile. His hands go to hold yours, like you’re so fragile he’s scared you’ll break if he lets go.

‘Can you stay with me tonight?’

He doesn’t have to answer. Soon enough, his body’s right next to yours, his arms around you holding you like the end of the world’s close, and he’d rather die than stop holding you.

‘Thank you.’ Your head rests on his chest, his heartbeat easing yours.

Your eyes close, and the last thing you hear before falling back to sleep, might just make the nightmares go away for tonight.

‘I’m not going anywhere. Just try to get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.’

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @bohoooitsme @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @l0v33-rey @that-stanford-girlie @mostlymarvelgirl @sunnyteume @beelzebzb please comment if you want to be added to the everything taglist OR be removed from it to just stay in the supernatural taglist:)

[natsaffection]

Not like the Storys. Pt 3 | N.R

BasketballPlayer!Natasha x Cheerleader!Reader

Warnings: struggle with feelings, terrible parents, sport accident

Word count: 8k

A/n: READ, You know my struggle with the spacing, so I decided to call this part the fluff part, and the end can be considered the end. If you then click on the link below, you'll get to the other ending, which has a bonus.

It was the light that woke her.

Soft and golden, slipping through gauzy curtains in slow, dappled beams. The kind of light that looked warm before it felt it. You blinked slowly, your lashes sticking slightly, your mind hazy with sleep.

You didn’t recognize the ceiling above you. The walls were too warm in tone, the posters unfamiliar. The bed was too soft, the air too still. Your brain scrambled for a second, where am I? and then it all came rushing back. Last night. The fight at home. The quiet ride. The fairy lights..Natasha.

You turned your head slowly, and there she was, curled slightly on her side, back toward you, one arm under her pillow, hoodie half-twisted in her sleep. You blinked again. She’d taken up barely any space. Positioned herself as far from you as possible on the bed, leaving all the room in the world, like some kind of unconscious act of care.

You smiled quietly to yourself. Then you slipped out from under the covers, moving slowly so you didn’t wake her. You padded toward the door, bare feet silent against the floor. You stepped out into the hallway and glanced around. It was quiet. The hum of the fridge downstairs. Distant birdsong. A light creak from somewhere behind a closed door.

You rubbed at your eyes, intending to head to the bathroom, but as you rounded the corner of the stairs, a voice made you jump. “Oh! Good morning, darling.”

Melina. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, a folded towel over one arm and a fresh cup of coffee in her hand, dressed in a knit sweater and slippers like it was her uniform.

You froze. “Hi. Sorry..I didn’t mean to just-”

“No, no.” Melina smiled. “You’re fine. I was just about to make breakfast. Are you hungry?”

You opened your mouth, closed it again. You never ate breakfast at home. Never wanted to talk that early. Your stomach was usually in knots from tension, and silence was always safer.

But this was different. “…Yeah.” you said softly. “I think I am.”

Melina’s smile widened. “Wonderful. Come, sit. Let me spoil you.”

The kitchen was sunny and simple. Wooden cabinets, a few mugs left out on the counter, and a half-written crossword puzzle sitting on the table.

You hovered near the edge of the room, unsure. “Can I help with anything?”

“Nope.” Melina said, already pulling out a pan. “You’re a guest. Guests don’t cook.”

You hesitated, then sat at the small round table, fingers threading nervously together. “Do you like eggs?”

“Yeah.”

“Toast?”

“Sure.”

Melina turned on the stove with practiced ease. “How did you and my daughter meet?”

You blinked. “Oh.. School.”

“Obviously,” Melina chuckled. “But I meant- how did you two meet? She’s not exactly the hallway chatty type.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah…she’s not.”

You hesitated, then said, “It kind of started with the game last week.”

Melina turned over a slice of bread in her hand, listening.

“She offered me a ride home. But it wasn’t, like..she was nice. And calm. And I guess I needed that.”

Melina nodded gently. “She does have that calm, buried somewhere in all that sarcasm.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah.. Exactly.”

The smell of toasting bread filled the room. Then the front door opened. And a men entered. Heavy footsteps. A clatter of keys on the side table. And a deep, booming voice:

“Why is there a strange girl in my kitchen?!”

You jumped slightly in your seat. Melina didn’t even flinch. “Because she’s not strange, and she’s not in your kitchen, she’s at our table.”

Alexei walked in, dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt with a half-buttoned flannel over it, his hair sticking up wildly. He froze when he saw you, then blinked like he was trying to remember you.

“Wait…you’re her,” he said, pointing. “The girl! From the cheer thing. The one Natasha brought on the bike.”

You blinked. “Tha-”

Alexei grinned. “Welcome! Did she terrify you yet?”

“She’s doing okay.” Melina said smoothly, placing a plate in front of you. “Because someone in this house understands hospitality.”

Alexei made a wounded sound. “I’m very hospitable.”

Melina gave him a look. You tried not to laugh, eyes wide but warming. Alexei turned back to you. “You like pancakes?”

“She’s having eggs.” Melina said firmly.

“I can make pancakes!” he called as he opened the fridge. “I have a gift.”

“You burn them every time..” Melina muttered.

Natasha padded down the stairs slowly, her bare feet barely making a sound on the wood. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled down past her hands, and her hair was still mussed from sleep. She’d woken up to find the bed half-empty and the sun a little too bright on her face. For a second, panic had gripped her. She left.

But then she heard voices from the kitchen. Warm laughter. Her mom. And..you. She exhaled and followed the sound, a little too fast, like she was afraid the moment would vanish if she didn’t get there soon enough.

As she stepped into the doorway, she caught sight of you at the table, still in that oversized sleep shirt (her shirt, actually), your legs curled under you, hair tucked behind one ear as you smiled politely at something Melina had just said.

You looked over, and Natasha’s heart did that thing again, that irritating, flippy, too-fast skip that she hadn’t figured out how to stop.

“Morning.” you said, voice soft, like you weren’t sure if it was okay to greet her like that in front of her parents.

Natasha nodded. “Hey.”

She slipped into the chair beside you, ignoring the very obvious twinkle in Melina’s eyes and the overexcited way Alexei grinned.

“Did you sleep okay?” you asked, tilting your head.

Natasha looked at you for a moment. “You were stealing most of the covers.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You were like a statue.”

“I was being respectful.”

“You were being weird.”

Natasha smirked and Melina cleared her throat pointedly. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Natasha said before she could be bullied.

A plate was slid in front of her. You had already half-finished yours. There was a smear of butter across the toast corner, and you’d neatly avoided the middle of the eggs like you didn’t trust the yolk.

Alexei suddenly clapped his hands, startling everyone. “I know what we need!” he announced.

“No..” Natasha said immediately.

Alexei ignored her completely and walked toward the living room.

“I said no.” she repeated, already bracing.

You looked confused. “What’s he doing?”

Melina just sipped her coffee with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

Natasha groaned. “I’m moving out.”

A moment later, Alexei returned with a photo album, a fat, leather-bound thing with corners fraying and little tabs sticking out from years of being thumbed through.

“No. Absolutely not!” Natasha said, leaning back.

“Oh yes!” Alexei grinned, flipping it open on the table with flair. “Look at this angel!”

The first picture was a baby Natasha, chubby-cheeked, covered in cake frosting, a paper birthday hat crooked on her head. You gasped, both hands flying to your face.

“No!!” Natasha said, half-laughing, half-mortified. “Don’t look at them.”

But you were already leaning over, your face glowing. “Oh my god. You were so cute!”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were! Look at your little face!”

Alexei flipped again. A photo of toddler Natasha in pigtails and a too-big red hoodie, standing in a sandbox with a plastic shovel in her hand.

“Stop it..!” Natasha groaned, dragging her hoodie up over half her face. Melina walked by, patting her shoulder. “Don’t fight it. Your embarrassment is the highlight of our morning.”

Alexei turned another page, and this time, you paused. There was a different photo. A slightly older Natasha, maybe ten, sitting on a faded couch, a scowl on her face while a little blonde girl hugged her side and stuck her tongue out at the camera.

You tilted your head. “Who’s that?”

Natasha peeked between her fingers. “That’s Yelena. My sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“She’s overseas. Some exchange program-slash-training gig. She’s…chaos.”

Natasha glanced sideways at you, soft, and then, just as Alexei reached for the next page, Natasha lunged forward, grabbed the album, and slid it under her thigh.

“No more.” she said firmly. “That’s enough childhood trauma for today.”

You giggled, full and open. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun.” Natasha muttered, sipping her coffee. “Just with boundaries.”

They sat for a while longer, eating slowly, the album safely trapped under Natasha’s leg like it was a landmine. Eventually, Melina checked the clock. “If you two want to make it to school looking remotely alive, you should get ready.”

You nodded, stretching slightly. “I should borrow a brush. And like…a new identity.”

“I’ll get you something.” Natasha said, standing.

Alexei saluted dramatically. “Good luck, girls. Crush the day.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“I’m delightful.”

Melina leaned over and whispered to you on your way out. “He wore two different shoes to work last week. Don’t be fooled.” You laughed again, your cheeks pink.

The fairy lights were still on, a few of them dimmed to a soft yellow glow, but the sun through the window made everything feel warmer. You followed her in, still hugging your arms around yourself, unsure if you were supposed to sit down or start getting ready or just stand there like a weird guest.

Natasha tossed her hoodie off one shoulder and walked over to the closet, tossing a look back over her shoulder.

“You need anything?” she asked. “Shirt? Jacket? You can dig through whatever.”

“I don’t want to mess anything up.”

Natasha snorted. “You’re assuming I have a system.”

You watched her flip through hangers, fingers sliding across old team shirts and jackets. You felt a little too aware of how natural Natasha looked in her own space, half sleepy, hair still messy, voice a little lower from not talking much yet.

Then Natasha tugged off the oversized shirt she slept in, and you turned away immediately, face burning.

“Sorry!” you blurted, squeezing your eyes shut as you faced the corner of the room.

Natasha laughed softly, not cruel, just amused. “Relax. I’ve got a bra on.”

You groaned. “That doesn’t help!”

“You’re acting like I flashed you.”

“I wasn’t ready!”

Natasha smiled and pulled a clean black tank top over her head, then a faded hoodie that hung loosely off her frame. “Okay, you’re safe now.”

You turned back around slowly, face still pink. “You’re the worst.”

“You were the one sneaking glances.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You definitely were.”

You grinned at each other, and the awkwardness eased into something easier, something warm. Natasha stepped aside and gestured at the closet. “Take whatever. I’ve got jeans, sweats, that hoodie with the bleach stain.”

You pulled open a drawer and found a soft, oversized crewneck that said “Property of Shield Academy” on the chest.

“This one okay?”

Natasha nodded. “That one’s criminally comfortable. Good choice.”

You headed for the bathroom to change, brushing past Natasha on the way out, your shoulder accidentally grazing her arm.

Natasha didn’t move. Just watched you go, smiling quietly to herself. They left a few minutes later, boots thudding down the stairs, backpacks slung half-zipped over their shoulders.

Melina handed you both granola bars and reminded Natasha not to speed. Alexei shouted something about “youthful romance” and got a door slam in response.

And then you were outside, helmets in hand, breath clouding slightly in the morning chill. You stood near the bike, zipping your borrowed hoodie up to your chin.

“This still okay?” Natasha asked as she unlocked the helmet box. “You can say no. I can ask Melina to drive us.”

“No.” you said quickly. “This is okay.”

Natasha handed you the helmet and helped you strap it on again, this time with less nervous fumbling, just a quiet sort of gentleness.

“You remember how to sit?”

“Yes.” you said, stepping close. “I remember.” You climbed on behind her, arms slipping naturally around Natasha’s waist.

“You ready?”

You pressed your head lightly against her back. “Yeah.”

The engine purred. They pulled out onto the street, and the wind hit your cheeks, but the space between you stayed warm. You held on, not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Natasha leaned into the turns, steady and smooth, her body moving like she was built to be followed.

They pulled into the school parking lot fifteen minutes before first bell. Natasha cut the engine and glanced over her shoulder. “You good?”

You smiled beneath the helmet. “Yeah. A little windblown, but good.”

Natasha helped you off, and you stood there for a second, awkward again now that you were back in a world with other eyes. The parking lot was filling fast. Someone from the basketball team shouted Natasha’s name in the distance. Lexie and Emma were walking toward the main entrance, scanning the crowd.

You hesitated. “Do we…?”

Natasha shrugged. “You don’t have to walk in with me if it’s weird.”

You gave her a look. “It’s not weird. Just…new.”

Natasha smiled. “Yeah. It is.”

You stood close for a second longer, like the space between you didn’t quite want to be there. Then you turned toward your building, adjusting your bag.

Natasha called after you, voice low.

“Text me?”

You smiled. “I will.”

You barely made it through the front doors before Lexie caught you. “Where the hell did you sleep last night?” she hissed, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the hallway traffic like she was. “Are you..oh my god, did you sleep at Romanoff’s house?!”

You winced. “Lex-”

“You did..”

You gave her a look. “Can we not do this in front of the vending machine?”

Lexie immediately pulled you down the nearest side hallway, her expression bouncing between delighted and deeply suspicious.

“So?”

You exhaled, shouldering your backpack higher. “Yes. I stayed at Natasha’s.”

Lexie’s jaw dropped. “No..”

“It wasn’t like that.”

Lexie raised both brows. “You stayed the night in her bed and nothing happened?”

You crossed your arms. “We watched a movie. Talked. Her mom made me breakfast.”

“…Okay, wait. That’s.. actually cute.”

You smiled, reluctant but honest. “It was.”

Lexie narrowed her eyes. “But now what? Are you, like, with her?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Lexie let out a long breath. “You look happy.”

“I feel…calm.” you admitted. “Which is weird. And I keep waiting for it to get scary again, but so far it hasn’t.”

Lexie nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll shut up. But if she hurts you-”

“I know..” you said softly. “You’ll end her bloodline.”

Lexie winked. “Exactly.”

Across the floor, Natasha leaned against her locker while Steve picked at his protein bar like it had personally wronged him.

“You’re acting weird.” he said through a mouthful.

Natasha glared. “How?”

“You keep checking your phone. You’re wearing actual color. You smiled at someone.”

“It was the janitor.”

“You never smile at the janitor.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “He held the door.”

Steve squinted. “You spent the night with her.”

Natasha froze. Steve grinned. “You did.”

“She slept over.” Natasha corrected. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh my god, that’s worse.”

“It was just…calm.”

Steve looked at her for a long second, then smirked. “You like her.”

Natasha didn’t answer. But the corner of her mouth twitched. Steve let out a low whistle. “Romanoff’s catching feelings.”

“I will bench you.” Natasha muttered.

Steve held up both hands. “Hey. I’m happy for you. You’ve been untouchable for, like, two years.”

Natasha shifted slightly. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Then don’t.” Steve said simply.

4th Period English

You sat at your desk, fingers curled around your pen, barely pretending to take notes. Your phone buzzed softly in your lap.

Voice Message – NATASHA

(0:12 seconds)

You slid a single AirPod in and hit play, your heart already skipping.

“This class is hell. If I don’t make it out, avenge me. Also…your hoodie still smells like you. So. That’s distracting.”

You bit your lip to hide a grin and typed a reply.

Voice Message – YOU

(0:09 seconds)

“Stop being cute. I’m trying to focus. You’re already distracting enough when you’re not talking.”

A moment later:

Voice Message – NATASHA

(0:15 seconds)

“That sounded like a challenge. Also, your handwriting in the notes I stole? Ridiculously pretty. Like, who has cursive that neat?”

You laughed, drawing a tiny star in the margin of your notebook.

Voice Message – YOU

(0:11 seconds)

“You’re the only person I’d let steal my notes. And that’s only because you’re kind of stupid hot.”

Natasha responded instantly.

Voice Message – NATASHA

(0:06 seconds)

“You’re lucky I’m not sitting next to you.”

You blushed down to your collar. You looked up, and across the room, saw Natasha glance over her shoulder through the narrow glass panel in the classroom door.

Just for a second.. Your eyes met. And the whole hallway felt electric- The final bell rang, and the school let out in a slow, chaotic wave of relief.

You pushed through the main doors with your phone in hand, cheeks a little flushed from the heat of the hallway and the lingering weight of your last message with Natasha.

Maybe after school, we can walk a little. Just us?

No reply yet. But that was fine. Natasha probably hadn’t seen it. Or she was still in the locker room. Or- “Y/N!” Lexie’s voice called from behind. “You coming?”

“I’ll catch up!” you called back, pretending to adjust something in your bag. You wanted to wait. Just for a few minutes. Just in case. You lingered near the stone steps, pretending to scroll through your phone, watching students flood the parking lot, laughing, throwing on backpacks, calling out to friends.

And then you saw her. Coming out through the side entrance of the gym wing, her red hair up in a loose bun, hoodie sleeves shoved up her arms, duffle bag slung low across her back.

You felt your whole chest soften. You didn’t even realize you were smiling. Until it happened.. Out of nowhere, a blur of movement.

A girl came running across the grass from behind the visitor lot. Blonde. Dressed in dark clothes, boots hitting the pavement like she had no concern for physics. She moved with purpose and zero hesitation.

You squinted. Then watched in silent confusion as the girl threw herself onto Natasha from behind, arms wrapped tight around her, face buried in her hoodie.

It all happened in a second. Natasha staggered slightly, shocked. Her bag dropped to the ground. And then, slowly, she hugged back. Not confused. Not reluctant. Like it was natural. Like she knew her. Your heart dropped.

Something cold spread through your chest as you stood frozen on the steps, unable to look away. The girl pulled back enough for you to see her laugh, big and bright and familiar. She said something that made Natasha’s face light up. Natasha’s hand slid behind the girl’s back. She smiled.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until it hurt. There was something intimate about it. Not sexual. Just…easy. Like it had been there for a while. Like she’d been there for a while.

You looked down at your phone, still open to your last message.

Just us?

No reply. Of course not. Why would she? You quickly turned and walked down the steps, the sound of laughter behind you cutting into your spine like cold air. You didn’t run. But you wanted to.

Later, Natasha walked with Yelena through her front door, dropped her bag by the stairs, and pulled out her phone.

No message.

She hadn’t checked it during the whole scene with her sister, hadn’t wanted to. Yelena had launched herself into her arms like a live grenade, talking too fast, barely letting Natasha process the surprise of her even being here. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming back early. Typical.

But now, back home, quiet house, hoodie sleeves still warm from the afternoon sun, Natasha finally looked. Still no reply.. Her last message to you sat there.

You done with class? Want me to walk over?

Left on read. She stared at it for a beat too long, thumb hovering. No big deal, she told herself. Maybe you were with Lexie. Maybe you were home already. Maybe you were tired.

Natasha tossed her phone on the bed, then picked it back up again thirty seconds later. She opened your Instagram out of pure habit, she didn’t mean to scroll, just meant to check.. And saw it.

You had replied to someone’s comment five minutes ago. A laughing emoji. Casual. Her stomach dropped. She’s on her phone. She saw my message.

But didn’t answer.. A slow, ugly ache crept up Natasha’s throat. She sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the phone tighter.

It was probably nothing. It had to be nothing.

But she’d been here before, in the space where someone started slipping away and never explained why. She tapped out another message:

You good? I haven’t heard from you. Just checking in.

No answer. Her heart started beating harder. Not from jealousy..this wasn’t about that. It was fear. What if something happened? What if you got home and your parents were fighting again? What if someone had said something at school? Natasha started pacing. Then stopped. Then grabbed her phone again and typed:

Are you okay? Seriously. Should I call? Should I come by?

Still nothing. But then..finally, a reply lit the screen.

I just don’t want to talk right now.

Natasha froze. The words were clean. Emotionless. No punctuation. Not cruel, but distant. Like a door being closed, softly.

She stared at it for a long time. Her pulse had been pounding a minute ago, fearful, alive. Now it just… stalled. She sat down slowly, reading the message again.

I don’t want to talk right now.

Her throat tightened. Did I do something? She searched her brain. Was it this morning? The texts in class? Did she say something stupid? No. It had felt good. Right..? Then..The parking lot. Natasha closed her eyes.

Yelena.

That had to be it. She imagined you standing somewhere nearby, watching that exact moment. The hug. The laughter. And suddenly, Natasha felt sick.

She hadn’t even introduced you. Hadn’t explained. Hadn’t known she needed to. But now? Now she didn’t know how to reach you. Natasha lay back on her bed, her arms folded behind her head, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers she hadn’t earned. Your message replayed in her mind over and over.

I just don’t want to talk right now.

It wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t even cold. But it cut sharper than she expected. She’d thought maybe..just maybe, they were past this kind of uncertainty. Past the part where people dropped off the radar and left you guessing.

But she didn’t text again. Because she meant what she’d said: no games. So if you needed space, she’d give it. But damn, it hurt.

She tried to move on with her afternoon. She made tea, left it on the counter without drinking it. Scrolled through her playlist twice before giving up. Replied to a group chat she didn’t care about. Tried to sketch something from a half-finished reference photo pinned above her desk, but her hand wouldn’t stop twitching. She even shot a crumpled paper ball into the trash can and whispered, “Kobe” out of instinct.

It didn’t help.

An hour passed. Then two. She texted Steve just to distract herself.

NATASHA:

Want to shoot hoops?

STEVE:

Can’t. Family dinner night. You okay?

NATASHA:

Yeah. Just bored.

She wasn’t bored.. She was missing. And every room felt too big. Yelena knocked on her door once but didn’t come in. Just left a weird energy drink and a sticky note that said “you seem mopey” with a smiley face drawn in crooked marker lines.

Natasha didn’t even crack a smile. Because she was mopey. Not because you were ignoring her. Not because her ego was bruised. But because something had changed, and she didn’t know what. She didn’t know if you were hurt, or angry, or scared, or just overwhelmed.

And the worst part?

She didn’t know if it was her fault. By the time evening settled in and the sun dipped below the trees, Natasha sat by her window, knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie sleeves over her hands.

She still hadn’t texted again. She wouldn’t. Because she cared enough not to force anything. But in the quiet, with nothing left to distract her, Natasha let her eyes fall shut.

Thirty minutes later, Natasha stood on the front step, helmet tucked under her arm, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She wasn’t even sure how she got there.

One minute she was staring at her phone again in her room, thumb hovering over your name like it might answer something for her. The next, she was on the road, wind sharp against her cheeks, telling herself this wasn’t stupid.

The door opened with a creak. Your dad stood there in a stained undershirt, his hair a mess, breath sharp with the unmistakable sting of alcohol. His eyes were bloodshot, narrowed. His mouth pulled into a sneer like he’d been waiting to be annoyed.

“Yeah?”

Natasha took a breath. “Hi. I’m-uh, I’m looking for Y/n.”

He squinted at her, leaned against the doorframe like the wood was holding him up. “And you are?”

“I’m…a friend.” she said, keeping her voice level. “We go to school together.”

“Friend?” He gave a slow, lazy laugh. “You one of her new little cheerleader buddies?”

“No.” Natasha said, jaw tight. “Not a cheerleader.”

He sniffed, scratched the back of his neck. “She’s upstairs. Door’s shut. Probably in another one of her moods.”

Natasha hesitated. “Can I talk to her?”

He looked at her for a long second. Then, “Not my problem.” he muttered, stepping aside. Natasha stepped past him, the smell of beer hitting her harder now that she was inside. The hallway was dim. A dish clattered somewhere deeper in the house.

She moved quietly up the stairs, heart in her throat. Your door was closed. She knocked gently.

“Go away.” came your voice inside, tight, raw.

Natasha flinched. “Y/n..” she said softly.

Silence. Then rapid footsteps. The door opened with a hard click, and there you were. Eyes puffy. Face red. Breathing hard like you’d been holding in tears for hours and now couldn’t stop them from rising again.

“What are you doing here..?” you snapped, your voice cracking. “Didn’t I say I didn’t want to talk?”

“I know.” Natasha said, voice low. “I just…I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. I needed to-”

“You always need something!” you shouted, your voice breaking fully now, arms crossed like a barrier. “And I keep letting you in because I think maybe this time it’s different. Maybe you’re different. But I’m not going to be a game, Natasha. I’m not going to be some secret hookup or some cheerleader-of-the-month you text when you’re bored-”

“I never saw you like that.” Natasha said quickly, voice sharp with emotion. “Never.”

You shook your head, backing a step into your room, wiping angrily at your cheeks. “Then explain it. Explain why I saw you hugging some random girl like she was your favorite person on Earth- laughing, smiling like I meant nothi-”

Natasha’s eyes widened. “So, you saw that.”

“Yes!”

Then came the voice behind you, low, irritated. “What’s going on here?”

Your father. He was coming up the stairs, beer still in hand, eyebrows drawn down like a warning. Behind him, your mother hovered in the hallway, arms crossed, mouth already tight.

“Who is this?” your dad asked, nodding toward Natasha with the lazy suspicion of a man looking for a fight.

“She’s leaving.” your mother added sharply, eyes flicking over Natasha with disapproval.

Natasha stood tall. “Actually, I’m not.”

You turned, eyes wide. “N-Natasha- don’t.”

Natasha didn’t look away. “I just want to talk to her.”

Your dad took a slow step closer, something dangerous in his voice. “That’s not your call.”

“No.” Natasha said calmly. “But how you treat her isn’t yours either.”

A beat of silence. Tense and Cold. Your mother scoffed. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m someone who gives a damn about her.” Natasha said, voice rising now, sharp. “Someone who actually listens. Someone who cares.”

And that was it. The sound of the tension snapping, the air thickening. You moved too fast, grabbed your hoodie from the chair, bag slung over one arm, steps fast and panicked.

“I’m leaving.” you muttered, brushing past them all.

“Y/N!” your mother snapped. “Dare you lea-”

“Watch me.” you hissed, already halfway down the stairs.

Natasha followed. Out the door, into the night air that bit at your cheeks, Natasha caught up just as your hand curled around your phone.

“I’m calling Lexie..” you said, wiping at your face. “She’ll come get me. I’ll stay there.”

“Please don’t..” Natasha said, chest tight. “Please-just wait.”

You turned, eyes shining with tears again, but sharper now. Angry, defense. “You don’t get to show up, hug some random girl, not explain anything, and then act like I’m the one who’s overreacting!”

Natasha’s mouth opened, closed again. “Y/n…”

“I’m not a game!” you shouted, voice breaking. “I’m not some soft moment you crawl into when it’s convenient. I’m not someone you half-love..”

“I don’t half-love you.”

The words were out before Natasha even realized she’d said them.

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t half-love you.” Natasha said again, breathless now. “I don’t know how to say things the right way. I don’t always know how to prove it. But I’ve been thinking about you for days and all I wanted was to hear your voice, and when you stopped answering, I thought I did something wrong-”

“You did!” you yelled. “You hugged some girl like I wasn’t even real!”

“That was Yelena, Y/n…” Natasha said, breathless now. “My sister..My little sister.”

You staggered back a step, your whole body freezing. “W-What?”

“She showed up out of nowhere. I didn’t even know she was coming back from Europe. I didn’t even get a chance to introduce you before-”

Your breath hitched, a sob caught in your throat. “No. No, I thought-”

“I know.” Natasha whispered, stepping closer now. “You thought I lied. That I was using you. But I wasn’t. I won’t.”

You let out a sharp, broken sound. “I told myself to stay away. I told myself not to fall into this with you..because you’re you and I’m me and it never ends well.”

Natasha moved closer, voice low, intense. “Then fall harder. I’ll catch you.”

Tears slid down your cheeks. “I’m scared.”

“I’m terrified.” Natasha said. “But I’d rather be scared with you than be fine without you.”

You stared at her, sobbing softly now, trembling like your entire body was splitting open. “I thought you didn’t want me.” you whispered.

Natasha stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, slowly, firmly, like something sacred. “I want every version of you.” she said against your hair. “Even the scared one. Especially her.”

You hadn’t said a word since you turned the corner away from your house. Your fingers were curled tightly in your sleeves, your steps a little too fast, like if you slowed down, you’d think about it all again, and you couldn’t. Not right now.

But you felt it. The sting behind your eyes, the burn in your chest, the raw echo of your dad’s voice yelling after you even after the door slammed shut. The way your mom just…stood there. Arms crossed..

You’d left in the middle of a screaming match. You hadn’t answered their calls. They didn’t know where you were, and they probably didn’t care as much as they claimed.

And now you were walking toward a house that wasn’t yours, beside someone you had just screamed at in the street. But who showed up anyway.

And you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to sob or disappear or just- You reached up, wiped your face with the edge of your sleeve again.

You were still crying. Quiet now. But it hadn’t stopped. You hadn’t even realized. The porch light at Natasha’s place flickered softly as you stepped up. You hesitated. You almost turned around. Almost told her you changed your mind.

But Natasha didn’t let you spiral. She reached back, not touching, not pulling, just holding the door open, eyes gentle, and you stepped inside.Warmth wrapped around you immediately. The smell of something sweet and spiced from the kitchen. Low music humming from a speaker in the corner. And then-

“Natasha?” Melina’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. “I made-”

She walked into the hallway and stopped. Her eyes landed on you. Took in your red eyes. Your puffy cheeks. Your damp lashes. Your silence.

And Melina’s voice softened. “Sweetheart-”

But before she could finish, Natasha stepped slightly in front of you, holding up a quiet hand. “Later, Mom.” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Please.”

Melina blinked, and then nodded. “Of course.” She walked back into the kitchen without another word. Your chest clenched. That was what parents could be. Understanding. Still and kind.

They climbed the stairs in silence. Natasha’s room felt the same, dim, warm, safe. The fairy lights still twinkled. A new candle was burning on the desk. The blankets had been folded again, a quiet sign that Melina had come in, tidied, maybe worried.

You moved slowly toward the bed and sat down. “I’ll get you a towel.” Natasha said softly. “You can shower, if you want.”

You nodded.

“I’ll grab you a change of clothes too.”

Another nod.

Natasha left for a moment, returned with folded sweats and a soft T-shirt. She handed them over without a word. And you walked to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind you.

The shower was warm, but your chest still felt cold. The steam couldn’t loosen the knot in your ribs. Couldn’t wash away the weight in your throat. But it helped..A little.

You stayed under the water for a long time. Just standing. Letting it run down your face like it might rinse out the memory of the door slam, the yelling, your own scream outside in the street. And when you turned off the water and stepped out into the soft towel, you felt lighter. You dried off, pulled on the clothes she gave you, her sweats a little too long, the shirt soft and worn, and stepped quietly back into her room.

Natasha was pacing again, softly, barefoot, hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists. She was muttering something to herself when the door opened. You came out of the bathroom with your hair still damp, sleeves of Natasha’s oversized shirt tugged down over your palms. You looked…tired.

Not just from the day, but from everything that lived under it. Your eyes met Natasha’s for a second. You didn’t say anything. Just quietly walked over to the bed, slipped beneath the covers, and curled onto your side, back turned, body small.

Natasha stayed sitting on the edge of the room, hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists, her knees drawn up toward her chest on the beanbag chair. She didn’t say anything either.

Not yet.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the fairy lights and the dull patter of rain beginning to tap against the window.

“Did I ruin everything?” you asked, your voice just above a whisper.

Natasha blinked. “No.” she said instantly. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

A pause, then, quietly: “Do you still want me here?”

Natasha stood. She walked across the room, slow, barefoot, and sat down gently on the edge of the bed. You didn’t move. But you didn’t pull away either.

“I wanted you here before you even knew I did.” Natasha said softly. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Another silence..but warmer now. You turned slightly, just enough to look up at her. Natasha reached out and brushed one damp strand of hair off your forehead, slow and feather-light.

And for a second, just a flicker, you almost smiled.

But then, The door flew open. “I knew it!” a voice called, loud and smug. “You’re being weird and soft. You only get like that when there’s a girl.”

Natasha groaned and dropped her head. “Yelena. Get out.”

You shot upright under the blanket, eyes wide. “That’s Yelena?”

Yelena paused mid-stride. She was leaning against the doorframe like she owned the house. Combat boots still on. Hair messy. Smirk locked and loaded.

“I’m the sister.” she announced. “And you must be the mysterious cheerleader who made my sister go full emotional panic attack.”

Yelena walked in casually, ignoring Natasha’s face-palming and the glare that could’ve started a fire.

“Yes. Sister. Not ex. Not hookup. Not hidden girlfriend.” She looked at Natasha. “You really didn’t tell her?”

“I didn’t know you were showing up!” Natasha snapped, then turned to you, eyes apologetic. “I was going to. It just…happened fast.”

Your mouth fell open. “You’re really her sister?”

“Do you want proof?” Yelena asked. “I have baby photos where she’s wearing frog pajamas.”

“Get out..” Natasha growled, half-laughing now. But you were laughing too, small..but it’s there. Yelena saw it first. That little crinkle in your nose. The soft flicker in your eyes.

“She smiles.” Yelena said with mock reverence. “She lives.”

Natasha turned, and saw it. You smiling. For real. Not the polite one. Not the forced one. The real one, soft and sleepy..Something in her chest uncoiled for the first time that day.

“I’m glad you’re not some random girl..” you said, looking at Yelena.

Yelena grinned. “I’m glad you’re not a ghost. Nat was being a little dramatic.”

“I was not-”

“She was staring at her phone like it personally betrayed her.”

“Yelena.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Yelena winked at you on her way out. “Nice to meet you. Sleep tight. Or don’t. You’re both 18, whatever.”

“YELENA.”

The door slammed shut behind her. You burst out laughing fully this time, covering your face with both hands.

“Oh my god.”

Natasha groaned and flopped backward onto the bed beside you. “She’s the worst.”

“She’s amazing.”

“Shut up.”

You looked at her again. Calmer now. A little lighter. And Natasha just whispered, “There’s that smile.”

You blushed, and neither of you moved. The room felt calmer now. Yelena’s chaos had broken something open, and now the silence didn’t feel heavy anymore, it felt like a blanket. You had stopped crying. Natasha wasn’t pacing. You were both tucked under the covers, the warm weight of the blanket draped over you, legs barely touching.

The fairy lights glowed softly around the ceiling, casting a quiet shimmer over Natasha’s posters and the scattered Polaroids taped near the mirror. For a while, neither of you said anything.

Then you turned your head on the pillow. “You okay?”

Natasha blinked, caught a little off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah. You’ve had, like, a surprise sister tackle, a full emotional meltdown, and me showing..and me.”

Natasha laughed softly, her voice hoarse. “Honestly? I’ve had worse days.”

You smiled, tugging the blanket higher under your chin. “You sure?”

Natasha looked over at you, really looked. You were still a little puffy-eyed. Your lips slightly chapped. Hair damp. But you were here. In her bed. Next to her.

“I’m okay now.” Natasha said.

You gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good, you ready for the game tomorrow?” you asked, shifting slightly to face her more.

Natasha let out a breath. “I guess. Kind of forgot that still exists.”

“Oh no. Big game. Huge stakes. Potential post-win ice cream ride.”

Natasha smirked. “You bribing me to win?”

“I’m saying..” you said, voice mock-serious, “if I do my routine right, you owe me a victory.”

Natasha raised a brow. “If you do your routine right?”

“Oh, you haven’t seen the new tricks yet.”

Natasha tilted her head. “You have new tricks?”

“Maybe..”

Natasha stared at you a second longer, suddenly too warm under the blanket. “Are you..are you teasing me right now?”

You shrugged, entirely too innocent. “Just saying… we did rehearse a new drop formation. And a double turn. Might look impressive.”

Natasha looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. You grinned. “Wait…are you blushing?”

“I am not.”

“You so are!”

“I’m just warm.”

“You’re a little pink.”

“I’m literally under a blanket.”

You leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “That’s so cute.”

Natasha groaned, hiding her face in the pillow. “I regret everything.” You laughed, light and clear, the first laugh that sounded like you again.

“I like this version of you.” you said quietly.

Natasha peeked out from the pillow. “Which one?”

“The one who blushes.”

“I don’t blush.”

You leaned up on one elbow now, turned toward her, full of mischief and confidence that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

“You act like you’re immune to it.” you said, playfully narrowing your eyes. “But you get pink..riight here-” you pointed lightly near Natasha’s jaw, “and it spreads. Like wildfire.”

Natasha scoffed, attempting indifference. “You’re making things up.”

“Oh, I’m an expert now.” you said, inching forward. “You think I’ve been spending this much time next to you and I haven’t been observing? You’re a total softie.”

“I’m not a softie.” Natasha said, eyes narrowing, “I’m emotionally controlled.”

You raised a brow, suddenly shifting all the way up, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside her, posture tall like you were about to launch a thesis. “Emotionally controlled softie, then.”

Natasha was about to argue when you leaned too far, reaching for the edge of the blanket to prove some invisible point, and immediately lost your balance.

“Wait—!”

You tumbled forward, right into Natasha’s lap. A tangle of limbs, and then, stillness. Natasha’s hands had instinctively caught you by the waist. You had frozen, hands splayed on Natasha’s chest, face barely inches away.

Your eyes locked. The laughter died in your throat instantly. There was a beat of pure silence. Then another. The air between you turned heavy. Magnetic. Natasha felt the heat under her skin crawl into her chest, her ribs, her throat. Her hands hadn’t moved. She could feel the weight of your body over her like it was carved into her.

And you..wide-eyed, lips parted, breath caught—didn’t move either. Don’t kiss her, Natasha thought. Don’t ruin this.

But god, she wanted to. You were the first to break it. You blinked fast, face flushed, and pulled back—quick, awkward, with a soft, nervous laugh as you flopped beside her.

“Well, that wasn’t my most graceful moment.”

Natasha exhaled, half-laugh, half-relief. “Not your worst, either.”

You curled back into the blanket, face half-hidden now. “Maybe I should stop teasing before I fall on you again.”

Natasha laid back, breath still uneven. “Probably smart.”

You were both quiet for a second. Then you scooted closer. Without saying anything, you leaned your head against Natasha’s shoulder, cheek resting there gently.

Natasha blinked. Her entire body stiffened like she’d been frozen mid-breath. She’d done this before, let girls fall asleep on her, held them until they got bored, left, or rolled over.

But this wasn’t that. This was you. This was the girl who yelled at her. The girl who saw her. The girl who stayed. You let out a soft breath, mumbling, “You’re really warm.”

And before Natasha could respond, your voice went still. Asleep.

Natasha was frozen. She’s asleep. On me. She’s breathing on my collarbone. I can’t move. If I move I’ll wake her up. I can’t breathe. I am breathing too much. My heart is going to explode and she’s going to hear it and think I’m a freak-

She swallowed hard. Carefully, slowly, she shifted her arm just enough to cradle around your back. Just light. Just enough. You snuggled in, unconsciously. A sigh escaped your lips, soft and trusting. And Natasha closed her eyes.

Not to sleep. But to hold on. Because for the first time in her life, someone fell asleep on her, and it didn’t feel like a performance. It felt like home..

The next morning was full of unspoken things. Natasha had barely slept. Not because she was restless, just the opposite. She hadn’t wanted to move, hadn’t wanted to wake you, who’d stayed curled into her like you belonged there.

When you finally stirred around 6:30, blinking slowly, you realized where you were, and who you were on. “Oh my god..” you whispered, pulling back quickly, eyes wide. “I fell asleep on you.”

“You did.” Natasha said, keeping her voice light even though her heart hadn’t recovered.

“I drooled on your shirt.”

“You did.”

“I-”

“You’re cute when you snore.”

“I do NOT snore.”

Natasha smiled. “Then it was very musical breathing.” You both laughed, soft, sleepy. Still tangled in blankets. No one mentioned the almost-kiss.

School that day felt different. The air buzzed with game-day energy, everyone wearing school colors, football players and cheerleaders walking like they were already stars. But for Natasha, everything felt…slower.

Because everywhere she turned, you were just there. Walking beside her through the courtyard, smiling over your shoulder in the hallway, bumping into her with a “sorry” that wasn’t sorry at all. You didn’t hold hands, but you didn’t need to. There was a closeness now. A current that hummed between you.

At lunch, Natasha tried not to stare as you twisted your hair up while talking to Lexie.. She failed. You caught her, and raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

Natasha blushed. Hard. And shoved a chip in her mouth like it could save her. By the time the game rolled around that evening, the gym was packed. Bleachers overflowing. Music thumping through the speakers. Students chanting, banners waving. The floor gleamed under the lights, and the scent of popcorn and anticipation filled the air.

You stood with your squad, lined up on the side of the court in matching uniforms, your eyes scanning the crowd. People were buzzing. Mostly about the team.. Mostly about Natasha.

“Oh my god, she’s literally so hot.”

“She’s the reason I come to these games.”

“Imagine dating her-”

“She’d ruin your life, but it’d be worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to shout, she literally slept with a hoodie on and whispered facts about space in her sleep, calm down. But you stayed quiet. Then, the spotlight hit the court.

“AND NOW—YOUR STAR PLAYER—ROMANOFF!”

The crowd roared as Natasha jogged out from the tunnel, headphones around her neck, sweatband low on her brow. She looked effortless..

The group of girls near you lost their minds—squealing, giggling, waving, and Natasha looked across the gym.

Right at you, and smiled. Not a crowd-pleaser grin. Not a player’s smirk. A quiet, soft, private kind of smile.

You waved, just once, small and calm. The girls beside you squealed louder.

“She SMILED AT ME!”

But you just smiled back, biting your bottom lip, because you knew the truth. That smile was yours.

The game started hot. The opposing team was aggressive, fouls flying early. Natasha took control fast, scoring twice in the first five minutes. Her focus was razor-sharp, but every now and then, her eyes flicked to the sideline.

To you. And every time your eyes met, something steadied in her. The second quarter burned fast. It was neck and neck. Your squad took the floor during the break. You flipped into formation, nailing the opening stunt, but you could feel it, your heart was not on the mat. You kept glancing toward the bench.

You saw it in real-time, the way Natasha sprinted past her defender, the way her legs coiled beneath her to leap, and the sharp, violent twist of a shoulder and an elbow that snapped into her face.

The sickening crack stopped everything. You flinched like you’d been hit yourself. Then the blood.

Natasha didn’t fall. Of course she didn’t. She stumbled back, hand over her mouth, but stayed upright like always. The whistle blew. The coach barked for a sub.

The crowd erupted in noise. And you stood frozen in your cheer stance, breath caught mid-count. Natasha was led off the court, jaw set, blood soaked into a towel, eyes glassy. Your body moved on autopilot, stepping into the next count, flipping into the next routine, but your eyes never left the bench. Or the doors Natasha had just disappeared through.

Your chest was tight. Your throat burned. “Come on!” your captain hissed beside you. “Focus!”

But you couldn’t. Natasha had bled. For real. And all you could think about was the warmth of her breath the night before, the softness of her hoodie sleeves, the way her voice had dropped when she whispered, “You’re not going anywhere.”

And now she wasn’t here. You shouldn’t leave.. You knew that. Your body was trained for this, your count memorized, your team depending on you.

But your heart..Your breath hitched, and you were gone. You didn’t remember leaving the court. Didn’t remember pushing through the side doors, or nearly tripping in your sneakers, or ignoring Lexie’s voice yelling your name.

You didn’t remember leaving the court. Didn’t remember pushing through the side doors, or nearly tripping in your sneakers, or ignoring Lexie’s voice yelling your name. You just knew you were running.

Until you reached the double doors of the trainer’s room. You didn’t knock. Just opened. And found Natasha sitting on the padded table, one leg swinging slightly, gauze in hand, lip bruised and busted, a thin line of blood under her nose.

She looked up, eyes wide, surprised.

“Y/n?”

You stopped in the doorway. “I-I shouldn’t be here.” you said, voice trembling.

Natasha blinked. “You’re still mid-game?”

“I know.” You took a step forward, then stopped again. “I just..saw you. Get hit. And I couldn’t stay out there.”

Natasha shifted, trying to sit up straighter, wincing a little. “I’m okay.”

“I know that too..” you said, voice cracking. “I know you’re fine. You’re tough. You’re always fine. And I still couldn’t-” You let out a shaky breath, laughing without humor. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

Natasha stared at you, quiet. You ran a hand through your hair. “I was just dancing. Just smiling. And then you were bleeding. And then you were gone.”

Your voice dropped. “And something inside me snapped. Like I couldn’t stay still. Like the thought of you hurt made everything else feel…wrong.”

She finally looked at her, eyes shining. “I didn’t come here to say anything. I didn’t plan this.”

She laughed again, softer now, tired. “I literally told myself not to fall for you.”

Natasha’s breath caught. You shook your head slowly, stepping closer. “But I did.”

A pause. “I’m falling, Natasha. And I hate it because I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want this. You’re chaos. You make me blush and scream and feel things I’ve spent my whole life trying not to feel.”

You stopped a foot away. “But I’m here. And I ran here. And I still don’t even know what the hell I’m trying to say, but I think…”

“I think I love you.”

The gym crowd roared behind the walls like distant thunder. Natasha stared at you, eyes wide, lip busted, heart beating out of rhythm. Then she laughed. Not loud. Not mocking. Soft. Disbelieving. Relieved.

“You love me?”

You wiped at your eyes. “Yeah.”

Natasha leaned forward slowly, gently resting her hand on your hip, not pulling, just touching.

“I’ve been in love with you.” she whispered, “since the second you looked at me like I wasn’t just the girl with the good shot.”

Your breath caught. Natasha smiled, just a little, bloody lip and all.

“I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You smiled back, tears falling again, and leaned in, their lips met, softly, carefully, full of heat and tenderness. But halfway through, Natasha winced. “Ow, shit..lip.”

You laughed against her mouth, pulling back, forehead to forehead. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’m not.” Natasha whispered, eyes shining.

Even without Natasha’s final quarter, they held the lead and pushed through the last few minutes with just enough fire to lock the game down. The final buzzer sounded, and the gym exploded, screams, stomps, confetti from somewhere (Lexie, probably), and people storming the court.

But you weren’t there. You were still in the trainer’s room, curled beside Natasha on the table, hand laced with hers while someone checked her vitals one more time.

“Your blood pressure’s steady,” the medic muttered. “But I still don’t want you riding home on that death trap of a bike.”

“Not a death trap.” Natasha mumbled, pouting with a swollen lip.

“No driving for 24 hours.” the medic said firmly. “That includes bikes.”

“Fine.” Natasha sighed. “I’ll call my mom.”

Ten minutes later, the front doors of the gym swung open, and in marched Melina. She didn’t walk. She stormed. Like she was ready to scold, rescue, and wrap her daughter in bubble wrap all at once.

“Oh, my god- Natasha!” she gasped, the second she saw her.

“I’m fine, Mom-”

“No, you’re not,” Melina snapped, already cupping her face, examining the bruised lip, tilting her chin left and right. “What idiot let you take an elbow like that?”

“I didn’t exactly schedule it..ow!! stop poking me.”

Melina turned to you, who stood awkwardly by the wall. “And you. Did you take care of her?”

You blinked. “I- uh..ran off the court mid-cheer to find her, so… maybe?”

Melina beamed. “That’ll do. Come on, girls. You’re both coming home. I ordered pizza.”

By the time you got back to the Romanoff house, the living room lights were glowing and Alexei’s voice was already booming from the kitchen. “I TOLD YOU SHE WOULD WIN! BLOOD OR NO BLOOD!”

“You didn’t even watch the game!” Melina called over her shoulder, dropping her keys into the bowl.

“I WATCHED THE SCOREBOARD! SAME THING.”

Natasha stepped inside slowly, still a little sore, and you helped her out of her hoodie, hands brushing her arm, careful but gentle.

The kitchen table was set haphazardly, drinks already poured, napkins scattered, and Yelena was tossing olives at Alexei’s forehead. You stood in the doorway, watching the chaos, and…smiled.

This was loud. But it was safe. And Natasha smiled real this time.

Different ending

[sturniololuvz]

Hey! Could you write something where the triplets younger sister is a figure skater, and they’re hockey players, so they’re at the same rink and have practice at the same time. And then one day the triplets overhear their teammates talking about wanting their sister and stuff and they get all protective. And one of the triplets gets into a fight with a guy during a game, cause he said an inappropriate comment. Sorry, idk if that made sense, and if you don’t want to it’s totally fine just thought it could be a cute idea!

“Wrong Rink, Wrong Girl”

The rink was cold — the kind that numbed your fingers through your gloves and turned your breath to fog — but you loved it.

Figure skating had always been your escape. Your world. And even though your brothers ruled the opposite side of the ice in skates and pads and sharp elbows, you never minded sharing the space with them.

Until now.

You were lacing up your skates on the far side of the benches, earbuds in, when Chris heard it.

It was just after warmups. He, Nick, and Matt were finishing up drills when they skated past a group of guys laughing by the wall.

“Bro, you seen the figure skater chick lately? That little blonde? She’s got legs for days—”

Chris’s shoulders tensed.

“Y/N?” someone else asked, smirking. “She’s kinda hot for a baby Sturniolo.”

Chris stopped skating. Slowly. Stared.

But the guys kept going. “You think she knows how hot she is? I bet she’s tight, too. I’d give anything for ten minutes alone with her—”

“I swear if she wasn’t their sister—”

“Oh I’d still try. She’s always bending like that on the ice? You’re telling me she isn’t flexible as hell?”

The laugh that followed was loud. Gross. Arrogant.

And Chris saw red.

“Yo,” he barked, skating up.

The group turned, startled.

“You talk about my sister like that again,” Chris growled, “and I’ll knock your teeth into the fucking Zamboni.”

Matt and Nick noticed the tension and came over fast.

“Problem?” Nick asked, already catching the tail end of what was said.

Matt didn’t ask. He just narrowed his eyes at one of the guys — the one with the worst smirk.

“That’s our little sister,” Chris snapped. “You don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. Got it?”

But the guy just shrugged, smug.

“Relax. Not my fault she skates around like that in front of everyone. I’m just noticing.”

And that was it.

Chris didn’t hesitate.

He dropped his gloves and threw the first punch.

⸻

The benches were chaos. The refs were blowing whistles. Yelling. Trying to drag Chris off the guy who was bleeding from the lip and cursing him out.

Nick was pulling Chris back by the shoulders. Matt was standing between them and the rest of the team, chest heaving.

“You don’t talk about her like that!” Chris kept shouting. “You don’t fucking talk about her!”

It took two coaches to separate them.

And you… you watched the whole thing happen from across the rink, frozen in your skates, heart in your throat.

⸻

It was quiet in the locker room afterward.

Chris was icing his knuckles. Nick was pacing. Matt sat with his head in his hands.

You walked in with your coat over your leotard, cheeks still pink from the cold.

“…I heard,” you said softly.

Chris looked up, ashamed. “I wasn’t gonna let them talk about you like that.”

“I know.” You crossed the room. “But now you’re benched for the next game.”

Chris shrugged. “Worth it.”

Matt stood. “You’re not just our sister, Y/N. You’re you. You work your ass off out there. You don’t deserve guys reducing you to—”

“I know,” you said again, eyes glassy. “And thank you.”

You sat down between them. Let them all sit close.

“Next time,” you whispered, “just… tell me what they said. I’ll land a triple toe loop on their faces myself.”

That got a laugh. Tired. But real.

Nick pulled you in first. Then Chris. Then Matt.

And suddenly, the rink didn’t feel so cold anymore.

⸻

[mwahgo]

Hi!! sorry if english bad, but I want to say I love your work! I would like to request Traflagar Law x Reader, Law is reader's professor (maybe we're med student?) and Law has a crush on reader but knows it might be wrong. But then reader asks how to get extra credit because her grades dropping. So Law makes her earn extra credit by fucking her after class

Feel free to ignore if this make you uncomfortable!

TEACHER'S PET

— Professor!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader (One Piece)

[+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+]

: ̗̀➛ Summary: His favorite student is falling his class, now she begs him to get extra credits.

: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 2.3k words

: ̗̀➛ Content Tags: Porn with little plot, student/teacher relationship, reader is of age here, sexual fantasy, P in V, unprotected sex, sex with consent, blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talk

Mwahgo's Notes: I love this request! Thank you so much!💕

The atmosphere inside the classroom feels lively as the chattering of the students echoed inside. They talked about different stuff, school, grades, hangouts and other stuff but one main topic was passed around the group of students.

“Have you heard? We have a new biology teacher!”

“Really?! Man.. I hope they’re good at teaching,”

“Oh my god, I’ve heard from the other students that he’s really hot!”

“What?! Oh my god, I have to get myself ready for him. Hope he gives me extra grades for being pretty,”

The students giggled amongst themselves, gossiping about the new professor that will be having his first class with them. You, on the other hand, is busy with writing your essay that is due today. You fell asleep for the whole day yesterday that you completely forgot to do your work, so you quickly rush to class and finish it there.

“I’m kinda excited to meet the new professor,” Your friend babbled beside you.

“Don’t talk to me right now, I’m working,” You retorted, focusing on your essay.

Your friend rolled your eyes, “Boo! That’s what happens when you fell asleep and play video games all day,” They teased.

You rolled your eyes with the truth as you continue answering your essay, “You think he’s actually hot?” Your friend asks again.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, but I don’t mind a hot professor,” You mumbled as your friend gasped in shock.

“Yo! Are you saying that you’re willing to date one?” They asked as you gave them a look.

Before you get to answer, the door opened and the chatting toned down as a new professor entered the room. Messy, black hair, side burns and has a goatee as his piercing, tired eyes glanced around the classroom as he placed his stuff on the desk.

“Good morning class, I’m your new professor, Trafalgar Law..” His deep voice echoed in the classroom.

Your eyes travelled down to his arms and notices he has a lot of tattooes, which made you doubtful about his skills. As he continue to spoke, your friend slowly turned to you and just mumbled, “Damn… He is hot,”

You gave her a side eye before the professor noticed both of you, “Excuse me? Care to share that to the class?” He sternly questioned.

Your friend jumped away from you as you try to hide in shame, “N-No, sir..” You apologized.

His eyes glanced at you, up and down before going back to talking to the class. You noticed the longing gaze, which made you confused as your friend nudged you softly. You looked at them and they just gave a knowing look before listening back to the professor.

“Alright before you all go, submit your essays,” Professor Law announced, “After you submit, you can go,” He added.

You sighed heavily as you continue to scribbled on your essay. You were so focused on listening to his discussion that you weren’t able to finish your essay. Student started standing up and giving their papers to the professor as you sweat nervously, already regretting your procrastination last night.

“I-I can wait for you, so that we can submit together,” You friend suggested.

You shook your head, “No.. It’s fine, you can go and give yours,” You forced as smile before going back to writing.

They just sighed in disappointment as they stood up and gave their paper. They packed their bag and left the classroom—leaving you the only student in class. Law watched you carefully as you continue to write down words on your essay before sighing. He stood up and approached your seat as your breath hitched in anxiety.

“Why are still doing yours?” He asked, no sternness nor softness.

You bit your lip, nervously, “I-I… fell asleep yesterday and.. forgot about it,” You gave a half lie.

Law just sighed before taking his seat and the essays, “I’ll stay here beside you, so you can give yours when you’re done,” He said as he started reading through the essays.

You eyes widened at his actions but decided to not speak out about it as you continue to write. But you were naive, Law wasn’t sitting next to you to give company, but simply because he wants to admire you up close.

He knew it was wrong, pursuing a student while being the professor of your class. But he couldn’t help but admire your soft cheeks as they blush, your eyes looking up to him, it gives him the idea on what you look like sucking on his cock. How you elegantly crossing your legs, showing your smooth skin, making him hard. He wants to feel you, to hold you and keep to himself. He wonders how your moans sounds like as he pounds your pussy.

Law knew it was wrong, but damn, he’s willing to take the risk.

The lingering feeling continues on, from Law giving you some subtle touches as he walks around, the small glances during discussion to assisting you in your work—as long as he can be next to you.

He knew he had to stop the feelings. He tried going to nightclubs and going on blind dates to divert his attention, but he knew that once he goes back to teaching, you will be back in his mind.

Every time you look at him with those eager eyes as you placed your cheek on your palm—trying to stay focus on his lesson, it made him nervous. Every time he walks around while discussion, he sees you with your hair up, exposing you neck. It made him want to take you there.

Your little outfits was the worse. Your skirts being too short and your top is getting a little too distracting for him. It made his cock stir in his pants as he tries his best not to stare at your cleavage while discussing.

Currently, Law announced the dismissal as his class started packing their stuff while talking about their after class activities. But he noticed you weren’t packing yours as he watched you wave goodbye to your friend as they left the room. There was an unusual silence as Law waited for you to do something, but you sat on your chair—fidgeting with your fingers.

“Do you need to do some work, miss (Y/N)?” Law asked.

You flinched on your seat before stumbling your words, “Uhm.. N-No, not really..” You trailed off, “.. C-Can I ask something, sir?”

Law crossed his arms, “Go ahead,”

You bit your lip, nervously, “Uhm.. I’m like, wondering how my grades are doing..”

Law raised his eyebrow as he opened his laptop and checked your grades. You fidgeted nervously as he sighed, “I’m sorry, miss (Y/N) but you’ve been failing my class lately,” He frowned.

You looked down in shame, you were aware that you haven’t been doing good in his class but you wanted to ignore the fact. Now, he’s telling it to your face that you are indeed failing.

You sat there in silence, sinking in the information as Law sighed. He stood up from the teacher’s desk and approached your seat. He placed a sincere hand on your desk as he frowned down on you, “What’s going on, miss (Y/N)? Is my teaching been unaffected to you?” He scolded.

You grimaced at his tone, “N-Not at all, sir. It’s just that…” You sighed, “I’ve been having a hard time understanding things and I can’t really focus on your class,” You explained.

“You can always just come to me after class of you’re confused,” Law insisted.

You fidgeted on your seat, “I know, b-but I just feel bad that you might think that you aren’t a good teacher,” Law’s heart almost swelled at your consideration, “But I need extra credits, sir. So that I can pass this subject. If anything, I’ll take it,” You pleaded.

Law’s eyes widened at your cries. This was every inch of his fantasy—watching you desperately plead him to give you extra credits to pass his class. His fist clenched, holding back his sexual urges but it’s just one time, right? He tried to convince himself. He just talk you into it and would also give you those extra credits.

But he knew it was wrong, thinking about fucking his student in his classroom. It was already wrong when he had wet dreams about you as he fucks his cock in his fist at night. It was wrong when he always stay at your side when he’s teaching—stealing small glances at your figure. Pursuing his student was wrong, but Law knew he couldn’t help it.

He sighed heavily, already making up his decision, “You would do.. anything?” He asked.

You nodded, frantically as he went silent before pulling you to a searing kiss. Your yelps were muffled as your eyes widened. processing the event that is happening. You didn’t pull away as you kissed back, your lips clashing together as he pulled you up on your seat while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Law pulled away, panting, “Are you sure about this?” He asked.

You giggled, “You were the one who started kissing me,” You teased, “But yes, I want you, sir,” You bit your lip.

His cock harden in his pants, “Fuck.. That’s what I wanted to hear,” He mumbled before he carried you to his desk, “I’ll give you those extra points.. after I fuck you,” He smirked.

As he stripped off his clothes, you removed your clothes along with your undergarments as his mouth agape on how wet your pussy now. As he was finally naked, you slid off the desk and on to your knees as you faced his hard cock. His cock twitched at your hot breath fanning on it as he looked down at you. You smirked as your tongue lolled out to lick the tip of his cock as he twitched at the sensation.

You continue to lick around his to before slipping his whole shaft inside your mouth as Law groaned in pleasure. His hand grabbed your hair as he pushed his hips into your mouth, making you gag as the tip of his cock hits your throat.

“Fuck.. Sorry baby, your mouth just f-feels so.. good,” He grunted.

His hips thrusted against your mouth, his pelvic touching your lips as you suck on his thick cock. His groans echoed inside the classroom as his cheeks blushed from the intense pleasure. You looked up to him with small tears in your eyes as his breath hitched as he continue thrusting in your mouth. His pace made you grabbed onto his thighs as you moaned around his cock.

“F-Fuck, your mouth is so good, baby. S-Sucking on my cock like that..” He whimpered as he felt a coil in his stomach, “God-damnit.. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna c-cum in your mouth..” Law groaned.

His thrusts quickens as you hummed around his cock, making him groan loudly as he shoots his cum down your throat. His hips stuttered as his hand gripped your head, not letting your mouth escape his cock as you swallow down his cum. As you pulled away, Law was panting heavily—sweat dripping down his forehead as he smirked down at you.

He flipped your skirt up, yanked your panties down, and pulled you up so you could bend over his desk. With a loud moan, you felt his lips around your sore clit and sucking on your wet folds, causing you to gasp in shock. Humming over your clit while you whimpered, he held onto your soft thighs and feasted on your warm pussy.

“F-Fuck, sir.. I feel like I’m cumming!” You moaned.

As soon as Law heard that, he pulled away from your pussy, making your whine from the lost of pleasure. Suddenly, you gasped sharply as you felt the tip of his cock entering you, “I’ll give you something to cum around,” He growled in your ear as he set a hard pace.

You screamed in pleasure as the desk rocked beneath you. Law was in paradise, his cock fucking his favorite student’s pussy as your moans muffled by the desk, scared that people might hear the debauchery happening inside the classroom. Skin slapping echoed inside the classroom as Law grunted in your ear, “You feel my cock there? Fucking your.. d-desperate pussy..?”

You only nodded in reply, too deep into the pleasure. With the lack of reply, Law growled as his hand gripped your hair, pulling your head up as he slowed down his thrusts, making you whine, “I asked you a question, girl. Do you feel my cock fucking you?” He emphasized every word with a hard thrust.

“Yes, sir! Please! Fuck me harder!” You moaned loudly.

His lips turned into a smirk as his quick pace came back, making you whimpered, “Fuck, y-your pussy feels so good.. I’ve been wanting to have this,” He groaned

“O-Oh, s-sir… I’m gonna c-cum!” You moaned loudly.

His hips thrusted quickly on your pussy as you felt the coil in your stomach exploded as you came around his cock. Law grunted loudly as he spills his cum inside you. Panting heavily, he laid his sweaty body on top of yours as you laid tiredly on the desk.

Law leaned down on littered tired kisses on your temple as he intertwined your hands together, “Congrats, miss (Y/N), you get your extra credit,” He chuckled deeply, finally achieving his sexual fantasy.

[the-apple-of-my-eye0-0]

༄.° Teacher’s pet ༄.°

Professor! Zayne x Fem!Student! reader

C/W : professor x student, age gap, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex, spanking, overstimulation, uses of sir, power dynamic, dubcon?

not proofread!

🔞 !! MDNI !! 🔞

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.

Today was like any other, following your usual routine — wake up, shower, get dressed into a skirt and button up shirt, put on makeup, eat breakfast, and go over your med notes on your way to your lecture.

Walking into the lecture hall, you're blessed with the sight of your favourite professor writing something on the board. His broad frame, maintained black locs, uncreased suit that hugs his muscles deliciously. God you couldn't get enough of him.

'Get your damn head out of the gutter', you curse yourself internally as you sit in your seat at the front of the hall.

The voice of your professor startled you out of whatever unsavoury thoughts you had. "Okay class, I hope you were paying attention to our last lesson, as today I will need you to explain the pathophysiology of congestive heart failure and how it guides treatment options."

The sound of his voice fades as you catch yourself staring at his large hands, the exact ones you'd imagine against your skin at ungodly hours of the night. You didn't realise how long you were zoned out for, until the sound of your name faintly registers.

"Y/N are you paying attention?". Your professors eyes now fixed on you.

'Shit', you think to yourself. "Uh yeah, I just didn't get much sleep last night". You prayed he would let it go, feeling everyones eyes on you.

"Do you feel okay? Your face looks quite flushed. Are you sure you aren't sick?", he continues on and you feel you could just die on the spot.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You break eye contact with him, staring at you previous notes. 'This is what you get for not paying attention… You shouldn't even be thinking about him like that, he could have a wife, he's your professor, for gods sake'. Losing your focus once again.

"I'll need you to say behind after todays lecture, not paying attention could be a lethal mistake in the future, especially in this field of work" his voice stern. "That goes for everyone, you need to focus in this class, even a minor mistake could cost someone their life". He explains to everyone.

'Ouch, way to rub salt on the would'. You mutter quietly to yourself. But even with the immense embarrassment you felt, you couldn't shake the fact he was even hotter when he was irritated.

...

The lecture felt like it went on forever, but you didn't mind, you didn't want to be alone with Zayne, unsure if you could talk to him without embarrassing yourself even more.

"Okay class dismissed. Y/N wait for me at my desk" he demands, bidding everyone farewell as they walk past him, out the door.

You walk to the chair he had set by the desk, looking down at your legs. 'Fuck sakes Y/N, control yourself’

Zayne closes the door behind the last student, making sure to lock it before walking toward you. Each step echoing in the silent room.

You don’t dare utter a word as you feel his eyes bore into your back.

“Now Y/N, tell me, what’s gotten you so distracted recently? It’s starting to affect your grades and we can’t have that” he’s beside you now, staring at you intensely, daring you to look into his eyes.

“Uh, nothing” you look up at him, biting your lip nervously. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to say? You’re the reason I can’t think straight. I keep imagining myself riding you like there’s no tomorrow?’ Of course you can’t say that, it’s unprofessional.

“Are you sure? I was the top student in my psych class, so I can see right through your little lies” he smirks, leaning down so his face is closer to yours.

Your eyes widen at the lack of distance between you two, cheeks heating up rapidly. You could explode any second.

“Yeah, I’m sure” you choke out, your voice betraying you. ‘Fuck’ you thought.

“You think I don’t notice the way your eyes rake over me? You think I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking” he whispers against your ear. His breath leaving goosebumps on the side of your neck.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of Y/N, it’s only human nature to desire such… things” his voice low and mocking.

“Don’t act so innocent now Y/N, not after teasing me with your eyes for so long” he moves his head so it’s only an inch away from yours.

This was your last straw, your restraint flying out the window, you’ll be damned if you allow this opportunity to pass.

You close your eyes, leaning toward him, expecting to feel his lips on yours, but you were left with nothing but air. Your eyes flutter open, looking up at his pitiful expression.

“Nuh-uh, only good students are rewarded”. He sneers, letting out a deep laugh. “Why don’t we have a little tutoring session? Gives you a chance to redeem yourself, don’t you think?” He turns to sit in his chair, across the wooden desk.

“If you’re good, maybe i’ll give you what you want”.

“Y-yes sir”. You reply, disappointed.

“Aw c’mon darling. You’re the one in charge of your own fate. Now come here.” He pats the wooden desk in front of him and you listen. Placing your bag on the chair and walking toward him, sitting on the hard surface.

“Spread those legs for me” his eyes fixated on your exposed thighs underneath your skirt. You spread your thighs slightly, earning a disapproving look. His hands spreading them firmly.

“I told you to spread them, you’re not off to a good start now, are you?” He lets out a soft groan at the sight of your panties.

“Now, time for your lesson. What are the clinical consequences of left ventricular hypertrophy?” He asked as he makes eye contact, grazing his fingers along your thigh.

“Uh, left ventricular hypertrophy can lead to diastolic dysfunction, reduced cardi-“ you pause as he lifts your legs over his shoulders, moving your panties to the side.

“I never told you to stop” he slaps your thigh, the sharp noise echoing through the air. “God, you’re already wet” he mutters as you continue to answer.

“Reduced cardiac output, increased risk of arrhythmias, myocar- ah, fuck” you moan at the feeling of his finger running up and down your throbbing cunt.

“Keep going” he demands, leaning in between your thighs and flicking his tongue against your swollen clit.

“M-Myocardial ischemia, and eventually h-heart failure. Oh god. It also increa-ses the r-risk of, ah, of sudden cardiac death- fuck, and complications… like stroke, especially if associated, mm, with hypertension.”

You’re laying down by the end of the answer, unable to hold yourself up with the overwhelming sensation of his lips sucking on your clit.

“Good girl” he utters against your skin. You feel a smirk form on his lips. He’s enjoying seeing you struggle.

“Mhm, your good girl sir” you manage to moan out, squirming beneath him as he slide a finger inside you, pumping them in and out at a rapid pace, curling them just enough so they’re hitting your sweet spot.

“Know you’ve fantasised about this, hm? If you wanted it so much, why didn’t you just tell me? Instead of wearing these things you call clothes.” His voice filled with desire

You walls clench around his digits, and of course he notices. “You’re about to cum. I can feel you’re close.” He states, watching your eyes close and mouth hang open.

“Yes sir” you whine, head nodding, hands finding his hair to grip onto. Earning a moan from him.

“Cum for me, wanna taste your sweetness on my tongue.” He grips your thigh with his free hand.

You cum around his fingers with a loud moan. Expecting him to stop once your high calmed down, but he continues, faster this time.

“I deserve to watch you cum again, as a reward for waiting so long.” His pace brutal and unforgiving, the lewd sounds resound around the hall.

Your legs tremble around his head. Crying out from the overstimulation. You squirm on the desk, unable to control yourself.

A sharp pain shoots through your thigh as he spanks you again. “Stop fucking moving.” He orders.

You try to listen, especially since you’re so close to cumming again, but you can’t restrain yourself. Instead you pull onto his hair more, eyes watering from the overwhelming feeling.

You cum again without warning, this time louder and more intense. Your body jolting from the waves of pleasure shooting through you.

Zayne guides you through your second climax before letting out a dark chuckle, cleaning your mess with his tongue.

“Mm, you taste so good” he raises his head, looking into your eyes with a crazed expression, opposite to his usually controlled self.

You take a few moments before sitting up to cool yourself down. Looking at him, you take a mental picture to capture this moment forever.

It takes a second before Zayne calms himself, clearing his throat.“Expect these lessons more often, your grades depend on them” he says as if he wasn’t just nose deep in your cunt.

“You better leave before my next lecture arrives.” He kisses your calve, still resting on his shoulder.

“Yes, of course, I’ll see you next class, thank you sir”

You revive your legs from their resting place, jump off the desk, kissing him on the cheek and turning to grab your books before walking out.

‘Oh my god, did that actually happen?’ You cheer to yourself, excited for your next lecture with him.

(A/N: let me know if you want a part two!)

[karikarasuno]

part two | part three | wc: 2.1k

“Oh, shit.” Ace hears you before he sees you. And he tries to keep the memories at bay. But one look at you and his senses are flooded with images of you from last weekend. The two of you cramped in the cabin of your pick up. You on your back with your knees pushed to your chest. Your calves hooked over his elbow. He shouldn’t have folded you in half. He probably shouldn’t even have fucked you. 

Too late now. 

“This is my brother Ace!” Luffy shouts beside you. Pointing at Ace. Completely unaware of how familiar you already are with each other. Ace should’ve known better. Everyone knows everyone. He knew he would be running into you again. This is just the last place he expected to find you. 

“We’ve met,” you say, shifting awkwardly away from Luffy and pointedly not looking at Ace. If it was anyone else maybe he’d be offended. But knowing why you’re not looking at him scratches a satisfied itch Ace didn’t even know he had. 

“Yeah at Whitebeard’s,” he clarifies, even though it’s essentially unnecessary since he knows Luffy doesn’t care about the details. “But how do you know each other?”

“Apparently Luffy works for me,” you explain, but you’re looking at Marco. Ace cannot help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “Technically he was my grandpa’s employee. I just inherited him with the property.”

“Yeah she almost shot me this mornin’,” Luffy says casually and with a cackle. 

“He was going through my fridge at 6am. I thought he was a burglar,” you say, eyeing Luffy like he’s lost his mind. And whenever people first meet him that’s usually their initial impression. But he grows on you quickly. 

“She’s got some terrible aim on her though,” Luffy replies. “Maybe you can teach her to shoot, Ace!”

“No,” you say immediately. “I mean that’s not necessary. I don’t plan on shooting you ever again. Just warn me the next time you’re in my house.”

“I thought he got kicked in the head by a horse?” Ace looks at Marco. Confused as all hell. 

“I did,” Luffy says at the same time as you go “he did.”

“Seems like y’all had a busy mornin’,” Ace chuckles, eyes still glued to you. 

“About that.” You hop off the bed and wipe your hands on your pants. “I’ve gotta get to work. Thanks again, Marco.”

“Yeah, no problem, kid,” he answers, looking suspiciously between you and Ace.

“Nice seeing you,” you nod to him as you walk towards the door. The one he’s currently blocking. “Again.”

He doesn’t move, though. Not when you’re standing a few inches from him and waiting expectantly for him to do something. You look up at him through your lashes. Just like you did that night. Right before you– “Excuse me.”

Ace almost jumps out of the way, your words forcing him out of the flashback. “Sorry.”

“See you later, Luffy,” you call out over your shoulder, hurrying out of the room without another word. Ace watches you go. He doesn’t intend to. You’re just so interesting. 

“What was that about?” Marco says, clearly amused. And smart enough to read between the lines. 

“What was what about?” Ace asks, turning towards Marco trying his hardest to remain nonchalant. It’s not really working though. Marco knows him too well.

“What did you do?” Marco presses, crossing his arms over his chest absolutely amused. 

“Why do you think I did somethin’?” 

“Well, she was fine until you showed up,” Marco adds, lips shifting into a smirk that Ace knows well. “You made her run.”

“I don’t know if you heard her, but she said she had to get to work. Maybe this idiot made her late,” Ace points at Luffy, who’s watching the exchange curiously while his feet kick over the edge of the hospital bed. 

“Is she the one you were talking to Sabo about?” Luffy adds, not helping Ace’s case in the slightest. “Something about doin’ it in her truck?”

Ace pales. Or maybe he bursts bright red. He can’t tell. Other than the fact that he’s both ice cold and burning hot. He reaches over and grabs Luffy by the collar, bunching his shirt in a fist and yanking him off of the bed in one movement. 

“How hard did you get hit in the head? Must’ve affected your memory,” Ace says, avoiding Marco’s eyes entirely. 

“Nope,” Luffy grins, “Memory’s all good. Doc said so himself.”

“We’re leavin’ then,” Ace grumbles, ready to strangle Luffy but he’s already in the hospital. And three attempts on his life in a single morning would be overkill. Ace will just have to wait until tomorrow. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” Marco yells to Ace’s back. He can hear the laugh in his voice. But he refuses to turn around. 

“Nothin’ to talk about!” 

****

Ace doesn’t think your hook up was a mistake. It’s actually the opposite. He wants to do it again. And then a third time. Perhaps maybe even a fourth if you’re up to it. What he regrets are the circumstances. Ace isn’t one for one night stands. He never has been. And in a town as small as this one, they are never a good idea. The only person who seems to get away unscathed and without a scarlet letter stamped to their forehead is Sabo. He doesn’t get it. But some things aren’t meant for Ace to understand. 

“So what exactly were you doin’ in SJ’s truck?” Luffy asks from beside Ace in his own truck this time. It’s much larger than yours. More leg room. But he refuses to spiral down that thought process.

“Who the hell is SJ?” Ace replies, slowing to a stop at a red light. They’re passing through the main part of town now. The dance studio is a block or so ahead. Ace wonders if you’re already there. 

“Are ya dumb? We were just with her,” Luffy laughs, removing the ice pack from his head entirely. 

“That’s not her name,” Ace says shortly, not really in the mood to entertain his little brother’s antics. 

“Yeah, but I can’t remember what it really is,” he shrugs, staring out the window. “And I don’t think she’d like it if I called her small Jinbe.”

“Probably not,” Ace agrees. 

“So what were you do-”

“We’re not talkin’ bout this.” Ace pulls into the diner and parks near the door. He’s starving. And he’s sure Luffy is too considering all the energy he’s burned in the few short hours they’ve been separated.  

Ace jumps out the car and Luffy follows, jabbering senselessly behind him. Ace isn’t listening though. He’s stuck thinking about you. He hasn’t really been able to stop since he saw you at the bar. He wouldn’t describe what he’s feeling as a crush though. It feels childish. Immature. And he doesn’t know you well enough to admit he likes you. Not like that anyway. But you’re obviously attracted to each other. And the chemistry is insane, especially considering you only spent a single night together and he can't seem to get you out of his head. 

Maybe it’s infatuation. It’s been awhile since Ace has actually felt anything at all for someone, so it feels like a bigger deal than it probably is. 

The bell chimes above his head. The diner isn’t crowded but the regulars are here. In their usual seats spread out amongst the tables. When Ace’s gaze falls on the cook and owner of the diner he suppresses a groan. One because Sanji is shamelessly flirting with the girl picking up her order. Two, that girl happens to be you. He quite literally cannot escape you.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask politely, sticking your hand in your bag to pull out some cash. 

“On the house,” Sanji replies, pushing the small paper bag towards you along with four drinks. 

“I can’t accept this without paying,” you urge him, pulling out a few dollars from your stack of cash. 

“A smile from a pretty girl like you is payment enough,” he says, leaning over the counter and into your space. Ace witnesses the way you smile and look away. Bashful. Well, now he’s jealous. That’s fucking great.

“Fine, but I’m at least tipping you.” You stick the dollars you counted before into the tip jar by the register. “Can’t have you thinking I’m taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Oh, sugar, I’d let ya do whatever–”

“Hiya, Sanji,” Ace interrupts, “we’ll have our usual.”

Perhaps, maybe just a little, Ace’s feelings for you are childish. A tad bit immature. He doesn’t like watching Sanji flirt with you. Even though he knows full well, as well as half the people in this town, that Sanji’s fucking the butcher. It’s harmless. Doesn’t make Ace like it any more, though. 

Sanji’s eyes slide over to Ace. He hears the edge in Ace’s tone, but he doesn’t say anything. Sanji is also very aware that Ace never orders at the counter. Luffy has a booth practically assigned to him at the diner. He sits in the same spot every time he comes in to eat. So obviously Sanji is skeptical. But thankfully he spares Ace the awkward confrontation and says “you got it.”

Before turning back to you and saying, “have a great day, beautiful. I’ll see you later.”

Ace watches you look through the bag to make sure everything is there before you glance over at him. It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since you were last together, yet Ace feels the silence between you starting to balloon uncomfortably. 

“Are you following me?” You pop it first. And he’s grateful that you sound much more playful than you did earlier. 

“No,” he smiles at you. “Seems like a coincidence if ya ask me.”

“Mm, right,” you nod, gathering your order in your arms. “Two times in an hour. What did I do to be so lucky?”

“I have an idea,” he says with a slight shrug. He knows what he’s insinuating and you seem to catch on quickly when the air shifts into something a little more thick. Dense. Flashes of lips, hands, tangling limbs is all Ace can think of. You’re standing so close he can smell you. Makes him feel like a creep. But he can’t control it. You had sex one time and it’s as though you’ve already permanently branded yourself to his memory. His senses. 

He doesn’t even know how. Or why. 

You bite down on your bottom lip. Chewing it between your teeth. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know your thoughts are probably going down the same tracks as his. He can see it in your eyes. In the way you return his gaze. 

“Listen, I usua–”

“SJ!” Luffy interrupts loudly. So loud it's as if he shakes the air around the two of you. Ace almost forgot you aren’t alone. But in public. “You joinin’ us for breakfast? Sanji makes the best corned beef hash!” 

“SJ?” You look over at Ace, evidently confused. 

“I’ll explain later,” he dismisses, not really in the mood to get into Luffy’s tendency to assign names to people.

“No,” you answer, turning your attention back to Luffy. “I just came over to pick up some coffees for the crew.”

“Bummer,” Luffy says before walking behind the counter and letting himself into the kitchen. 

“Does he always do whatever he wants?” You ask curiously, peeking over the counter through the small window to watch Luffy pester Sanji while he cooks. 

“Yes. All the time. Consequences be damned.”

“Ok well that’s good to know considering how often I will be seeing him.”

Ace chuckles at the concerned look on your face. He finds it endearing how you can’t seem to control your expressions. You wouldn’t even have to say anything and Ace could probably guess what you’re thinking. 

“Anyway, I should get going.” You angle yourself towards the door. “Can’t have Nami’s coffee getting cold.”

“I’ll see you around,” he tilts his head in goodbye. And this time when you leave instead of scurrying away from him, you smile at him over your shoulder. A feeling, weird and full and dizzying, fills his chest. 

“Can’t believe you already slept with her,” Sanji interrupts Ace’s thoughts abruptly. The feeling that he was indulging in immediately solidifies and falls rock solid into his gut. His head whips around to look at Sanji, who’s balancing three plates on his forearm and wearing an expression so casual that Ace is convinced he misheard him.

“What?”

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart

[clovercap]

unsaid (part 2)

2.4

note: hi!! thank you guys for all the love on part one, oh my gosh!!◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜ i think i'm gonna make 1-2 more parts and finish up this little series! please let me know what you'd like to see and send me asks! reblog and like if you liked this and lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part ᵔદᵔ okay luv u all hope you enjoy!!

pairing: bfs!rafe and bsf!y/n

summary: y/n is heavily overthinking and rafe seems perfectly fine

warnings: this is 18+. alcohol use.

“You aren’t gonna surf?” 

Everyone is at the beach, and it’s mid-afternoon, the day after the party. Rafe’s sitting next to you, sunglasses on as he frowns at the ocean. It’s obvious that he’s hungover, which typically makes him irritable. You’re used to it, but it was hard not to take his attitude personally after last night.

I always need you. I can breathe when you’re around. 

What the fuck did he mean by that? 

You glance at him in the beach chair beside you, your hand playing in the sand between your chairs.

“No,” He replies hoarsely. “I feel like shit.” 

He hasn’t mentioned what he said last night. You wonder if he even remembers. It doesn’t seem like it, considering how fucked up he was. By the end of the night, you were dragging him onto Kelce’s couch because he could barely walk.

You, on the other hand, were unfortunately sober enough to remember. The more you thought about it, the more you spiraled. You couldn’t help but wonder if his words meant something more. Combined with all the things he had been doing, acting a bit more protective, being a bit more touchy and sweet. It all makes you think that maybe he does feel something more for you, like you do for him. 

It’s been eating away at you, ever told you he needed you, like the porch swing had become a confessional for just a moment. You have an aching feeling in your gut begging you to just ask him about it, but you restrain yourself. The logical reasoning that tells you he was just drunk, just being nice, holds you back. 

“Yeah, you were gone.” You finally respond, hoping to cover your distress with a soft laugh. 

You feel his gaze on you as you mess with the sand. It feels heavy, like molasses has suddenly enveloped you. He doesn’t respond, which doesn’t surprise you. There wasn’t anything else to say regarding his hangover, and there was no way in hell you would bring up what he had said. 

“Hey! What’re you guys doing out here? The water’s great.” You look up from the sand to see Ruthie walking in front of you both, her wet hair dripping down her shoulders with a hand on her hip and a seltzer in her other hand. 

“I’m hungover,” Rafe says simply, looking up at her through his sunglasses. “Swimming won’t go over too well.” 

“I totally get that,” She giggles like he was trying to be funny.

Her eyes drift to you, and her tone is much less friendly. “Why aren’t you in the water?” 

“M’tanning.” You reply, keeping your voice level. 

She tilts her head and smirks. “You can’t tan like that.” 

She’s not wrong. You’re hunched over in the beach chair, playing with the sand. The way you were sitting was not suitable for a good tan.

“I guess.” You say, and you stand up. Maybe swimming would help get your mind off things. “The water better be as nice as you’re making it out to be.” 

“Oh, it will!” She calls to you as you walk towards the shore. You look back and see she’s taken your seat, leaning over and talking to Rafe. You snap your head back to the ocean and keep walking like your chest didn’t heat up in the disgusting way it usually did when you saw Rafe talking to other girls.

When your feet hit the water, you realize Ruthie was unfortunately right. The water was great. Just cool enough to escape the blazing heat, and just warm enough to feel relaxing. You head further in, closing your eyes and dipping under the waves. You hold your breath and count to 30. You gasp for air as you come back up and see the waves have pulled you even further out. Your toes barely touch the bottom, so you lie on your back, letting the gentle waves bring you closer to shore. 

You don’t know how long you’re in the water, switching between floating and swimming, all while never looking back at the shore. You hear your name being called as you float on your back. His voice is so familiar it almost hurts, and you sigh as you let your legs sink back to the ocean floor, watching Rafe wade towards you. 

“What’s up?” You ask, swimming towards him.

“You’ve been in here for like, almost an hour.  Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.” He says gruffly, crossing his arms. 

The water reaches your thighs as you stand. You force a smile, running your thumb under your bikini strap. “I didn’t realize I was out here for so long, sorry.” 

“It’s fine, just—you should really be paying more attention.” 

It’s like he’s admonishing you, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

“Sorry.” You mumble, looking away from him as you rub your arm.  It’s a weak attempt to settle your nerves.

His face twists. “No, don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t’ve—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. He glances down and drops his arms, bending down to feel the water on his hands. “Water’s nice.” 

You nod and smile tightly at his deflection. 

“Maybe it’s your turn to lie out in the ocean for an hour.” Your chest bubbles as you attempt to lighten the mood.  

He looks up at you from the water, and his gaze penetrates you. It’s like he knows something you don’t. You swallow. 

 Then he shakes his head, looking back towards shore, and the feeling is gone. “Nah, I just wanted to come check on you.”

You still, and the waves hit against you. You can’t help how the most casual sentence from him sounds like the most meaningful thing you’ve ever heard. Even though you know it’s not. Since last night, though, it feels like everything he says just…means more. 

“Wanna head back? Maybe you can actually tan.” He breaks the silence you barely even noticed.

“Maybe.” You say, looking over towards the shore. Ruthie is still in your chair, and you bristle at the sight. 

Rafe follows your gaze. “Okay,” He says gently. “Well, I’m gonna head back.”

He looks back at you expectantly. You really didn’t want to follow him back to shore. You felt like you followed him everywhere and hated yourself for it. 

“I’m gonna stay in the water a bit longer.” 

He nods with a small smile. “Try not to float away.” 

You let out a strained laugh and watch as he turns around. 

You look out towards the horizon, swimming towards it. You had always been independent, but as long as you’ve known Rafe, you’ve always just been by his side. You had become attached to him in a way that scared you. 

You weren’t sure when you started feeling more for Rafe. All you knew was that your feelings were recent and overwhelming. You had never been the type to need someone as much as you need him in your life. Maybe that’s why the thought of possibly—most likely— ruining things between you felt so heavy. 

You grew up with everything handed to you, everything decided for you, and the only thing you could control was your feelings. That’s partially why you and Rafe had gotten as close as you did. He struggled with the expectations placed upon him to be the perfect Cameron, while you felt the pressure to be just as successful as your family was. It was a perfect match of privileged teenagers dealing with overwhelming expectations.

But now, you couldn’t control your feelings. Now they had taken a hold over you, and you felt like a puppet being toyed with by his hands.  And ever since that stupid fucking party, it’s been even worse. The rule you had over your emotions had been overthrown. Stripped from you, leaving you with this hollow feeling in your stomach that only Rafe could fill. 

Thinking of him only deepened that emptiness, and you look at the distant horizon. An abrupt barrier between the sky and sea, a wall that isn’t real, but is always there. Sometimes you felt like that with Rafe. He’s never let you in entirely. Maybe that’s why his words at the party hit so hard. 

You can’t help yourself as you look back towards the shore, and your eyes immediately find him without even trying.  You see Rafe sitting in his chair, Ruthie still in yours. Maybe it’s time you just go home. 

You swim towards the shore and walk up onto the sand. Ruthie doesn’t bother moving from your seat as you get closer. If anything, she’s ignoring you, focusing solely on Rafe. You try not to look at him and grab your beach bag. 

You take a few steps away and pull your towel out, wrapping it around yourself. You attempt to keep your composure as you hear her laugh at something he says, but you can’t help that flicker in your chest. It shouldn’t get to you the way it did. 

“Hey, are you leaving?” 

You look over to see Rafe's eyes on you. He looks slightly disappointed. 

“Yeah, I’m tired from last night,” You shrug. “Think I’m just gonna go home and take a nap.” 

The emotionless expression on his face morphs into a small frown. “You alright?” He asks. 

You nod and force a smile. “Yeah, can you just?” Your eyes dart to Ruthie in your chair, now looking at her phone. “Grab my chair when you leave?”

He grips the armrests like he was about to stand, but he doesn’t. He stays seated, and his lips twitch in annoyance. “Yeah.” 

“Thanks, I’ll uh, I’ll see you later.” You lift your hand in a feeble wave, and he just nods. 

You walk to your car parked not too far away on the sand.  You and Rafe were just friends. That’s all. You just had to keep telling yourself that. You just needed to get over it.

———

A few days later, you find yourself at the country club. Rafe and you had texted occasionally, and he was the one who told you that you should come, but as you stand next to Kelce and sip your iced tea, you see Rafe leaning against the bar, talking to Ruthie again. 

You decided after the beach that you had to keep some distance between the two of you. Give yourself time to just get over it. Over him. But it was getting harder and harder to do so when it felt like the two of them were rubbing…whatever it was they were doing, in your face.

You thought he didn’t like her. He had even told you once how her voice irritated him to no end, and she was a ‘pick-me’. But there he was, smirking as she babbled on about something you couldn’t even follow. You tear your gaze from them and focus back on Kelce, who was rambling on about something with his boat. 

“…and my dad’s pissed ’cause I didn’t ask him before I got it wrapped, like it’s his fuckin’ boat,” Kelce scoffs, sipping his whiskey as he looks at you. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blink. “Yeah.”

Kelce looks over at Rafe and Ruthie, and a small grin crosses his face. “Oh, I see.” He nods like he knows something. 

“See what?’ You frown, praying Kelce hadn’t picked up on your increasing jealousy. 

He laughs a bit and crosses his arms. “Man, if you thought you were obvious before…”

Your brows furrow. “What?” 

“We all know, y’know.” He says, a little less teasing now. 

Your heart starts to beat a little faster. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “Know what?" Your words come out slow.

Kelce just looks at you like you’re stupid. Like he knows that you know what he means. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Whatever you think, you’re wrong.” Your voice is tight, and you sip your tea as if it would help. You didn’t want Kelce knowing about whatever it was Rafe made you feel. You weren’t even fully sure yourself.

“Sure. I won’t say anything, don’t worry.” He laughs and pats you on the back. It’s then that you feel Rafe’s presence. He steps next to you and looks between you and Kelce. 

“Worry about what?” He asks, eyes darting over you. His voice is casual, but his body is tense.

You just look at him, unable to attempt a lie with him standing so close. 

“Me getting in trouble for throwing last week, and trying to throw again this week.” Kelce shrugs as he saves you, and you look back at him, thankful. 

Rafe just looks between the two of you for a moment. “Why would you worry ’bout that?” He chuckles, rubbing his knuckle under his nose, something he only did when he was bothered. 

“I just—I don’t know,” You shrug. “You know how his neighbors are sometimes.” You sip your iced tea again, like it can help the heat that flows through your chest as he stares you down. “Two parties so close might be too much.”

Rafe nods, and he seems to loosen up. “You need to stop overthinking.” He grins and pokes your arm. His small touch feels like a gut punch, and you instinctively take a small step back.

“Yeah.” You laugh and nod like that’s not what you’ve been trying to do for the past 4 days. Like you haven’t been cursing yourself internally every time you’ve caught yourself thinking back to Kelce’s last party. 

He looks at you for a second, and you hear Kelce get wrapped up in a conversation with one of your friends, but you can’t take your eyes off Rafe.

“We were gonna go to the beach after, do you wanna come?” He asks, leaning down, just so you could hear. 

His closeness makes you feel overwhelmed, and you shake your head. “No, I think I’m actually gonna head home. I’m tired.” You smile at him. 

His gaze softens. “You sure? I can come with you.” It’s a simple offer.  It’s casual and friendly, but you start to think maybe it’s more. You shake your head, more at yourself than anything.

You hate how fast you were about to say yes. But you couldn’t allow yourself to become any more disillusioned with him. 

“It’s okay, I’m just gonna nap. But I’ll see you later.” You say quietly, setting your now empty iced tea on the counter, hoping your rejection of his offer landed well. 

He’s silent for a second as his eyes narrow. “Alright, I’ll see you later.” He nods slowly.

You feel his eyes on you as you say bye to everyone else and push open the country club doors. You can finally breathe as you walk towards your car.

Distance, distance, distance.

taglist: @my-name-is-baby

(lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part!! thank you for the love :') @my-name-is-baby)

[the-kr8tor]

Hobat sneaking into your bag so now you have to keep a tiny bat safe and comfortable until classes end. You know the trope if bringing an animal to school? Either a puppy or kitten and everyone fawns over it and slowly finds out it's in the classroom. 🫡

Ahhhhh hobat my beloved!!! ❤️❤️❤️ I hope you like it, bestie!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Vampire au, hunter! Reader, established relationship, Hobat au, cw food mentions, lovestruck! Hobie, Jealous! Hobie, set in my vampire series (in pursuit of blood), fluff!

Navigation

You shouldn't have brought Hobie to night school if you knew he'd be a menace most of the time inside your bag. He insisted when he overheard you talking to Gwen about an old fling being a classmate of yours. He didn't mean to eavesdrop but he can't help his supersonic hearing when the walls of his home are older than the eiffel tower. To his credit, he did apologize when you sniffed out his lie of asking to come with because he heard that a fellow vampire could be your classic lit 101 professor. After a bit more convincing on his end, which is cuddling in the coffin while he whispers to you affectionately in a language that predates Julius Caesar, you let him come with you to class in one condition— Stay in his Hobat form and stay hidden inside your bag.

It was all fine and dandy at first as you showed him around campus while he told you small historical facts about the place. You even fed him cafeteria french fries while you studied. He didn't like it, but the way he was munching inside your backpack says otherwise. You liked the thrill, it was like you brought your cat to school when it's forbidden. Like Mary and her little lamb, but as the night continues and he gets bored inside your bag, it gets harder to hide the fact that you brought a bat to night school. It all sounds like the start of a joke.

Hobie wiggles inside your bag that's on your lap, squeaking inside as he reads your notes about Emily Brontë. With a telepathic line connected with you, he speaks in your head while you try to listen to the lesson in front of you.

“Your handwritin’ is shit, love. Didn't they teach you cursive?”

“Fuck off, Hobie.” You reply in your head, but your annoyed expression still shows. “I was homeschooled, and our elders didn't exactly teach anything beyond how to throw a knife or basic spells.”

“That explains a lot.” He snickers inside, the squeaking gets a few people's attention.

You fake a sneeze, looking at them apologetically until they turn their heads away from you. “Keep it down! They can still hear your rat noises! And what the fuck does that mean?!”

“‘m goin' to ignore the fact that you called me a rat, love.” You feel him move around inside your bag. “And I didn't mean anythin’ by that.” His sing-song tone would usually have you gazing at him gently, but with you paying an ungodly amount for night school, his behaviour has you more annoyed than endeared. He does however look cute in his tiny bat form, but that thought escapes you when he peeks his fluffy head out of the zipper of your bag, a q-tip in between his fangs. “Why do you have a used q-tip in ‘ere?”

Groaning audibly, the sound echoing inside the silent classroom, everyone, even the professor stops to look at you. “Sorry, I have to take a call.” Making up an excuse, you gather your things and shove it inside your bag haphazardly while ignoring Hobie's protests in your mind. “Sorry, excuse me.” Slinking out of the hall, you exit out with your head down.

“That fuckin’ hurt!” He rubs his tiny head, peeking through the opened zipper as you ignore him and find a quiet janitor's closet to hide in.

“Good!” You say audibly, flicking the light switch to show your anger towards the bat. “I told you that you can stay if you're quiet, Hobie!”

Flying above you, he matches your height. “I was! Until I saw your shit take about ‘Emma!’”

“It was my opinion! That was the assignment!”

Hobie's about to reply back with another quip, but his ear picks up the sound of footsteps outside. Immediately turning back to his usual form, black smoke fills your vision before you're gently shoved against the shelf. Jugs of cleaners and mops fall down as you feel his lips lightly press against your own. Your instincts tell you to kiss back, despite your previous anger, you kiss him like always, anger dissipating and fading to annoyance until his lips kiss back in tandem then you've forgotten what you were arguing about. You find that he always has that effect on you. Knowing that he'll never use vampire hypnotism on you or anyone, it's safe to say that it's just his lips and touch making you melt in his arms.

The door creaks open, light flooding inside. Hobie pulls away, pecking you once more before looking over his shoulder. “Care to knock, mate?” His hand cradles the back of your head while the other holds your waist. Gentle as he avoids his sharp nails from poking you.

“This isn't a motel.” A gruff voice says, you see him tapping his foot against the floor through Hobie's arm. “Get out or I'll call the dean.”

“Shit, yes, sorry.” Pushing Hobie off of you, the fear of getting suspended tamps out the need to kiss him. Tugging him by his belt loops, you couldn't look the stranger in the eyes as you lead him away. You don't let him go until you're out in the near empty courtyard. Sighing in relief, you lean against the wall and cradle your face in embarrassment.

“Love.”

“Stop.”

“I haven't even said anythin' yet.” Chuckling, Hobie taps your shoe with his.

“I know what you were about to say just from your tone.” Your muffled voice has him laughing more. “It's not funny. That was embarrassing.”

Gently, he takes your hands away from your face, meeting with your eyes as you gaze back to his wine red ones. “‘m sorry, ‘m a wanker.”

“You were.” Stomping your foot like you're throwing a tantrum, Hobie cups your cheeks, hands colder than the night air. “I know you were bored but you could've just said so and I'd take you outside so you could go home.”

“Nah, I wasn't bored.” His thumb traces your cheek. “And I don't want to go home without you.”

“Then why were you being annoying? You know how much this means to me.”

With a sigh, Hobie, a fearsome thousand year old vampire, places his head on your shoulder and exhales like a lovelorn school boy. He mumbles something incoherent and you have to nudge and ask him what kind of sound he just let out.

“Iwastryingtogetyourattention.” He says quickly, barely catching what he meant.

“Hobie, didn't your governess tell you not to mumble?” Joking back, he leans away, eyes narrowed at you.

“I never had a governess.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Throwing his words back at him, he tamps down a chortle, fangs peeking through his lips. “Come on, why do you need to get my attention when you have it almost 24/7?”

“I saw the bloke that you talked ‘bout with Gwen.” He rests against your clavicle, the position is awkward with his stature, back bent like a shrimp and his hand mindlessly playing with a string from your jumper. “He kept starin’ at you, lovie.”

“Aww,” you coo, hands rubbing along his back. “My big bad vampire is jealous.”

Hobie abruptly yanks himself off you. “I can rip him to shreds.”

“I know you can.” Smiling, you cradle his cheeks, immediately calming him down. “I didn't even notice him there. I was listening to the lesson.”

“You were?” He asks, hands gravitating towards your hips. “I thought—”

“Your jealousy knows no bounds, Hobie Brown.” Poking him, you lean forward and kiss his cheek. “I swear every full moon you're like this, you're like a werewolf but instead of transforming you turn into a green monster of jealousy. Seriously, not even Pav is safe when we drove out for two hours to get his wizard robes.” Maybe something in your ancient tomes says something about vampires and their monthly bouts of jealousy.

“Only for you, lovie.” Puckering his lips, he tries to kiss you but you block him with your hand.

“Nuh uh, you're not getting off that easily. Fly home, Hobat, before I take out my stake.”

“But—”

“Go, or I'll tell our housemates what you did.”

“Not even one—”

“Guess I have to sleep in my own bed tonight.” You fake a sigh.

With a puff of smoke, Hobie turns back into a bat, wings flapping loudly as he squeaks. “Already flyin’ away!”

Smiling as you gaze at his retreating form, you wince. “Now I have to apologize to the custodian. I hope he likes cafeteria cookies.” You think.

“We're still linked, lovie! I'd like some cookies!”

You're never bringing Hobie to class ever again no matter how much he flashes his puppy dog eyes at you and kisses you softly. Maybe, probably.

[anemoiadawn]

< used to this >

pairing:: mostly just bang chan. but felix is there too genre:: pure fluff, nothing weird! slight angst. word count:: 3.7k summary:: "... for the first time in his life, Chan was starved of a compliment." warnings:: none! minors can interact, but please don't follow me or look at my other posts, thank you! notes:: i wrote this for class. had to edit it a bit to be able to post here, and the version for class only had five of them (chan, felix, jisung, changbin, and jeongin)- so that's why you may not see a lot of the others. if my professor sees this no you didn't.

“How would you describe yourself in one word?”

Chan read the last card in his hands aloud, then looked up into the camera lens. He felt his heart sink in his chest, his muscles tensing under his sleek button-down shirt. He brought his knees up to his chest as he racked his brain for an answer. There wasn’t any single word that would describe him well. The other kids had already done their interviews and finished quickly– they seemed to have had little to no trouble with the questions, so surely they had breezed over this one. He’d had those hours to think of his own answer, since he’d already heard the question four times.

The interviews had been split into two parts: one member on his own, answering each question about himself– and how he thought the others would answer on his behalf. Then, on the couches in the other room: the remaining members gave their own answers.

It had taken Chan less than five seconds to answer for everyone besides himself. Now, Chan had been sitting in front of the camera for five full minutes, yet still hadn’t uttered a word. The staff behind the camera were getting impatient– they had things to do, footage to edit, places to be. Chan hated being a burden like this. He liked being on stage, all those eyes on him– but this? This was too much.

"Channie is..." he started, trailing off as he stared past the camera lens. He had to say something. Anything.

"Lost." No, that's not enough. Sure, it was true, but it wasn’t… satisfactory. More.

"Channie is… complicated." That wasn’t it. Anyone could say that about themselves. More.

"Channie has got a long way to go." Getting there. It was fine to give up on just one word, Chan thought. One word wouldn’t work. Think deeper. More.

"Channie needs to work harder." Almost. More.

"Channie doesn't even take care of himself. He only takes care of the members."

There it was.

The last interview, his own, concluded with that line. Chan headed out to the lobby with his heart heavy, walking to where the others were all sitting together. To no surprise, they were all joking amongst themselves, playfully poking fun at one another. Chan leaned against the doorframe with a chuckle and let them mess around, his heart lifting in his chest. He knew to set aside his perfectionist tendencies with them, to privately bask in that discomfort as long as they had their fun. It would sour the mood, to tell them to keep it down so the staff could work and pack up for the day. So he stayed quiet.

It was worth the anxiety to see them happy. It was worth the uneasiness to be loved by them. It was worth the stress to be a family. That was all he wanted: “I want to be loved by all the members,” he had said earlier in the interview, the first line out of his mouth as soon as he’d sat down. Everything was for them. Everything.

“You mind if I sit in?” Chan pulled a chair up behind the editor’s desk. He was met with a hum– she didn’t talk much. She never did. Chan liked it, a lot, actually. He didn’t feel pressured to fill the silence with her.

He settled in behind her, watching the muted clips as she worked. On the screen: his members, his brothers, his family. They looked so happy, so carefree. Warm smiles spread across each of their faces– laughing, pushing one another, curled up on the couch. They looked like home. Chan’s home.

“They all love you a lot,” the editor slipped her headset off one ear. Chan had been watching for over twenty minutes, letting her work in silence. “Even when they didn’t say particularly sweet things, their love for you is so obvious.”

Chan felt his ears burning. “Oh,” he whispered, chewing his bottom lip as he looked over her shoulder. She’d paused the video on a frame where two of the members were cuddling. They had never properly learned what personal space was. “Do you mind if I listen?”

“Here,” she took off her headset and placed it on the desk. “Go crazy. I’m basically done.”

Chan took her place at the desk as she went to take her break. He smiled at how they were all over each other, the way Felix was sprawled out across Jeongin’s legs. He was always happy to see Felix happy. Any of them happy, obviously– but Felix, particularly. Felix brought Chan out of that dark, dark place. Felix deserved to be happy the most.

“Chan used to be so scary,” Jisung shivered. Chan figured this was in response to the question asked about first impressions– he didn’t want to rewind and potentially mess up the editor’s progress. 

“I could rarely ever approach him,” Jisung continued. “He had this kind of shadow around him– everyone was scared of him.”

Chan hated thinking about that period of his life. Training was brutal, and the members had only seen the end of it. Seven years. Seven years he’d trained, and Jisung had been the first to join him– but that wasn’t until five years in. He hadn’t seen the worst of it.

“We couldn’t even use his name,” Changbin added. “Even though I’m so close in age to him, he only responded to honorifics.”

Chan had never been one to make people use honorifics for him. But since moving to Korea, and learning how important age dynamics were, and how he was seen as lesser than anyone who was even a day older– it had gotten to him. He had made sure everyone younger than him treated him with respect. The respect he was owed for having trained so long.

“He let me call him ‘Chris’ from day one,” Felix whispered, tugging at his earlobe. “He was always so sweet to me, ever since we met.”

“That’s because you’re from the same hometown,” Jeongin added. “I think you reminded him of home.”

“Maybe,” Felix picked at his fingernails. “He kinda was my new home, in a way. I hope I did. Remind him of home, that is.”

Chan’s heart ached. Did Felix really not know how much he meant to Chan? He tugged at the neckline of his shirt, suddenly unable to breathe in enough air.

“You definitely did,” Jisung smiled, assuring Felix. “He was so ready to debut with just us. Then you came along, and he pulled so many strings to get you in the final lineup for the show. You have no idea how long he fought the managers to let you join.”

Suddenly, Felix poked his head into the room. Chan lifted his head and smiled his way– Felix’s face lit up. “Recording tomorrow, right?” Felix shouted loud enough to be heard over the headphones; Chan took them off swiftly and smiled back.

“Yeah. Just one song. Shouldn’t be too much of a hassle.”

It was, indeed, a hassle– At least for Chan.

The recording took three full hours, despite there only being the one song to record. Usually, the others would leave after they’d finished their parts. It was a blessing for Chan most recording sessions, because that meant he could get right to polishing the track. He loved being around them more than anything, but it was nearly impossible to get any work done with seven young men bickering while he was focusing on the fine details of a song.

For some reason unbeknownst to Chan, they all stayed behind this time. Maybe out of spite– but Chan couldn’t think of a reason why they would want to upset him. Maybe he’d done something wrong, and this was his punishment. Maybe they knew how long he’d held up production the day before and were upset. Maybe the staff had said something, told them to make the recording session a living nightmare, told them to torture Chan to the best of their abilites.

Jisung claimed to have missed Chan’s company, since he was always cooped up in the studio without them– but Chan saw them every single day. Jisung’s excuse for all of them hanging around didn’t feel genuine. To cope, Chan blasted the track at a bleedingly high volume through his overpriced headphones, trying his best to drown out the chatter from the couches behind him.

To his despair, his headset had reached the max volume, and the guys behind him would not let up. They likely weren’t talking too loud, but Chan was used to absolute silence. Even a whisper outside the door would throw him off. Taking a sharp breath through his teeth, he decided to get some fresh air. He yanked off his headset and set it down on the table– just slightly harder than he intended. Chan froze, his breath catching in his chest as the room fell silent, the sound of the headphones against the table instantly dying against the soundproofed walls. He looked back to the couches and was met with four pairs of wide eyes, staring back in silence.

“Ah–” Chan panicked, lifting the headset and waving it like a white flag, surrendering. “Sorry, I… there was a part I... didn’t like. I’m okay, sorry, you guys are fine, it’s–” he rambled on, stammering out excuse after excuse, but they knew him too well. They knew they had upset him, and one after one they left the studio with hushed apologies.

“Good work today,” each of them whispered before leaving. Chan’s heart sank into his stomach. He couldn’t take a compliment to save his life, so the only way they could compliment him was to commend him for his work. Telling him that he sang well, that he performed well, that he looked good? Too far. All he could handle was a quick “good work.” Nothing more. And that’s exactly what they did.

But for the first time in his life, Chan was starved of a compliment. He had put up with so much the last three hours, and every single one of them had just taken him for granted. When Jeongin had complained about each of his lines, Chan had swiftly assigned him one of Changbin’s parts. When Jisung had felt unsatisfied with the fifty takes he’d done, Chan had stepped into the studio and physically supported him through it. When it had been two and half hours and was Changbin’s turn to record in the booth, Changbin had kept cracking jokes and messing up his lines on purpose. Usually, Chan would have just laughed along, but he hadn’t left the room in four hours and exhaustion had already set in. He had just wanted to go home by that point.

Was it too much to ask for praise every now and then? Chan squeezed his eyes shut, leaning as far back in his chair as he could. Sure, he melted every time someone gave him a compliment or praise. Sure, he’d instantly brush it off with some sort of self-deprecating joke, or flip it to the person saying it and praise them instead. He knew it was frustrating for anyone around him to try to show him love, but… alone, in his studio, after the members had all left, Chan started to feel like nobody was trying.

If Chan put in so much effort to make the others feel comfortable, to build up their confidence, to make them feel loved, was it really so much to ask for them to do the same for him? He may be the leader, the oldest, but he was still human. He still needed that support from those closest to him. But Chan would rather die than admit that himself. It would kill him to admit weakness.

Was he not worth the energy? They had all given up a long time ago when it came to praising Chan, but even so– a lot of the other members were like him, too, and that didn’t hinder Chan’s affection. If anything, he was more affectionate with the ones who shied away from it. Jeongin especially, who he lived with now, had always hated any sort of affection– but after being under the same roof as Chan for just a couple months, he’d warmed up to it. ‘Exposure therapy,’ Chan would giggle out as he had hugged Jeongin from behind at any possible chance.

It had taken so long for him to be this comfortable with them. With anyone. He’d lost so many people, lost so many friends, so many people he considered family– he hadn’t been able to trust anyone for years. Hadn’t let anyone in for years. He couldn’t get hurt again, wouldn’t let himself get hurt again.

The track glared through cheap speakers overhead and Chan held his breath. It wasn’t his best work– but Somi had slammed his door open at 2am in hysterics. Chan had just started getting into bed and hadn’t slept in 40 hours before that, but he stayed up all night making the perfect track for Somi for the monthly evaluation. It hurt his own performance the next day, running on two hours of sleep, sure– but she was more important. He couldn’t lose anyone else. Especially not someone who had also taken the same leap: moving to Korea at such a young age, following their dreams. He’d do anything to help someone the way he hadn’t been helped when he first arrived. He needed her to make it. He needed her to stay.

His heart sank when he looked over to the staff as soon as Somi brought the microphone to her lips. Their faces soured listening to her performance, and Chan prayed to gods he didn’t believe in that Somi didn’t see their expressions. She was too sensitive. She couldn’t handle that like he could. She hadn’t been training for as long. She didn’t have his tough skin yet.

Somi finished her song perfectly. Just like she always did. Chan smiled up at her as soon as she sang the last note, her eyes meeting his. He gave her a thumbs-up, nodding– ‘you did well,’ he mouthed, hoping she’d be able to read his lips. Somi smiled in response, sending back a half-heart with her hand.

Microphone feedback buzzed over the speakers and they both winced. Looking back to the front of the practice room, the head trainer started speaking. “Sit down.” His voice pained Chan’s ears. “Next.”

They let her go the next day. No explanation. She was kicked out of the program in the blink of an eye. 

He couldn’t say a word to her as she was packing her bags. Somi asked for him to help, but his hands were shaking too badly to carry any of the boxes. He tried, though– but immediately dropped one. Chan almost cried as soon as the package hit the floor, but Somi assured him: it was only plushies, she promised. It was okay, she promised.

Chan let her hug him, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t wrap his arms around her. He couldn’t comfort her. His muscles had turned to concrete. His bones couldn’t handle the weight on his shoulders as Somi turned to leave.

It was his song that got her eliminated. It was him.

It was his fault.

He walked back to his dorm alone, collapsed onto the bottom bunk, stared up at the railing holding the top bunk in place. It was his fault.

Chan rotted for hours in his bed. He didn’t get up when his roommate, Jisung at the time, called him down for lunch. He didn’t get up when one of the managers knocked on his door to get him down for practice. He didn’t get up when Jisung threatened to sit on his chest if he didn’t get out of bed for dinner. He didn’t get up until the next day, a little after breakfast was served.

Jisung knocked on the wood of the bed frame, Chan’s eyes shooting open after he’d dozed off for a bit. Jisung frowned, wiped a stray tear from Chan’s cheek with his thumb, and spoke: “There’s a new trainee. I don’t think his Korean is too great. Can you come down to help?”

Jisung knew Chan loved to feel needed. He loved to be of use. Chan got up within seconds.

Though Chan’s head was spinning from sitting up too quickly, he made his way down to the lobby.

The head trainer was talking to someone right outside the elevators– a boy, slightly taller than Chan. Freckles adorned his cheeks, his shoulder-length hair a golden blonde. He looked like an angel. He looked as if when he spoke, a choir would sing.

Chan approached the two and smiled up at the trainer. The trainer patted Chan on the back, pushing him towards the boy– probably around 16, at the oldest. Years older than Chan was when he joined the company. He was 20, now. Seven years of training.

‘Hello,’ Chan choked out in English. His voice was shot after nearly a day of not speaking. ‘I’m Chris.’

‘Hi,’ the boy spoke, his voice octaves lower than Chan was expecting. He was Australian, just like Chan. Chan was hearing home for the first time in years. ‘I’m Felix.’

By the time the studio door opened again, Chan had moved to the couch. Sitting where the members had sat, he curled up as small as he could, keeping his head buried between his knees. He didn’t need to open his eyes or lift his head to know who had entered the room, anyway.

“Chan.” His throat closed up and it suddenly felt twenty degrees hotter in the studio. Why did it have to be him? “You usually come out by now,” Felix continued. “Are you okay?”

Chan couldn’t choke out a single word. He tried, but nothing would come out. Every inch of his skin ached the more he heard Felix speak. The more he felt at home from Felix’s voice– smelling the Sydney beaches, hearing his dog Berry, tasting the shawarma from his favorite restaurant, seeing his brother and sister every time he closed his eyes, feeling his parents hug him after years of being abroad.

He wasn’t allowed to be mad at Felix. He wasn’t allowed to be mad at any of them. They’d saved him. He wouldn’t even be around if they hadn’t come along. If Felix hadn’t come along, especially. This was silly. It was silly to be upset at them. He wasn’t allowed to–

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Felix whispered. “You know that, right?” Chan felt the couch sink next to him. He curled up tighter, trying to get smaller, if possible. His skin burned red hot. “You don’t always have to be perfect.”

Chan took a shallow breath, the air burning his lungs. The muscles under his skin tensed, tightened, strained. He gripped his left arm tightly, as if the pain would stop if he squeezed hard enough. As if he could stop the ringing in his ears, the ache in his chest.

“Chris?” Felix checked in again and Chan felt a hand on his thigh. Suddenly– one part of his skin wasn’t burning. Felix’s hand was cold, not uncomfortably so, but colder than the lava running through Chan’s veins.

Chan hugged his legs to his chest. “I do, though,” he started. “To be perfect. I need to be perfect, I can’t make mistakes, I need to do everything right.” He felt his heart race fast enough to be heard over his stuttering. “If I mess up, you all won’t rely on me anymore, or I’ll ruin everything for all of us. I need to be perfect, or I’ll lose you, I’ll lose everyone, I’ll lose everything.”

Felix sighed, leaning his head on Chan’s shoulder. Chan froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. Felix’s hair on Chan’s bare shoulder worked as a cooling agent on his burning skin. “You don’t know us at all if you really think we’d stop looking up to you if you made a mistake,” Felix softly caressed Chan’s arm, unknowingly healing his aching skin. “We gave you space after what happened earlier because you clearly couldn’t focus. We should’ve known to give you peace and quiet, like we usually do. We’re the ones who messed up, not you.”

Chan huffed, wiping a tear that had barely escaped. “No, I’m too sensitive, I shouldn’t have–”

“You’re not too sensitive,” Felix interrupted, squeezing Chan’s shoulder. “And we know you. We should have known we would get on your nerves by staying in the studio with you. That’s on us, not you. I’m sorry, Chan. We all are.” Chan sniffled, his head still between his knees, staring down at the couch beneath him.

“I just…” he started, trying to explain. “I’m so scared. I can’t…” Chan steadied his breathing, lifting his head to look Felix in the eye. “If I mess up, I’ll stop being useful. I can’t bear the thought of any of you not needing me anymore.” Felix chuckled in response.

“That’s never going to happen,” Felix turned to face Chan fully and pinched his cheek. “I’ll always need a duo for League,” Felix whispered, wrapping his arms around Chan’s neck to hold him close. “Changbin will always need a gym buddy or someone to cook for him. Jeongin will always need someone to baby the shit out of him. Jisung will always need someone to tell him his lyrics are way too crass. Don’t even get me started on everyone else. You’re always going to be our oldest brother, our leader. You’re always going to be needed. Even if you’re the one needing help sometimes.”

Chan laughed, burying his face in Felix’s shoulder. The aching of Chan’s skin had morphed into a comfortable coolness, spreading from every spot Felix touched. Chan was usually the one initiating any physical contact, so it felt… intense. Now that Felix had initiated it this time. Now that Felix had come to him first, to hold Chan in his arms, to assure him. Now that, for the first time in his life, he was the one being taken care of. It was an unfamiliar feeling: being held instead of holding, being comforted instead of comforting.

He could get used to this.

[ichxgo]

“Okay.” He blinks. Hearing that too literally. He does want to ask now. “I couldn’t sneak out.” Only partially because he doesn’t think Shiro will sleep. He isn’t actually sure he can make it down the stairs unless he plans to crawl. “And I don’t want to.” Then the rest of it catches up, “I’m not going to change my mind. I never changed my mind about you. And what happened might’ve amounted to the same thing. But I never changed my mind.” He’s almost scowling. And he should be more worried about the last part, except, “I’m not changing my mind.” Again. Just in case Shiro missed it the first time. Except even as he says it, he thinks Shiro won’t believe it no matter how many times he says it. Which…

He’ll wait to ask. Like Shiro said. Not because he isn't sure, but because Shiro isn't.

Ichigo looks out again. Maybe Shiro is stupid for still wanting him. Ichigo hasn’t done him any favors. Not any Shiro knows about. But before he can figure out what to say, Shiro turns on him, and Ichigo stiffens. He shifts at those words, regrets it when a spike of pain shoots through him. Shiro makes it sound so simple. Ichigo takes one, long breath, chest full of glass. And that’s something else he hadn’t thought of. That Shiro only agreed because he was high. What if Shiro is only agreeing now because he’s not sober. He tries to push that down but it keeps surfacing like oil on water.  

Except, “Yeah, let’s talk about that,” he says, voice low, steady. “I shouldn’t have dropped the ring on you like that. Or showed up the way I did.” Then he cuts a look at Shiro, something hard in his eyes. “But you don’t get to tear me apart for walking into a death trap when you spend every day drinking and drugging like your life isn’t worth anything either.”

That reminds him, he needs to make sure his sisters are out of Karakura. That’s a topic that hasn’t even surfaced yet. He wasn’t expecting to see that again either, but he’s got stuff in motion for it. Maybe it’s already in motion. He doesn’t even know how long he was gone. 

He lets that touch pull him. The first step is still clumsy and he hates it. He sets his teeth, and tries to walk better. Annoyed that his body isn’t cooperating like he hasn’t spent half his life training it. He almost rattles off something about being fine out of habit, except he’s not sure Shiro would put up even the smallest lie right now. He’s not fine. But he needs to be, which is what he would mean anyway. 

He makes it to the kitchen, he’s not sure how. But he does, so he brushes the effort off as he falls into a chair and doesn’t even try not to look faint. “If you’re pouring, make me one.” Because that’s where he expects Shiro to go first no matter what. Maybe he’ll pass out and sleep away his recovery.

He wants this so bad; a rekindling of what they had before. A second chance. He has wanted this for so long it felt like everything in him had shriveled up, neglected and malnourished, and was just waiting to finish dying except that he was just too stubborn to actually keel over. But he's also so deeply furious and hurt. The two are warring in the oddest, most conflicting ways.

His lip curls and he snaps, "You don't have a right to ask for it." He heaves out a heavy breath, fingers tight on the rail. "But I want it. So I'm giving you permission anyway." But he thinks better of that, and adds, "But wait a few days, 'cause if we go through this now and you change your mind when the drugs and pain and high of being alive wear off, or you leave me alone in the middle of the night again, I swear to fuck, I'm gonna kill you and probably myself." He's only half being dramatic.

Watching the city but not really seeing it, his brows furrow as he listens to Ichigo. It does sound like shit, but Shiro's so goddamn desperate for it he would have taken it anyway, like he is now. Pretend forgiveness. He wants to knock Ichigo's teeth out for that. He rolls his eyes with a self deprecating scoff. "Me, obviously, because I'm fucking stupid for you." He picks up his glass, nearly chokes on the drink he's trying to take, snarls out a raw sound and just chucks the whole glass as hard as he can out over the rail, because punching Ichigo is not an option right now. Then he turns on him all over again, practically trembling, fists clenched, "You didn't think this would hurt me?? What's wrong with you? You were the best goddamn thing I ever had. You ruined my fucking life when you left and then you waltz back in and tell me you want to pretend to forgive me and I wake up with a fucking wedding ring- But it wasn't gonna hurt me?!" He laughs, on the edge of hysteria, because the alternative is crying and he doesn't know how to do that in front of people. "You're lucky you showed up while I was so high, 'cause if you caught me with that shit while I was sober, I would have beat you to a pulp and then you wouldn't'a been able to go on your little suicide mission."

And now he needs another drink.

This has been a rollercoaster in the least fun way. He raises both hands, scrubs at his face for a moment, feeling a little physically numb from the alcohol, but not nearly emotionally numb enough. "Yeah, I still wanna know. Of course I wanna know." Because he's fucking stupid, like he already said. Maybe Ichigo was on to something, maybe he should kick him out. He wont.

He drops his hands, studies Ichigo for a long moment, trying to decide if this is all about to be a repeat of after the party. If he's going to wake up tomorrow to an empty bed. But goddammit, even if that does happen, the looming dread of it doesn't stop him from aching with want. "Yeah." His shoulders sag a little. "Yeah, you're what I've always wanted."

He turns away from the railing, heading for the stairs, but his pace is measured, and his fingers trail against Ichigo's arm as he goes by. "C'mon. I need a new glass and you need food and a chair." He can't pretend like he's not mad, but as hot and explosive as his temper is, it blows itself out quick. He'll get over it if Ichigo's actually serious. He'd forgive Ichigo for pretty much anything.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ PAPER RINGS, BOB REYNOLDS

now playing ↬ paper rings -Taylor Swift

⭑.ᐟ Kicked my feet while writing this one…. I’m going back to writing for Dean after this BUT Bob might just be posted about often… just saying🤭 please interact and send requests if u have any!

word count. 989

my masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Bob’s not sure what he’s doing. Maybe it’s self sabotage because it’s very, very stupid. Or maybe he’s just hopeful. Hopeful that he isn’t about to ruin the best thing he has. The only thing that seems to have meaning in this messed up world.

Perhaps, you feel the same. He knows you do- he’s just not sure if that’s what you want. He thinks too much, and he hates it.

His hands burn, because he’s probably made a thousand. Or just a hundred- he’s already forgotten. He just knows that none of them are the one. None of them are perfectly shaped to fit your finger, none of them look remotely good to what you deserve.

He’s pretty sure he’s being stupid. He could go and buy a real one, but where would the fun be in that? This is more meaningful. It’s also funny- he thinks. He knows that if you do- want it, you’ll love it. It’s material, so you’ll love how much time he’s spent on it. It also doesn’t make it real. It’s not like he’s about to ask you to marry him.

Not really.

He sees this more as a promise ring.

A promise paper ring- to be more precise.

It’ll probably last a day, but at least you’ll have something romantic to talk and laugh about into eternity.

It’s also who he is.

He’s not a normal guy.

He’s awkward, he’s shy, he has weird ways to show that he loves someone, and he’s a nerd.

That’s what you love though.

All of him- but especially that.

The only thing he hopes doesn’t happen, is the others to see it. Especially Walker.

He knows for a fact that he’ll never shut up. He’ll make jokes, he’ll attack and pretend he’s just joking, but it’ll be passive agressive and judgmental, because that’s walker for you.

He knows Yelena will be the first to know though. Because for you- this probably will be like a proposal. You’ll overreact- maybe he’ll just need to really propose not too long after.

He figures, this might be easier.

You’re superheroes.

Or maybe not- but none of you are normal.

You’re the new avengers(z).

Maybe marriage isn’t in the lines for now.

Maybe paper rings are enough , and if he has to make a new one everyday for you? He will.

He’d do anything.

He’s so lost in thoughts, so concentrated on making the perfect paper ring, that he doesn’t hear you enter the room.

He doesn’t hear your footsteps grow closer to him.

And he jumps the moment your hand lays on his shoulder.

He’s on his feet in a second, the ring he just crafted that was almost perfect- almost you, is in his hand behind his back.

‘What are you doing?’ Your giggles echo in his mind, that’s his favorite sound.

He knows you caught him. And knowing you? You probably stood behind him or in the doorway for long minutes before making a move- observing him.

Now his plan is ruined.

‘Nothing!’ He defends. He smiles, innocently, as if to tell you to drop it- nicely.

‘Oh yeah? Why’s that bin full of paper then?’ You point to the bin sitting on the floor next to the table. Paper and scissors lay there perfectly. You wiggle your eyebrows, and your arms are tight around your chest.

‘Just you know… experimenting?’ It sounds more like a question than an affirmation. He’s unsure, he’s sweaty, almost like he just did something bad.

‘Bob… you’re such a bad liar.’ You laugh, your feet moving closer to him.

‘I’m not!’ He defends again, this time joining in laughing with you.

‘What’s in your hand, Bob?’ You question, eyebrows still raised at him although you think you know exactly what’s in there.

He feels defeated. Like he has no choice but to give it to you now even though it’s not the perfect ring.

‘Fine.’ He sighs, his hands open in front of you.

‘A paper ring?’ You pick it up, only for him to take it back as quickly as you did.

‘Let me?’ He clears his throat, and takes your hand.

‘I know this isn’t a real ring. But I do love you, and I thought you’d like that. I know marriage isn’t our thing for now, so.. promise me?’

Your smile is big now, almost too big that your cheeks hurt.

‘Promise you what?’ You ask him.

‘That you’ll stay with me? We’re in this together, right? That’s what you always say. So just.. instead of marrying me, just promise me.’

‘You didn’t rehearse that, did you?’

‘No- no I didn’t.’ He stutters but laughs back at you, his hand still holding yours, slipping the paper ring on your finger.

‘What about you?’

This makes him turn around and search frantically for another ring, one that’s in the bin, the least messed up.

‘There.’ He gives it to you, and looks at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at as you slip the ring on his finger.

‘See? Perfect.’ Your hands go up to rest on his cheeks, as his hands go to rest on your hips.

‘Okay, I promise.’ He lets out a big breath of relief, and instead of saying ‘I do’ he tells you the same thing.

‘I promise.’

It’s instantly that your lips find his. It’s sweet, it’s slow and full of passion. Your lips melt together, they fit like perfect pieces of a puzzle.

‘I love you.’ You try to say in between kisses but soon enough the back of your legs hit the bed, and you fall with Bob on top of you.

You’re not sure if he says I love you back- you don’t really care. Maybe you don’t hear him because him on top of you is enough to make you lose all senses.

Maybe this isn’t married life yet- but this is close enough.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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please comment if you want to be added to/stay on the everything taglist OR be removed from it:)

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[bishovapls]

⚠️ MAJOR THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠️

I’ve taken a moment to collect my thoughts, so this one’s a bit more organised than just me screaming about how much this movie destroyed me. I’ve got a few of these little rants sitting in my drafts, honestly not sure if I’ll post the rest but here’s this one because...Alexei Shostakov is not a good man and I hate that (some) people seem to think that he is.

Spoilers below the cut!

Alexei is not some bumbling, well-meaning father who just made a few mistakes. He’s not misunderstood. He’s not the comedic relief with a heart of gold buried under the bluster. No. He’s a coward. A narcissist. And worst of all, he’s a willing participant in the very system that destroyed Yelena and Natasha from the inside out.

Let’s be clear: That motherfucker gave them to the Red Room. He knew exactly what that place was. He chose to hand over two little girls, two children who trusted him, to a man he knew would brutalise them, rip away their identities, their agency, their futures. And he did it because it suited his goals. His comeback. His glory. That’s what mattered to Alexei. Not the children in his care. Not their safety. Just the chance to wear a red suit again.

And when he sees them again after all those years? He doesn’t apologise. Not immediately anyways. One of the first things out of his mouth isn’t regret, it’s a rant: “I could have been more famous than Captain America. Then he buries me in Ohio. Three years! Boring me to tears. Then prison for the rest of my life.”

As if he was the victim. As if he was the one who suffered most.

No accountability. No acknowledgement that he ruined their lives. No acknowledgement of the scars they carry, the memories they can’t speak aloud. That he was the one who tossed them straight back into Dreykov’s hands. Just ego. Just bitterness.

And when he does talk about the girls? It’s not with love. It’s not with pride in who they are. It’s pride in what they became. “Yelena, the greatest child assassin in the world.” “Natasha, not just a spy...but an Avenger.” He doesn’t see daughters. He sees achievements. Killing machines forged by the very system he sent them into. He doesn’t see the brutality, let alone take responsibility for it. Because in Alexei’s mind, it worked. That’s all that matters.

And then… suddenly he flips? At the end of Black Widow, he starts trying. He says sorry. He wants to be forgiven. And the thing is, he even seems genuine. But it’s not earned. Not even close. Because barely an hour earlier he was whining about being stuck in Ohio.

Then we get to Thunderbolts, and somehow, he’s meant to be this goofy dad again. Rolling up in a limo, talking like he’s here to save the day, when in reality he hadn't spoken to Yelena in over a year before she shows up desperate, barely holding it together, practically begging him for some sense of permission to stop. And he uses it as an opportunity to talk about himself again, about how he’d love to work for Valentina. Still, it’s about what he could be. Not what she needs.

Yes, in Thunderbolts, he tries. He gives a speech. Seems to care, is genuinely trying to be supportive. And okay, fine, he’s not completely useless. He does make an effort.

But even during that big speech when Yelena breaks down, he says he doesn’t see Yelena’s mistakes. And on the surface, that’s kind. But dig deeper? It’s just more of the same. Because to him, her “mistakes” weren’t mistakes at all. She did what she was trained to do. She killed. She was efficient. That’s what matters to Alexei.

The films want us to forget what he did. They want us to laugh with him. To see the warmth. The effort. But they’re asking us to ignore the damage. The betrayal. The fact that he let his daughters burn, and only now wants to hold the ashes like they still belong to him.

And here’s the part that really fucking kills me: Yelena accepts it.

She’s not angry that he gave her to Dreykov. Not angry about the years of torment. No. She’s angry because he didn’t call. Because after pretending to care in Black Widow, he just disappeared again.

And that's even more devastating for her. Because she’s been hurt so many times, by so many people, that even Alexei’s bare minimum, his delayed, fumbled attempt at showing up, is enough for her. She’s been taught to expect nothing, and she’s learned to be grateful for scraps. She’ll take whatever little piece of warmth he offers, and call it love, because she doesn’t know what love without condition looks like.

He was never a father. Not in the way that matters. He was another person who broke her, who gave her away and never looked back. And now, he wants forgiveness. He wants to be seen as someone worthy of redemption.

But forgiveness without accountability is meaningless.

And Alexei? He still doesn’t understand what he did. Not really.

[tryandbehappy]

Not a question, just a comment about the latest episode. I feel like the B&TB storyline is probably not gonna happen now? I say this because I think Rose and the baby will die (based upon them eating the Ketamine cake), which leaves us more with a June-feels-guilt-and-realizes-she's-just-as-bad-as-Nick storyline. I don't like this storyline as much because it feels like it comes from a place of guilt for June rather than a place of love and protection. I really wanted her to save him from an angry mob and to accept him fully without having to kill his wife and baby to come to that realization. I'm also sorta mad that June was fine to just let Nick and Rose eat the cake - as if she didn't care a bit about them. Either way, there is SO MUCH ground to cover in the next 2 episodes and I'm getting worried our Osblaine moments will be super limited. Thoughts??

That’s interesting, let’s talk

1. So, is the Beauty and the Beast parallel off the table now?

Honestly, this is such an interesting question because, yeah at this point, it’s really hard to predict where the writers are taking this. It feels like they’ve already built a solid Beauty and the Beast foundation, that symbolism is clearly there. But where it all leads — who knows?

The one thing that surprised me (and maybe even lowkey reassured me?) is that they didn’t take Nick any further with this arc (I’m not good without her), not yet at least . And maybe that’s for the best.

It doesn’t mean they won’t keep using elements from that storyline though, there are a lot of those.

The main takeaway is: the parallel still exists. Just not sure yet what they’ll do with it next.

2. Will Rose die from the cake and make June feel like she’s just as “bad” as Nick?

I’m not so sure about that either. Like… how would ketamine hurt her if it didn’t really affect anyone else? Just because she’s pregnant? I’m kind of skeptical about this storyline, but okay — maybe they’ll explain it that way.

From a narrative perspective, yeah, it would make sense to get Rose (and the baby) out of the picture. She’s extra baggage for Nick right now, tying him to Gilead and making him less free to move forward. And since we’re heading toward the finale, it feels like we’re getting rid of everything that holds him back.

But honestly? I feel like that “I’m not innocent and good as Nick hinted” arc already happened — in this very same episode. The moment June stabbed Commander Bell in the eye and watched him suffer before he died? That was it.

(But okay, maybe that’s just me as a fangirl seeing what Nick said in literally every one of her reactions.)

And right after that, we saw June turn kinda soft again — going to Aunt Lydia, trying to solve things peacefully, talking instead of killing. So yeah, maybe that monster arc is already complete? I don’t know if they’ll go back to it through Rose’s storyline… it’s possible, but I’m not convinced.

3. June didn’t warn Nick about the drugged cake — does that mean she doesn’t care?

Honestly, I don’t think this was that serious. It was just a sleeping drug — and it didn’t even fully knock Bell out. So it clearly wasn’t dangerous, at least not to him.

What actually stood out to me was how much focus there was on June’s reaction to Nick. It was unreal. Like, if you think about it — this episode wasn’t about Nick and June at all, and yet? They still gave us so much. They didn’t show Nick’s side, they showed him through her eyes — how it hurt her to see him with his wife, hearing the vows?? how she wanted to go to him

There was so much focus on that, it blew my mind.

What bothered me more, honestly, was that they showed Nick looking… almost happy. At peace, even? Which doesn’t track at all with where he should be emotionally. Like, we know this man is destroyed inside. He’s depressed. He’s barely holding on. We know this character. So to see him smiling on stage, being all casual with Rose — it felt off.

But maybe that’s just how June sees him now. Maybe that was the point she’s watching him from across the room and thinking: “He’s fine. He has a wife and a baby. He’s happy without me😭😭

And that hurts. Because for so long, she’s only seen his loyalty. And now it feels like that’s gone for her

4. There’s not enough time left for their arc, is there?

Actually… I think there is. If you look at it closely, most of the other storylines are already wrapped up. Let’s list them:

• Aunt Lydia’s arc? Done.

• Janine’s? Resolved.

• The revolution? Pretty much happened kinda — they wiped out almost every commander in one episode.

• Luke? Yeah, maybe not officially over, but they’ve said it a hundred times this season: they’re a broken family staying together for Hannah. That’s their entire dynamic now. And you can really feel the difference if you compare it to earlier seasons. I just rewatched S5, and back then it wasn’t nearly this clear that June and Luke were done. But now it’s obvious.

And they’ve told us — over and over again — that June loves Nick.

Nick knows it too.

So what’s left?

Two full episodes to finally close the one major arc that’s still open: June and Nick.

We still have Serena floating around, yeah, but even that feels like her arc is wrapping up. So really — this show has time. Especially if you think about how much they’ve crammed into Episodes 9 and 10 in past seasons. Like, S4? They gave us SO much Nick and June in those last two episodes it felt like a fanfic dream.

And here’s what I’ve noticed: the writers don’t like to go too dark.

They haven’t done anything near Game of Thrones level. If you look at major character deaths, we’ve only lost Fred (who was clearly a villain), and that’s it?? That’s it.

They’re giving even the evil characters redemption arcs — Lydia, Serena.

And Nick? He hasn’t even done anything that really needs redeeming. He’s just still part of the system, and his arc is clearly about waking up and choosing something better.

Another arc that still needs resolution?

The idea that not all commanders are monsters.

We even saw this theme play out in this episode, when Serena tells her husband:

“You’re a bad person because you’re a commander.”

It’s not even about specific actions anymore. The title itself = monster. (Of course he is a monster no doubt)

But that’s the label Nick is carrying.

Even though he’s never had a handmaid, and he never would. He’s never raped anyone. He’s not like them.

(Also Hannah’s arc is not resolved)

So yeah, I think we still have enough time. enough to finally give us what we’ve been waiting for:

That moment where June says, loud and clear, it’s you. only you.

[ponytailzuko]

"adrien jr is aware of chat noir because he gets brought back in the middle of mayhem when gabriel just made the wish and marinette & adrien are obviously freaking out. i can go into that more but tldr: he needs an explanation on why it is 6 years in the future, why everything has changed, and how he was possibly cloned. i imagine he finds out eventually just because its so fucking complicated it would be harder to keep it a secret."

CAN. can we have the. Not long enough; PLEASE let me read Explanation of this?

HI!!! okay so context: i made this au at the end of season 3. we had nooo idea how the agreste arc would end at all. this was purely me speculating + building off of information given in season 3.

i assume by the ask, longer is better. i will assume this, because i don't know how to cut off my thoughts and i LOVE yapping. under a read more because it gets kind of long?

so basically, this was me speculating how the story might end after season 3 and they defeated hawkmoth. sometimes id be like "is this too dark for a kids show" and then i remember they added the magic slave baby plotline so im allowed to do whatever i want.

i had basically a season built in my mind before the wish ever happened: adrien starts getting hints that there's something seriously off about his father, and he starts investigating. he eventually gets caught in the basement pilfering around in there, and gabriel tries to appeal to adrien by showing him the dead body of his mother. there's a very long manipulative spiel, but adrien is very insistent that his father being hawkmoth is wrong. gabriel, needing adrien to keep quiet but not wanting to hurt him or get rid of the last thing his wife ever left him, gives him a gag order not to tell about this to anyone. adrien, a sentimonster, can't disobey.

he goes to school like normal. he talks to ladybug like normal. but he can't tell her what he knows. adrien gets more and more desperate. as adrien is more monitored because gabriel is paranoid about adrien telling others and somehow breaking the order, it becomes more apparent that chat noir doesn't show up when adrien is being watched. gabriel figures out adrien has the ring, asks him for it, then doesn't ask so nicely. there's a whole exchange here, but it eventually ends up with chat blanc.

the akuma is in his miraculous, and he's the only one with the cataclysm to be able to break the ring at all. (this is an english dub rule apparently but i did not know that when i made this au so forgive me?) gabriel says this is his "final akuma" and that he'll reverse his mistakes with the wish. he promises he won't fail this time. sunken cost fallacy etc. it'll all be fine. (it will not all be fine)

chat blanc, instead of destroying the world, is scouring the paris skyline for ladybug. other heroes try to help, but chat blanc destroys almost all the other miraculous BESIDES the ladybug. gabriel keeps asking adrien for any info on ladybug, but adrien responds by simply destroying any memories before he has to fulfill the order.

marinette keeps getting strange dreams, and ladybug keeps finding hints about adrien's identity left behind by chat blanc. eventually, she figures out that if she really tries, through the miraculous and their close partnership, maybe she can share dreams with chat noir and unakumatize him that way. there's a whole mindscape episode where ladybug restores a lot of adrien's destroyed memories and adrien uses the black cat miraculous to destroy the link between him and his amok that makes him have to follow orders - and he's unakumatized.

they both detransform, unable to transform again after using the powers so long. gabriel tries to order adrien to give him the miraculous, but commands no longer work. gabriel, realizing that adrien exists outside of the amok, goes "oh shit my son is an individual. thats my SON." he goes "i can fix it" and finally gets the miraculous from the both of them exhausted and unable to fight back. of course, gabriel is still gabriel, even confronted with all the damage hes done. so gabriel gives up his own life to bring his first son back, instead of doing what he originally planned which was adrien for adrien. when he uses the wish, the ladybug and black cat miraculous break too.

adrien jr wakes up to paris in ruins, all the miraculous besides the butterfly/peacock destroyed, and no miracle cure. marinette and adrien sr are fucking EXHAUSTED and just staring gawking. adrien jr is like "whuh." and then you know. also passes out.

the only miraculous left are the butterfly + the peacock.

in the original plan, i had emilie also brought back in exchange for nathalie. emilie would want the miraculous herself in a "i have not learned my lesson from my husband at all, i'll continue where he failed. he must have fucked something up but i'm built different" because i love the agrestes and how they do the same stupid bullshit because they can't help themselves from repeating patterns over and over. and she attempts to try to restore the ladybug and black cat miraculous before marinette and adrien can. so adrien jr would be a part of that plotline where he's torn between clinging onto his mom and helping marinette & adrien with defeating her. i see him stealing the butterfly from emilie and akumatizing one of them and going "u-um!!! hi!!! how does this thing work-" LOL.

[sundrop-writes]

[Hope this is okay]

Could you do a wee thing about the Teen Wolf guys supporting their [mate/partner/wife/other] giving birth?

Your teen wolf stuff hits me right in the feels and I am thinking of this one a lot lately.

see, this is why I love keeping old requests in my inbox, because then when I am feeling the creative flow for that fandom again, I can just go back to those requests

also, I just picked four of the first guys from the show that came to mind, but please let me know if you want me to talk more about Vernon or Jackson or others. they are underappreciated and I love them too

Teen Wolf requests are OPEN. Please read my Rules before requesting!

How would the Teen Wolf boys help you through giving birth?

Included: Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall, Derek Hale, and Stiles Stilinski.

Warnings: usually I try to do GN!Reader with my reactions, but this one called for Fem!Reader - so the reader uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant; obviously, there is mentions of giving birth and the types of medical complications that can come with it (though I purposefully didn't go into too much detail with the unpleasant aspects of giving birth); in every single one of these situations, the reader is dating the specific character and the pregnancy would be due to having sex with them, even if it's not explicitly mentioned; mentions of the reader's stomach 'getting rounder' with the progression of pregnancy, but this isn't meant to indicate that she was previously thin, just a mention of pregnancy causing the stomach to look more filled out; mentions of general Teen Wolf themes like danger, the main characters being targeted by killers, etc.; and I think that's pretty much it for this. This is mostly just fluff about our favourite guys. And like usual with my reaction fics, it's unedited.

A/N: Also I apologize in advance because I kind of went haywire toward the end and just had fun coming up with dramatic situations where someone could give birth. It's the fanfic writer in me - nothing can be peaceful, everything has to have some kind of drama.

...

Isaac would be incredibly sweet and attentive.

Isaac is someone who is good under pressure - in fact, because of his (deeply unfortunate) childhood, he genuinely thrives under pressure. He didn't react well when he found out that you were pregnant - at first, he believed that he wouldn't be well suited to being a father, and he genuinely believed that you wouldn't want him to be the father of your baby, so he tried to run from the whole situation for a while.

But once you assured him through love that you knew he would make an amazing father, he had the whole duration of your pregnancy to settle in to the idea of it, and he shifted from skiddish and timid and seemingly constantly terrified to hurt to you to someone who was far more confident as your partner. He turned into a genuine support system.

He became someone who cradled your stomach, constantly had a hand on your back, always ensured the safety of you and your unborn baby - whether it was something as small as you lifting a box or carrying in groceries, he went out of his way to take care of you.

So during your labour, he was nothing short of a servant. He put a cold cloth on your head, made sure you always had water with a straw ready at your lips the moment you turned your head, made your voice was heard so that you got exactly what you wanted and needed. And of course, he was the type of partner to bring you a giant serving of whatever food you were craving that you hadn't been able to have during pregnancy once you had been medically cleared, and he had been assured that everything with you and your new baby was fine.

He would do anything for you, and he had no problem letting everyone around you know that.

...

Scott would be a nervous wreck.

Scott is someone who is really unsure and when he has time to think about things too much, he begins to panic. So him having multiple months to think about everything that could go wrong with your pregnancy would just mean that he has multiple months to panic about it. He is excited to be a father, yes - but he is also absolutely terrified about it.

So when you called him and told him to rush to the hospital because you had gone into labour, Scott found himself stalled. He rushed to the hospital, found out what room you were in, and then - for some idiotic reason - found himself stuck in the hallway. His brain was desperate for ways to cope, and as he sat on a plastic chair outside of your room, bouncing his knee, he kept thinking about the fact that if he didn't go inside your room, then nothing could go wrong. At the very least, he wouldn't know it if anything went wrong.

But eventually, his mother came out - looking to get you a cup of water - and she gave him a harsh, disapproving glare when she found him sitting there when you had complaining that he had been late and not answering his phone. And after a stern talk where she told him that it didn't matter if he was scared, parents have to push down their fear and just do it anyway (because that's what she had been doing for him during his whole life) - he finally stepped through the threshold and found you sitting on the bed.

You were in some pain, but otherwise - perfectly fine.

And when he held your baby in his arms for the first time, he realized that what his mom said was absolutely true. He would just have to face this like he had faced deadly Alphas and hunters and giant killer lizards - terrified, pretending to be brave, and most of all: with love in his heart reminding him what was most important. He would push past all of his fear because he loved you and your new baby.

...

Derek would be incredibly protective.

Right from the moment that you found out you were pregnant, Derek was incredibly protective of you. He was weary of you riding in the car with anyone else driving but him - and in fact, he traded in his Camaro for something with much higher safety ratings, and a roomier backseat so that he could install a highly rated carseat (which looked odd to outsiders when your pregnancy wasn't even showing and you didn't have a baby to put in there, but he wanted to be well prepared). He insisted on preparing all your food himself to make sure it was safe, and any time you slept, he stayed away to keep watch over you.

From the moment he knew you were carrying his baby, he became a slave to his wolfish instincts, needing your safety to be his top priority at all times.

So naturally, this meant that he didn't trust you to be locked up in some hospital to give birth. After a lot of discussion about why it was important to him, you agreed to participate in a ritual that was ingrained into the Hale family for generations - giving birth outside. It was a werewolf thing - the need to commune with nature, especially when a baby's life was just beginning. Derek set up a very nice tent for you, and called upon the Hale family emissary - Deaton - to help you through your birth.

But other than that, he was very strict about who else was allowed to be around, still incredibly protective over you. He held your hand the entire time, coached you through the pain with soothing words and a strong hand on your back. And ultimately, your baby was born under the light of the full moon, the first member of the new generation of a strong Hale family that Derek once believed to be dead.

...

Stiles would be an unexpected hero.

Someone who threatened to faint at the sight of blood and once nearly vomited just at the mention of having to amputate Derek's arm during a similar type of medical emergency - he literally became your rock. It was a well known fact that Stiles loved to research, and from the moment that he found out you were pregnant, he had a book in his hands, a highlighter between his teeth as he tried to force himself to remember all the relevant information about breastfeeding, infant neck support, foods that could be harmful to a nursing mother.

And as your stomach grew rounder and your due date drew nearer, something that Stiles grew increasingly obsessed with researching was field deliveries. You had a birth plan in place - you were going to go to the hospital, and Melissa and Stiles were more than prepared to advocate for what you wanted - a drug free, natural delivery with very little medical intervention.

But for some reason, Stiles - every the paranoid one, especially after everything he had been through - was growing increasingly fixated on the idea that you simply wouldn't make it to the hospital once your labour started. So he had to soothe himself by researching stories of babies who had been delivered in the backs of taxis, babies who had been delivered on the side of the road, babies who had been delivered on boats in the middle of the ocean and technically didn't have a legal country of origin.

And he also became increasingly obsessed with researching any possible complications you might have during labour - because he believed that he would have to be the one to deliver your baby. And when you came across him with his laptop open, watching delivery videos again like a how to - you told him that if he didn't stop fixating on this, stressing you out, then you were going to give birth in the middle of the floor.

Little did you know - once again, his intuition had been spot on.

So when you got stuck at The Beacon Hills Animal Clinic - the power knocked out due to a raging thunderstorm, a circle of Mountain Ash that Deaton had put down being the only thing keeping you, Scott, and Stiles from being torn apart by a pack of raging Alphas - and of course, by your luck, just then your water broke and your contractions rocketed forward two minutes apart...

It was then that Stiles stepped up and actually insisted that it was one of the better situations you could have been 'stuck' in. You were surrounded by medical supplies - the Mountain Ash was keeping the Alphas at bay. You had all the time in the world, and all you had to do was trust him. So you held Scott's hand and stared into Stiles's eyes, and he used all of his well researched knowledge to bring your baby safely into the world.

...

If you enjoyed this, definitely check out the rest of my Teen Wolf Masterlist