#like. she's used food up that we needed for one night this week. and we don't have anything to replace it

[bigproblemsfunnylife]

Batfamily x GN! Reader spouse

REST OF THE CHAPTERS (5/5) IN MY ACCOUNT

Title: Home is the place we build, CHAPTER 3

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne & Alfred Pennyworth.

Summary: You, the new spouse of Bruce Wayne, arrive at the Batfamily’s mansion full of hope but often overlooked and alone. Despite painful moments and misunderstandings, you forge deeper bonds with them all, transforming the cold mansion into a warm, chaotic family home where you finally belong.

CW: Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, references to past neglect and isolation, canon-typical references to violence and danger (briefly mentioned), despictions of low self-esteem and intrusive negative thoughts, discussions of strained familial relationships, alcohol use (in one scene), mild language, some comforts scenes.

Advertisement: The Reader is on vacation for a while in the story and has many hobbies, such as gardening and cooking… There is no mention of their job.

Words count: ~ 1.5k words

You’re in the kitchen again, busying your hands with dishes you don’t need to clean, when the Manor’s front doors crash open with a burst of laughter and chatter that feels almost foreign in this quiet house. You freeze, the sponge clutched tight in your hands as voices echo through the halls, accompanied by the unmistakable clatter of combat boots and the rustle of duffel bags hitting the floor.

You step into the hallway just in time to see Cassandra Cain slip through the doorway, silent as ever, her dark eyes catching yours for the briefest second. Behind her, Stephanie Brown tumbles in with a bright grin, chattering excitedly into her comm as she shrugs off her purple jacket.

“—No, Babs, I swear, if I never see another exploding clown doll again it’ll be too soon— Oh, hey!” Stephanie pauses mid-sentence, noticing you. She blinks, bright blue eyes going wide as she sizes you up, her grin returning almost immediately. “You must be the new spouse Bruce keeps disappearing to see! Oh my god, hi!”

You blink, startled by the warm enthusiasm that radiates off her like sunlight. She crosses the room before you can react, throwing her arms around you in a quick, exuberant hug that leaves you breathless.

“I’m Steph,” she announces, pulling back but keeping her hands on your shoulders. “Spoiler, Batgirl sometimes, caffeine addict always. Welcome to the circus!”

You smile, feeling warmth bubble up in your chest despite the weeks of cold shoulders and suspicious glares. “I’m… really glad to meet you.”

Cassandra lingers nearby, watching silently, but there’s no malice in her gaze. She inclines her head in greeting, and you offer a soft smile in return.

“You look like you need a rescue,” Stephanie says, lowering her voice conspiratorially as she eyes the empty kitchen. “These boys can be… you know. Broody as hell. But you seem cool, so we are gonna hang out, okay? Mandatory.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, the first real one in weeks. “I’d love that,” you whisper, feeling something in your chest crack open and let in a little light.

Stephanie beams, tugging you toward the hallway where Cassandra is already drifting toward the stairs. “Come on. Tell me everything. And then tomorrow, we’ll go shopping, and then maybe… I’ll teach you how to throw a batarang.”

You let her chatter wash over you, something warm and bright to cling to as the shadows of the Manor fade, just for a little while. Maybe, you think, clutching the edge of her jacket as she pulls you along, this could work.

The days after your first real night with Stephanie and Cassandra blur into something soft and bright. The Manor still echoes with its old ghosts, but now laughter occasionally drifts through the halls, like sunlight spilling across dusty floors that haven’t felt warmth in years.

Stephanie insists on dragging you into the city with her whenever she can, peppering you with questions about your favorite colors and foods, what you’d do if you had a grappling gun, whether you’d rather fight one giant Joker fish or fifty tiny Harley hyenas. She pulls you into shop windows to try on ridiculous hats, tugs you down alleys to introduce you to her favorite hole-in-the-wall cafes, and sends you memes at 3 AM when she knows you can’t sleep.

Cassandra never says much, but she watches you with a quiet intensity that makes you feel seen in a way you can’t quite explain. Sometimes she’ll simply appear beside you in the training room, placing a batarang in your hand with a slight tilt of her head — a silent invitation. She corrects your stance with the gentlest touch, smiling faintly whenever you manage to hit the target. And though she rarely speaks, you can feel her approval radiating through every careful nudge and subtle nod.

The boys notice the change in the air, though they pretend not to. Tim (who has come back) still drags himself through the kitchen at ungodly hours, but now he’ll pause just long enough to accept the tea you brew for him, murmuring a sleepy thank you. Damian scowls less viciously when he passes you in the hall, occasionally offering a brusque grunt of acknowledgment that makes your heart leap with cautious hope.

And Bruce… he smiles more. The tired lines around his eyes soften each night he returns to find you waiting, dinner kept warm in the oven, your arms open for him to fold himself into. Some evenings he pulls you into his lap on the couch, holding you so close you can feel the tension bleeding out of him as he presses his lips into your hair.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs one night, voice ragged with exhaustion but laced with something tender and raw.

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. “Luckily, you won’t ever have to find out,” you whisper.

In those quiet moments, wrapped in his warmth with the murmur of distant footsteps overhead and the soft purr of Alfred’s old cat curled at your feet, the Manor doesn’t feel so cavernous anymore.

The night is heavy with rain, pounding against the Manor’s windows like fists. You stand in the hallway outside Bruce’s study, clutching a mug of tea that’s long since gone cold, when you hear raised voices on the other side of the door.

At first, you freeze, torn between retreating and listening. But the sharp crack of Damian’s voice — taut with anger, bitter and biting — pins you in place.

“—this is my home, Father! You have brought yet another stranger into it, pretending they belong here. They don’t.”

“Damian,” Bruce says, low and measured, the warning in his tone clear. “They’re not a stranger. They are my partner. That makes them part of this family.”

“Family?” Damian spits the word like poison. “You let them play house here, let them smile and clean and try to worm into our lives like they have any right — but they don’t. They are weak. And they will leave, or they will die, like all the others!”

Your breath hitches, the mug trembling in your hands. You knew Damian was cold, distant. But hearing the venom in his voice, hearing the utter hatred in his words… it feels like your ribs are splintering around your heart.

“They are not weak,” Bruce growls, his voice edged with steel. “And they are not going anywhere. I chose them. I love them. And you will respect that.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy, before Damian snaps back. “You’re blinded. You think you can build something normal out of this rotting place — but you can’t. We are not normal. We are not some happy family you can glue back together with sunshine and soft words. We’re killers and soldiers and broken things, and you dragging some naive fool into this will only end with blood.”

“Enough.” Bruce’s voice is a harsh bark now, final and furious. “You will treat them with respect in this house. Or you will leave it.”

You hear Damian’s breath catch, the air crackling with fury and pain. “You would choose them over me,” he snarls. “Your own son.”

“I am not choosing between you,” Bruce bites out, “but I will not let you tear them apart. I won’t let you destroy something good because you refuse to let yourself heal.”

A sharp thud follows — a fist slamming into wood — then footsteps, fast and furious. You duck into the shadows just in time to see Damian storm from the study, his face white with rage, eyes blazing. He doesn’t see you as he tears past, disappearing into the halls.

You sink to the floor, hands over your mouth, fighting back the sting of tears.

A moment later, Bruce steps out, running a hand through his hair. His eyes find you in the dark, softening instantly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice ragged. “I didn’t want you to hear that.”

You shake your head, throat tight. “I… I knew he didn’t like me, but…”

Bruce crosses the space between you in two strides, pulling you into his arms. He holds you so tightly you can barely breathe, his heartbeat frantic against your cheek.

“He’s scared,” Bruce murmurs into your hair. “Of losing more family. Of letting anyone in. He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds.”

But you can’t help the crack in your voice as you whisper back, “What if he’s right? What if I don’t belong here?”

Bruce pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with desperate certainty. “You do,” he says fiercely. “You do. And I will spend every day proving it to you, no matter what Damian says.”

You nod weakly, clinging to him as the storm outside rages on, the shadows of the Manor pressing close. You know the road ahead will be rough, that Damian’s anger won’t vanish overnight.

But in Bruce’s arms, you find just enough strength to whisper, “Okay. I’ll stay.”

And in that fragile moment, with the thunder shaking the walls and your heart still raw, you swear you hear Bruce breathe a single, aching prayer into your hair.

“Thank you.”

[okayigetitifuckedup]

My Dad and I saw something in the woods, and haven't been the same since.

Growing up in Eastern Kentucky, with an out-of-work coal miner father, a mother on disability, and four younger siblings, food had to stretch. As the oldest, I did my best to ensure the younger ones got full before I filled my plate, but some nights, we all went to bed hungry. One bad flood was enough to ensure that. We kept three gardens up, through my childhood, and while my early summers were spent working over corn, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, and anything else my dad shoved into the dirt that had the courage to spring back up, with their friends for me and my family to enjoy. 

My early autumns were my favorites, spent with my Grandparents in the kitchen, canning the harvest to last through the winter. My grandmother and I spent hours doing everything just right, sanitizing, seasoning, sealing, and waiting for the lids to give us that pop to let us know we did it right.

Once upon a time, I had so many grandiose ideas as a child of starting my own business, selling the same canned and pickled items I grew up on. It is still my favorite memory, despite the heat of the kitchen when it was time to seal the Ball jars, and the scar on my thumb from burns.

We didn’t just garden, we also gathered. Gathered berries from local trees and vines, dandelions for jelly, onion grass, and wild garlic for everyday cooking. We hunted squirrels, turkeys, rabbits, and… Deer, which we filled our freezer with to keep for the off-seasons. I know that hunting is a controversial topic to a lot of people. I do not plan to try to change your mind on those opinions, but I do hope that you’re willing to hear my story anyway.

My father bought me my first gun at nine years old. It was a twenty-two, and a fine beginner gun. He did this out of necessity. He needed a second hunter with him the moment I was able, on my twelfth birthday. If I was scared of the damned things, I would be no use at all. I often remember that birthday. Sitting out behind our trailer with my father, my grandfather laughing on a foldout chair nearby, drinking an iced tea so sweet it would have taken his wife's foot if she drank it. Shooting at a giant foam target, and getting excited as my hits got closer. They were both so damn proud. That memory comes with a sour taste now, since excitement is never the emotion I feel when I hold a firearm now. 

I hated my first year hunting. The gore of it all turned my stomach. I had needed to help him skin the kills, gagging and crying as the offal spilled out onto the ground beneath where the animal was hung, or held, depending on its size. I couldn’t stand to look at the poor things, and my father gritted his teeth through it, my mother defending that I was a sensitive boy. I’ve come so far since then, it’s almost funny. 

My father had the hide of the first rabbit I shot tanned and gave it to me as a gift. Its fur was so soft, and all I could imagine as I held it was how beautiful the animal had looked before my father and I had turned it into a strip of fur. The shame when I looked at the thing was so intense, I hid it in a shoebox in my closet. However, the pride in my father's eyes and the promise of rabbit and gravy for my birthday was enough to hold my tongue. 

The next year, we had to sit out many hunting trips because my grandfather’s cancer had returned with a vengeance. He had been transferred to a hospital out of state, and my father stayed with him through much of the last of his life, taking my siblings and me to see him in his last week in the hospital. 

He had always been larger than life, boisterous, and laughing. A joke for every occasion. A true giant among men, not just in size but in presence. But on that day, he was quiet, pale, and deathly thin, leaning against sheets in a hospital bed hundreds of miles from the home he knew, the mountains he loved. He looked so small. And so very tired. Nothing like the hero I had grown up with, that my father had grown up with.

 I remember he asked my grandmother when he could go home, a quiet anger in his voice I had never heard him use before. I didn’t think she had either, because I remember the way she flinched at the tone, blinking back tears as she told him that he would go home soon. He died less than twenty-four hours later, and we went home with his body. All he wanted was to die in his own home, and we failed him that. 

That was my first experience with human death. I wasn’t expecting the second to happen quite as quickly as it did, or to be so diametrically opposed to the quiet grief of the first.

My dad always wanted to get to his spot early, before the sun rose over the clearing. Maybe that was what all hunters do, but I never really got into it enough to care. For me, it was an obligation. For my father? It was his first love. I never saw my dad happier than I did on the way to his tree stand. It was an old thing, his father's before his, and set on a small hill, surrounded by thick trees that gave cover, and drowned the floor of the thing in acorns we would need to get rid of before hunting. It overlooked a clearing. 

That clearing was my favorite part of hunting. I could stare for hours. In fact, the word ‘clearing’ felt too abrasive for what it was- a meadow, that I thought might be covered in wildflowers in the spring, though I had never seen it during that time of year. Kudzu ate away at the far-right tree wall, devouring even a portion of the grass in a ghostly green wave of fluttering leaves. It was beautiful, even as the trees surrounding it died, there was something entirely peaceful about the place, a peace that I would never scrape together after that last unseasonably warm fall day. 

I got to see Dad's old friend Beau again the day before it all went wrong. They had known each other since school, and loved each other like brothers. Beau was tall, so much taller than any other man I had met at that time, and handsome, in an overly masculine, unputtogether way. Shaggy, dark hair, and light blue eyes that I always avoided looking at for long, as they made me a bit nervous. He never looked at me much either, not in a mean way, just in a way that said I was his friend's kid, and he wasn’t there for me. I remembered once, when we had been practicing shooting, Beau had ruffled my hair after a particularly good shot, and I didn’t wash it until my mom made me, days later. I don’t know why, really. 

I had been to his wedding only two years before, with his blonde-headed wife with the scar on her jaw, and a small hand that fit perfectly into his large ones. He was as quiet as he ever was, but when Dad asked about how his wife's pregnancy was going, his cheeks went dark, and he looked out the window, muttering quietly, “She’s doin’ good, real good.” A damn monologue from Beau. I didn’t know she was pregnant. It made my stomach feel weird to think about. Dad’s slow, thick voice kept the car nice and loud on the way across the state line, to the land owned by some family member who had no qualms about thinning the animal population on occasion. 

We all three stayed in the car the night before, something I didn’t have many thoughts on at the time. The sounds of nature through the car door were the same as the ones through my broken bedroom window, black garbage bags pressed over the broken frame, keeping the cold out, though not well. We ate potted meat and crackers while my father told ghost stories about his childhood. Dad always loved ghost stories when I was young. I think he just liked feeling something other than what he usually did.

When it was time to go, determined by my father, based on some invisible set of guidelines beyond my understanding, I set to changing into the set of camo my father had picked out for me, thick denim-like material, that went on over my long underwear, something my father was insistent on, knowing the weather could turn at any moment, not interested in hearing me cryin’ over the cold. Beau and my father were already dressed, outside the car, and I was fiddling with the clasps on my overalls, trying to shorten the straps, when I heard the rumble of an engine outside the car.

I hadn’t been expecting my uncle to appear. He was a seasonal figurehead in my life at best, only staying in town for a couple of months before going away again, with the only explanation being that he was sick, but working on getting better. As an adult, I knew the Sackler Family, and his motorcycle accident at only nineteen years old was to blame for his shakes, his paleness, and his absence.

To my young eyes, my uncle looked like my dad, if my dad was ran through a taffy puller, and starched before he dried. Bald and bearded, just like my father, but where my father was fat, and slow to most anything, movement, speech, etc, my uncle was sharp, thin, and tall. Gangly. Pale and withered to my father's rounded abundance. He was a wildman. I knew that, even then. I thought he was always moving because he was easily bored. It wasn’t until I was older, I learned that sometimes, that manic energy comes from someone who’s not running for something interesting, but away from something terrible. 

But my father loved his brother as I love all of mine. When he got out of the car, I saw him give my uncle a smile I knew he saved just for him, crinkled at the corners, and raising his shoulders in excitement to see his baby brother. 

I wonder sometimes if that's how my younger brothers look at me now. Happy that I am still alive. That I made it through another night of terror and tremors in my hands. I hope not. I hope they don’t notice. I hope they never did. I hope when they saw my nightly rituals, they thought them silly. 

But I know they didn’t. 

I stepped out of the car to hear the two of them laughing, Beau as quiet as ever, but with that smile that reminded me of that one guy from the Lord of the Rings movies my dad liked. I never really watched them, myself. 

“How’re you doin’, Bobby?” My dad's warm, slow speech was like syrup next to my uncles' whip-crack replies. 

“You’re the only one that calls me that, still, Mike. Everyone calls me Rob now.”

“Bobby, I don’t much care what your little friends call you.” Only my father would refer to his younger brother's thirty-odd-year-old friends (recovery group) in such a way. It made me laugh. My uncle turned to me with those sunken in eyes I was so used to, I never even noticed anymore. 

“Mikey Junior! Boy, what are you doin’ up here? I swear, son, I ain’t seen you since you was knee high on a grasshopper. Let me look’atcha.” My uncle paused, giving me a thorough up and down. “Well, thank the Lord, I believe you got my genes ‘stead of your ugly-ass bald-headed daddy’s.”

I laughed. “Uncle Rob, you’re bald-”

He held up a finger as if to silence me. “I’m bald cause I choose to be. Hiding any of this face behind hair is a damn shame, don’cha think, Mikey?” He pulled a pose, and I laughed again. I wasn’t very good at people, I was a lot like my mama in that way, but my Dad and my uncle? There was something about the way they said things… even not funny things, that made them so damn funny you couldn’t help but laugh. I’ve always been jealous of that. 

My uncle and father laughed some more before we made our way up to the clearing. I walked quietly beside Beau, as silent as ever, but with that same curl to his lip that I kept my eyes away from. My uncle and Beau would be going to a different spot, they said, Beau to a Tree stand down the way, and my uncle across the hill, but they walked with us for now. The two of them quit talking once we were past the treeline. Too late, maybe, some would say.

I question sometimes, if we had all been quiet as church mice before the trees, if we still would have driven it right to us. 

If I still woulda had to watch my father's heart break so absolutely again and again. If I still would have had to watch the voices of so many people I love get swallowed by something we weren’t never supposed to see. If my Daddy and my Beau would still go dry-land-fish hunting in the spring, frying them up for Mama and me, while we made Buttercake in the kitchen. If my Uncle would still crash Christmas with a flask and an ugly sweater. How much difference could five minutes of silence bring? But then, if ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ were candy and nuts…

Doesn’t matter much now, does it? Been ten years since then, and wondering won’t stop the shakes, or the nightmares, and it sure as shit don’t bring anybody back. Bout as useless as dreaming of fancy kitchens with my grandma’s name over the door. 

Dreams of a naive child with no idea of the abject cruelties waiting for him to slip. Like rats in a hoarder's house waiting for the lights above the crib bed to go off, before they ring their dinner bell. 

Anyway. None of that matters to the story. I’m sorry. All the storytellers in my family are dead. My Mama once said I coulda been a poet, but that I couldn’t tell a story for shit, always skipping around, makin’ pit stops to talk about the moments she said coulda been rhymed real pretty, of course that was before the stroke. Now she don’t say much of anything. I miss her voice. Sometimes I get scared I’ll hear her voice calling for me, outside the trailer. And I know I’ll follow. I know I will, just to hear her laugh again, like she used to when Daddy was alive. 

In that old tree stand, I sat next to my father, looking out over that beautiful meadow, shaped like a bowl, where we were sat up in a tree on one side, looking down and across the bottom, up the other side, where down and to the left, if I looked very closely, I would see Beau, or at least his orange safety vest. I didn’t, though, embarrassed, surely he would see my eyes. My uncle was out behind us, over another hill, sitting in the grass. I wonder if he had fallen off the wagon. I wonder if he would have wished he had, or hadn’t, if he knew what was coming? Pain versus pride was never a decision I could solve for anyone else. 

I was watching the wind, the leaves danced like ballerinas in that movie my mom liked. The sky was so beautiful, more blue than anything I’d ever seen. It hurt to look at, really. Made my eyes burn with how bright it was, but I just couldn’t look away from it, cupped in this meadow valley like a precious stone between stunning green chlorophyll-feathered hands. I remember wishing I could live in that moment forever. If only time could have never progressed past that beautiful, still moment. Everything wasn’t okay, but it was beautiful, and the world still made sense. 

The sun slowly rose, illuminating the green in golden light that made it look like something from a painting of God's own treasured garden. I thought to myself how lucky I was to get to see such a thing in person. How lucky to see such beautiful moments of God’s plan reflected in the quiet bubble and trickle of a nearby spring.

And then there were gunshots. Two. In rapid succession. Then silence. I looked over at my father, who wore a faux irritated expression, though pride, the same I had seen when he had handed me that damned pelt, shown in his eyes. He leaned over to whisper:

“Dammit, now he’ll be bragging all year that he got the first one. We’ll just have to make sure ours is bigger, ‘eh, Mikey?”

I forced a smile as I imagined my uncles' wicked, sharp knife splitting the belly of some poor doe, spilling steaming entrails onto the dirt, scouring her body for any bit of useless, to-be-discarded offal that had once been so very useful, to the beautiful animal it was stolen from. And then all at once, I began to fantasize about all that beautiful animal would do for our family. Stew, and jerky, and steaks, and chili. My stomach growled at the thought.

It was a while longer before there was movement, just beyond the trees, down in front of us. My father got the kind of still that only old hunters and the dead could hold for very long, and waited. As did I. Waited for the animal to show itself, to make my father's job easier. 

Have you ever seen something so horrible, your first thoughts don’t make sense? Thoughts so out of place, they feel disrespectful to think, after the fact? The first thing I thought, when I looked down at the creature, was not fearful, or wrathful, or even shocked. It was a numb, sort of detached thought.

I thought how strange it was to see so much blood under the golden morning sun. The movies said that horror was in the dark. And yet here my father and I sat, frozen in a tree stand, watching a buck drag my uncle's flayed carcass by the throat, out of the treeline, into the grass. Leaving a long, crimson-black stain on that beautiful Kudzu, as his scrawny, motionless, camo-clad body was lugged face down to the center of the clearing. 

I didn’t dare even turn my head, only flicking my eyes to my father… who was deathly pale, his farmer's tan abandoning him in this moment, and only then did I realize how much he looked like his father, when he reflected his image, from that hospital bed, so far from his own home. White as a ghost. 

I then strained my eyes to see Beau across the clearing. I could make out only his vest- not his eyes, or his muscled form, certainly not his crystalline eyes. I remember a small amount of relief to see him okay, before the sudden horror of feeling such a thing while this monstrous creature devoured my kin.

It was a deer. Or, at least. It had the general shape of one. On a closer look, as it continued its slow dragging, it became clear it was not. Those antlers weren’t antlers, they were horns. Not branching off like trees, no, spiralling, corkscrew-like, up and out, like some sick goat, and its hooves… They looked like hooves for only a moment before I realized they were split, hiding beneath the herbivorous disguise, its clawed pawpads softly treaded, until it settled down, center of the meadow. Its body was not… lean, like it should be, I finally noticed. It was too muscular, each section balling up, tensing and releasing with each new motion, its too long fur, fur not hair, barely concealed the horror of it. 

It dropped its head, sharp, jagged teeth ripping into the flesh of his face, aiming for the mouth. I heard the cracks and pops of bones, disconnecting and breaking as the animal ripped him apart… When the animal pulled away, there was little left of the man who looked so much like my father.  Below his nose, there was a gaping maw. His tongue, once silver and quick, now between a beast's gnashing teeth. 

And then… Its intelligent eyes, scanning everything on its level- I sent up thanks that we were above him. I noticed, then, its eyes. Rather than facing the sides, as most prey animals, giving it nearly three-sixty vision… They sat on the front of its horrible, bloodied face. Binocular vision, I later learned it was called. Better for chasing prey. 

My eyes flicked back to my father… still so very pale, still so very frozen… as though he was already dead. His jaw was clenched tight, and there were tears in his eyes. He didn’t look back… as he held a finger to his lips, silently. I kept my eyes on that orange vest, across the way, my father beside me, I watched the only other person I knew of in the area. The only other person I cared about, in this venus fly trap.

We sat in that tree for hours, the sun slowly crawling on its belly across the sky, as though it too was afraid to move too quickly in front of the beast, as the animal ate my uncle. Bit by bit. It started with the head, using his half-hooved paw to crack open the skull, devouring every bit of it, bones and all. It worked down the body, devouring each muscle group, every tendon, every bone. It didn’t even leave his coveralls.

 Only the blood on the grass. 

I wondered for a while, sitting there, frozen, why my father didn’t shoot the damned thing, so we had something to bury, Even if it was closed casket. 

Until I saw the bullet wounds, seeping dark, blue-black blood, on the side of the animal. Near where its heart should be. My uncle hadn’t missed. They hadn’t been panic shots. 

It hadn’t mattered. And so my father chose our survival over vengeance. I often wished he hadn’t. He surely wouldn’t have won, but for us to die then, with honor, with courage, was better than how we all will in the end.

Soon it was nightfall… and the animal stood, shaking itself off, and making a low… broken, grunting, snorting, bleating sound. It was as if it were playing a recording of different deer calls, all at once. It moved smoothly, muscles bunching and rolling with every step again, back into the treeline. We still didn’t dare move… didn’t dare breathe too loud. I think we both knew… it was toying with us. 

The trees were alive that night. So very alive. With the sounds of animals I didn’t know, alien and frightening, and the voices of people I did, all around me. 

My Grandfathers booming laugh, his old idioms.

“And if ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ were candy and nuts, wouldn’t it be a Merry Christmas?”

My Grandmothers quiet, playful scolding to him.

“Edgil, you’re being rude,”

His retaliatory teasing… His quiet, bitter last words.

“When can I go home, Mae?”

“Soon… Soon, I promise.” Came her barely strung together reply.

My uncle's sly comments, mocking my father for being fat or an old man. Speaking so softly, a voice I had never heard from him, about a woman I had never heard of, her long red hair. I later learned she had died in the accident that got him hooked on Oxy.

My mother… weeping.

I had never heard her cry like that before, but I knew it was her voice… I knew it was, but it was different- I just didn’t quite know how, yet.

I looked… slowly to my father, wondering if I was imagining the cacophony of voices surrounding us. I wasn’t, his face was horrified, and so full of grief, of hopelessness, he looked empty instead.

My father and I left the tree in the early morning hours, as the sun rose, I watched the orange vest climb down simultaneously. My body should have creaked from the misuse, but instead it was on fire. Adrenaline running through me like a copperhead venom. But I fought the urge to run, walking beside my father, whose eyes silently scanned the trees the entire way back to the meeting point, where Beau stood, statuesque and strong, gun at the ready, the same as my father's… And down the path we went. Beau walked ahead of us, looking back occasionally with a glint in his eye that said he was unafraid. I hope he was.

The trees parted for the creature like the Red Sea, as if they were too disturbed by its nature to even touch it. It stood only twenty feet ahead of us, eyes curious, mouth still caked with blood. To see it up close was harrowing. To see its shaggy, wolf-like brown fur taunted me for ever thinking for even a moment that it belonged to the same family as the common white-tail. Its face was so horrible, so cruelly shaped, its teeth peeking out beneath its thin lips, though its face did not snarl, yet. 

“Stay back.” Beau’s voice was strong, sure, and as beautiful as any music I had ever heard or would hear. The animal's lip curled back, and Beau took the shot.

For one perfect moment, everything was going to be okay. The shot landed cleanly between its eyes, and it crumpled, dead. I had time to breathe a sigh of relief, look up to see Beau turning to face my father and me with a grim, but triumphant expression, before it all went wrong.

I didn’t have time to scream for him to run; he didn’t have time to turn back. Or be afraid. Its body crouching suddenly, that navy colored blood pouring like water from a tap between its eyes, its lip curled back for only a half a moment, before it leapt. A horrible sort of grace in its movements that shouldn’t have been possible with its too-long legs. Its head extends on its too-long neck to ensure its long canines reached him before its extended claws. 

Beau was dead before he hit the ground, and he didn’t stay there long, the creature lifting him by the neck, shaking him like a puppy with a toy. His blood splattered my face, as the animal snarled and growled, sounding like an angry cat. 

I was frozen. Trembling. Silent. My father wasn’t. A shocked, broken sob came from his throat. The only one I ever heard from him. The creature heard him as well, dropping the corpse. My father forced himself to be silent, and we stood, quiet as the trees around us. The animal's teeth slowly were covered, its face turned curious again… almost playful. 

It made me sick. I could barely look at it, eyes focused so fully on Beau’s body. His eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping. If not for his mangled throat and chest, it would be easy to pretend. The blood surrounding his body was crimson and dark, and there was a tug in my chest at it. 

The beast stared at us for a long time, approaching with those soft, soft steps, standing in front of us, bowing like a golden retriever. Do you want to play? It’s Navy blue blood still dripping down its ghastly face. 

Eventually, it grew bored of us… and pranced back into the treeline. Pranced. Like it wasn’t soaked in blood and viscera. Like it hadn’t just changed everything forever. 

My father carried Beau back to the car in his arms like a bride. His tears were dry now. We drove him to the hospital. We knew it was too late, but what else could we do? We told them we found him like that. The doctor said it looked like coyotes. A lot of them. It was strange for them to attack this time of year, but not impossible.

My father held Beau’s wife, her hands on her extended stomach, as she cried like the world was ending. And I suppose for all of us, it was. I looked at Dad's face only once while he held her, before I looked away. I couldn’t stand to look again. He looked so numb now, dead already. 

We never really talked about what happened. When people asked, we said my uncle had come with us, but we hadn’t seen him since. The police didn’t look long; my uncle wasn’t exactly high priority, what with his felony record and his shifty, flighty nature. People assumed he had run off again. I got a job at the local butcher the next year, and at the slaughterhouse, where I work now, at eighteen. It had been clear, the moment we left that clearing, we would never go back. We weren’t the only hunters in those woods, and we didn’t like the role reversal.

Dad wasn’t the same after that. Be strange if he was, I guess. Mama tried so hard to help, but she had never been the talker; she had never been the strong one. She didn’t know how. When he started drinking, I couldn’t blame him; I wouldn’t. My mother didn’t either. I think she knew something happened out in that clearing that neither of us had the words to talk about. When he drove into the mountainside with a BAC of .20% when I was seventeen, it shocked no one.

I think we all knew it wasn’t an accident, but no one's ever had the nerve to say it.

My Grandmother went the next year, having outlived her husband and both of her children. The doctor said it was an aneurysm, but you’ll never convince me it wasn’t heartbreak. And how could the strongest of anyone be expected to live through that?

My mother had her stroke when I was twenty-one, just as the last of my brothers was set to go to college. Trapping me in this life, until she leaves it.

 If I don’t care for her, who will? My brothers? I couldn’t do that to them. So we live in our grief together. We live in hell, together, in that trailer that never had enough bedrooms, now more than enough. 

My brothers visit often, but they have their own lives, one of them is even having a baby soon, isn’t that nice? His wife seems sweet, but she doesn’t like me. I think I scare her, I don’t mean to. But it’s just so hard to stop the tremors in my hands, or in my voice, when I’m speaking now. I hate to talk out loud, I hate to be heard. So I am quiet. Quieter than I ever was.

Sometimes, even now, I feel like it might hear me, and jump up onto the treestand- or across that dirt path, and rip me to pieces the same way it did my family. Sometimes, I think it already did. I don’t think my father and I ever moved from our post, really. Sometimes, I think I’ll open my eyes and still be there, my father's warmth beside me, both of us crouching, muscles screaming, but nevertheless, a long-hidden prey instinct demanding our silence, our stillness, our compliance. Our obedience.

Sometimes, in the night, I hear the trees come alive again, with those same, alien animal sounds, and I know, there is something out there, and it’s Not-Deer. 

I hear it, calling. I hear my father, my uncle sometimes, laughing in those trees, repeating words I’d heard them say so long ago. I tell myself it’s their heaven, but I know it is not. No decent and loving god would put them back into the hell-trap where he killed them both, even if one took years afterward to actually flatline.

I also hear my mother's weeping again, the same as that night on the tree-stand, only now I recognize it. From the day my father died. That phone call at four in the morning, the slow realization, the choking sobs, the shaking in her throat. The never-ending grief. Grief didn’t defy expectations; it renegotiated them. New boundaries for how much the universe is allowed to devastate one person without letting them die. 

I never heard Beau, though I listened. I wanted to hear him a few times. To try to understand why his death hurt so different. I wondered if I only heard the voices of those in my bloodline. I wondered what voices he had heard in that other treestand, voices he had never gotten a chance to share. 

I realize now I was given a glimpse into the future, the past, everything. Into the desolation of my family line. I wonder if that is how those devil creatures live. In the space between moments, between heartbreaks. Between their victims' tragedies. So I sleep in our living room, my gun on the table in front of me. I won’t be like my father. I’ll be like Beau, who I don’t think of often in the years since. It puts the strangest pit in my stomach to remember him. But, like him, I won’t wait. If I see that demonic beast again I will shoot until it kills me, shaking in my hands be damned. I only hope to make it outside first, if I do. So my mother can’t follow. 

Though I often wonder if I am so much better than them, now. I kill for a living. Sweet, innocent creatures with eyes that trust me to care for them. Raised by human hands, but for the sole purpose of consumption. I hate it. I haven’t eaten meat in years. Whenever I try, I smell my uncle's blood, and see the things' sharp teeth- I feel them in my mouth, biting down on my tongue, crushing my teeth to get to it. Silencing me even more so than it already has. I wish more than anything I had died in that clearing, that I could have died the boy I was and not the man I am. So much blood stains my hands, I drown in it, in every dream that isn’t that beast ripping my uncle's tongue from his mouth and mashing its teeth into the muscle, and his teeth like they were nothing. 

How harshly can I judge the creature? My uncle wouldn’t have been able to get that shot from up close. And Beau… Beau shot first. Unfortunately, neither was as high on the food chain as they had been led to believe. None of us are. We all fall prey to something. Whether it's drink, diabetes, grief, or some beast in the forest is all up to you. For the most part. 

I think sometimes, if I met someone to love, I would be better. But I have no desire to be seen as crazy now. How am I meant to go on a date when the only time my hands don’t shake is when I’m holding a weapon? I couldn’t put that on a woman. I couldn’t. No matter how my brothers have tried to convince me.

I never really cared for romance anyway, besides. Once my mother is gone, I don’t intend to stick around. Maybe you can call it running, like my uncle, or you can be honest and admit every day since that awful night has been my slow resignation from living. 

My brothers don’t need me anymore; I would only be a burden to them, I know. They don’t know what I saw, and I can’t bear to tell them now, even if they would believe me. They deserve better than to hear monsters in the trees, and rethink every word they say. They don’t deserve that image, seared into their brains for all their lives, forcing them to relive it over and over, the helplessness of watching someone you love die.

This is all I have, for now. I’m sorry if I don’t make too much sense now. I had to drink just to finish this. I suppose I’m more like my father in the end than I thought, and I’m more than buzzed now. I hear my mother calling my name from outside. I’m going to post this and go check on her. I don’t know how she got her wheelchair out the door alone, and she knows I hate it when she goes out at night. She must have climbed out of bed. Anyway. Thank you for seeing us. My father, my uncle, my mother, and I. Thank you for reading our eulogy.

[genekies]

tag vent

[alygator77]

──little things like this

a/n. just something small i felt like writing 🫶🏻 what i imagine grocery shopping with satoru would be like.

cw. domestic fluff. dad! satoru. husband! satoru. and just... satoru being satoru. also, he's missing you (like, a lot).

You should’ve known better than to bring him.

It was supposed to be a quick trip—milk, eggs, veggies, rice, soy sauce. Easy. You had dinner planned and everything. His favorite—the one he always says you make better than anyone. The one he begged you to cook the first night he stayed over, back when you were still figuring each other out in that too-small apartment with the broken stove and mismatched bowls. He used to sit barefoot on the counter, freshly showered, stealing bites before you could plate anything.

But now?

Now you’re married to Satoru Gojo, and he’s pushing your daughter through a grocery store like it’s the highlight of his week—sunglasses shoved into his windblown white hair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He’d just come off a string of missions, barely enough time to breathe between them, but when you mentioned needing to grab a few things, he immediately offered to come. Said he missed you. Said he wanted to do “normal stuff.”

Which might’ve sounded sweet, sure—until somewhere between produce and frozen foods, he completely veered off-script. And now, fifteen minutes in, your cart is a sugar bomb. Sour gummies. Five flavors of Pocky. A jumbo bag of marshmallows no one in your household has ever requested.

Though here he is, your husband, pushing your cart with one hand, lighting up in pure joy at every little treat you come across through the aisles.

“Satoru Gojo…” you deadpan as he reaches for a pack of cookies. “That is not on the list.”

Clicking his tongue, he holds them up like a sacred offering.

“Buuut… neither were you,” he hums, batting those ridiculously pretty blue eyes. “And yet—best thing I ever brought home.”

Narrowing your eyes, he smirks.

“’toru…” you sigh. “I really don’t think we need more sugar in this cart.”

Tilting his head, he pretends to ponder. “Need? …nah,” he tosses them in the basket anyway. “But, deserve? Absolutely.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the list on your phone. You have… what—three items checked off? You’re pretty sure Satoru has added at least seven more. And, he seems to be multiplying his haul by the minute.

As you make your way down the next aisle, your daughter’s delighted squeal draws your attention. Glancing over your shoulder, there is Satoru—holding up two bags of candy to her like a game show host.

“Mmkay princess… choose wisely,” he whispers, low and dramatic. “Red or blue. You get one.”

Babbling, her little hands reach forward, grasping for the blue one.

“Ahhh… strong choice,” he nods, handing it over. And then, with zero shame, he drops the red bag into the cart behind her back.

“Ahem…” you squint, and he straightens. “You said one?”

“What? She picked hers,” he says, all innocence, sliding his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose. “This one’s mine.”

You groan, laughing despite yourself, as he resumes pushing the cart—now like it’s a racecar, swerving down the aisle while your daughter giggles.

“Please don’t teach her to shop like you,” you call out.

“Too late~” he sing-songs, vanishing around the corner, muttering under his breath, “Drifting into dairy… snack thrusters engaged…”

You sigh—but there’s no real frustration in it. Just warmth. Familiarity. Love.

Because sometimes you forget—you’re not in that cramped apartment anymore, counting coins and comparing brands. Not since Satoru. You still catch yourself reaching for the cheapest option, still instinctively scan barcodes and double-check price tags. But he never even looks. He just fills the cart like it’s second nature. Like full shelves and soft snacks and mochi picked on a whim are things you deserve.

You’re still learning how to live like this—where love doesn’t feel like a debt, and money isn’t something to fear. And even though he could buy out the entire store without blinking, he still treats picking out snacks with you like it’s the most important thing he’ll do all week.

Shaking your head, you turn back to the list. Soy sauce. You still need soy sauce for his dinner.

But as you round the corner, you don’t find the aisle you’re looking for—you find him instead, crouched in front of the freezer, elbows resting on his knees, two tubs of ice cream in hand.

Why is he studying them like he’s trying to defuse a bomb? He looks… entirely perplexed.

“Satoru…” you step up beside him, brow raised. “You good?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He doesn’t look up. “Just, uh… evaluating options.”

Glancing down at the tubs—matcha and black sesame—you fold your arms.

“Umm… you evaluating them for fun, or is this, like, an actual crisis?”

“Mmm… crisis is a strong word,” he mutters, still avoiding your gaze. “It’s just… strategy. Y’know. Ice cream strategy.”

Crouching down beside him, you rest your hand on his knee.

“Uh-huh…?”

There’s a pause.

Then, he sighs through his nose. “Alright… fine. I… couldn’t remember which one you liked more,” he admits. “I thought it was matcha. But then I remembered that one week you wouldn’t touch it, so now I’m stuck here like a dumbass, spiraling in the frozen aisle…”

You try not to laugh. “You’re spiraling over ice cream?”

“I’m spiraling because it’s you,” he huffs. “I wanted to surprise you… thought maybe we could stay up late and eat it in bed like we used to?”

Your teasing slips away, replaced with something soft.

“Oh… Satoru.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but there’s something in the way his voice lowers when he speaks again.

“I just… dunno. It feels like it’s been forever. Between missions, work, parenting—you’ve been running around nonstop. I just wanted tonight to feel kinda normal again. After dinner—after the princes goes to bed. Just… us? Even if it’s just ice cream.”

You watch him for a beat—your husband, who can bend reality, stand at the edge of the world, and still get hung up over picking the right tub of ice cream for you.

“I… like them both,” you mumble, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “So why not both?”

He exhales like it physically relieves him. “Oh, thank god.”

You both stand, and without hesitation, he tosses both tubs into the basket.

“But… don’t go picking at mine and then pretending you didn’t like that flavor, okay?”

Grinning, you step ahead of him.

“Oh, I will steal yours. That’s marriage, babe.”

With a quiet laugh, he falls into step behind you.

“Brat.”

By the time you reach checkout, your cart holds three kinds of mochi ice cream, a suspiciously large bag of seaweed snacks, and absolutely no bread. Your daughter’s holding her bag of candy like it’s a stuffed animal, fussing while you try to scan it, and you’re juggling a reusable bag, along with what’s left of your patience while she begins to cry.

Noticing your frustration, Satoru slips in, insisting on scanning everything himself—for you. But when the self-checkout machine beeps loudly, his brows furrow and he pouts.

“The fuck? I did scan the damn carrots…” he mutters, narrowing his eyes, fumbling with the touch screen. “Don’t gaslight me... stupid thing..."

You sigh, somehow his presence makes the monotony feel… warm. And though this ‘quick trip’ has become what feels like an all-day event, you can’t deny how much you have also missed this man.

Outside, the air is soft with the promise of evening. Your daughter’s nodding off in her car seat, still hugging the candy bag like a teddy bear. Satoru loads the bags into the trunk with a proud little huff, dusting off his hands like he’s accomplished something huge.

“See?” he says, flashing a grin as he climbs into the passenger seat. “Told you grocery shopping as a family would be fun.”

You glance at the receipt. Then at him.

“You spent more in the snack aisle than on actual food….”

“I live off sugar and love. You know this.”

You roll your eyes, laughing under your breath as you slide into the driver’s seat. But as you buckle your seatbelt and glance down at the grocery list again, your heart sinks a little.

Did you…? Fuck.

You forgot the soy sauce.

Exhaling slowly, your gaze drifts over to Satoru in the passenger seat—slouched comfortably, eyes closed, perfectly content. The fading sun glows across his face, catching the edges of his smile.

“Y’know… I was gonna make your favorite tonight.”

His eyes open slowly. “Oh yeah?”

You nod. “But… we forgot the soy sauce.”

"...oh." He grimaces, genuinely. “Shit… I really thought I grabbed it,” he scratches the back of his head. “Want me to run back in real quick?”

You pause, then look at your daughter sleeping in the rearview mirror. Her gentle snore. The quiet hum of the car. The warmth in the air.

“No…” you murmur. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You look at him again, and it hits you—not the ice cream, not the dinner. Little things like… this. Him. Her. This whole imperfect evening.

“Yeah… let’s get takeout,” you say, shifting the car into reverse. “We'll cuddle in bed. Split some ice cream.”

He smiles again, slow and warm.

“Deal.”

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here  

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks. 

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.” 

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out. 

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask. 

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says. 

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world. 

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation. 

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person. 

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about. 

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.” 

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him. 

“He was nice,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?” 

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?” 

“You’ll be alright?” 

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands. 

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare. 

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought. 

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage. 

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little. 

“Darling.” 

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand. 

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says. 

Me, you think. 

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.” 

“You didn’t,” the woman says. 

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.” 

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense. 

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says. 

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.” 

“Hardy-har.” 

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks. 

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?” 

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.” 

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.” 

“Gentleman and the tramp.” 

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.” 

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape. 

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth. 

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water. 

What the fuck? 

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down. 

Your head races with hurt feelings. 

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman. 

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees. 

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched? 

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is. 

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.” 

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky. 

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in. 

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal. 

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing. 

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse. 

She was unbelievable. 

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?” 

“What?” 

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.” 

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.” 

“I didn’t mean to come out here.” 

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?” 

“Scavenging for food.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.” 

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…” 

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.” 

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…” 

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable. 

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it. 

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath. 

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands. 

“These aren’t good tears,” he says. 

He’d know. They’re not. 

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out. 

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not you.” 

“But something does hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs. 

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.” 

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not. 

He looks sick. 

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage. 

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring. 

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly. 

“It’s so stupid.” 

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.” 

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin. 

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.” 

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.” 

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.” 

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble. 

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.” 

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.” 

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says. 

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying. 

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.” 

“Aaron.” 

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.” 

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.” 

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown. 

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.” 

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.” 

“Aaron!” you laugh. 

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.” 

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased. 

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.” 

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.” 

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.” 

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask. 

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.” 

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.” 

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze. 

”You said it.” 

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.” 

“I’m glad you asked me.” 

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now. 

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders. 

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress. 

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.” 

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.” 

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.” 

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear. 

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast. 

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast. 

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind. 

“Are you eating that one?” you ask. 

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?” 

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.” 

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?” 

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?” 

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.” 

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.” 

“Did you eat?” you ask. 

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.” 

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says. 

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour. 

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.” 

“I thought Miss Jareau went?” 

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.” 

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks. 

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.  

“Hey,” Aaron says. 

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw. 

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe. 

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?” 

“I didn’t take any, sorry.” 

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says. 

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.” 

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text. 

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal 

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding? 

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that 

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless. 

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette 

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right? 

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online. 

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D 

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

[bitters-n-sweets]

run an ex — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader You and Robby run into your ex-fiance, who apparently is sorry for what he did.

warnings: implied age gap, we hate your ex-fiance bcs he cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids, robby being a supportive king bcs he knows you can handle yourself, fluff (this can be considered a continuation of take a break, but can be read on its own) masterlist

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Robby had come home on time after his shift, even left slightly early so he could prepare for his date with you. You’ve been wanting to try the new place down the street that looked like a piece of Little Italy tucked into the neighborhood, like romance itself, glowing in the corner with golden lights and ivy-draped windows. Somehow, Robby had managed to snag a reservation.

He’d worn his navy polo and beige pants that you said made him look incredibly sexy, and picked up flowers on the way to your place.

You, on the other hand, had gotten ready, wore a nice silk dress, the perfume Robby loved so much, and smiled when he handed you the flowers. You put them into a vase before the two of you left, walking hand in hand into the evening.

Now, you’re sitting in a corner booth, still hand in hand, sipping wine while you wait for your food. The low hum of soft Italian music and the clink of glass around you in the background.

“How was work?” Robby asks, his thumb brushing lightly over yours.

You shrug with a small smile. “It was okay—oh! Speaking of work, my manager’s getting married next week. Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “Your manager, Hannah, right?”

“Yeah!” You light up. “You remember her?”

He chuckles. “How could I forget your work-wife?”

You laugh, nudging his foot under the table. “She’s basically my own Dr. Abbot.”

Robby raises a brow. “Are you saying Jack is my work-husband?”

“Is he not?”

Robby lets out a dramatic sigh. “He is. We’ve been married for six years. I’m so sorry you had to find out like this.”

You laugh again, and Robby just watches you, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

Dinner ends slower than it began, each course giving way to warm conversation and stolen glances. Robby pays for the bill even before you could reach your wallet, and you smile appreciatively while he winks at you.

You loop your arm around his as you walk out of the restaurant, and stop mid-way when the door almost hits your face.

“Sorry—oh.”

That voice. Cocky. Familiar. Just loud enough to cut through the warmth of the moment.

Your stomach drops before you even look.

Robby feels it—how your hand stiffens slightly in his—and follows your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He had changed his hair, but you’d still recognize him anywhere. Ethan. Your ex-fiancé. The Ethan who cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids six months before your wedding, who didn’t even have the decency to tell you himself—you found out through a half-drunk voicemail from her.

Ethan stops, eyes widening when he sees you. “I—I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You straighten your posture, grip tightening on Robby’s arm. “Hi, Ethan.”

His eyes flick briefly to Robby, then back to you. He hesitates, “I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he says, stepping a little closer. “I—I owe you an apology. For everything.”

You don't reply immediately, just hold his gaze. He shifts awkwardly, trying to read your silence.

“You look... great,” he adds. “Really great.”

You take a deep breath. Robby doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. He just stands beside you, he knows you don’t need saving—but he’s there anyway.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Ethan continues, voice softening. “I messed up. I know that now. What we had—it was real. I want to try us again. A new start.”

You blink, before letting out a breath that sounds like a laugh. “No thanks.”

You try to walk past him, but Ethan steps in your way.

“Please,” he says, voice low and desperate. “Just… give me another chance.”

You stare at him like he’s completely lost his mind. “You cheated on me with one of my best friends, Ethan. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He scoffs, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “Okay, and now what?”

“Now,” you say firmly, “you get out of my way and out of my life, because I’m actually happy.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping as his eyes flick to Robby. “What is he, your sugar daddy or something?”

Your eyes widen.

Robby makes a face that says ‘you're in trouble now’, and calmly holds out his hand. You hand him your purse without breaking eye contact with Ethan.

“What did you just say about him?”

Shit is about to go down.

You step toward Ethan. He instinctively backs up, the shift in your energy obvious even to him. Right on cue, the waiter opens the door—Robby slides a generous tip into his hand just for that—and Ethan, too focused on you, trips over the steps behind him as he stumbles backward.

“He’s none of your business,” you say, voice sharp and clear. “But for the record? Robby is my boyfriend. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He makes me feel safe, wanted—loved. He treats me like I’m the most important person in the world. And I love him.”

Ethan’s brushing dirt off his coat, flustered, when Robby walks past—shoulder checking him just enough to make a point.

“Oops,” Robby says with a smirk. “My bad.”

You don’t bother looking back.

Robby laces his fingers through yours, guiding you down the street like none of it ever happened. Behind you, Ethan’s voice fades into the night, muttering curses under his breath.

You just smile and laugh with Robby, hugging his arm.

[willowsnook]

halfway to always

quinn hughes x sharks!reader

summary: reader is Macklin and Will's bff who works for the Sharks. She gets invited to the lakehouse after meeting Jack Hughes who thinks she would be perfect for his brother.

There was a week-long break after the Devils played the Sharks, and Jack Hughes was eager to take advantage of a couple of extra days in the sunny weather of San Jose. After a grueling stretch of games, a beach day sounded perfect.

“We just need to stop and pick one more person up, and then we’ll be good to go,” Macklin Celebrini said as he slid into the driver’s seat of the car.

“Who?” Jack asked, shifting in his seat to glance at Will Smith in the back.

“Y/n,” Macklin answered simply.

Will furrowed his brows. “Does she even know we’re coming?”

“No, but I’m sure she isn’t doing anything,” Macklin chirped, grinning. Will snorted in response, clearly used to this kind of behavior from him.

“Who’s Y/n?” Jack questioned, still confused.

“She’s our best friend,” Will said casually. “She also works for the Sharks in player personnel, which is how we met her.”

“Yeah, her job was to make sure we started acting like adults, and now she’s stuck with us forever,” Macklin joked.

Jack smirked. “Is she dating one of you?”

“I wish,” Will scoffed. “She says that we’re babies. But she’s our best friend for real; you’ll love her.”

When they finally made it to your door, Jack immediately understood why they were both so attached to you. You were stunning. Your long hair was piled haphazardly on top of your head, and you answered the door in an oversized Sharks sweatshirt and shorts, your bare legs curled slightly from standing in the doorway. There was an immediate spark of curiosity in Jack, but what entertained him most was the way your expression immediately twisted into mild annoyance the second you saw Macklin and Will.

“What are you doing here?” you asked warily, your voice laced with irritation.

“Come to the beach with us, please,” Macklin begged, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

“I’m busy,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, you aren’t,” Will countered, stepping around you and waltzing into the apartment like he owned the place. “This is Jack, by the way.”

“I know who he is,” you grumbled, stepping aside to let them all in.

“Sorry to intrude,” Jack said sheepishly, and you waved him off.

“This is like every day of my life.”

Will and Macklin made themselves comfortable on your couch as you sighed, resigning yourself to their plans. As much as you griped about babysitting them, they were your best friends. What had started as a work obligation had turned into late-night hangouts, last-minute road trip plans, and a friendship you wouldn’t trade for anything.

You disappeared into your room to change, and when you emerged, Jack’s eyes instinctively followed you.

“Did you bring sunscreen? Food? Water?” you asked, hands on your hips.

Will and Macklin exchanged a sheepish glance before shaking their heads.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, moving into the kitchen to gather supplies.

“She’s like our mom,” Will told Jack, watching as you furrowed your brows in concentration while making sandwiches. “We’d probably die without her.”

“She tells us we’re like Ollie and Andy from Bob’s Burgers all the time,” Macklin added with a groan.

Jack snorted. He leaned against the counter, watching you thoughtfully. There was something about you that reminded him of his older brother.

“She’s kind of like Quinn,” he mused.

“That’s actually a good comparison,” Macklin said, nodding. “They’d be a hot couple.”

“Macklin,” you warned, hearing him loud and clear.

“What?” Macklin shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying. You’re both responsible adults who take care of children like us.”

You rolled your eyes, placing the last sandwich in the cooler. "I've never even met Quinn."

"But you've watched him play," Will pointed out with a smirk. "Remember when you said his edge work was—"

"Finish that sentence and I'm not packing any beer," you threatened, pointing a knife still coated in mayo at him.

Will immediately clamped his mouth shut while Jack's interest was piqued. "What did she say about Quinn's edge work?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "Just professional observations."

Will smartly kept his mouth shut as you finished packing the cooler. Soon, you were all piled into the car, en route to the beach.

Once there, Macklin took off toward the water while you fell into step beside Will, Jack trailing slightly behind.

“You good?” you asked Will softly. He had been acting a little off since earlier—nothing obvious, but you knew him well enough to catch it.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. Too quickly. You shot him a look, and he sighed. “A lot of people are saying I should get sent down.”

Your heart clenched. You knew he was struggling a little, especially compared to how well Macklin was doing.

“A lot of people aren’t Coach,” you said gently. “You know what you need to work on.”

“I know,” he admitted. “The pressure is getting to me.”

“I’ll come in early with you this week to set up drills,” you offered.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re too good to me.” He threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the beach together.

Jack watched the interaction quietly. He knew how tough it was to be a rookie in the NHL, and it reassured him to see that Will had someone looking out for him. He thought about Quinn and how the weight of being a captain seemed to be isolating him more and more.

As the day went on, you and Jack got to know each other better. He was charming, easy to talk to, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than expected.

“Do you have the summer off too?” Jack asked as you reapplied sunscreen.

You chuckled. “No, some of us have real jobs.”

Jack blushed. “I meant, do you get any time off?”

“I take most of my PTO during the summer,” you admitted.

“You should come to the lake with us,” he suggested. “Macklin and Will are already coming, and we have plenty of extra space.”

You hesitated, meeting his hopeful gaze. “I don’t want to intrude on guy time.”

“There will be other girls there,” he assured you. “And honestly, I don’t think they would survive without you.”

Macklin and Will reappeared, both dripping wet.

“Convincing her to come to the lake?” Macklin asked, moving his wet hair purposely over you to drip. You swatted at him but he jumped out of the way laughing. 

“Please come, Y/n,” Will pleaded.

You sighed, leaning back against your towel. “Fine.”

Jack grinned. Maybe this trip would be more interesting than he thought.

—----------------------------------------------------

You landed in Michigan the evening of your first day off. Will came to get you and he swept you up in his arms the second he saw you. 

“I missed you,” he exclaimed dramatically as you giggled, finally pulling apart. 

“It’s been like three days buddy,” you reminded him, passing your bag off for him to carry. 

“Three days too long, it’s been boring without you,” he complained. 

“I doubt that,” you replied, amused. He talked your ear off on the ride to the house, mentioning that you just had time to drop your stuff off before they had a bonfire that night. 

Macklin was sitting on the steps as you pulled up, bouncing up eagerly the second he saw you. 

“Y/n!” He yelled bolting towards you. 

“Hi Mack,” you laughed into him, melting into his familiar embrace. Will carried your stuff in and you let Macklin lead you into the house. 

“Hey Jack,” you greeted, waving to the boy who was waiting in the entryway. He pulled you into a hug. 

“Good to see you, y/n,” he said before tugging your arm. “Let me introduce you to everyone else.”

You met his younger brother Luke, his teammate Nico and his girlfriend, and then finally his older brother. 

“I’m Quinn,” the oldest Hughes brother said, sticking out a hand to you. He had an amused expression on his face which you knew had to do with the two bouncing balls of energy that were behind you. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

"All good things, I hope," you said, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness as Quinn's hand lingered in yours a moment longer than necessary.

"Mostly complaints about how you force them to act like grown-ups," Quinn replied with a slight smirk, releasing your hand. "Which, honestly, is impressive. Getting Macklin to pick up after himself when he stayed with us was a challenge."

You laughed, feeling yourself relax a little. There was something about Quinn that put you at ease—a quiet confidence that contrasted with Macklin and Will's chaotic energy.

"I'll show you where you're staying," Jack offered, grabbing your bag from Will.

"I can take it," Will protested, but Jack was already heading up the stairs.

"You can fight over who gets to carry her stuff later," Quinn said dryly, giving you an apologetic glance that sent butterflies to your stomach. “The fire is already started.” 

Sure enough there was a nice fire going in the backyard. A hodgepodge of lawn chairs and patio furniture surrounded it and you sat down on a comfy outdoor couch, Macklin plopping down right next to you. His arm slung behind you and you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. 

“Long day?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Had to tie up some last minute things at work and then of course saved all the packing for before the flight.” 

“Sounds like you,” he teased and you rolled your eyes smiling. 

“How’s it been here so far?” You asked. 

“Fun, I missed the Hughes’ bros so it’s been good to catch up,” he told you. “The break will be good for us, especially Will.” 

You looked over at Will, who was talking animatedly about something with Luke.

“I’ve been worried about him,” you admitted. 

“Me too,” Macklin agreed. “He’ll figure it out.” 

Quinn was watching you from across the fire, sipping his beer slowly, much to Jack’s amusement. 

“Are you sure they aren’t in some weird throuple thing?” He finally asked, breaking the silence. Jack snorted, glancing over to you and Macklin. 

“I promise you they aren’t,” he confirmed. “Just good friends.” 

Quinn hummed noncommittally, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes hadn't left you since you'd arrived. There was something captivating about the way you fit so seamlessly into their group yet maintained a quiet authority over the rookies.

As the night progressed, you found yourself drifting between conversations. Luke was telling you about his latest game when Quinn finally approached, offering you another drink.

"Thanks," you said, accepting the cold beer from his hands. Your fingers brushed briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through you.

"So, player personnel," Quinn began, settling into the chair beside you. "That's an interesting role for someone so young."

You raised an eyebrow, “thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he backtracked. “Just thinking about how I would have enjoyed coming to the Canucks a little more if it was someone like you helping me versus a fifty year old man.” 

“Someone like me?” You teased, grinning widely as the older brother blushed. 

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled. 

You laughed softly, taking a sip of your beer. “I do, actually. A lot of guys coming into the league are barely out of high school, moving across the country, or even from overseas. It helps to have someone who understands what that transition is like—who can be a little more... relatable.”

Quinn nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Makes sense. I remember my first year was a whirlwind. You must have your hands full with those two.” He nodded toward Macklin and Will, who were now arguing over the best way to roast a marshmallow.

“You have no idea,” you groaned playfully. “They’re like two overgrown puppies. They mean well, but I swear I spend half my time keeping them from doing something stupid.”

Quinn chuckled. “Sounds familiar. Jack and Luke were the same way growing up. Still are, honestly.”

You turned to face him more fully, intrigued. “So, does that make you the responsible one? The one who keeps everyone in check?”

He smirked, taking another sip of his beer. “I try, but Jack and Luke don’t listen to me half the time. I think they see me more as the grumpy older brother who ruins their fun.”

You tilted your head, considering him. “I don’t think you’re grumpy. More like... observant.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he looked away, watching the fire. “Maybe.”

You studied him for a moment. Quinn was quieter than his brothers, more reserved, but there was an undeniable warmth to him—something steady, reliable. You could see why Jack and Luke looked up to him, even if they didn’t always admit it.

“So,” Quinn said, breaking the silence. “What did you say about my edge work?”

Your cheeks immediately flushed, and you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my god, I knew Will was going to say something.”

Quinn’s smirk deepened. “I’m just curious. Professional observations, right?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Fine. I might have said it was some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Might have?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, I did say that. Happy now?”

Quinn took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The air between you felt charged for a split second before Macklin’s voice rang out, breaking the moment.

“Y/n! Come settle this for us. Who’s making the better s’more—me or Will?”

You turned to Quinn, laughing. “Duty calls.”

Quinn watched as you walked toward the rookies, effortlessly slipping back into your role as their unofficial big sister. Jack nudged him from the side, a knowing grin on his face.

“You’re screwed,” Jack muttered.

Quinn just hummed, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The next morning, you woke up at sunrise, admiring the pretty sight from your window. Throwing a sweatshirt on, you headed down the stairs into the kitchen where you were surprised to see you weren’t the only one up. 

“Morning,” Quinn greeted, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.

“I’m shocked to see someone else up,” you greeted, amused. You moved around him to pour your own cup before turning back. 

“My body is too used to early mornings, can’t sleep past 8 now,” he admitted and you nodded. 

“I’m the same way,” you said. “Probably for the best though.” 

You opened his fridge and stood there puzzled. 

“What?” Quinn asked.

“You have literally no food,” you said, turning to him in confusion. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“We order out a lot or just grill,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Is there a grocery store nearby?” You asked.

“I think so,” he said.

“Okay let’s go,” you said, moving to find your shoes. Quinn chuckled but listened, grabbing his keys off the counter. 

He followed you around the store amused, chiming in when you asked him for an opinion but mostly just admiring you. 

“What were you going to eat on the boat today?” You asked, one hand on your hip as you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Good question,” he replied with a grin and you rolled your eyes. 

“Mr. Responsible my ass,” you muttered. He paid for the groceries and you helped him load them into the car before going back to the house. 

Once you were back, the two of you worked in silence. You making lunches for the day while Quinn cooked eggs, sausage, and potatoes for when everyone else woke up. 

The kitchen filled with the aroma of breakfast as you and Quinn worked side by side, falling into an easy rhythm. You'd occasionally brush against each other reaching for utensils or ingredients, each contact sending a small jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

"You're good at this," Quinn observed, watching as you efficiently packed sandwiches for everyone.

"Taking care of man-children? I've had plenty of practice," you replied with a smirk.

He laughed, a warm sound that made your stomach flutter. "I meant cooking, but fair point."

"My mom always said if you're going to do something, do it well," you explained, carefully wrapping each sandwich. "Even if it's just making lunch for a bunch of overgrown hockey players.”

Quinn's eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. "I think we have similar mothers."

The smell of breakfast eventually lured the others downstairs, one by one. Macklin was the first to appear, his hair sticking up in every direction.

"You're cooking?" he asked, eyes widening as he took in the sight of you and Quinn working side by side in the kitchen.

"Someone had to," you replied, shooting Quinn a playful glance. "Otherwise you'd all starve."

"Or survive on takeout," Quinn added.

Will stumbled in next, making a beeline for the coffee. "Y/n's cooking? Thank god."

"Actually, Quinn made breakfast," you corrected, nodding toward the spread of eggs and sausage. "I'm just prepping for the boat."

"Team effort," Quinn said quietly, and you felt a small flutter in your chest at his words.

By the time everyone was fed and the kitchen cleaned up, the sun was high and you had just changed into your swimsuit, throwing on an oversized tshirt as a coverup. You followed the boys down to the dock, laughing with Will about something. Nico and his girlfriend were doing something else for the day so it was just the six of you on the water. 

Jack got in the driver’s seat and brought you all out to the middle of the lake before sitting idle. Macklin flipped off the boat into the water and you laughed as you watched him come back up. 

“The water’s great, get in,” he called out to you and Will. You pulled off your tshirt, revealing the bright red bikini you had chosen for the day and Will whistled. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Quinn muttered as his eyes took in your figure, lost in a trance. Jack gave him a knowing grin which he returned with his middle finger. 

The day went by quickly and you had a lot of fun; it was nice to just relax and not think about work for once. As it was winding down, Jack got ready to drive back but beckoned you over. 

“You want to drive?” He asked and you bit your lip.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted and he patted his lap for you to sit down. You could feel Quinn’s stare from across the boat. 

“Sit,” he commanded and you smirked, settling onto his lap, your back into his chest. 

“I know what you’re doing,” you told him, looking over your shoulder to Quinn.

Jack chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "Just helping out a friend," he whispered, guiding your hands onto the steering wheel. "It's easy. Just keep it steady."

You couldn't help but glance back at Quinn again. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark as he watched Jack's hands over yours. There was something thrilling about his reaction, though you tried to push that thought away.

"Eyes forward," Jack instructed, giving Quinn a smug look over your shoulder.

You focused on steering, surprised by how much you enjoyed the feeling of control as the boat cut through the water. The wind whipped your hair around your face, and you couldn't hold back your laughter as Jack guided you through a slightly sharper turn.

When you finally docked, Quinn was the first off the boat, mumbling something about going to shower.

The guys wanted to go out that night so you quickly showered and changed into a pair of loose jeans with a black lace bodysuit. You curled your hair and applied a thin layer of makeup, relying on the tan that was already appearing on your face to do most of the work. 

Will was waiting outside of your door when you came out and he frowned as he took in your outfit.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, suddenly self conscious but Will just rolled his eyes. 

“What’s happening y/n? Are you going to fall in love with Quinn and leave us behind?” He complained and you barked out laughter.

“Nothing is happening Will,” you promised. “I’ll never leave you.” 

You pinched your cheeks with your fingers and he swatted at your hands. 

“You irritate me,” he grumbled. 

“But you love me,” you cheered, following him down the stairs. 

The bar was packed, buzzing with laughter and music as bodies pressed together in the dim glow of neon signs. You thrived in places like this—loud, chaotic, full of life. The second you stepped inside, you lit up, greeting people as if you'd known them forever. Quinn watched you, as he always did, lingering just close enough to keep an eye on you, but not close enough to draw attention to it.

“Drinks first, then dancing,” you declared, grabbing Luke’s arm and tugging him toward the bar. He groaned but didn’t resist, while Quinn followed a few steps behind, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

By the time you had a drink in hand, you were already scanning the crowd, eyes gleaming with mischief. A new song pulsed through the speakers, and you gasped. “Oh, this is my song! Luke, let’s go.”

Luke barely had time to react before you grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the dance floor. “No, no, no—why me?” he protested, even as he stumbled after you.

“Because you’re fun, and I said so,” you shot back with a grin.

Quinn huffed a laugh into his beer as he leaned against a nearby pillar, watching as you seamlessly slipped into the rhythm of the song. You moved with an effortless confidence, laughing as Luke—reluctant at first—eventually gave in, mirroring your steps with exaggerated, playful movements. You twirled under his arm, your head thrown back in laughter, and Quinn felt something tighten in his chest.

"What are you staring at?" Jack's voice snapped Quinn out of his trance.

"Nothing," Quinn muttered, taking another swig of his beer.

Jack snorted. "Right. Absolutely nothing. That's why you haven't taken your eyes off her all night."

Quinn shot his brother a warning glance. "Drop it."

"All I'm saying is, she's single. And she clearly likes you," Jack said, nudging Quinn's shoulder. "I've never seen you this interested in someone."

"I'm not—" Quinn started, but stopped when he saw Macklin approach you on the dance floor, spinning you around effortlessly. The ease between you made something twist in his stomach.

"She's their friend," Quinn said finally. "It would be weird."

"Or," Jack countered, "it would be perfect. She already knows the hockey life. She puts up with the two of them all the time.” 

“You seem to be forgetting the fact that I live in Vancouver and she lives in San Jose,” Quinn said sharply and Jack took a deep breath. 

“True,” he admitted, not knowing what else to say. 

An hour later you were beat, and desperate to go home. Unfortunately that sentiment wasn’t shared by the others. 

“Just stay a little longer,” Luke begged, and you shook your head, a small smirk on your face. 

“I’ll be fine to walk home, my social battery is just drained,” you told him. Quinn appeared behind you, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“You’re not walking home by yourself,” he said firmly and you rolled your eyes. 

“I’ll be fine,” you argued but he stood strong. 

“I’ll come with you, just let me close my tab,” he said. You started to complain but he was already pulling you along. The two of you set out back to the house in silence, him caught up in his head about what Jack had said earlier. You were in the same boat, trying to figure out your budding feelings for someone you felt like you couldn’t have. 

“Are you tired?” He asked once you reached the house. 

“Not really, just tired of talking,” you admitted and he gave you a small smile. 

“Movie?” He suggested. You agreed and went off to change into something more comfy before joining him in the living room. You sat a healthy distance apart while he put on a Marvel movie, per your request. Halfway through he looked over to see you with your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Cold?” He asked and you tore your gaze away from the screen to meet his. 

“A little.” 

He reached down to grab a blanket from the basket next to the couch and threw it over himself, patting the spot next to him. 

You hesitated for a moment before sliding closer, allowing Quinn to drape the blanket over both of you. The warmth of his body next to yours was immediate and comforting.

"Better?" he asked, his voice lower than before.

"Much," you murmured, trying not to focus on how your thigh was now pressed against his.

As the movie continued, you found yourself gradually relaxing, your body naturally leaning closer to Quinn's. You weren't sure if it was the couple of drinks you'd had or the late hour, but something about sitting here with him felt right in a way you hadn't expected.

When your head eventually dropped onto his shoulder, he tensed for just a second before carefully adjusting his position to make you more comfortable. His arm came around you hesitantly, and when you didn't pull away, he let it rest there.

"This okay?" he whispered.

You nodded sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open. When the credits finally rolled, neither of you made a move to get up. You were drifting off and Quinn was just enjoying the silence. That was shortlived as the rest of the guys got back from the bar, amused at the scene in front of them.

“Good movie huh?” Jack teased and you buried your head into Quinn’s chest in embarrassment. His arm was still hung around you 

"I should go to bed," you mumbled against Quinn's shirt, feeling the rumble of his chuckle vibrate through his chest.

"Probably a good idea," he agreed softly, though his arm remained firmly around you.

Will and Macklin exchanged knowing glances, while Jack made a dramatic show of yawning and stretching. "Well, we'll just head upstairs then. Goodnight, you two."

You reluctantly pulled away from Quinn's warmth, avoiding his eyes as you stood. "Thanks for walking me home. And for the movie."

"Anytime," he replied, his voice a little rougher than usual.

You could feel his gaze following you as you headed up the stairs, and it took every ounce of willpower not to look back.

The next couple of days were filled with you and Quinn dancing around each other, nothing ever happening. As the evening of your last night approached part of you was disappointed but another part was relieved. You didn’t need to get attached. 

The plan for the night was to grill out and Quinn manned the grill while you got the rest of the food set up. You were next to him with a plate for him to pile the burgers on when Will came bouncing over. 

“We should set off fireworks,” he suggested, excitedly. 

“No,” you and Quinn both said at the same time. 

“Fine mom and dad,” he grumbled before stalking off. His words made you catch your breath and you avoided Quinn’s stare from next to you. 

“We do look a little domestic,” he finally said and you giggled. You spent most of the evening with Will and Macklin who were already pre-depressed that you were leaving tomorrow. 

"I'm not even gone yet," you laughed as Macklin dramatically draped himself across your lap on the patio furniture.

"But tomorrow you will be, and then we'll have to go back to San Jose, and you'll be all professional again," he whined.

"I'm always professional," you protested, though the words rang hollow even to your own ears. The truth was, you'd let your guard down here—with Will and Macklin, but especially with Quinn.

"You know what I mean," Will said, sitting on your other side. "No more movie nights, no more beach days. Just you telling us to tie our ties properly and reminding us about media training."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the fondness that washed over you. "We still hang out all the time.. Just... with fewer Hughes brothers around."

Your eyes drifted to Quinn, who was cleaning the grill. 

“Yeah too bad for you,” Macklin teased and you blushed making Will laugh. 

“She’s got it bad,” he sang. You pushed the boys off, shooting them the finger before walking over to where Quinn was. 

“Need help?” You asked. He smiled at your question before shaking his head. 

“Nah, I’m finished,” he told you. “Sit with me?” 

You followed him to the opposite side of where your two gremlins were, in a more private area. Quinn sat down in a lawn chair and you started to sit next to him but he tugged at your hand, pulling you down into his lap. 

You froze for a moment, surprised by his boldness, but then settled against him, your body fitting perfectly against his. The small fire pit in front of you cast a warm glow across your faces as Quinn's arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

"I've been wanting to do this all week," he admitted quietly, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned slightly to look at him, your faces now inches apart. "What stopped you?"

Quinn sighed, his thumb absently tracing circles on your hip. "A lot of things. The distance, for one. My brother being the one who introduced us. Those two over there being attached to you like barnacles," he nodded toward Will and Macklin, who were now engaged in what appeared to be a marshmallow-eating contest.

You laughed softly. "They are pretty clingy."

"I don't blame them," Quinn murmured. “This is selfish because I know you have to leave tomorrow but I just wanted to touch you at least once.”

“I’m glad you did,” you whispered,

Quinn's hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward his. "Yeah?"

You nodded, barely breathing as he leaned closer. "Yeah."

His lips brushed against yours, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as you responded. You shifted in his lap to face him and he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving along yours softly. The two of you were in your own world, caught up in only each other. 

After a bit you pulled away, staring deeply into his eyes before sighing. 

“What’s wrong angel?” He asked and you gave him a sad smile. 

“I like you Quinn,” you admitted, 

“And that makes you sad?” He teased and you let out a short laugh. 

“I’m sad because there isn’t anything we can do about it,” you said and he didn’t say anything for a bit before pressing his lips against your forehead. 

“I know.” 

pt. 2 here

[writeriguess]

Could you please make a fanfic about the reader and katsuki having a baby, like they visit Masaru and mitsuki when the reader was pregnant and that was the last time they saw her and some weeks later katsuki and reader visits them with their baby.

A Welcome Home Like No Other

The first time they visited, the air smelled of home-cooked food and fresh laundry, the warmth of the Bakugo household wrapping around them like a familiar embrace. Masaru had been the first to greet them, his gentle smile making up for the lack of one on Mitsuki’s face—though her sharp eyes softened when they landed on the growing bump beneath your shirt.

"You sure you're eating enough?" Mitsuki’s voice cut through the air as soon as she stepped into the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

You barely had time to say hello before she grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside. Katsuki let out an irritated grunt but followed without protest, rolling his eyes.

"She eats just fine," he grumbled, slipping his hand into yours as if to reassure you that his mother’s scrutiny was just her way of showing she cared.

Masaru chuckled as he shut the door behind you. "It's good to see you both." He turned to you specifically, his expression warm. "How are you feeling? Katsuki told us you're about seven months along now, right?"

You nodded, resting a hand on your belly. "Yeah, almost eight. It’s been… exhausting, but we’re excited."

"Excited?" Mitsuki scoffed, gesturing for everyone to sit in the living room. "You look like you're ready to pop! You better not be letting this idiot stress you out, or I’ll beat him myself."

Katsuki groaned and flopped down onto the couch beside you. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, old hag. I’m takin’ care of her."

Masaru sighed. "Katsuki, language."

You just laughed, squeezing his knee. "He’s been really good, actually. I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s been patient. Even when I wake him up five times a night just to help me roll over."

Katsuki huffed, arms crossed, but you caught the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Not my fault you keep gettin’ stuck like a damn turtle on its back."

Mitsuki barked out a laugh. "Hah! That’s what happens when you knock someone up, dumbass. Your problem now!"

You shook your head with a smile, enjoying the familiar, chaotic energy of their home. It had been a while since you both visited, but despite the teasing, you could see it in their faces—Mitsuki and Masaru were thrilled. This was the first grandchild in the family, and even if Mitsuki would never admit it outright, she was eager to meet them.

"You picked out a name yet?" Masaru asked, leaning forward slightly.

You exchanged a glance with Katsuki before shaking your head. "We have a few ideas, but we want to wait until we see them."

"Good," Mitsuki said firmly. "Don't let this idiot name them something dumb like 'Explosion' or some shit."

Katsuki immediately shot upright. "Oi! I wasn’t gonna do that!"

Masaru smiled knowingly. "You were definitely considering it."

Katsuki muttered under his breath but didn’t argue. You leaned into him with a giggle, resting your head on his shoulder. The conversation carried on, Mitsuki giving unsolicited parenting advice while Masaru made sure you had everything you needed. It was the last time they saw you before the birth.

And then, weeks later, you returned—with your baby in your arms.

The door swung open before Katsuki could even knock properly, Mitsuki standing there with narrowed eyes.

"Took you damn long enough," she muttered, but the moment her gaze fell on the small bundle in your arms, something in her face softened.

Masaru appeared behind her, his usual calm expression lighting up with quiet joy. "Oh," he breathed, stepping forward. "So this is…"

"Our brat, yeah," Katsuki said gruffly, but the way he glanced down at the baby—his baby—betrayed just how smitten he was.

You smiled, shifting the tiny, blanket-wrapped form so they could see better. "Come on, don’t just stand there. Meet your grandchild."

Mitsuki clicked her tongue but held out her arms. "Give ‘em here, then. Before this idiot drops ‘em."

"I ain’t droppin’ my damn kid!"

"You dropped your phone in the sink this morning."

Katsuki scowled, but before he could retort, you gently handed the baby to Mitsuki, who took them with surprising tenderness. She stared down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket, her thumb brushing over their soft cheek.

"...Well," she muttered, voice suspiciously quiet. "Guess you did something right for once, huh?"

Masaru chuckled, peering over her shoulder. "They’re beautiful."

Katsuki scoffed but had the faintest dusting of pink on his ears. "Course they are. Got the best genes."

Mitsuki rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of the baby. Instead, she rocked them slightly, her movements practiced despite how long it had been since she’d last held a newborn. You swore you saw her eyes glisten for a moment before she cleared her throat.

"So, you pick a name yet?"

You and Katsuki exchanged a glance before you nodded. "Yeah. We named them—"

Katsuki cut in, voice quieter than usual. "—Eiji."

Mitsuki’s lips parted slightly. "Eiji, huh?"

Masaru smiled. "That's a strong name."

Katsuki smirked, pride in his eyes. "Damn right."

The baby stirred slightly, letting out a soft whimper, and before anyone could blink, Katsuki was reaching over, his large, calloused hand cradling their tiny head. The way his fingers trembled just slightly didn’t go unnoticed.

"...Oi, don’t cry now, brat," he murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. "You’re already the strongest in the damn room."

Mitsuki clicked her tongue, but there was no bite to it. "They get that from their mother."

Katsuki scowled, but you just laughed, leaning into him. He grumbled under his breath, but his arm instinctively came around your waist, pulling you close.

Masaru, watching all of this, sighed contentedly. "You know, when you two first started dating, I wasn’t sure what to expect."

Mitsuki snorted. "Yeah, I thought you'd break up in a week."

Katsuki bristled. "Oi—"

"But," Masaru continued, smiling at you both, "watching you two now… I think you're going to be just fine."

Katsuki huffed but didn’t pull away from you. Instead, his gaze lingered on the baby in Mitsuki’s arms—his baby, his whole world.

"Tch," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "...Yeah. We will."

And in that moment, with laughter in the air, love in their eyes, and Eiji safe in their arms, the Bakugo family had never felt more complete.

[mywritersmind]

NOT ONE TO GIVE UP - LN4

summary : in which… a specific nosy neighbor can’t stop flirting.

listen up : lando norris is persistent! slight sex talk.

words : 2327

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Girl… come on.” My best friend rolls her eyes at me, sipping her drink while I scoff.

“What?” I say, even though I already know what she’s going to tell me.

“He’s hot!” She practically yells, “You should go for him.”

The ‘he’ in question is my neighbor who annoys me to no end. Mostly known as Lando Norris.

I shake my head, the image of his curly hair and wide smile appearing in my head from just seconds before when he came to ask me for sugar. I mean seriously, sugar!? We’re not in some story tail. “No way!”

She groans, “Why not? He clearly has a thing for you!”

It’s true. He does clearly have a thing for me. He’s cute and all, don’t get me wrong- but I just can’t.

“Come on.” I sigh, “I don’t go for guys like that.”

“Hot, genuinely kind, sexy, rich men?” I swear to god she already prepared that line.

“He’s a player! I’d be like a toy. Plus, I don’t like him!” She scoffs as if it’s the biggest lie she’s ever head.

“What don’t you like about him?”

“He’s arrogant-”

“Wants to show off for you!” She corrects me.

“And loud!”

She smirks, “Sounds like he’s fun!”

I eye her, “And he’s always bugging me!” Crossing my arms, I sit back in my chair, “Trust me. I will never go out with Lando Norris.”

⋆༺

Three weeks later, after many quiet nights, I yell at him to stop the elevator. Of course, I didn’t know it was him.

But the slip of a man’s tanned and veiny hand into the closing doors made me know instantly. He’s smiling when I walk in. “Need help?”

His tone is casual while I probably look like an idiot trying to hold all my bags. “No- I’m good!” He doesn't listen, grabbing three of my four grocery bags out of my hands like it’s nothing. “I- thanks… I’m having a dinner party.”

I say it as if I'm ashamed to be buying so much food. He doesn’t even blink. “That’s fun.” For a second, I worry he’s going to invite himself, “What are you making?”

He lets me talk the full minute it takes for us to get to our floor, letting me walk ahead while he still holds onto my bags.

I haven’t seen him in a while, he looks tanner, maybe a bit tired too. “Thanks for the help.” I smile as I open my door, reaching out to take the bags but he practically pushes right past me!

“You look like you’d fall over if you held all of them again.” He looks around before finding the kitchen and setting them down on the counter. “Nice place.”

I eye him, “Thanks.”

“It’s very… you.” His eyes still wander and I realize I hate the thought of him seeing my space, especially when it hasn’t been cleaned.

I raise a brow, “You don’t even know me.”

“More of a vibe thing.” He walks towards the door, turning around as he holds the door handle to look at me, “Though if you want me to know you more i’d be more than happy.” He winks at me before shutting the door.

⋆༺

I bang on his door after exactly two nights of uninterrupted sleep. He opens it with a wide grin and a far too awake face for three in the morning. “Lando. I can hear you.”

“Sorry, love.” After I blink at the nickname, I realize he’s not wearing a shirt. He leans against the doorframe when I drag my eyes away from his annoyingly perfect body and back to his annoyingly perfect face.

“What are you even doing?” I cross my arms.

He looks almost surprised at my question, “Um… streaming.”

“Streaming involves gun shots?” I say as his brow quirks, “We share a wall, you know.”

“Have you ever heard…” He trails off as if I'm going to understand immediately. When I don’t, he comes right out with it, “Sex stuff?”

My face goes red, I know it because I can feel my cheeks heat and because Lando’s smile grows. “No!” I say it louder than necessary.

“Okay. Just wondering.” He bites his lip, his gaze feeling much more loaded now, “Well, if you ever want to, let me know.”

I groan and walk back to my door, “Goodnight Lando!”

I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “Night, love.”

⋆༺

I see him on TV a week later. I’m sat on my couch, trying to stop crying over the movie I just finished, and skipping through channels.

I almost miss it. I click past. But I go back once my teary eyes realize what I saw.

It’s Lando. He’s holding a microphone, in his race suit, with a sad look on his face. I’ve never seen him so down, but then again whenever I see him, it’s when he’s flirting with me.

I honestly have no clue what he’s talking about, too focused on how his eyes droop a bit and how his curls are clearly flattened from his helmet. I don’t know a lot about F1, but I suddenly want to know more.

⋆༺

“Hey!” I hear my name in the bar, expecting it to be one of my friends but when I turn- it’s definitely not. Lando is making his way through the crowd, in all black and holding a beer.

“Oh- hey.” My best friend eyes the exact moment he stops in front of me, her eyes wide as she leaves me to fend for myself.

Okay so maybe I don’t hate Lando. Besides the late night gaming, he’s not all that bad considering he’s gone almost every week.

“You look good.” He says it so quick, I wonder how drunk he is. He’s staring at my skirt, at my legs.

“I tried.”

He smiles and something weird happens in my body, his eyes meeting mine, “You don’t even have to try, You always look good.”

I start to say something but fall short when I realize I don’t really know how to respond to that. I’m saved from responding when a hand finds my waist.

One tiny thing I coincidentally forgot when Lando came into view, I'm here with my friends, and a date.

I honestly should have cancelled. I should have not texted back but my friend did it for me, saying I should ‘get out there’. The second he looks at Lando, I regret inviting him out.

“Hey man.” He’s blonde, cute in every way that Lando is pretty. He’s slim, taller than Lando and I and when he holds out his hand, I feel a little nauseous.

I don’t know why! It’s not like Lando is my ex or my new man, it’s just… awkward. Lando’s face is hard, shaking his hand cordially.

“Nice grip you got there.” My date shakes his hand as if Lando just hurt him, the brunette just smiles.

“Sorry. Instinct.” I have a horrible thought about how strong Lando really is- something I shake away with the clearing of my throat.

Lando beats me to it. “Are you her boyfriend, then?” I cringe at his words and take a big gulp of my drink. It’s weird enough seeing him out of our apartment complex, but him talking to my date is ten times worse.

“Nah. Not yet.” He jokes, making me genuinely want to scream and run away, “Easy to see myself as that though!”

Lando doesn’t laugh when my date does. But he does look back at me, “Didn’t know you were into blondes.”

“Didn’t know you knew my type.”

He tilts his head a bit, bringing the bottle to his curved lips, “I think we both know I do.”

My date frowns, “You're not into blondes?”

⋆༺

I’ve seen Lando too many times in the past week. He’s clearly back for god knows how long, and has taken it upon himself to bug me.

“I thought you had friends, Norris. Why ask me?” I sigh, looking at him standing outside of his apartment.

“Because my friends aren’t as pretty as you.” He shrugs, his hands sliding into his pockets, “Please?”

“I’m not going out with you.” He asked me to a new dinner place that he wants to try. I said no.

“Why not?”

“I’m busy.”

He scoffs, “I didn’t even give you a time.”

“You don’t take rejection very well.” I cross my arms, watching him shrug.

“Maybe because I don’t think you mean it.”

I roll my eyes even though i’m not as annoyed as I should be, “Not everyone is going to fall at your feet, Lando.”

“That’s why I asked you. You’re very clearly still standing up.” I bite my lip, shaking my head.

“Go call one of your fuck buddies.” I turn back to my door.

“If I do that, you really will start to hear sex noises!”

“Go ahead! I bought earplugs!”

⋆༺

The next time I see Lando, he’s got the same face as I saw on TV. He’s sitting on the floor outside of his apartment. “Are you okay?”

His eyes dart to me. “Oh. Hi, love. Yeah- I lost my key.” His eyes are bloodshot. “Locksmith should be here soon.” His voice is less enthusiastic today.

I turn my own key in my door, “Oh. Well… want to come in?”

And that is how Lando Norris ended up on my couch eating my leftover spaghetti. He’s overly appreciative, growing quiet only after I ask him if he’s okay again.

“Triple header. Wasn’t great. Just wanna sleep.” He sighs, shoving his fork in his mouth.

“You can here.” I don’t know why I'm being so open, maybe it’s because he looks like a wounded baby bird.

“Nah… I can never sleep after racing.” He shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world, “That’s why I game so much.”

“Oh.” Is all I can say. I’m not good at this. Not good at responding to people’s feelings. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love it-” he yawns, “Just a lot sometimes.”

“If you ever need someone to water your plants or take care of anything- I can help.”

He smiles softly, his head tilted back on the couch, “I can barely keep myself alive when I'm in town. But thanks, you’re really nice.”

“Why do you flirt with me?” I say it so suddenly that I think it surprises us both.

“That wasn’t flirting, you really are nice.”

“No- I mean calling me love and complimenting me and stuff.”

He shrugs, “Why does anybody flirt with someone else? I like you.” Lando’s phone rings in the moments of silence that follows, he picks it up and after a few words, he stands. “Locksmiths here. I’ll knock if I ever get a plant.”

⋆༺

I see him one week later, he’s waiting by my door with a piece of paper in hand. “You’re back.” Is how I greet him. After that day in my apartment, I haven’t seen or heard him.

“I am.” He smiles, “I got this for you.” he hands me the paper and I realize that it’s a postcard. It’s from Italy, with a scene of a race track on the front.

When I turn it around, I’m a bit shocked that he’s written anything at all.

It reads,

Hi love, Lando here. Obviously… Anyways I wanted to buy a postcard but couldn’t think of anyone but you that would like it. (I saw the cards on your fridge when I was there) so I hope you do. Like it, I mean. I wanted to say something cool like ‘I won here!!’ but I got second so that’ll have to be the next postcard you get. Hope you still think i’m cool (honestly i don’t know if you ever did) also here’s my number if you ever need it, or want it. use it, please.

He’s still standing in front of me when I finish. I can’t help but smile. “P2 is still great.”

“The only part you focused on is how I didn’t win?” He frowns as my smile grows.

“I see the number too.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, “Good. That’s my favorite part.”

“You really don’t give up, huh?”

“I’m no quitter.”

“Why do you want to go out with me so bad? Did you run out of girls in Monaco?” The second I finish talking, I feel bad.

But he doesn’t look offended, “I don’t understand why you can’t grasp the idea of me wanting you. I mean- I’m pretty obvious about it! I think you’re really funny and nice even when you’re trying to be mean. I also made it clear to both of us when I met that tall fucker in the bar, way too ugly for you, by the way.”

“Lando.”

“The point is, I want to take you out on a proper date because I think you’re beautiful and, yeah, probably too good for me but maybe I can make up for it if you say yes.”

I shake my head but my smile stays, “I’m not too good for you.” He starts to argue but I shut him up, “I’ll go out with you.”

His eyes brighten, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes, not really believing myself. But then again, I look at him and I can’t remember why I ever said no.

“Okay.” He looks at his shoes, “Great! I’ll uh- or I guess you can text me. Or I can! Or-”

“Or you can come knock on my door tonight at seven.” He’s smiling fully now, nodding.

“Sounds good.”

I stand on my toes to kiss his cheek, “I like guys who don’t give up.”

“You weren’t annoyed by me?”

“Oh I was annoyed!” I laugh as his jaw drops a bit, “You just happen to be charming at the same time.

[softbabybelle]

𝜗𝜚 c!w. sibling issues, reader has a mean!older sister, self-doubt, crying, soft!rafe, one thousand percent self indulgent.

mia - (sister's name)

"what's wrong with you, huh?" rafe cameron's voice came out smooth as butter. you felt him nudge your arm with his elbow.

you only shrugged in response, not feeling all that well enough to use your voice.

you were sitting on the couch of tannyhill, snuggled close to rafe. he picked you up every friday night from your house, then sat you snug on the couch, filled you up with all the wrong kinds of foods and put on whatever movie your heart would desire.

tonight, it was the princess diaries. you'd been excited all week to show rafe the movie you'd adored so dearly. you told him before that you were educating him on all the things he missed out on.

as excited as you'd been all week, rafe noticed that tonight you couldn't seem to so much as train your eyes on the tv.

"you're in a mood." it wasn't a question, more of a statement as he studied your face. you were close to him by all means, hands wrapping around his arm and head leaning against his bicep.

but you were quiet, you had been since he picked you up over an hour ago. you were staring at this one spot on the ground, rafe swore that by the time you looked away, you'd burn a hole in the carpet. "'m not." you answered sheepishly, turning your nose up at him.

he could tell you were trying to put on this brave face, the one you often tried to put on around him, and failed effortlessly.

he frowned at you.

at the beginning of the relationship, you'd been so closed off, not wanting to bother him with all the the things 'wrong' with you. but he thought you'd grown out of that by now.

"c'mere." he didn't give you much adjustment, already pulling you to seat yourself on his lap, where he liked you. this way, you had no way of sneaking away from his confrontation. "what's wrong, huh? what happened to m'girl?"

rafe was so soft, adoring as he traced his fingers up and down your arms, soothing you so gently.

it was the kind of calmness you'd been searching for all day.

he knew how your home life could be, especially with your older sister. you used to be close with her, she used to be your favourite person in the world. and then she got a boyfriend, and well, you don't really seem to know what to think anymore.

he felt your hands paw at his shoulders, almost pushing him away. "rafe, i-i don't―" your eyes began to gloss over, rimming red around the edges.

"hey, hey." he didn't allow you to push him, grabbing your elbows to hold you in place. "what's going on, huh? why you pushing me away?" you huffed out a breath and avoided his eyes, but nonetheless, stopped trying to fight back.

rafe felt his frown deepen.

it broke his heart a little to watch you revert into your old bad habits. but he swore sometimes, you were taking two steps forward with him and then suddenly your sister's shooting you back another five steps. "hey, c'mon, we talked about this." his fingers tapped at your chin. "y'gotta let me in."

you let out this shaky breath that he swore would have been accompanied with a whimper if you didn't have such self-restraint. "'s mia."

and rafe didn't need to hear anything else to know what was wrong.

to be blunt, rafe didn't know what to make of your sister. he knew you cared for her, he knew she would never not be your sister in any twisted universal dimension. but she wasn't exactly nice to you. to be honest, rafe wasn't so sure why you even liked her to begin with. she called you names, she teased you, she yelled at you, made you feel like a big pile of nothing.

then she'd walk into your life again as if nothing had happened.

there was always something going on with her, if it wasn't an argument with her boyfriend then it was something with work and if not that, something silly like not being able to get lunch at the country club.

and somehow, all of her problems seemed to backtrack and land on you.

your parents would often take their anger out on you too, too stressed with everything going on with mia to comprehend what they were doing to you. and you, well, you were too nice to bite back. still offering your sister money when she complained about having none after not showing up to work.

if rafe had known what you'd been spending all your allowance on, he wouldn't have let you take it in cash, he would have given you his credit card and told you very sternly to spend as much as you wanted, as long as it was on yourself.

"sweetheart."

all he had to do was say that name in that soft, gentle tone he used and you were already unravelling.

you were staring at your hands, as if looking for an answer while trying to keep your tears at bay. "she's jus' so mean."

"i know, honey." his hands were grasping at yours, trying to redirect your attention to his face.

and you did look at him, finally you looked up but you had this broken look on your face as you swallowed the lump in your throat. "i ha-have to ask you something." you were speaking all strained, trying not to cry.

rafe, suddenly nervous, soothed out the nerves in your hands and up your arms, across your shoulders to behind your neck. "you can ask me anything, baby. what's goin' on?"

"do you think..?" rafe was patient with you, listening to you choke and struggle on your words but he never once rushed you. "do you think 'm selfish?"

rafe's face contorted, as if he were actually offended that you'd even ask such a question. "what?"

you hiccuped. "'cause i t-try really hard to be nice to everyone, b-but mia said―" you cut yourself off, trying to control your breathing. you were all worked up, the day being too much, everything too overwhelming. "s-she always says that 'm selfish 'n that 'm mean. i don't... i don't wanna be a bad p-person, rafe."

for a moment, rafe was rendered speechless.

it wasn't often that rafe wasn't quite sure what to say, but this was indefinitely one of those unfortunate times.

but he could see that teary look in your eyes, staring into his own. you were searching his face, trying to gauge whether or not he believed you were good. you needed him to tell you. you needed him to believe you were good.

so he took a breath and shook his head.

"you are... by far, the most selfless person i've ever met." his fingers trailed across your cheek, down your chin, anywhere they could touch and skim your skin. "c'mon, baby, mean? you get a little hangry come seven o clock with no dinner in you but even then you wouldn't so much as raise your voice."

you huffed out a giggle, pushing his face with your sleeve-covered hands.

"'m serious." he maneuvered you so you were laying with your back against the couch and he was hovering over you. "you're m'sweet girl. the sweetest girl in the world, yeah?"

"but―"

a kiss planted against your lips shut you up. "no buts." he announced, moving a kiss to your cheek. "you are." then a kiss to the other. "the sweetest." against your forehead. "girl." a pepper to your nose. "in the entire world." and finally a kiss right back on your lips.

you stared up at him like he was worth a million diamonds and he swore he couldn't find anyone in the world that was better for him. it was you, through every universe, every dimension and every lifetime.

"now you say it." at his words, you tilted your head slightly confused. "say you're the sweetest girl in the world so i know you believe it."

another small giggle passed your lips. "rafe, n-no." feeling heat pile on your cheeks with embarrassment.

"say it." you felt his fingers pinch your sides sending a tickle up your body.

instantly, you tried to shove him away. "rafe!"

but the boy simply couldn't resist. he'd been challenged and he wasn't going to give up. "say it!" and he didn't stop pinching you, even when you were a screaming mess of giggles, begging him to stop but the laughter bubbling in your chest suggested he keep going. "all you gotta do is say it, baby."

"'m so sweet." giggling through your faux self-assurance.

however, rafe didn't stop his abuse to your sides. "'s not the full sentence!"

"fine! fine!" you felt him pause and raise an eyebrow at you, waiting. your giggles faded into a lopsided grin. "'m the sweetest girl in the world."

"yeah you are. there's m'good girl." he sat back up into a seating position, bringing your body with him so you could sit against his lap. "feelin' better, princess?"

you nodded against his chest, arms loosely falling around his body. "mm, thank you rafey." he glanced down, watching you yawn against him, perhaps today had been just a little bit too much on you.

he glanced back to the tv which was long forgotten. "what do you say, we go to bed together now 'n finish this tomorrow?"

but he was already picking up the remote to switch it off and your eyes were already fluttering closed with a whine. "no, rafey. wanted you to watch it tonight."

"oh, i know." while picking you up to bring you to your shared bedroom, switching off the lights in the process. "'m just the worst."

"no." you mumbled tiredly. "y'the sweetest boy in the world."

and rafe couldn't help but grin.

yeah, you were definitely the perfect fit for him.

[bananayuyu]

Lust is in the Air

Pairing: Hongjoong x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Your best friend drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap (Hongjoong is 40 reader is 23), some talk during sex about the age gap so really don't read this if you don't like that, some dom/sub dynamics, throat fucking, degradation and praise, bratty y/n, use of pet names (baby, doll), ass eating, anal, unprotected sex

A/n: Sometimes I see a random video of him and I'm reminded all over again how hot I think a very mature Hongjoong would be. Especially if he was mocking me and making me feel pathetic. Yeah this was pure horny, quite filthy for me. This isn't as proofread as my normal stuff so apologies for any mistakes

Read it on ao3

------

Well, maybe it was a good idea. You had been staying in every weekend since the breakup, and maybe being forced out of the house would be good for you. Force you to interact with a few people, to actually put some effort into your appearance. Maybe put on a little makeup, or actually brush your hair.

"Please don't say no," Beatrice says through the phone. "My family would love it if you came, and I'd love it if you came. And we haven't had a chance to spend a weekend like this in forever. There will be free food and free booze!"

"I know you're worried about me, Bea," you respond, sighing.

"I'm not inviting you out of pity," she says.

"I know, I know. Just, give me some time to think it over. I've got an assignment I need to finish for one of my classes, I think it's due this Sunday night. So if I can't finish it this week I'll need to do it this weekend," you reply.

"Okay, just text me. I'm not gonna invite anyone else as my plus one, if you don't end up coming. So no rush, take your time," she says.

"Thank you. You know I appreciate you so much," you say, sighing into the cushion of your couch.

"You know I feel the same," she says, sighing too. You'd both been through breakups recently. It seemed like your hardships always occurred on nearly the same timeline, making you both able to rely on each other for understanding. And she knew getting you out of the house, especially for a weekend wedding, would be good for you. Her cousin's family was rich and hadn't held back in their planning, booking the fanciest hotel in town for everyone. They were paying for everything; the food and drinks of course, and everyone's hotel expenses. You'd knew you'd go. You'd try to finish the assignment beforehand. But even if you didn't, you'd still go.

Driving up to the front of the hotel together felt surreal. Beatrice had asked to take your car, as it wasn't the bright purple color that her's was. This place was fancy, and though neither of your cars were deluxe, at least your's was black.

"Miss McArthur?" the valet asked once you rolled your window down.

"Yeah, that's me," Beatrice said from the passenger seat, reaching over you to hand him her ID. "This is my plus one, y/n. She should be on the list."

After a brief look at his clipboard the man gave you both a satisfied nod. "Do you ladies have any bags we can carry up for you?" he asked.

"Yes, in the trunk," Beatrice answered for you, which you were grateful for. You'd never interacted with a valet before, never been in such a fancy situation in your life. You stumbled out of the car a bit awkwardly, your jean shorts and t-shirt looking ridiculous next to the suit and tie of the man in front of you. He held out his hand to you and for a moment you paused, wondering if he was offering to take your hand. But then you realized he was actually offering to take your keys. Duh.

"Thank you," you said quickly, heading around the car to meet Bea as you walked behind the man carrying your bags.

On the sixth floor you entered your shared room, a spacious and beautifully decorated space with a huge window covering the far wall. It was a sliding glass door, that led out to a balcony overlooking the river below. In the afternoon sun the water glittered, but you knew the view at night would be the real show, absolutely magical.

"Everyone is meeting in the restaurant at 7," Bea tells you, glancing at her family's group chat.

"Well then I've got a little over two hours to make myself look at least a little bit nice. Like maybe I actually belong here," you laugh, opening your bag to grab the casual dress you'd packed.

"Oh dinner tonight won't be fancy, wear whatever," Bea replies, kicking off her sandals.

"Okay but, with your cousins family not fancy would still probably be a little fancy, right?" you ask.

"You don't need to worry about fitting in, dude. No one will care," Bea replies.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot," you say, eyeing her.

"Y/n, you really need to stop worrying. This weekend is about us having fun. I'm not even that close with my cousin Amana, to be honest. We'll probably barely interact with her family. But we get to attend this fancy wedding, all expenses paid. Just wear whatever you feel like, do whatever you want to. Just promise me you'll have some fun," she says.

"Okay, fine," you respond, rolling your eyes jokingly. "I guess I'll try to enjoy this super nice luxury hotel for the weekend."

Bea laughs in relief, at hearing you joke around. It was what you both needed more of; you both had serious work and school lives already to contend with. And seriously disappointing dating lives, too.

As seven approaches you both make your way to the elevator, pausing at you exit the door to inspect the slight amount of makeup you'd put on. You hadn't worn any in weeks and it made you feel really pretty, along with the flowly sundress and sandals you'd decided to wear. You weren't always one for such feminine clothing but today it felt right, and you both bounced down the hall, spirits high. Bea led the way through the lobby to a long hallway, past what looked like a bar and some other room that had a bouncer, to the large restaurant at the end. Immediately you saw the long tables lined up, clearly set up for the wedding party. This wasn't the dress rehearsal, just the welcome dinner. It was only Friday, and the wedding wasn't until Sunday. Immediately you spotted the wine and appetizers filling the table, scanning the tables to try to find your seats.

"I can't find us Bea," you laugh, awkwardly walking past family members you'd never met before.

"Y/n, you're at our table," you hear a familiar female voice say, and turn to see Bea's mom.

"Oh, hi! Thank you!" you say as you walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

"So glad you could join us sweetie," she says, gesturing to your seats. "See, you and Beatrice are near the end there, across from Nathan. Oh and have you met Beatrice's uncle Hongjoong before?" she asks, gesturing down the table.

You look down to see Beatrice sitting, pulling her chair under her and smiling wide. Across from her, in a casual but fitted grey t-shirt, a man smiles back, handing her a glass of wine he's just poured. He is striking, with jet black hair and tattoos, piercings donning his right ear. His jaw is sharp, his teeth perfect when he smiles. He looks maybe 27, 28. He's wearing an expensive watch, or at least a watch that looks expensive to your eyes, and a small simple chain necklace. His hair is cropped short at the sides; he looks so put together, so professional. So mature. So fucking attractive.

"That's Bea's uncle?" you ask her. It's not just his age that makes you ask. It's the fact that he's basically your dream come true. You see the muscles in his arm flex as he pours Nathan a glass too, and it makes your eyes cross for a moment.

"Well technically I think he's a second cousin, once removed, or something like that. He's a part of Wooyoung's family." Wooyoung was her husband, Bea's dad. You'd met her parents, and her brother Nathan, but never anyone else in her extended family. And you struggled to recall ever hearing about a Hongjoong before. You stared at him a moment before he moved his eyes over to you, catching you off guard. His look was mischievous, like he wants to play or mess with you. It made it hard to believe this was someone Bea called 'uncle.'

"Do you want to sit?" Bea's mom asked you.

"Yeah, sorry," you smiled at her, making you way down.

"Y/n! This is my uncle Hongjoong, and Hongjoong, this is y/n," Beatrice says as you pull out your seat next to her.

"Very nice to meet you," he says with an outstretched hand, his handshake strong and confident in a way that makes your body tingle.

"You as well," you reply, with a bashful smile. Immediately Bea asks you a question and you respond on auto-pilot, not even really hearing. Because your head is swimming in water just from being in this man's presence, and you can't focus. You don't even notice the glass of wine he'd poured you until he sets it down by your appetizer plate, gently bumping the stem on the rim of the plate to make a gentle clink. The sound makes your eyes snap up, and for some reason he looks amused.

"Oh, thank you," you say to him, bowing your head slightly. That mischievous smirk is back on his face when you lock eyes again, like he's trying to tell you something, but you can't be sure what it is. You certainly hope he's thinking what you're thinking. God, he's fucking stunning.

Those are the only words you speak to each other for the entirety of dinner. With so many people in attendance the restaurant is loud, louder still as everyone becomes tipsy, and then outright drunk on the unlimited wine.

"Hey, my parents want me a Nathan to go take pictures with them on the golf course nearby. They booked a photo shoot or something," Bea tells you, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'm not sure when we'll be back but feel free to like, go to the hot tub or do whatever around the hotel," she says.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, seriously," you say as you hug her. "I hope it's fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," she laughs. "My parents and their family photos," she shakes her head, making you giggle, as she slowly makes her way to meet her brother at the front door of the restaurant.

You take stock of yourself for a moment, making sure you have your phone and your wallet in your purse, making sure your room key is still in your wallet. You take the last swig of your second glass of wine, patting yourself on the back for not overdoing it this first night when basically everyone around you did. You start sipping on your nearly empty glass of water too, knowing you don't want to wake up hungover tomorrow. The table is basically empty, with everyone slowly clearing out or making their last requests at the bar. You decide you'll go explore in a moment, go scope out the pool and hot tub situation, and maybe see if you can figure out what room is behind that bouncer. But just as you start standing up, Hongjoong approaches the table.

"I got some more waters for the table, but it looks like they've all left," he chuckles, his arms full.

"They went to do a family photo, Bea said," you reply, stuck for a moment awkwardly between sitting and standing. Hongjoong nods, like he already knew.

"Oh, were you about to leave too? Don't let me keep you," he says, the glint back in his eye again.

"I was thinking I'd go take a look at the pool and hot tub, maybe explore a bit," you say. It sort of takes you by surprise that you're sharing this with a total stranger, given your usual instinct to not share anything with people you don't know. You easily could have excused yourself, and been exploring the hotel alone. But deep down you know why you're sharing it. You hope he picks up on that reason, too.

"That's a great idea," he says, gently setting the waters down. "Mind if I join you? I was thinking of exploring the hotel some myself."

Bingo. You smile, eyes fluttering at him for a second. You truly don't even mean to do it, but the way he looks at you has you feeling shameless.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind," you reply, stepping out from your chair and gently pushing it into the table.

"Want to take a water with you?" he asks, holding one out.

"I don't think we can just take the glass with us," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, who cares," he says glancing over his shoulder, seeing all of the wait staff occupied at the bar with everyone's last minute orders. "I'll carry it out, if you're that worried," he says, cocking his head slightly to the side and eyeing you with what must be mock pity.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at him, trying to fight the smile forming on your face from betraying how much his tone and facial expression are affecting you. You turn around and start strolling out of the restaurant, not even waiting for him. Once you're exiting he's already caught up, two water glasses in hand. You turn to your right, heading for the lobby.

"Wrong way, y/n," Hongjoong says lowly from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. "The pool is out those doors at the end of the hall."

"The sign in the lobby says the door to the pool is by the front desk," you reply, looking over your shoulder at him. The hallway is dimly lit, and the shadows on his face make his jaw look even sharper.

"Well that door also leads to the pool," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. You just stare at him a moment, not sure why you feel the instinct to argue. "You don't believe me?" he asks, chuckling and looking you dead in the eye, before obviously snaking his gaze down the entirety of your body. Now that he's standing you see the fitted black pants and black dress shoes he's wearing, making his outfit look even more professional. His thighs look strong, and his stance is one of confidence, his entire demeanor cool and collected. You want to come up with a witty retort but can't think of anything, so you just start walking the way he's said to, again passing him by without slowing down to meet him. You open the doors gently but don't stop to hold them for him, brattiness taking ahold of you. Maybe it's the fancy hotel, or the wine, but you feel like a princess who deserves whatever she wants. And right now that's to piss Hongjoong off a bit, and see the pool.

"I thought nice girls hold doors open for the elderly," he says once he's exited too, sidling up to you. You stand by the long edge of the pool, taking in the lights below the surface that dance through the water. You turn to him and roll your eyes, taking the water glass he offers you immediately. "So, what do you do?" he asks.

"I'm still in school, I'm in my senior year," you say, turning back to the water. "And I work part time as an administrative assistant in the Dean's office, to help cover some of my tuition."

"College senior," he says, like he's mulling it over. "So that makes you how old?"

"Guess," you say, turning to him again, this time with your whole body.

"22," he replies. His voice low, like he's hesitant to say it.

"Close, 23," you say, not lowering your voice to meet his.

"And how old do you think I am?" he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm, like, 38?" you joke, squinting your eyes as you look intently at his face. The feeling of wanting to piss him off still hadn't left you.

"How astute," he replies, nodding. "People usually think I'm younger."

"You're actually 38?" you ask, bewildered.

"Actually, 40," Hongjoong replies, making your eyebrows shoot up.

"You're lying," you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

"Wow, second time tonight you've thought that. I don't know what I've done to make you think so poorly of me," he replies, that mischievous look again painting his face.

"Oh, shut up," you say, rolling your eyes harder this time, wanting to reach out and playfully punch him. Or maybe not so playfully. He's looking more and more perfect by the second, and his attitude, the way he's just so confident and calm, is making you hot and bothered. You know it maybe it's wrong, but now that you know his real age you find this whole scenario even hotter. If you were honest with yourself you'd always dreamed of fucking an older man, but the few you'd gone on dates with or had the chance to talk to had always been so immature, insecure, and underwhelming. Just like all the other guys you'd dated. It was a massive disappointment to learn that age didn't often give people that self-assured demeanor that you so desired. But clearly it did sometimes; the proof was standing in front of you.

"That wasn't very nice," Hongjoong replies, fixing you with a look of disapproval that makes your thighs clench involuntarily, as the two of you stare each other down merely feet apart. You hold his gaze as long as you can before you look down at your feet, his stoic demeanor feeling like a brick wall you can't break through.

"You're very pretty, y/n," he says, stepping forward to lift your face up to his.

"Really?" you ask him, eyes wide. Playing it just the way he likes.

"I know you know how pretty you are, you've been giving me those eyes all night," he says, looking like he disapproves. "You're a bit of brat, too, aren't you?" he asks, his hand moving to the side of your cheek.

"No comment," you giggle, and he grabs your hand, bringing it to his upper arm. You grab onto his bicep as he moves his hand to your waist pulling you two closer.

"Dance with me," he says, pulling you slightly into his chest.

"There isn't any music playing," you say, laughing. And it's the way that he doesn't just automatically laugh at your little comments that really gets you going.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me very much," he says seriously, pulling you in and starting to rock you back and forth. You dance together for a few minutes, no words being exchanged as your bodies get used to the proximity, as your mind begins to swim again, even more so now that his hands are on you. You want him to kiss you, do anything, now, but he keeps his hands where they are, still leading you around in slow circles. Fuck it, you think. You lift your hands to his face and pull him in, your lips meeting in a perfect kiss, his hand on your waist moving up your back as he holds you to him, leaning you back as he deepens it. You hold steadily onto his bicep for balance, your breathing fast as you stick your tongue in his mouth, not hiding your desperation. You don't care to, not when you've spent two months without this feeling, tortured over the idea that no one at your school would ever consider you an option after your last relationship ended the way it did.

And just when it seems like you're the only desperate one, Hongjoong moves his hands down, running them up your thighs and under your dress to find your panties. He finds none, much to his surprise, which makes his dick harden even further. He gropes your ass, deepening the kiss more, making you arch your back in neediness. And then he snakes his hand around, slowly moving to your core, before suddenly running a finger over your slit, making you gasp. You've forgotten where you are, totally engrossed in the feelings he's giving you. You buck your hips against his hand, moaning pathetically into his mouth, your legs feeling like they might give out on you. He starts circling your entrance, finally pushing one finger in maybe an inch, when you finally remember where you are.

"Wait, fuck, not out here," you say, pulling back from him. He pulls his hand away immediately, his fingers glistening in the lights of the night.

"You don't want everyone to see?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Not when the people paying for me to be here could see," you say. Your lips look swollen and wet from the kiss, and it makes him want to grab you again.

"You're the one who kissed me," he says, his voice low. And you know there's more he's implying, that you weren't just the one who kissed him but that you had rocked against his hand, had wanted his touch. That you'd kissed him desperately, making him unable to stop himself. The implication is inappropriate, the accusation he's laid on you not fair in the slightest. He has no way of knowing what you were trying to make him do, or what you wanted to happen. You hadn't said a word. And yet, he's totally right, making it hard for you to respond.

"That's-," you sigh, your pussy still throbbing from your proximity.

"My room is on the 7th floor," he says.

"Okay," you reply. It's all you can say. You stand completely still, stuck to the spot, waiting for him to move. Instead he puts his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking off your slick in one smooth motion, humming in satisfaction. Your mouth gapes at his lewdness, struck now by just how visible you both obviously are.

"Let's go," he says, motioning his head towards the door.

Your legs move automatically, your mind playing over and over the visual of him licking his fingers, the look of utter bliss on his face. As you walk the hallway he comes behind you, putting a hand on the small of your back, making your body melt into him slightly. It feels good but you gently remove his hand, not wanting anyone to see. You pray that neither Bea nor any of her family are in the lobby when you enter, and thankfully, your prayers are answered. Nor does anyone join you two on the elevator, which makes you willing to stand closer to Hongjoong than you would any other stranger. But still, you don't touch him. As you both exit you walk behind him, almost enough space between you that you could believably look like two total strangers, walking to separate rooms. Until he unlocks his door, holding it open as you slip inside, like you're really not supposed to be in here.

As soon as he closes the door he's pulled you to him, his back slamming into the wall as you nearly crash together, the air between you thick with lust.

"I'm almost twice as old as you, y/n," he whispers in your ear, feeling your pussy clench against his thigh that you're straddling, your mouth on his neck. "You like that," he states, not even asking you anymore. "You like that I'm way too old for you. Too old to be touching you like this."

It's wrong, so wrong and you know it, but the further he pushes it the more you're surrendering to what's happening, to what your body truly craves.

"You've never been fucked right by those stupid boys at your college, have you? You need me to fuck you right, to show you how good you can feel. That's why you were bratty with me, you wanted me to be riled up. Want me to fuck you hard, like I'm mad. Like I'm punishing you," he growls, his breathing heavy as you bite down on his neck, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through his head. "Fuck, you really want me mad, don't you?" he asks and you whine in response, your whole body tingly with anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling you back from him, your hair already a mess from his hands, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders and nearly making your tits spill out. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you follow immediately, your wide eyes looking up at him in desire, his thumb running over your bottom lip. "I like when you do what I say," he says, pinching your cheek and making you blush, the praise making your insides turn to jelly. He unzips his pants smoothly, undoing the button and swiftly pulling out his hard cock, the tip a slight shade of red and already leaking slightly.

"Look what you did to me," he says, palming himself, your tongue nearly falling out of your mouth as you salivate over his beautiful cock. "I thought for a moment I'd have to come up here and deal with this all on my own, after you eye-fucked me all dinner," he continues, slowly stroking his length, moving closer to your open and waiting lips. "I should have known you weren't wearing any panties from the way you were acting," he says, gently running his tip along your outstretched tongue, spreading your spit around your face with it and making a mess of you. "No bra, no panties. You wanted to be fucked tonight." Slowly he enters your mouth, gently holding your head as he pushes further in, gently tapping the back of your throat and making you gag. You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him to fill all of your holes at once. "That feels good, doesn't it. Gagging on my cock," he smirks, your eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in again, this time a little harder. "Eyes on me baby, don't look away," he says, slowly beginning to fuck your throat, gently enough not to choke you but deep enough to make you repeatedly gag, your spit covering his cock and running down your chin, your face a complete mess. "Fuck, your mouth feels good," he groans, his face scrunching up in pleasure for a moment, before he looks down to meet your eyes again, which are now glued to him, glued to every change in his expression, every flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. "I'm gonna go harder baby, I know you can take it," he warns you before picking up his pace, his cock nearly bottoming out in your mouth as he holds your head in place, repeatedly fucking into your throat. You're automatically swallowing around him, your body's reflexive actions taking over. "Fuck, so good," Hongjoong sighs, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen and your body swimming in pleasure. You could let him use your throat all night if he wanted to, especially if he keeps talking to you like that. Like you're dumb and you don't even know what you want. Like he has to tell you or you'll never figure it out.

Finally you choke hard, your body instinctively pulling you back, and he pulls out of your mouth letting you catch you breath, stroking a hand through your hair. You run a hand across your mouth, trying in vain to clean yourself up a bit, wiping the saliva on your dress and staring up at him open mouthed, your entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Hey, don't ruin this," he says pulling at your dress, moving behind you to help take it off. He slowly undoes the zipper, gently pulling the straps down and off your arms before helping you stand to step out of it. Completely bare, you stand in front of him, his hand coming up to spank you, grabbing your ass hungrily in his hand. You yelp at the impact, like you weren't expecting it. Like you hadn't been sticking your ass out ever so slightly, arching your back to add to the affect. "Don't write checks you can't cash, doll," he says, making you giggle and turn your head to face him, a look of utter delight on your face. "It really makes you happy when I scold you, doesn't it," he says, staring you down.

"Why are you so clothed?" you ask, finding your words.

"You want to see me naked?" he teases.

"Just seems like you're hiding something. Maybe under all that nice clothing you're really not that built," you laugh, knowing it would strike a nerve. It wasn't hard to tell that he cared about his figure.

"Go sit on your hands on the bed," he retorts, his eyes narrowing, as he starts taking off his watch, undoing the clasp on his chain. He sets both down on the table gently, pulling his shirt over his head next, revealing that most of his abdomen is also covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders and broad chest. Slowly he sits on the side of the bed to untie his shoes, periodically looking up at you to make sure you haven't moved, moving almost comically slow. You wriggle in anticipation, watching him slowly reveal himself, his muscular thighs finally on display to you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, his cock hard and a deeper shade of red now, still glistening from your spit.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, moving over you when you oblige, raking the hair out of your face so he can see you. "This is what you get for sticking your ass out," he says, swiftly moving down to lick over your hole, making you gasp at the coldness of his tongue. Immediately the feeling runs to your clit, your entire crotch alive with pleasure, your back arching instinctively to meet his movements. He spreads your cheeks to get better access, moving his tongue in quick circles around your tight entrance, your body slowly relaxing from the pleasure he's providing.

And suddenly he's off of you, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle, swiftly lubing the fingers of his right hand and moving them to your waiting hole, gently pushing one in. You groan, the tight muscles stretching already, your body arching even further to give him the perfect angle as he gently starts pumping in and out of you.

"You like getting your ass eaten, I knew you would. So dirty," he says, making you whine in agreement, your brows scrunched together in pleasure. Soon he adds another finger, the stretch again making you groan, your body instinctively tightening up at the intrusion. "I know you can take it," he says, not even attempting to comfort you. "Don't brats like getting their asses fucked?" he asks, his words making your clit ache, your body finally releasing again as he works you open with two fingers, taking the opportunity to quickly add another. "I knew it," he says, satisfied with how quickly he's stretched you open, how pliant your body is in his hands, how he's getting exactly what he wants from you. Still fucking you with his fingers, he opens the lube bottle again with his other hand, generously dousing his achingly hard cock. Gently he pulls his fingers out of you, frozen for a moment staring at the way your hole has opened up, nearly drooling from the visual.

"Spread you legs," he says, pushing your knees apart himself, pulling you ass up towards him, just where he wants you. Lining himself up, he slowly pushes in, the stretch even more severe this time, making you whine in pain, your breaths short and stifled with your head now shoved into his pillows. "What, you can't take it? Is it too big?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "My little brat can't take my cock in her ass?"

Tears start forming in your eyes from how turned on you are, the pain a secondary feeling as it all starts to feel just right, as it starts morphing into only pleasure as your muscles finally relent. You feel like you're being split open, like you're opened up more than ever before, like he's gutting you from the inside. Finally he bottoms out, reaching into you further than you thought you could feel, your clit throbbing painfully with need.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans from above you, brushing a hand along your cheek in an almost sweet gesture, seeing the single tear stain on your cheek. He waits a moment, waiting to feel if your body is ready, and suddenly your hips are moving into his like your body is begging him to move. He slowly pulls out, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, making you gasp at the intense pleasure, your breath nearly getting caught in your throat. Grabbing your hips he starts forcefully thrusting, chasing his own pleasure as he's sucked into your ass, the tight muscles threatening to make him come in an instant. Desperate for some relief you move your hand to your clit, desperately trying to circle it as he rocks you hard with the force of his thrusts. His eyes are glued to your ass, glued to the way his cock looks buried inside you, and your face, the way your mouth hangs permanently open as you moan in earnest, clearly not controlling a single sound that is coming out. The raw sounds make him fuck into you even harder, the way you sound so pathetically fucked out, like you can't believe this feels so good. Eventually his eyes roam down again and spot your hand, swatting it away in an instant, his anger boiling up again.

"Is my cock not enough?" he scolds, his voice gravelly from breathing so raggedly, the air in the room stiflingly hot. In this position it's hard, but quickly he finds a good angle and lands a sharp smack on your clit, the pain lancing through your core like lightning, and suddenly your whole body is shaking, your nerves completely on fire. "Even with my cock buried in your ass you want to piss me off, don't you?" His voice is raised, nearly to the point of losing control, but still very calculated. He lands another sharp slap on your clit, this time not as hard, but in an instant your orgasm washes over you, your whole body shaking hard as you squeeze down around his cock making it hard for him to keep moving.

"Fuck, baby, shit," Hongjoong curses, his climax hitting him by surprise, his cock milked by your tight walls squeezing down on him, your body taught with just how hard you came. His orgasm crashes over him fast and hard, his body going limp just after yours does, as you both collapse in a pile on the bed, his cum coating the walls of your ass in silky wetness. Your legs are still shaking, tucked up underneath you, his cock still buried deep inside. The position is awkward but you don't even feel it, the pleasure still rippling through you as you breath hard into the soft pillow. Hongjoong crashes onto your back, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, his chest and stomach rapidly rising and falling from his heavy breathing. His skin feels sticky and hot against yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he plants a kiss there, intently watching your face as you come down.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay?" he asks, eliciting a hum of agreement from you. Slowly he pulls backwards, his cum spilling out of you the moment he's pulled out entirely, spilling down your ass cheek onto the bedsheets. Hongjoong makes his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before grabbing a washcloth for you, dousing it in luke warm water. Coming back to the bed he gently moves you onto your back, to the side of the pool of cum. He gently wipes you down, making you moan when he brushes over your clit, making himself chuckle.

Glancing over at the clock beside his bed you see it's nearly 11pm, your mind spinning. Quickly you move to the ground to rummage through your purse, glancing at your phone to see a text from Beatrice reading 'I'm back now, don't stay out too late miss.'

Be back soon, you write back.

"I should be going," you say, trying to stand up, your wobbly legs making it difficult. Hongjoong is at your side in a moment, stabilizing you, helping you to sit down on the bed while he grabs your dress off the floor. You hastily pull it over your head, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the knots that have formed. Quickly you zip the back of your dress, shove your phone in your purse and stand to slip on your sandals, not wanting to keep her waiting. The sudden quietness of Hongjoong also has you feeling slightly on edge, and really your head is just spinning, from every unexpected thing that happened.

"I'm not still mad, you know," he says gently, grabbing your hand as you move to breeze past him.

"Yeah?" you ask, looking at him with confusion.

"You don't need to still be acting like a kid who is in trouble," he says, kissing your hand. "That was just, that. You can talk to me like anyone else, now."

You eye him, swallowing thickly. What does one even say, now? Could he tell how inexperienced you were with hookups?

"I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I hope it's happy thoughts."

You nod, a smirk playing on your lips. You're speechless, unable to think a complete thought. It all just plays in your head, his tongue on your ass, his fingers stretching you out, his cock pounding into you so hard. And the smack on your clit, the way it made you come so fast, the ghost of the feeling still present in your core.

"Not those thoughts. You're gonna jump me again," he laughs, and finally you smack him, punching his arm soon afterwards. Pushing past him you walk fast, opening his door and spinning around, your eyes piercing as you meet his.

"What, you can't take my teasing?" he asks, but suddenly his door swings shut, your face gone in a flash.

As you saunter down the hall to the elevator you feel fucking amazing, swinging your purse over your shoulder and flipping your hair to the side, your sleepy eyes boring holes into the metal doors.

Well, she did tell you to have some fun. You just hoped Beatrice wouldn't be too mad you fucked her uncle.

[chrissssssmut]

I wanna request a five some scenario based on this TikTok

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSryxcfbe/

SLEEPOVER TROUBLE

Yunjin, Winter, Giselle & Somi x Male Reader

Tags: Anal, Oral, Vaginal, hole switching, dirty talk, harem, fivesome, cumplay, wet noises, dominant girls, cock worship, absolute filth

AN: My mind's not working properly so forgive for any mistakes here. Male Reader def had the time of his life here! I also changed some of the stuff here so it won't be as accurate like the pics XD.

It started off innocent enough.

Or so you thought.

When Somi had messaged the group chat, saying, “Sleepover at [Your Name]’s place. I’m bringing snacks. And wine. And… mischief 😘,” you assumed it was just her usual chaotic teasing. You had no clue that an hour later, your apartment would be filled with four of the hottest girls you knew—all in the kind of pajamas that made you question whether you were dreaming.

“Damn, this place is still as messy as last time,” Yunjin muttered, tossing her overnight bag on your couch as she slipped off her fuzzy slippers. Her oversized shirt rode up just enough to show the curve of her thighs, and the way she arched her back when stretching didn’t help.

Winter followed, hair tied up, wearing a cropped baby tee that barely contained her chest, and loose sleep shorts that hung dangerously low on her hips. “Could use a woman's touch,” she smirked, stepping past you close enough that your shoulders brushed. Her perfume clung to your hoodie.

“Yah, he’s trying his best,” Giselle giggled, arms looping around your neck from behind. You felt her chest press into your back, warm and firm. “Aren’t you, babe?” she whispered low by your ear, breath hot.

Somi shut the door last, dropping a huge tote bag full of junk food and alcohol with a smug grin. “He’s gonna need more than his best tonight,” she said, eyes locked on you like she already knew exactly how this night was ending.

Your throat went dry.

They sprawled on your couch, laughing, talking, eating chips and sipping drinks. The movie was playing—some dumb romcom—but no one was paying attention.

Especially not you.

Because every time you looked up, someone was touching you.

Yunjin’s hand on your thigh.

Winter’s head resting on your shoulder, breath slow, soft.

Giselle’s fingers playing with the hem of your shorts like it was casual.

Somi lying across your lap like it was her spot, stretching so her tank top rode up her ribs.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Yunjin finally said, voice low, sultry, as she leaned closer. Her lips brushed your ear. “Something wrong, baby?”

“I—uh…” You swallowed. “You guys are… kinda handsy tonight.”

“Oh?” Winter sat up, crawling across the couch like a cat. “And you don’t like it?”

Somi looked up from your lap. “Or do you like it too much?”

You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears as Giselle snatched the remote and shut off the movie.

“Let’s stop pretending,” she said, turning to straddle your lap while Somi moved beside you. “You know we didn’t come here just to watch movies.”

“Not with you looking like that,” Somi added, tugging your shirt up just a little, revealing your abs.

Yunjin was already lifting her top off, slow and deliberate. “I’ve been thinking about this since last week. You wore those grey sweats on campus and didn’t even realize how hard you were making it for us.”

Winter leaned in, pushing her lips to your jaw. “We talked about it after you left. Every. Single. One of us.”

“And we decided,” Somi whispered, her hand creeping down your waistband, “we’re done waiting.”

Clothes disappeared quickly.

One moment, they were four flirty girls on your couch. The next, they were devouring you with eyes and hands and mouths.

Yunjin kissed you first—hard, deep, dominant. She tasted like wine and need, her tongue sliding against yours as her fingers wrapped around you, stroking slow and intentional.

Winter moved to your chest, kissing down your collarbone, teeth lightly grazing your skin. “So sensitive,” she whispered, lips ghosting lower.

Somi straddled your thighs, looking up at you as she pulled your cock free. Her smile was filthy. “I call first taste,” she said—and then her mouth was on you, warm and slick and greedy.

You groaned, hand tangling in her hair, but she batted your hand away.

“Don’t rush me,” she pouted. “I want to savor this.”

Meanwhile, Giselle knelt beside her, lips pressed to your stomach, murmuring, “We’re going to ruin you tonight.”

And they did.

Somi sucked you with the enthusiasm of someone starving, tongue swirling, moaning like it got her off to feel you twitch on her tongue. When she finally pulled off, spit dripped from her lips, and she wiped it with the back of her hand.

“My turn,” Winter said simply, crawling between your legs. She took you deep in one go, gagging just slightly, eyes rolling up like she loved the stretch. The sounds were obscene—wet, messy, lewd.

Giselle kissed you while Winter sucked. Her hips ground against your thigh, clearly getting off just from watching you fall apart.

Yunjin whispered, “Don’t cum yet. We’re just getting started,” as she climbed onto your lap, lowering herself onto you without warning.

“Y-Yunjin—!”

“Shh,” she moaned, sinking fully down with a delicious whimper. “You feel even better than I imagined…”

The pace was brutal.

They took turns riding you—Winter moaning breathlessly every time she bounced, her voice high and sweet; Giselle dragging her nails down your chest as she fucked herself on your cock like she owned it; Somi grinding until you were begging to come, only to stop and edge you with a smug, cruel pout.

Yunjin whispered filth in your ear the whole time, kissing your throat, nails digging into your back.

“You’re gonna come for us, baby?”

“Fuck look how stretching our pussy baby”

“You want us to milk you dry?”

“Look at how desperate you are…”

“We could keep you tied to this couch all night.”

You were overstimulated—every nerve on fire—but you didn’t want it to stop.

Then Somi bent over on all fours on your coffee table. “One more round,” she said, looking back at you with flushed cheeks. “Use me however you want.”

Giselle bit her lip. “Let’s all watch.”

And they did.

As you fucked Somi hard, her cries echoing off the walls, the other three touched themselves, moaning softly, telling you how hot you looked, how good you made her sound, how lucky they all were.

You came hard—groaning her name, shaking, hips snapping as Somi gasped and pushed back, needing every last drop.

But they didn’t let you rest.

You barely had time to catch your breath.

After Somi collapsed onto your chest—sweaty, panting, and completely blissed out—the other three girls weren’t satisfied. Not even close.

“Up,” Yunjin said, standing at the doorway to your bedroom in nothing but your oversized shirt, which hung off one shoulder and covered just the very tops of her thighs. “You’re not done. Not until we all have you to ourselves.”

Giselle leaned in, voice purring. “One-on-one. No interruptions. You’re ours tonight.”

Winter dragged her nails down your back. “You’ll give us everything, baby.”

You looked at the four of them—flushed, soaked, insatiable—and realized something terrifying and arousing at once:

You were so screwed.

She led you into the room first, locking the door behind her with a smug click.

Yunjin didn’t pounce. She sat on the bed like a queen waiting to be worshipped, legs crossed, lips curled in a knowing smirk.

You stood there, hard again somehow, eyes wide.

She crooked a finger. “On your knees.”

You obeyed.

Her thighs parted slowly, revealing her soaked center. Her voice was thick with want. “You’re gonna use that mouth properly now, baby. Prove you’re worth the mess I’m about to make.”

You leaned in, tongue pressing to her clit, slow and deliberate.

She shuddered. “Fuck—yes… just like that.”

Her thighs locked around your head, hips grinding against your face as she started to lose composure. She tugged your hair, guiding your rhythm.

“You taste so good—you know that? You’re gonna eat until I say stop. And then I’m gonna ride you so hard you’ll forget the others even exist.”

You groaned into her, drunk on the way she moaned, on how wet she was.

And then, just like she promised—Yunjin pushed you down, mounted you, and rode you with a hunger that felt almost feral.

Every bounce of her hips was torture and bliss. She leaned forward, breath hot on your lips.

“You love it when I take control, don’t you?” she moaned. “You’re gonna cum inside me. I want you deep, filling me up, begging me to stop—”

You did.

Hard.

And she made you stay inside until you were soft.

Then hard again.

And came again.

You barely made it to the bathroom to splash water on your face before Winter appeared in the doorway.

“Your turn’s over,” she told Yunjin. “I’m next.”

Yunjin laughed breathlessly and kissed your jaw on the way out. “He’s all yours.”

Winter said nothing else. She just took your hand and led you to the bed.

Then she pushed you down and climbed on top of you in one smooth motion.

Her eyes were sharp, dangerous, but her voice was a whisper. “No teasing. I want you deep. Now.”

She didn’t ride like Yunjin.

Winter sank onto you with a sigh, leaned down to kiss your neck, and whispered filthy, desperate things against your skin.

“You make me so wet,” she breathed. “I’ve wanted this for months… fantasized about how you’d feel inside me…”

Her rhythm was slow but intense. Each grind hit deep, her body trembling with every thrust.

“I’m gonna cum like this,” she gasped, nails scratching lightly down your sides. “With you underneath me, helpless, mine—fuck, you feel so good…”

Her orgasm ripped through her with a strangled moan, legs shaking, lips crushed to yours.

But she didn’t stop.

“I need more,” she whined, moving again. “Don’t you dare hold back on me.”

She milked you—twice.

By the end, you were gripping her thighs, babbling her name, while she smiled, pleased and sweaty, collapsing against your chest.

“Still with us?” Giselle smirked, slipping into the room wearing her pajamas and nothing else.

You nodded weakly from the bed, body wrecked, but cock twitching back to life.

“God, you’re so hot like this,” she laughed, crawling over you. “All fucked out and still so eager.”

She pulled the hoodie off slowly, dramatically. “But with me? You’re not allowed to come unless I say so.”

You groaned, but she kissed it away.

Then she straddled your face.

“You know the rules. Make me cum first.”

You obeyed.

Giselle moaned—high-pitched, breathy, head thrown back. “Shit, fuck, you’re too good at this.”

She rocked against your tongue, grinding until her thighs trembled and her voice cracked.

Then she finally moved down, lined you up, and lowered herself with a moan so lewd it echoed.

She rode you like she wanted to destroy you—fast, relentless, teasing you right to the edge.

“Close?” she whispered, breath shaky.

You nodded.

She stopped.

“Beg.”

“Giselle, please—I can’t—please let me—”

“Say you’re my good boy.”

“…I’m your good boy.”

She smirked, started riding again. “Cum.”

And you did. Hard.

So hard you blacked out for a second.

She chuckled. “One more for good measure.”

She didn’t stop until you gave her two.

You thought you couldn’t go anymore.

You thought you were done.

Then Somi walked in with a bottle of water and a wicked glint in her eyes.

“Drink,” she said, sitting beside you on the bed. “We’re not finished until I say so.”

You sipped, panting.

She took the bottle away, then pushed you flat on your back.

“You remember earlier? When you fucked me on the coffee table?” she whispered, straddling you. “I was just getting started.”

She kissed you—wet, needy, tongues tangling—and then she lowered herself onto you, slowly, moaning.

“Oh my god… you’re still so big,” she gasped.

You grabbed her hips, tried to keep up—but Somi was ruthless. She fucked you like a pornstar—bouncing, grinding, slapping her ass against your thighs with each thrust.

“Give it to me,” she whined, sweat dripping down her neck. “Fill me up—all of it.”

You didn’t know how you had anything left. But her voice, her body, her expression—it forced it out of you.

You spilled inside her as she cried out, her body shaking around you.

But even as you trembled beneath her, she leaned down and whispered:

“One more.”

She made you go again.

And again.

Until you were twitching, panting, empty, wrecked.

When the door finally opened and all four girls re-entered the room, they looked pleased.

You, naked, sprawled across the sheets, sweat-soaked and dazed, could barely lift your head.

Yunjin laughed. “He survived.”

Winter smirked. “Barely.”

Giselle winked. “Better prepare yourself before round three.”

Somi leaned in close and kissed your cheek. “Rest up, baby. You’ve got four girlfriends now.”

You closed your eyes and whispered:

“…I’m never surviving another sleepover.”

Morning.

The sun barely lit the room. Birds chirped. But your body ached like you'd fought off a demon.

Your legs? Weak. Your cock? Surprisingly... hard.

The reason?

Four gorgeous girls, all sprawled across your bed in various states of undress.

Yunjin was on her side, her hand possessively gripping your thigh.

Winter had her head on your chest, soft breath ghosting over your skin.

Giselle slept with one arm draped around your waist.

And Somi? She stirred first, eyes sleepy—but shining with mischief.

“Mmm… morning wood?” she whispered, biting her lip.

You blinked. “…Somehow.”

She grinned. “Guess it’s time for round three.”

Ten minutes later, the girls were awake and eager.

“Let’s make it fun,” Giselle smirked, crawling onto the bed on all fours.

Somi followed, slapping her own ass. “Asses up, faces down. Let him pick.”

Yunjin and Winter looked at each other… then joined in.

Soon, all four of them were on the bed—lined up like sinful dolls, each arching their backs, presenting soaked pussies and tight asses with shameless pride.

Yunjin looked over her shoulder, licking her lips. “You’re gonna fuck every one of us. But here’s the twist.”

Winter smirked. “Switch holes. Every thrust.”

Your cock twitched violently.

“Start with me,” Giselle said, winking.

You walked up behind her, heart pounding.

One thrust. Deep into her slick pussy.

She moaned. Loud.

You pulled out, moved to Somi.

Slid right into her tight little ass.

“Fuck!” she yelped, gripping the sheets. “Oh my god yes—keep going—”

Next, you were inside Yunjin’s dripping cunt.

Then into Winter’s ass.

Then Giselle’s ass.

Somi’s pussy.

Yunjin’s ass.

Back and forth.

Every girl.

Every hole.

Each time you slammed in, they cried out in unison. Gasps. Moans. Wet sounds echoing through the room like music.

You grabbed hips. Spanked them. Heard the slap of skin-on-skin every time you rammed forward.

“Fucking switch again,” Somi whined. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

Yunjin looked back, sweat on her brow. “Cum in whichever hole you want. But you better use us all.”

Winter was the loudest when you pushed into her ass again.

Her back arched, hands clenched into the sheets. “Oh my god—I’m gonna cum from just this—your cock feels so thick—”

You grabbed her hair, pounded harder.

She screamed, her orgasm gushing down her thighs as you pulled out and moved to Giselle again.

Giselle was panting, tongue out. “In my pussy—fuck me deep this time—”

You obeyed.

She was tighter now, wetter than ever.

You alternated between her ass and her pussy like it was nothing. Each time made her twitch, shake, cry out.

Somi kept reaching back to spread herself for you. “Right here, baby—come on—slam it in—fuck yes—!”

Yunjin?

She looked over her shoulder and begged, “In my ass. I want it rough.”

You delivered.

You felt it building—heat in your spine, balls tightening, everything overstimulated and raw.

But they wanted it.

All of them.

“Inside,” Giselle panted.

“Don’t hold back,” Winter gasped.

“Fill one of us,” Somi moaned.

Yunjin was the last. She turned her face just enough to say, “Come on, baby. Let us have it. Drain those pretty balls and let us feel it leak out of us.”

You slammed into her, into her ass, and came hard.

Your cum spilled down her thighs, thick, hot, messy.

And then—still twitching—you moved to Somi and pushed inside again.

You came again, right into her pussy.

Winter opened her mouth under you, desperate. You knelt over her, jerked, and gave her the third load across her tongue and cheeks.

Giselle?

She sucked the rest from your tip with a filthy slurp and swallowed everything.

All four girls collapsed onto the bed.

Your legs? Shaking.

Your cock? Finally soft.

Their asses? Dripping.

Your room?

Wrecked.

And you?

Dead.

Somi giggled as she curled up beside you. “Same time tomorrow?”

[david-watts]

the worst thing about it is she doesn’t believe anything that comes out of our mouths

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[vrystalius]

Hey babess, i have quite the heartwarming request.

So imagine that wife reader is heavily and her water randomly breaks so ofc she gives birth with the help of shinobu(i love her so much) and other midwives ofc. So how would the hashias react during the late stages of pregnancy and birth??

Hear me outtt, what if preg reader was pregnant with twins(im a big family girl lol, i had to let that out). Stuff stuff

Hashira’s reactions during your pregnancy

You’re heavily pregnant. How will your husband react?

Note: I didn’t include the gender and names of the babies, so you can choose the genders and names yourself!

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x fem!reader

Includes: Food cravings, mood swings, sickness, talking to the baby, birth and a little bonus scenario in the end (different for every hashira)

Words: 5.1k, enjoy!

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Food cravings

What? You want to eat ohagi again? Sure it’s Sanemi’s favourite food, but you’ve insisted on eating ohagi for every day the past week. The baby needs some vegetables, fruits, vitamins and whatever else. Just anything but ohagi!

He couldn’t even watch when you proceeded to devour sweet potatoes with a chocolate sauce. The worst part is that Sanemi is the main chef of this household and was forced to cook all kinds of monstrosities for you during your pregnancy. But he never said a word about it and just silently judged you for even asking him to bake a whole fish just so you can covered it in sliced fruits and chocolate sauce.

“Are ya sure you’re not poisoning our baby? Are ya really, really sure?”

Sometimes, Sanemi’ll try to sneak in healthy foods into your diet like one would to with a toddler. He’d chop the vegetables as small as possible and try to feed them to you in bits by bits by incorporating them into your favourite foods. You weirdly enough never noticed how your ohagis began to taste like carrots more and more.

“What? No. I’m making them like always. I.. just used the same knife for both carrots and the beans of the ohagi… Whatcha looking at me like that for??”

Mood swings

It’s very confusing to Sanemi how you can be happily munching on your snacks in one moment and then began crying about a dog wandering the streets, thinking someone abandoned him. He’s putting up with it, though. He’d would take you into his arms and try to explain to you that no, that dog is not living on the street and that it belongs to the nice old lady that lives just down the street. He gets a little nervous every time you get emotional when standing in the nursery and inspect all the prepared toys and clothes. Why are you crying so hard? Do you not want a baby? Or are you just this excited to have one?

He doesn’t get your mood swings but’ll try his best to give you reassurance and support. Even though Sanemi’ll be a little awkward and just hover around you in fear of triggering another random emotion in you.

“Hey, darling… how about we move to the bedroom? The nursey is makin’ ya emotional. You’re gonna loose control over ya bladder and I’m gonna be forced to clean after ya. Again.”

But most of the time, Sanemi’ll get soft when you get emotional over the baby stuff like this. Sometimes, he’ll sneak into the nursery during the nights he can’t sleep and rumage all the baby’s things. Sanemi would look through all the neatly folded baby clothes Giyu send over and the toys Tengen’s wives made themselves for the baby. He can’t help but get a little teary-eyed himself, leaning against the crib and looking down at the soft mattress below. He just can’t want to have a little baby in there.

“Fuck, don’t sneak up on me like that! A-And ‘m not cryin’, I-I’m just checkin’ on the crib. Y’know, if it looks stable and shit. It gotta handle our fatass baby.”

Talking to the baby

Sanemi loves to lay his head against your stomach and just listen to the baby’s heart beat. His hand would gently caress your stomach while mumbling against your skin.

“Whatcha doing in there, hm? Why are you kicking your mommy? You’re hurting her, y’know.”

It’s a weird sight, seeing a strong man like him baby talking to your stomach while having his cheek pressed up against your belly. He’d take at least one hour in his day just to talk to your baby and tell it aaaalll about your and his day.

“Your mom threw up onto our new carpet and that’s your fault, you know that, right? I’m gonna kick your ass for it one day. Maybe when you become a shitbag in your teenage years.”

Sickness

“In both sickness and in health,” and Sanemi meant that wholeheartedly after speaking those words out loud during your wedding. Even if that means sitting beside you in the middle of the night, holding your hair and patting your back while you throw your guts up. He’s sleepy, he’s tired, but he won’t return to back without you. If Sanemi has to, he’ll cook up some tea or soup for you to calm your stomach. He’d even break Shinobu’s door down for some herbs or medicine if it means making you feel better and cuddling you back to sleep with no worries.

“You’re okay, I’m here. Don’t hold back.”

If you’re throwing up for a while, Sanemi might fall asleep in the hunched over position while holding your hair behind your head, his hand still firmly resting on your shoulder in quiet support. He jumps back awake when you throw up violently again.

“Ugh, you good? Told you seaweed n’ cherries don’t go together…”

Birth

Sanemi wanted to complete one last mission before retiring for good. He noticed how his muscles were starting to soften up and the callouses in his hands began to disappear. Just one last mission, then he’ll become a full-time dad! He promised you it’ll be for just three nights and that Shinobu will be looking out for you while he’s gone. You two can talk about preparations, body changes and whatever you two always talk about.

He was close to tracking this scum demon down when he received a message from his crow about you going into labour. Sanemi wanted to go on a mission one time, just one time! Can’t you hold the baby in or something until he comes home? He knows that he has to behead this demon before coming home. That thing already did enough harm and he didn’t want to retire on a bad note by ditching his final mission. So, Sanemi proceeded to chase the demon down while steaming in anger. He wanted to go on a mission just ONE last time, damnit!!

“COME BACK HERE YOU PIECE OF SHIT!! MY WIFE’S GIVIN’ BIRTH, WHILE I’M CHASING YOUR SORRY ASS!!”

Shinobu helped you through the whole process of giving birth. The contractions and labour lasted for almost half a day, and you managed to almost broke two of the three butterfly girl’s hand in an attempt to release some pain. You were supposed to hold Sanemi’s hand and almost break his bones while giving birth, not theirs! Shinobu kept reassuring you that Sanemi surely is already on his way! Surely. She had her soft smile on her face the whole time while you pushed and screamed through the pain, reassuring you and offering all kinds of ways to relieve pain during the whole process.

After Sanemi returned from his missions, he was staring at two babies in your arms. His eyes darted back in forth from the one to another. The baby on your left had beautiful white hair and was squirming around a lot, grabbing your robes and was seemingly already complaining about the lack of feeding you’re doing. The other baby had darker hair and was much calmer. It was asleep, resting against your chest.

His heart shattered in a million pieces after processing what just happened. In a good way, that is. He never commented on it, but Sanemi did notice that you were a little bigger for being pregnant with only one baby. He just brushed it off as being a bit bloated or the baby being really big, but never that it were two babies that were hogging all the food you were devouring. Sanemi was bawling his eyes out while holding both of his babies in his arms for the first time. They’re so tiny, so cute and chubby! How could anyone not love them? He was barely able to speak while trying to express how much he loves you and is so glad that you and the babies are fine. This is everything he had ever hoped for: a perfect wive, a family home and two kids. If only his other siblings were here to celebrate this moment with him. Perhaps he’ll allow Genya to visit every now and then.

“I-I- *hic* W-We need an-another- *hic* … the crib’s not b-big enough- f-for- *hic* gah, f-fuck!! *hic*

Bonus: A tight crib

You noticed how Sanemi insisted on putting the babies back to sleep every time they woke up during the night for anything. You usually fall back asleep and wake up in the mornings back in his arms, but tonight, you wanted to wait until he returns to bed to cuddle him. After the babies quieted down and your husband didn’t return, you dragged yourself out of bed and stepped into the nursery, only to find Sanemi laying inside the cramped crib, having the baby lay on one side and the other on the other. He was laying in an extremely uncomfortable position, with hid neck bend at an awkward angle and him laying in the crib with his legs dangling out over the edge. You couldn’t help but giggle a little, seeing your husband scarfing his own comfort for his babies.

“Nemi?…”

Your whispering made his eyes flutter open. His face contorting into a tired scowl.

“It’s the only way to put ‘em to sleep, not my fault they like me so much.”

Now, are the babies attached to their papa, or is Sanemi being very attached to them?

Kyojuro Rengoku

Food cravings

Whatever you’d like to eat, he’ll provide! Sometimes, if the combinations you come up with sound appetising enough, Kyojuro’ll even try some the foods alongside you! He will not judge you for craving weird foods during your pregnancies, but he is a little worried about your choices. You need to make sure that you eat enough nutrients for you and the baby! Kyojuro’ll try his best to cook up something nice for you, but he ends up buying take-out and feeding that to you instead. He’s scared he might burn something or accidentally poison you, so he’d rather leave food up to the chefs.

“I brought some tempura, some soup dumplings, ramen, udon noodles, mushed and baked sweet and regular potatoes. Oh! And some dessert… Mochi, dango and a slice of cake! Everything you ordered, my flame!”

Shinjuro, after finding out about your pregnancy, would offer to cook for you sometime. He used to make meals for Ruka while she was pregnant, so he thought he might make himself useful and help out. Kyojuro’s father actually vowed to stop with the drinking to make sure his grandkid doesn’t grow up around a drunk grandpa, so this is a first nice step for him. Besides, he feels guilty for being so terrible to Senjuro and Kyojuro.

His meals are surprisingly very well made and tasty. They soothe your nausea, lessen the swelling in the feet and help a lot with your headaches.

“Father, I never knew you could cook this good!” “Shut up and eat your plate.”

Mood swings

Kyojuro feels like he’s causing your mood swings sometimes. He feels guilty when you start crying over little things, like how your favourite tree is starting to change colours in the leaves, or just how much you missed your husband after him leaving for half an hour to get you dinner. He’s used to comforting Senjuro while the two grew up together, so he might know a thing about holding someone. Kyojuro would pull you closer and place lots of kisses on your head and top of your head, rubbing your shoulder with his warm hands. His warmth is very comforting to you, making you calm down a little.

“Are you feeling unwell? What made you so upset, love?”

He’ll try to cheer you up by talking about baby names. In his family, most of the names sound similar and end with an “juro”. Shinjuro, Senjuro, Kyojuro… how about Tojuro? Sounds nice, doesn’t it!? Or how about Kijuro? Or how about you combine your first letters with Juro? That sounds very fitting! And see, your tears are already gone!

“I’m not sure if we should think about girl’s names, my love! My family birthed sons for generations now! But we can write some down if you like, just in case.”

Sickness

Seeing you sick makes Kyojuro nervous, but he’ll stay beside you during your morning sicknesses and nausea. You kind of remind him of his mother, back when she was in the late stages of her sickness, that’s why he gets a little jumpy when you hunch over the toilet snd wretch your guts out. He’ll hold your hair and gently caress your back, silently hovering beside you.

To make sure you don’t have to get out of bed in the middle of the night to throw up, Kyojuro equipped your nightstand with a bowl you can throw up into anytime you felt nausea hitting you.

“I’ll make some tea for you once you get nauseous again, okay? My mother’s recipe.”

Talking to the baby

Kyojuro loves to talk to your stomach as if the baby is already out and able to talk back. He’d sit beside you in bed, gently caressing the side of your stomach while grinning brightly.

“What kind of hair will you have, hm? Like mine? Or like mom’s?”

Sometimes, he’ll try to convince the baby to let you sleep for once. If you can’t sleep, Kyojuro can’t sleep. He’d lay his head on your chest and sleepily mumble to the stomach while slowly rubbing your sides.

“You’re quite the active one, hm?.. mh.. How about we go to sleep together, okay? Be a good kid and give your mommy some rest…”

Birth

When your water first broke, Kyojuro thought the baby might’ve kicked your bladder or something, causing you to leak. But the horror on your face that followed soon after changed his mind in an instant. He sent out a crow to Shinobu, notifying her about your labour, but it might take a while until she arrives. In the meantime, your husband prepared all the things for a homebirth. You probably wont be able to reach the butterfly mansion in time to give birth there, but in the meantime, would you like water? Food? Sweets? A towel? Maybe not the last one because you’re able to hit him with that. You’re very angry about him impregnating you nine months ago while being in painful labour right now.

Shinobu surprisingly arrived very quickly and got right to work. Her soft voice and kind words as encouragement managed to calm you down as far as to not curse Kyojuro and all his ancestors out. Your anger directed at him actually helped you press the baby, so your husband happily sat there and held your hand while you were attempting to break it while redirecting your pain

Finally, after hours on hours of labour, Shinobu’s encouragement and Kyojuro’s hand turning blue from blood being cut off, you birthed two identical twins. Both had your husband’s flamboyant hair colour and prominent eyebrows. Your husband was trembling and crying after seeing them for the first time. His babies, his kids! And two of them?? In one go?? This couldn’t have gone any better. For around the next hour, while your babies were nursing on you, he kept thanking you for everything you ever did for him.

“I-I love you! I-I love y-you! Th-Thank you for marrying m-me, my fl-flame! Than-Thank you for giving me t-two babies! Thank y-you! T-Thank you!!”

Bonus: Tasty hair

Your babies are for some reason obsessed with your husband’s hair. Maybe it’s because of how bright his hair is or how nice it is to chew on it. You caught Kyojuro offering his baby his hair to hold and play around with, only for it to start pulling tightly on it. It hurts a little and he’s not quite sure how his baby got this strength out of nowhere, but he’s incredibly happy that his baby likes his hair so much!

But he also learned that the twins prefer their grandpa’s hair a little more over his. Shinjuro doesn’t appreciate it as much as Kyojuro is, though. He tolerates them pulling on his hair but doesn’t like it. At all. He’ll glare at his son until he finally takes his baby away from his damn hair! His scalp is already burning!

(But we all know that Shinjuro takes them back into his arms on purpose to tickle their stomachs and to let them pull on his hair as they please. They’re just too cute!)

“My flame, could you help me remove our child? This one seems particularly fascinated by the taste of my shampoo!”

Gyomei Himejima

Food cravings

Gyomei will not always give into your odd cravings. Instead, he’ll try to redirect your cravings to tastier things. He’s worried that you don’t get enough nourishment for the baby and for yourself, so Gyomei’ll try to feed you healthy foods instead of eating the creations you came up with. Why do you even thought about eating pieces of clay you picked up from right next to the waterfall? You’re lucky Genya caught you before you managed to take a bite.

To be completely honest, Gyomei is incredibly worried that you’re eating things you aren’t supposed to eat while he’s not watching/listening.

“Love, what are you chewing?”

His calm and deep voice makes you stop munching on the raw onion and immediately put it back down onto the counter of the kitchen.

Gyomei insists on cooking for you, even if he’s blind. He’s surprisingly good with cooking and always manages to slip vegetables into the meals in the tastiest way possible! You somehow never notice and just are incredibly happy that he takes some time out of his day just to cook meals for you! Sometimes, Genya joins in when you two eat and just chats with you about your husband’s training and his big brother. He’s also very curious about your pregnancy and how you’re coming along. That boy is just as excited about your baby as your husband is! Genya even gifted you one of his best bonsai trees to keep in the nursery!

“Miss Himejima, are you still hungry? You can have my plate if you like, I’m going to meet up with Tanjiro to eat later in the city together anyway.”

Mood swings

Gyomei understands that your hormones are going a little crazy during your pregnancy, but he still gets a little surprised when your mood changes so suddenly. You get emotional mostly over Genya and how hard he’s training to make up with his brother. You cry everytime when you see him train hard under Gyomei. Your husband finds it kind how much empathy you’re feeling for that boy, but the poor boy can’t really concentrate when a crying pregnant lady watching him train. So, your husband suggested you to not watch them train as much anymore and instead do something else. As compensation, Gyomei promises you to tell you everything he and Genya have been doing that day.

Sometimes, when you get angry out of nowhere, Gyomei’ll just let you throw your little tantrum while listening you silently. After you finished, he might suggest exorcising you as a joke to lighten your mood, but his serious tone and unmoving expression made him look like he’s serious. Wich makes you cry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not going to exorcise you, I promise, my pearl. I would only do that in the extrem case.”

Sickness

Gyomei knows how to deal with sicknesses and nausea. Once you express feeling sick in any way, he’ll prepare a special herbal tea, open up all the windows for fresh air, feed you crackers and dry food, and of course, equip you with a bowl to vomit into just in case. He’ll sit with you in bed, your head laying on his thighs and his palm resting on your forehead, slowly petting your hair.

He’s mumbling quiet prayers for you and your baby, his deep and smooth voice calming your stomach slowly. Gyomei’d smile softly while having his eyes closed. You told him that his smile is always making you calm, so he’s trying to smile more often for you.

“How are you feeling? I can brew you another cup if you like, it’ll help you.”

Talking to the baby

Gyomei barely talks to the baby while you’re awake. He’ll sometimes lean down and mumble a couple of greetings and kind words before moving on with his day, but when you fall asleep at night, your husband likes to have one-on-one conversation with his child. He’d have his large palm resting on your belly, rubbing it up and down. Gyomei sometimes nuzzles into your sides and places a few kisses on the side before talking.

He’d be praying first, making sure that the baby is alright and’ll come healthy into the world. Then, he’d quietly talk about you. Your husband’ll talk about the things you like to do, about how emotional you get over Genya, how you pout everytime he leaves early in the mornings to train, how much he loves you and how you insisted on get even more toys, even though the toybox is already filled to the brim.

“We are both very excited to meet you… please be more kind to your mother until birth. Her bladder is not as strong during the pregnancy, so do not test it again.”

Birth

Gyomei was praying the whole time he was waiting outside the chambers of where you were currently yelling in pain. His eyes were closed in concentration and his palms rubbing together, his red pearly beads wrapped around his hands. He could hear every mumble of Shinobu to Aoi, every curse you’re throwing around and every bed creak after changing the position. Shinobu suggested that Gyomei should wait outside since he’s quite large and they need more space to move around you. You promised to him that you’ll be fine on your own. He has been crying and praying, crying and praying the whole time for you and the baby, until finally, everything got quiet. Your cries died down, but there wasn’t any signs of a baby crying either. Gyomei was silent, stopping his prayers for a moment.

Until finally, first one baby, then another started to cry out. Two? You were carrying two miracles in your stomach all this time? Shinobu permitted Gyomei back inside and allowed him to meet the babies for the first time. They felt so incredibly tiny in his arms, so so tiny and fragile… The babies are the most precious things, and he felt like the luckiest man in all of history, holding his babies in his arms. His voice was very shaky and more tears than usual were running down his face.

“My love. I thank you for all eternity for giving me this gift… thank you. I am incredibly grateful for everything you have ever done for me.”

Bonus: Who’s who?

Given that Gyomei’s blind, he has always relied on his senses to move through the world. But funnily to you, his senses fail to differentiate wich baby is who. Sometimes you catch your husband holding one of the babies, standing silently there, thinking about who exactly he’s holding right now.

“Need some help, dear?”

Your voice made him turn his head towards you, smiling slightly.

“Yes, I already fed one of our twins. I went to retrieve more milk and lost track of wich one I already fed.”

His voice sounded a little confused but also slightly amused. Stepping closer, you saw how the baby that was laying in the crib was uneasy and wiggling it’s legs around, while the one Gyomei was holding was calm and content. You figured that the squirmy one wasn’t fed yet and took the sleepy baby out of your husband’s arms, setting it back into the crib and taking out the other.

“Here, this one seems hungry, hm? Aren’t you?”

You sweet-talked the baby a little, tickling the little stomach, making it giggle and kick against your husband a little. Gyomei nodded quietly.

“Thank you. I have yet to figure out how to differentiate our twins properly.”

Giyu Tomioka

Food cravings

He’s a little confused out by your requests that keep getting weirder and weirder. Are you sure you want to eat that? If Giyu would eat that, he’d be throwing up. Oh wait, you actually are vomiting up regularly…

Giyu will give you everything you asked for, but hesitantly. Before placing the plate down, he’d eye you up and down, judging you heavily for what he’s about to dish you. His silent judging eyes are enough to second guess your life choices that made you ask your poor husband to cook mashed potatoes mixed in with strawberry yogurt and sakura mochi with fish filling. Perhaps you’ll take the miso soup instead.

Sometimes, he’ll get so worried he approached Shinobu by himself and asked if there’s any medication he can give to you to make you crave less weird things and eat more healthy. Sadly, there is nothing like that, so Giyu’ll eventually resolved to force feed you regular foods instead. He’ll sit you down and feed stir fried veggies, rice, eggs, soup, tea, dessert and whatnot. Anything else but the monstrosity you keep craving.

One time, he caught you mixing chocolate sauce and soup together in the middle of the night. Giyu was just standing in the doorframe, looking utterly defeated and distraught at your actions.

“I love you, but can you stop poisoning our baby? I want it coming out of you alive.”

Mood swings

Giyu feels like he’s the reason you feel upset so suddenly. Perhaps he should’ve cleaned the house more, or finally finish building that crib. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so angry so randomly. He still is quite surprised how quickly your emotions can change from happy to sobbing about the cuteness of the teddybear Giyu brought home for the baby. It’s confusing.

He’ll try to comfort you the best he can, but your husband already struggled to comfort you when you’re not pregnant and had real reasons to cry about, so how is Giyu supposed to comfort you when you sob over the rice being undercooked?

He’ll just awkwardly pull you into a side-hug, rubbing your shoulders gently.

“Do you want chocolate? I heard people eat chocolate when sad. Or do you just want a hug?”

Sickness

You throwing up and being sick is making Giyu sick. While you throw up into the toilet, your husband would hold your hair back while leaning over the sink, trying not to vomit himself. After your morning sickness passes, he still remains crouched over the sink for a moment longer before preparing a ginger tea for the both of you. He’ll lay in bed for a while, cuddling the blanket while sipping on his tea. He looks like a wet, depressed cat, sipping on his tea with a straw while lying on his stomach like that. He mostly recovers after finishing his tea, but sometimes, he gets really sick. You’ll be forced to take care of your nauseous husband who is supposed to be taking care of you right now! How is he supposed to handle watching you birth your child? How can he slay demons but is not able to watch you throw up?

“Love… can you get me another cup of ginger tea? I’m getting sick again…”

Talking to the baby

Giyu didn’t start talking to your baby until you encouraged him to do so. You told him that talking to the baby creates a bond before it’s even born! So, he’ll slowly start conversations with your belly. He’s not sweet-talking to your stomach, but instead awkwardly holding a conversation with it as if he’s speaking to an adult. Giyu’d sit across you on the bed, his hands propped on his thighs, leaning forward slightly.

“So… how is it like inside the womb? When do you want to come out and meet your mom and dad?”

Birth

Giyu was very panicked when you went into labor. He send out a crow to Shinobu immediately and began assembling something similar to a throne made out of towels and blankets. He forced you to sit down and make yourself comfortable while he waiting on the porch to see when the butterfly hashira is coming. His grip was to tight on the fence of the engawa, he accidentally shattered the wood.

He tried to watch you giving birth, but once he saw the head slowly press out of you, he couldn’t anymore. Giyu held your hand in support and let you squeeze as hard as you want, but he was turned away your lower body, facing you instead. Once he heard the baby’s cries fill the room, he snapped his head around in an instant.

Your husband almost fainted when he saw another baby slowly squeeze out of you. Shinobu handed Giyu the first baby, wich was already wrapped in a towel, so she could direct her attention back to the second baby. His head felt dizzy while holding his baby, not able to comprehend that he’s about to be the father of two. He only build one crib, there’s no room for another. Is he even capable of raising two kids? What if they outnumber and team up on him once they grow up? Now he has twice the chance to fail at parenting and become a bad father!

But once your husband held both babies, all his worries washed away. It was like he was in some sort of trance, watching the babies just sleep and squirm around a little. Giyu didn’t even notice how he started crying until his tears fell onto one of his baby’s forehead and started crying.

“Ahh… uhm. How do you calm a baby down? Do you just rock it? Uhm. Help me, please-“

Bonus: How are you supposed to know what they want?

You watch your husband stress out over why the baby is crying for so many times already, and they’re only two weeks old. You caught him talking to your baby multiple times, just straight up asking what they want. He’s slowly starting to get desperate and you can see it.

“You want food?… No? You wanna be held? Maybe… play? Also no? What do you want then?”

Somehow, only you could understand when and what your babies want. Giyu watches in awe as you immediately figure out that the baby wants to be held and fed, and how quickly they calm down afterwards. You’re just magical, truly.

“How do you know? What do you know that I don’t?”

💠

Phew, this took a while to write! Hope you enjoyed this anon! I tried to incorporate the requested things in this ask from another post of mine, but I might’ve forgotten some. Anyways, my posts haven’t gotten much traction lately, so I hope this one’ll do a little better! I’m looking forward to reading all the reposts and comments you leave, I read every single one of them! Just know that they make me smile like an idiot <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

Note: Over 200 Notes!! Tysm!! <33

— I’d like to credit my cat as a co-author and professional purrer.

[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Part 4

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas—and she’s already moved in.

Warnings: Y/n is anxiously attached to Alexia; Alexia still thinks she can't be a mom, although Y/n already feels like a daughter; plus, Alexia's mom finding out about the adoption.

Word count: 5.2k

..

Alexia had hoped Y/n's first day at her new school would start with a shiny and beautiful morning. She hoped that the girl would listen to the sounds of the Puput flying from tree to tree would bring her some sort of comfort.

But that was not what happened.

When Alexia woke up at 6 am, thirty minutes earlier than her usual, now that she had a new routine of dropping the kid off at school, she already knew it was going to be a hard day. The clouds in the sky were grey, the rain was intense, and the air was way colder than what the TV guy said it would be.

Alexia moved her eyes from the window of her room to the other side of the bed. She knew the kid would be there.

It had been one week since Y/n showed up at Alexia's house, and somehow, they had already found themselves in a well-known routine. Alexia would tuck her in at night, leave the light on and the door open, because she was scared of the dark, but it wouldn't matter because the kid would always end up in Alexia's bed in the middle of the night.

She was sneaky, she never woke Alexia up. She was very quiet whenever she opened Alexia's door and moved to her bed. Now she wasn't sleeping on the edge of the bed at least. Alexia had told her to sleep closer, afraid the kid would fall face-first onto the hardwood floor.

Alexia propped herself up on her elbows and looked at the girl, sleeping so peacefully, which made her hesitate to wake her. She would give the girl a few more minutes to sleep.

Very carefully, Alexia got off the bed and went to her wardrobe. She picked her clothes for the day and got her training bag ready. After that, she went to Y/n's room and picked her uniform for her, it was simple: a white button-up shirt, a straight red skirt and a blazer.

Alexia laid them up in her bed and took the Mary Jane shoes she had tucked in the corner of her room, and also placed them on the mattress. She would look cute in it, Alexia was sure.

Then Alexia got her backpack and checked to see if she had everything Y/n needed. Her textbooks were there, notebooks, her pencil case, all checked.

The next stop was the kitchen. Alexia took the new lunchbox she had bought just a few days ago and filled it with food, not wanting the kid to go hungry. She put one banana, then four chopped strawberries, on the side. She also added two sandwiches and then another banana just to be sure.

She filled the girl's water bottle before taking one Gatorade from the freezer, because what if she needed some electrolytes?

Okay, everything was good, everything was in perfect order.

Now she just needed to wake Y/n up.

Although when she went to her bedroom, the kid wasn't in her normal place by the bed. Alexia looked at the door to her bathroom and saw that it was closed; the kid was probably there.

She would really have to talk to her about using her own bathroom.

Alexia knocked on the door and didn't wait for the kid to answer.

"Hey! Brush your teeth, get your hair ready, alright? Your uniform is ready on your bed, and your backpack is too. When you're done, come to the kitchen to have breakfast, we can't be late!"

The only answer she got was a grumble behind the door. Alexia smiled. Good, she was alive and responsive!

..

Alexia went back to the kitchen, now on breakfast duties. She was going to make the usual omelette she always did, but she changed her mind and decided to change things up a bit, so she made some pancakes.

It was the kid's first day at her new school, or well, at any school, she deserved something nice. The only problem was: Alexia realised she was completely helpless at making pancakes.

She mixed the batter and poured the first one into the pan. The pancake looked nothing like the perfect circles her mom used to make.

"Well, that's…creative," she muttered to herself, staring at the weird-shaped pancake.

She tried again, and the second pancake turned out even worse. By the third attempt, Alexia gave up. The pancakes looked bad.

The sound of small feet in the kitchen made her turn.

Y/n stood in the doorway, her white button-up shirt was untucked, and her hair was absolutely a mess. "Hi," the kid said, staring at Alexia, then at the stove. "What are you doing?"

"I tried to make pancakes," Alexia murmured. "To commemorate your first day of school."

The kid took a step closer to where Alexia was, looking at the pancake. "Oh, was it supposed to make me feel good?"

"You should be happy that I'm at least trying," Alexia said.

"Hmm, I guess we all are," the kid said before turning around and taking the plates to set the table.

She was weirdly quiet.

Usually, Y/n woke up talking a lot, saying how her dreams were, asking a million questions. It drove Alexia crazy most mornings because she needed at least two cups of coffee before she felt ready to even open her mouth. But now the silence felt worse. The kid wasn't even grumpy. She was just...quiet. That worried Alexia more than anything, she didn't like it one bit.

Alexia knew the reason; she didn't want to go to school, but she couldn't think of anything else she could do to make the kid a little happier. Maybe Y/n just had to just…deal with that. 

This was part of parenting, right? Letting the kids handle what they could handle and just showing them that you were there if they needed?

Not that Alexia was parenting. This was temporary. Just until Pedro sorted out the paperwork. Alexia sighed and took the plate filled with exactly three pancakes to the table.

"They look ugly, but they are good, I promise," Alexia said, putting two pancakes on Y/n's plate.

"Ugly? They look grotesque," the kid said, poking at the pancake.

"What did we talk about being mean?" Alexia asked deadpan.

"Sorry." The kid looked down and began eating.

When they were done eating, Alexia had to physically drag Y/n out of the kitchen because she wanted to do the dishes before school.

"No," Alexia said, holding the girl's arm and making her sit down on the sofa. "We need to get your hair done."

"First," the kid said, pout on her face, "it is done. Second, I like washing the dishes!"

"I know you like it," Alexia said, taking a water spray and getting the girl's hair wet, starting to detangle it. "But you'll get your uniform all wet if you do."

"I don't care," Y/n said. "This uniform is stupid anyway."

"Hey, don't say that," Alexia said as she brushed her hair. "You look cute."

"I don't like the skirt," she mumbled.

"No?"

The kid shook her head.

"Okay, I'll get you the pants, then."

The kid turned her head to Alexia, as if surprised by how fast Alexia...agreed?

"What?" Alexia asked. "I'm not the biggest fan of skirts either."

"I think this is the first thing we agreed on," the kid said, smiling at Alexia.

"I guess you're right," Alexia said.

"Okay, let's go," Alexia said, taking her training bag, a hand already on the girl's back, urging her to the door. "We can't be late, I need to be at training in thirty minutes–"

"Are you going like that?" The kid asked, staring at Alexia up and down.

"Like what?" Alexia asked, and then she realised she was still in her pyjamas, her change of clothes were on her bed, she hadn't put them on, she also hadn't brushed her teeth or her hair. She forgot to get ready, too worried about the kid.

"Fuck!" Alexia cursed, already turning back toward her room. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

"Fuck!" she heard the kid behind her as she disappeared down the hallway.

"Hey, don't say that," Alexia shouted from her room, putting her training jersey on before taking her shorts off. "Or else you will…hmm, get grounded!"

"Going to school is punishment enough," Alexia heard the girl mumble. Maybe becoming guardians unlocked some new hearing abilities.

Alexia just rolled her eyes. She was going to deal with that… later, after she brushed her teeth and looked decent enough.

..

Alexia parked right in front of the school. The kid had her backpack on her back, a strawberry umbrella in her right hand, but she looked sad.

For a moment, Alexia just wanted to abandon the school and take her to training, but of course, she couldn't. The girl needed school, and Alexia needed to train.

She had skipped training ever since the girl got to her house. She didn't want her teammates asking questions, but she also didn't have anywhere she could leave the kid, so she had to stay at home with her.

But she couldn't keep hiding her for much longer. Her own mother and sister didn't know, and they were already noticing how distant she was. They normally had one dinner a week, and Alexia had also skipped those.

The truth was, Alexia didn't know how to explain Y/n to anyone. How do you tell people you have taken in a kid you barely know? How do you explain that you're already getting attached when you're planning to give her back?

Because that was still the plan. It had to be.

Alexia wasn't mother material, per se. She could barely take care of herself most days, living on protein bars and whatever takeout was closest to the training ground. She had never changed a diaper, never helped with homework, never tucked anyone into bed before Y/n.

She was thirty-one and at the peak of her career. This was supposed to be her time: Champions League, Ballon d'Or dreams, representing Spain. She could finally be herself after her ACL injury. She finally had her freedom back.

But looking at Y/n now, small and nervous, Alexia felt that familiar ache in her chest. The same one she got when she watched the kid sleep, or when Y/n laughed at something stupid on TV (because yes, Alexia her taught her how to use it and the kid was making the most of it), or when she automatically reached for Alexia's hand while crossing the street.

Now with school, Alexia would be able to go to training during the morning and part of the afternoon. She could get some work done, maybe go to brunch with her mom, go to a cafe with Alba, and slowly get her life back.

But either way, she couldn't hide a whole human being, her human being, from the most important people in her life.

Alexia sighed and looked at the rearview mirror. The kid was staring out the window, looking at all the other girls who wore the same uniform as her.

The headmistress was making her way to Alexia's car. She was the one who would show the kid around. Alexia, even if she was a guardian, wasn't allowed in the school except if she was called.

Alexia didn't agree with that rule, but again, she wasn't a connoisseur of Barcelona's private school rules.

"Hey," Alexia turned around to look at the girl. "You're gonna be fine, yeah? The kids are all your age, they are nice girls. I know you're going to make a lot of friends."

The kid looked at Alexia, seeming a bit unsure. "What if they are mean?"

Alexia was silent. She didn't know what to say.

She hadn't considered the kids being mean to Y/n because... Y/n was a cool kid. Who would be mean to her? She was funny, sweet, and yeah, very stubborn, but kids liked stubborn.

"They won't," Alexia said, with fake confidence, but trying to sound calm for Y/n. "But if they do, you just tell me, yeah? And I'll come here and talk to them."

"I really don't wanna go, Ale," the kid said, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "I wanna stay with you."

That one got her. Alexia's heart ached.

Was this what her mom had felt, all those years ago, leaving her at school? It hurt.

"You need this, you need to learn things, meet new people," Alexia said gently, and then she had a brilliant idea, something she knew would make the kid agree to go in right away. "Plus, La Masia only accepts kids in the training academy if they are fully enrolled in school, so think of football, okay?"

The kid's face lit up. "Okay, but only because of La Masia."

"Now go there, the headmistress is waiting for you."

The girl opened the car door, but before stepping out, she turned back. "You'll pick me up, right? You won't leave me here?"

Alexia might cry. Maybe her period was coming. That would explain all these feelings.

"Yes, I'll be here at 2 pm, I promise."

The kid smiled brightly, as if the promise of Alexia coming back was all she needed to hear the moment she woke up.

The kid closed the car door and went to talk to the headmistress. The older woman offered her hand, and Y/n shook it, although she looked way too small.

Y/n turned to the car to wave at Alexia before entering the building.

Alexia thought she would be able to breathe once the kid wasn't in her sight, that she would feel relief, but breathing got harder, not easier.

She sat in the car for another five minutes, just staring at the school entrance, before finally driving away.

..

"La reina," Kika said, wrapping her arms around Alexia the moment she stepped into the locker room. "Romeu said you had the flu. How are you now?"

Alexia hadn't asked Romeu to lie for her, but she was glad he did. It was easier to tell everybody she was sick for a week than to tell them she spent last Thursday driving around Barcelona looking for the perfect lunchbox.

"Oh yeah... the flu!" Alexia said. "It was bad, I was very... sick."

Kika squinted her eyes. "You look weird."

"Me?" Alexia blinked. "I'm normal, what do you mean?"

"I don't know–"

They were interrupted by Pina and Patri, who walked in rather happily, excited to start the training.

"Hi Capi! How are you? We missed you!"

And just like that, the locker room filled with the other players, all of them greeted Alexia, hugging her and saying something about the flu season that was approaching.

Alexia's 'flu' had two eyes and a lot of attitude, but she wasn't about to tell them that.

One by one, the girls left for the pitch.

When Alexia stepped onto the pitch and started to run some laps, she felt at home. The endorphin running through her body was so dearly missed; it rushed in, warming her from the inside.

She was so stressed out with the whole guardian thing that she felt like she didn't have any time to actually relax the last few weeks.

For a week, all she did was worry about the kid, running errands to get everything she needed, and making sure she was okay.

But now she was Alexia again, just Alexia Putellas. She was the captain, the footballer, not... someone responsible for a kid.

And it felt good to be back.

Except her brain wouldn't shut up.

During shooting drills, she caught herself wondering if the girl had eaten lunch. And if she did, was she eating alone? She probably had made a friend or two, right?

In the middle of the penalty drill, she couldn't take it anymore. She had to go back to the locker room to check her phone and see if the school had called, because what if the kid was sick and needed to be taken to the hospital?

It was too much.

This whole ‘mom’ thing while captaining one of the best clubs in Europe was too much. That's why her lawyer needed to go through the cancellation of the guardianship quickly. 

Alexia needed her life back. And the kid needed someone who was actually capable of taking care of her, and Alexia wasn't that person. She didn’t have the right mind or the right tools to be that person.

She was already thinking about the future. 

Next week, they were going to have an away game in Madrid, and Alexia had no idea who she would leave Y/n with. 

Y/n wasn’t going to stay in Barcelona alone, and there was no one who could take her in…because no one in Alexia's life was aware Alexia had taken the kid in.

Maybe Pedro could watch her for a few days. He was her lawyer, and probably had zero experience babysitting, but Alexia trusted him.

Just one more thing for the to-do list: call Pedro and ask if he could babysit.

..

Y/n wasn't sure what to think of the school. She had never been to one before. Back at the orphanage, they had two small rooms with tables, chairs, and a whiteboard, and the nuns would take turns teaching them.

They probably did an okay job, because Y/n didn't have a hard time understanding the subjects. She aced the small test the math teacher gave them, she was always good with numbers.

Then they had to write an essay about how the Catholic religion influenced Barcelona's culture, which she also did well on because... well, she was raised in a Catholic orphanage, so she knew a thing or two.

Socialising, though, was harder.

But she tried, she took the first step and talked with some girls from her class. They were nice, but Y/n didn't have a lot in common with them; she didn't quite know what to say.

The girls talked about bands and singers Y/n had never heard of, of films Y/n didn't know existed. Maybe Alexia could help her with that.

When they asked her what she liked, Y/n just told them she liked football and drawing with crayons.

One of the girls was very sweet and told her they could colour during recess, so she didn't spend recess or lunch alone. But still, it felt off.

It was a feeling Y/n had a hard time comprehending. The school was new, but it wasn't scary or hostile. The teachers were okay, her peers were okay too, but still, she felt like the odd one out.

She wished she could go to La Masia fast enough to reconnect with her friends, Jana and Vicky. They were two years older than her, but they just... vibed. She didn't have to try hard to talk to them; it just happened.

It was the last class of the day, a science class, and the teacher was talking about the respiratory system. Y/n was really enjoying it; she could easily connect the subject with football and how hard it was to breathe when she was running. It was nice, it made sense.

Even though it was an interesting subject, the girl couldn't help but keep looking back and forth at the clock on the wall.

By 1:59, Y/n already had her backpack ready to go. When the bell rang, she was the first one out of the door.

She quickly walked out of the building and ran her eyes over the large number of cars and parents there waiting for their kids.

She couldn't find Alexia.

Y/n continued to look. She took a few steps towards the edge of the crowd of parents, trying to see more.

Nothing.

Alexia said she would be there at two. She promised.

A knot formed in Y/n's stomach. What if Alexia had decided she didn't want her anymore? What if this was it, and she was going back to the orphanage?

But then, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," Alexia said, smiling. She was wearing a Barça shirt and had sunglasses on. "Let's go. I didn't find any parking spots here and had to park a bit away, and I'm pretty sure I couldn't park there–"

Alexia barely had time to finish her sentence before the girl threw all of her body weight into her, her arms tight around her waist.

"You came," the girl whispered. "Thank you. I was scared you would leave me here."

Alexia smelled of grass and sunscreen, Y/n noticed. She had come to associate that with the feeling of being at home. She liked it.

Alexia froze for a second, then she rested a hand gently on her shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, of course I came," Alexia said. "If I left you here, the school would call and…"

Y/n's face dropped almost immediately.

Alexia realised what she had just said and how it must have sounded.

She cleared her throat. "I mean... I came back for you," she said, softer now. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Y/n said, barely audible, but Alexia heard it. And felt it even harder.

Alexia held the kid tighter, one hand resting awkwardly on the back of her head as she guided them to the car.

She had meant to stay a bit more distant, not make the girl grow too attached, but here she was, whispering stupid things like 'I missed you'.

..

Alexia had one hell of a day.

The kid had finished her second week of school, and Alexia had promised her that after a fortnight, if her teachers said she was able to keep up with her peers, she would sign her up for La Masia.

She was already known by the La Masia managers because of the orphanage deal, so she wouldn't have to go through all the tests they did before accepting someone in. But still, the kid needed boots and other sports gear.

Alexia had picked Y/n up after school, and she couldn't help but feel her heart aching whenever she watched the girl from afar. Before she saw Alexia, she always had an anxious expression on her face, her feet shifting around the long strap of her backpack.

Then she would see Alexia and would smile as if all the problems in the world had vanished. For her, Alexia was the resolution of everything that was wrong. For Alexia, the kid represented everything that went south.

It had been almost a month since the kid had been with Alexia. They had formed a somewhat bond, something that Alexia couldn't name, but it was there, and it was fulfilling, as well as tiring.

Alexia took a step in and waved to the girl. She came running, her backpack tumbling on her back, her water bottle almost falling. Alexia noticed the water bottle had some stickers on it–they weren't there when she had bought it. 

Cute. Maybe some friend gave them to her?

Maybe the kid would like a few more stickers. Alexia would buy them for her. Maybe Barcelona's store had stickers of Cat Culer.

They talked as they made their way to the car. Well, the kid talked, and Alexia could barely open her mouth before the kid switched from one topic to the other.

"And then he said girls shouldn't play!" the kid said from the back seat as Alexia drove to the closest Nike store.

"This boy sounds very dumb," Alexia said, rolling her eyes. "I hope you handled that with grace and showed him that girls are as strong and fast as boys."

"Actually," she said, lifting a finger up, proudly looking at Alexia in the rearview mirror, "I punched him!"

Alexia froze. She almost missed a turn.

"What?" she asked, turning to look back at the girl before realising she was driving and needed to keep her eyes ahead. "What do you mean you punched him?"

The kid's happy expression turned into a confused one, like she didn't understand why punching was wrong.

"Like... hmm, I took my hand and I–" She closed her hand into a fist, then with her left hand she made the motion forward while she kept a fist in her right close to her face, defending it. "Bang!"

"Bang?!" Alexia blinked.

"Bang!"

"Not a puff?" Alexia asked. "Like a light touch to his face?"

"No!" the kid explained. "Bang, like it made a weird sound on his face."

Alexia was sweating. She didn't know what to do. Didn't know what to say. Y/n broke a kid's nose. A very idiotic kid, but still a kid. Would Alexia be sent to jail? Could the kid's parents file something with the police against her?

"You're going to jail."

"What?!" the kid asked, horror on her face. "I'm going to jail?!"

"No!" Alexia said quickly. "Sorry, no, you are not going to jail. I got confused, didn't mean to say that."

"Oh," the kid was relieved, like Alexia's words meant the world. "For a moment, I thought I got in trouble for fighting... sexism."

"You're too young to use the word sexism," Alexia sighed. "And you ARE in trouble! You can't go around breaking people's noses!"

"But he broke a lot of laws about humans being equal!" Y/n said back. "Didn't you study it when you were at school? All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights," the girl quoted.

Now it was Alexia's turn to be confused. "What does this have to do with you punching a boy?!"

"He didn't want us girls to play football! He was fighting against our rights. We are all born with the same rights, according to the UN."

Maybe Alexia was dealing with a lawyer, a gender researcher, a human rights promoter, or a boxer with Y/n. You could never know.

They were interrupted by a phone call that rang on Alexia's touch pad in the car.

"Is that the school?" the kid asked. "They told me they would call you."

"Mierda," Alexia murmured under her breath, trying to think of what to tell the school, but the name that showed on the car was Eli…her mom.

Alexia hadn't seen her mom since the kid showed up. She didn't want her mom to know, because she would absolutely be against Alexia giving the kid back.

Alexia turned to the kid quickly and put a finger to her mouth. "Quiet," she mouthed.

Alexia accepted the call and kept driving. "Hi, Mama–"

"Alexia Putellas Segura," her mom's voice echoed through the car, and Alexia shivered.

Looking through the rearview mirror, she saw that the kid also had a scared look on her face.

"Are you crazy? Are you stupid? What happened to you? I've been calling you for weeks. Your sister has been calling you, and you always pick up, say hi, and end the call."

"Mama, I've been busy and–"

"Alexia, did I allow you to speak?"

Alexia was silent.

"That's what I thought," she said. "What kind of daughter are you? Where's my sweet Alexia, who called me every day?"

"Damn," the kid mumbled in the backseat. "You are in trouble."

"Shut up!" Alexia said to the kid.

"WHAT?!" Alexia's mom said. "What did you say, Alexia?"

"N-nothing, Mama," Alexia said. "Sorry, sorry, it wasn't for you."

"You better cut this secluded attitude right now! Me and your sister will be at your house today for dinner at 8 pm."

Well, Eli didn't leave much room for argument.

"Okay, Mami, I'll wait for you."

Alexia could hear her mom taking a deep breath. "See you later, Alexia. Te amo."

"También te amo, Mami."

And just like that, her mom ended the call.

"Well–"

"No," Alexia said, frowning. "Not now."

The kid huffed. "You are a bad daughter, and now it's my fault?"

"I'm not a bad daughter!" Alexia said.

"That's not what your mami said," Y/n said.

"I've just been busy," Alexia kind of lied. "Couldn't call her a lot."

"Busy with what?" the kid said.

"What do you mean by what? With captaining Barcelona? Spain? With you?"

"Me?! I'm a delight in your life!"

"Oh, don't stretch it."

Silence.

"I'm gonna tell your mom you treat me terribly."

"You're not gonna tell my mami anything," Alexia said. "We need to talk about this. They will ask who you are, and I need you to say that you won a prize draw or something and got a day with me."

"That would be lying."

"Yes."

"Am I allowed to lie?"

Alexia took a deep breath. "For this occasion, you are."

..

They continued to drive. Alexia stopped at a supermarket to do some grocery shopping since she was going to host a dinner for her family.

When they got home, Alexia told Y/n to take a shower, put on some good clothes, and do her homework. The kid complained but did so, probably sensing how stressed Alexia was.

The next few hours passed. Alexia did the cleaning, the cooking, and tried to coach Y/n on what to say. By the time the doorbell rang at exactly 8 pm, Alexia felt like she might throw up.

When Eli and Alba got to Alexia's house, the table was already set, and Alexia was the one who welcomed them at the door.

The kid was sitting on the sofa, a Percy Jackson book in hand. She looked very well-behaved. Alexia was suspicious.

"Hi, Mami," Alexia said, hugging her mom, who hugged her back before slapping her arm.

"You never disappear on me and your sister ever again."

"Sí, Mami, sorry," Alexia said, taking a step to the left and hugging Alba.

"Never leave me this much time alone with Mami ever again," Alba whispered playfully in her ear.

"Alexia... who's that?" Alexia's mom asked, pointing at the sofa, at the kid, who had the most angelic face on.

"Hello, Mrs. Putellas!" the kid said, extending her hand.

Eli looked back at Alexia with a confused expression on her face, but took the kid's hand, smiling at her gently.

"Hi, sweetheart," Eli said.

The kid beamed at her. And then there was silence.

"Hmm, who are you?" Eli asked.

"Oh…" Then the kid smiled mischievously. "I'm Y/n Putellas Segura. Alexia adopted me."

Alexia watched as her mother's face went through several expressions: confusion, shock, disbelief, and then something that looked almost like joy before settling into pure surprise.

"She... what?" Eli said slowly, looking between Y/n and Alexia.

Alba's mouth fell open. "Wait, what? Alexia, what is she talking about?"

"I can explain–" Alexia started, but Y/n was already bouncing up from the couch.

"She's been taking care of me for weeks! We have pancakes for breakfast, and she drives me to school, and she promised to sign me up for La Masia!" Y/n said proudly, completely oblivious to the chaos she had just created.

Eli sat down on the nearest chair, staring at Alexia with wide eyes. "Alexia Putellas Segura, you better start talking right now."

And Alexia knew, looking at her mother's face and then at Y/n's bright, trusting smile, that her life had just changed forever. There was no going back now.

..

a/n: Again, you guys have no idea how long it took me to write this. I think I've proofread this fic like ten times, and I can even dictate it word by word.

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16, @wosohk04, @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog