#then someone yells at her and calls her a shit face and she gets punched in the nose

[cei1ne]

—Bakusquad and their behavior with the whole pack of labor

♡⑅*˖•.Summary: The Bakusquad and their behavior before labor, getting in labor, while you’re in labor and after labor.

*+:•*∴·˚ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x F!reader ; Kirishima Eijiro x F!reader ; Kaminari x F!reader ; Hanta Sero x F!reader

༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳✩.Tags: Cute ; Super fluff ; straight up affection ; Husbands ; Slaying Y/N ; Pregnancy ; Labor ; Hospital ; Child ; Love ; Supportive

•*:｡✩•.Word-count: idk i think 14k

×❀°:.•A/N: Okay, guys, I genuinely would die for husband and father material MHA men so yeah you guys I just had to write this even tho I knew I would only get 4 hours of sleep because of it.

✩.*:｡──── ⋆♡⋆ ────.•*:｡✩

Bakugou Katsuki — “Heartbeat of an Explosion”

Two days ago, Bakugou had still been fighting villains.

Mid-air, surrounded by fire and concrete, yelling at dumbass sidekicks to move faster, get the job done, don’t get killed.

Then he got the call.

Your water had broken.

He didn’t wait for backup. Didn’t wait for the fight to finish. Left the cleanup to Kirishima and blasted straight across the city in a line of smoke and sound.

He’d never flown so fast in his life.

His hands had been shaking when he reached the hospital. He barely managed to bark out your name at the front desk before someone was ushering him to your room.

And then he saw you.

Sweaty, flushed, clearly in pain—but you smiled at him.

“Hey, Katsuki. You made it.”

He’d dropped everything in that moment. Knees hitting the floor beside your bed. His forehead against your hand.

“I was so scared I’d miss it,” he muttered.

You squeezed his fingers. “I wouldn’t have let them start without you.”

And just like that—he stayed.

Every contraction. Every moment. Right there.

Even when he thought his heart would give out.

_________________________________

The walls of the hospital weren’t soundproof.

And that was something Katsuki Bakugou was never going to forget.

He stood in the hallway, fists clenched at his sides, pacing. The floors squeaked beneath his boots with every turn, and his heart… that damn thing hadn’t stopped hammering since he’d rushed you here two hours ago.

Not during the agonized grip of your hand on his jacket.

Not even when the doctors told him he had to wait outside while they “got you prepped.”

Prepped for what? For pain? For screaming?

Bakugou slammed his palm against the wall, hard enough that a nurse nearby flinched. He didn’t care. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and panic, and all he could hear was your voice breaking through the door down the hall.

“Shit, she’s loud,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Tough as hell, and still screamin’ like that…”

He hated this — being forced to wait. Forced to listen. He was Pro Hero Ground Zero, for fuck’s sake. He’d faced villains, death, explosions. He’d fought through wars and buried teammates and come home bloodied to you every time.

But this?

This was worse.

Because this time, you were the one on the line.

His wife. His everything.

And he couldn’t punch or blast a damn thing to protect you.

“Bakugou-san?”

He turned so fast his boots squeaked again.

The nurse — a younger girl with nervous eyes and an iPad clutched in her arms — gave him a respectful nod. “She’s almost ready for you to come in. Just a few more minutes.”

“Is she okay?” His voice cracked a little. “The baby? Is it—”

“They’re both okay,” she said quickly. “She’s asking for you. You’ll be called in as soon as—”

He didn’t hear the rest. His feet were already carrying him toward the door, fists twitching at his sides.

_________________________________

Your face was red, glistening with sweat, hair plastered to your forehead. There were wires and tubes and too many people in white coats moving around.

But your eyes found his the second he stepped in.

“Katsuki—” your voice broke. “Katsuki, you better get over here right now before I rip someone’s arm off—”

He was at your side in a blink.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby,” he said, voice lower now, gruffer, as he took your hand — the same one that had clawed at him in the car, now trembling in his grasp.

Your grip was fierce. Your knuckles white.

“I hate this,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“I know. I know. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, though.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, ignoring the sharp smell of blood and antiseptic and the low beep of machines. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing sweat away.

“You can do this,” he murmured. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Another contraction ripped through you, and your body arched off the bed. You cried out — raw and sharp — and Bakugou felt something in him shatter.

He’d heard people die on battlefields. Heard children scream in wreckage, sirens wailing over the cries of the wounded.

But nothing — nothing — had ever hurt more than hearing you cry like that.

_________________________________

The nurse was barking instructions—“Push! Again! Deep breath!”—and Bakugou could barely breathe himself.

You were gripping his hand so tightly he swore you might break bone, but he didn’t let go. Not for a second. Not even when he saw you fighting not just pain but exhaustion. Your body shaking from effort. Your lips bitten raw.

He’d never felt more useless in his life

“I can’t—Katsuki—” your voice cracked. “I’m trying, I’m—”

“Don’t say can’t,” he said, voice low but firm. “You can. You’re doin’ it, babe.”

You met his eyes, and something in his expression steadied you—fierce but not angry. Loving, in the only way Katsuki Bakugou knew how to be. The look of a man who would fight hell itself for you, and in this moment, he was. Every breath he took, every word he gave, was a battle to keep you standing.

“One more big push!” the doctor called out.

“C’mon,” Bakugou whispered to you, brushing hair from your soaked forehead. “Right here. This is it.”

You screamed—loud, primal, powerful—and suddenly, everything changed.

There was a pause.

A silence so deafening, Bakugou thought his heart had stopped.

Then—

A cry.

Small. Piercing. Alive.

He froze.

The room exploded into movement—nurses swarming, voices raised, claps of encouragement and congratulations—but Bakugou didn’t hear any of it. His eyes were locked on the tiny figure being lifted into the doctor’s arms. Covered in blood, squirming and red-faced, and louder than Bakugou ever thought something that small could be.

“That’s your baby,” the nurse said softly, smiling.

Bakugou didn’t move.

Not until you choked out his name. “Katsuki… go. Go see him.”

His legs felt like lead as he took one step… then another. The doctor handed the newborn off gently to the nurse, who wrapped them tightly in a white blanket and turned toward him.

“Do you want to hold him?”

He didn’t answer. Just extended his arms.

They placed the baby in his hands, and Katsuki Bakugou—Pro Hero, hothead, warrior—felt everything drop out of his chest.

His arms tensed automatically. Not because the baby was heavy. But because the weight of it was everything. The tiny life in his arms, wrapped up in warmth and safety, was his. Yours. Theirs.

It was too much.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

He looked down into that tiny, scrunched-up face. Eyes shut tight. Little fists curled like they were ready to punch the world.

A fighter. Just like you.

He let out a short, choked laugh.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already pissed off.”

He brought the baby closer to his chest, his large hands cradling their head carefully, like the most dangerous explosive he’d ever touched.

And in a way, he was.

A bomb, set off in his heart.

One that left him completely wrecked.

_________________________________

He returned to you slowly, heart still thundering in his ears.

You were barely awake, eyelids heavy, but you smiled the moment you saw the bundle in his arms.

“He okay?” you whispered.

He looked at you—exhausted, beautiful, glowing in a way he didn’t know how to name.

“Perfect,” he said. “Just like his mom.”

You let out a tired laugh and held your arms out weakly. “Let me see.”

He placed the baby in your arms with a gentleness no one outside this room would believe Bakugou was capable of.

You cradled him, tears slipping down your cheeks, and Bakugou sat beside you, silent, watching.

Watching his whole world in one bed.

You. His son. His family.

“I didn’t think I could love anything more than I love you,” he said, voice raw, barely audible. “But this… this is different.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’re a dad now,” you murmured.

He scoffed softly, but didn’t fight it. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

The baby squirmed a little in your arms, and Bakugou instantly leaned in.

“He’s feisty,” you whispered.

“Good. He’ll need to be.”

Silence again. But not the heavy kind.

A warm, full silence. Like an explosion had gone off in the distance and left behind something whole.

Something unbreakable.

_________________________________

The baby had fallen asleep.

You had, too.

It was just past 3 a.m., and the hospital wing had gone still, save for the distant hum of machines and the faint creak of nurses’ shoes in the hallway. The kind of silence that felt earned—after hours of intensity, effort, tears.

Bakugou sat in the armchair beside your hospital bed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, but his eyes never left the two of you.

He’d never known he could feel so much at once.

Pride. Terror. Awe. Love so big it didn’t fit inside his ribs.

He wasn’t the same man he’d been yesterday.

He didn’t want to be.

You shifted slightly, arm curled protectively around the baby. The blanket moved just enough for him to catch a glimpse of their tiny, peaceful face.

For a moment, all he could do was stare.

You and he had made that. That life. That little spark of warmth in a cold world.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, still staring at the bundle in your arms.

His voice was low, barely above a breath.

“Hey, dumbass,” he muttered softly. “That’s your mom, y’know. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb brushed the edge of the blanket.

“You got lucky. Real lucky.”

There was no response, of course. Just the soft rise and fall of your baby’s breathing.

But he smiled anyway.

_________________________________

You stirred in the sheets.

“‘Suki?”

He leaned in quickly. “Yeah. I’m here.”

You smiled weakly. “Think he’s hungry?”

He stood up without hesitation. “I’ll call the nurse.”

“No… give him to me first.”

Carefully, he helped guide your arms as you shifted the baby toward your chest. The movement was slow, a little clumsy, but instinctive. Natural.

You looked down at your baby as he latched for the first time.

Your eyes filled with tears. Again.

Bakugou sat beside you, silent.

Watching you feed his kid.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Didn’t know if words would even do it justice.

So instead, he reached for your hand.

You laced your fingers through his without looking.

You didn’t need to.

He was yours. And you were his. And this—this baby, this moment, this night—was everything he’d ever been afraid to want.

________________________________

The nurse returned a little later with the clipboard.

“Have we decided on a name yet?”

Bakugou looked at you. You looked at him.

Then, with a soft smile, you both nodded.

He cleared his throat, voice deeper than usual. “Yeah. We have.”

The name you spoke together wasn’t explosive. Wasn’t loud. But it meant something.

It was strong.

It was yours.

And when the nurse smiled and wrote it down, Bakugou felt it click into place.

He was real. Here. Named. Alive.

His family.

_________________________________

You were finally asleep again. Nurses had done their checks. The room was dim, warm, quiet.

Bakugou stood at the little bassinet beside your bed.

He reached down carefully and picked the baby up.

He was so small. Swaddled tight. Making those soft little sleeping sounds that somehow wrecked him worse than any villain ever could.

He sat down again in the chair.

Let out a long, slow breath.

And then?

He talked.

Low. Rough. Heart bare.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he admitted. “Never thought I’d be a dad. Never thought I should be. Thought I’d mess it up.”

The baby made a tiny noise.

He held him closer.

“But your mom… she believed in me. Even when I didn’t. So I’m gonna believe in myself. For you.”

His voice wavered for the first time.

“I’m not gonna be perfect. But I’ll protect you. I’ll be better. You’re never gonna feel unwanted. Or unsafe. Ever.”

He swallowed hard.

“That’s a promise.”

The baby let out a soft sigh and shifted against his chest, nuzzling close.

He melted.

This was real.

And it was everything.

Eijiro Kirishima — “Unbreakable Heart”

The halls of the hospital were bright, but everything felt like it was moving in slow motion for Eijirou Kirishima.

He had just come from a patrol — nothing major, just crowd control for a villain that had already been subdued by other heroes. But he’d felt restless the entire time. Something in his chest wouldn’t settle.

And then his phone buzzed.

[From: [Your Name]]

“Babe… I think it’s time.”

He had practically flown to the hospital. There were actual burn marks on the door of the agency from where he blasted through it. Denki had shouted after him, something dumb about “finally!” but Eijirou didn’t even hear it.

All he knew was that you were in labor. His partner. The love of his life.

And that his whole world was about to change.

_________________________________

He found you in the maternity ward, already in a hospital gown, hand clenching the sheets as another contraction came.

“Oh god—Kiri—” you panted, “you got here fast.”

He was beside you in a second, gently brushing hair from your forehead and kissing the crown of your head.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said softly. “I’d be here no matter what. You’re not doing this alone.”

You gave a breathless laugh, and he grinned, even as his eyes watered just a little. That’s my girl, he thought. Brave even when it hurts.

He held your hand through every contraction. Encouraged you through every breath. Whispered soft affirmations and terrible jokes and even sang a dumb love song at one point just to make you laugh between pushes.

The nurses adored him.

And so did you.

Even when it felt like your body was being torn in two.

Even when you yelled.

Even when the pain made your vision blur—he never flinched. He never left. Just held on tighter and let you crush his fingers as hard as you needed.

He was your rock.

He always had been.

_________________________________

And then—

It happened.

The cry.

A tiny, warbling little voice, squawking like it had just been dropped into a cold, confusing world (which it had, really).

Your eyes snapped open. Kirishima was already leaning over you, eyes wide, stunned, heart racing.

“…That’s him?” he whispered.

You nodded tearfully. “That’s him.”

The nurse smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve got a healthy baby boy.”

Time stood still.

The doctor was saying something about vitals, about cleaning, about stitches — but Kirishima didn’t hear a word. Not really.

He watched as they brought over the little wriggling bundle, red-faced and squirming, wrapped up like a burrito. He didn’t even realize he was crying until you reached for his hand again and whispered:

“Hey. Meet your baby.”

_________________________________

He sat down on the little couch beside your bed, hands out, unsure.

The nurse laughed gently. “You won’t break him, Dad. Promise.”

Kirishima looked down at the baby now in his arms.

So… so small.

So perfect.

Dark wisps of hair. Tiny fists curled up under their chin. A little scowl, just like his when he was focused.

And when the baby opened his eyes — oh, god — they looked just like you.

Something inside him cracked wide open.

“I made this?” he whispered. “We made this?”

You laughed, tears running down your cheeks. “Yeah. You did. I just did the heavy lifting.”

“Baby,” he said breathlessly, eyes still on your newborn, “you just went Plus Ultra on a whole new level.”

You snorted. “Don’t make me laugh, it still hurts.”

But you reached for his face anyway, and he leaned into your touch.

There were no more jokes then.

Just silence. Awe. Love.

_________________________________

He hadn’t told you this before — but he’d been scared.

Not of you. Not of the baby.

But of himself.

The night you told him you were pregnant, he’d smiled so big his cheeks hurt. He’d picked you up and spun you in the kitchen, nearly knocking over the fruit bowl.

But that night, lying in bed with you asleep in his arms, he’d stared at the ceiling.

What if I’m not good enough?

What if I can’t protect him?

What if I mess up this amazing thing?

He remembered his own childhood. His own fears. Being the weird kid with shark teeth. Feeling like he’d never live up to anyone.

Could someone like him be a good dad?

But then you rolled over in your sleep and curled into him like he was safety itself.

And that doubt started to fade.

Now, holding his child in a quiet hospital room, all of those questions felt small.

He wasn’t perfect. But he would never stop trying.

And that? That would be enough.

_________________________________

You both had made a list.

You wanted something that meant strength. He wanted something with heart.

So when the nurse came in and asked, “Do we have a name?” — you both smiled.

“Yes,” you said together.

And when the name was written down, it felt like the final piece clicked into place.

He was real. Yours.

Eijirou felt his chest ache in the best possible way.

He looked at you. Your hair messy, eyes sleepy, but glowing like the hero he knew you were.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anything in my life,” he said honestly. “You… You’re amazing.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, nudging him gently. “You didn’t even faint.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve fought villains with ten quirks and less adrenaline.”

But then he turned serious.

“Thank you. For trusting me with this. With him. With you.”

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re in this together. Always.”

_________________________________

Later That Night: Just the Three of You

The baby slept in a little bassinet beside your bed.

You were finally resting — body sore, soul quiet.

Kirishima couldn’t sleep.

He sat by the window, shirt wrinkled, eyes tired, heart so full it was almost hard to breathe.

He turned toward the little bundle and whispered:

“I don’t know if I’ll always get it right. I might embarrass you. I’ll probably cry at every sports game or school play.”

He chuckled softly.

“But I’m gonna show up. Every time. For every scraped knee, every nightmare, every scary first day.”

He reached into the bassinet and carefully brushed his thumb over his tiny hand.

“I’ll be strong for you. Unbreakable. Because you’re mine. And because you deserve the world.”

The baby’s tiny hand closed around his finger.

He choked back a sob.

_________________________________

Sunlight poured in the next morning.

You woke to the sight of Kirishima, half-asleep in the chair, your baby asleep on his chest.

His arms wrapped protectively around them. His head leaned back, mouth slightly open.

And the softest, most content expression you’d ever seen on his face.

You took a mental picture — and a real one, too.

Because this? This was the start of something beautiful.

Your unbreakable hero. The love of your life.

Now the father of your child.

And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt:

They’d never know a day without love.

Denki Kaminari — “Little Light”

Denki never thought of himself as the “dad” type.

He was the fun uncle in everyone’s friend group—the guy who showed up late but always with snacks, the one who could light up a party with a grin (or literally short-circuit the electricity if he got too excited). Babies? He liked looking at them from a safe distance. Diapers? Absolutely terrifying. Responsibility? Well… he was getting there.

But the moment you told him you were pregnant, something shifted.

He blinked at you. You were nervous, hands twisting in your lap, barely whispering the words. He stared. Then blinked again.

“…You mean like… a real baby?”

You nodded.

“Like, a tiny human?”

Another nod.

A pause.

“…Who approved this?!”

And then he laughed. Laughed until tears filled his eyes. Pulled you into a crushing hug and whispered, “We’re gonna make such a cool little person.”

_________________________________

Nine Months Later

Denki stood outside the delivery room, hands shaking, heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum. His hero costume had been ditched hours ago—now he was in sweatpants, a hoodie, and an expression that said he was both overjoyed and about to pass out.

You were inside. In labor.

His baby was on the way.

His baby.

His.

Baby.

“Oh my god, I can’t do this,” he muttered, pacing like a Roomba with a broken sensor. “She’s in there pushing out a whole person and I’m out here losing it because I forgot how to breathe.”

Kirishima, who had stopped by to check on him during his patrol break, clapped him on the back. “Bro, you’re gonna be fine.”

“I just—what if I mess up?”

“Then you’ll learn. And try again. And be amazing at it eventually. You always do.”

Denki looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay. Right. Cool. I can do this. I’ve got this.”

He promptly tripped over his own shoelace.

_________________________________

When the nurse came out and told him it was time, he bolted inside without hesitation. You were sweaty, red-faced, exhausted, and in pain—but still the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

You gripped his hand like a vice. “I hate you.”

“That’s fair.”

“You’re never touching me again.”

He kissed your knuckles. “Also fair.”

“You better still be hot when I’m done.”

Denki grinned. “I’ll fry my hair extra for you, babe.”

_________________________________

Thirty-six minutes later, everything stopped.

A single cry sliced through the air, and the room fell away. Denki barely noticed the bustle of nurses, the doctor’s voice, or the faint smell of antiseptic. All he could focus on was you—your teary, trembling smile—and the little bundle the nurse gently placed into your arms.

Your baby. His baby.

Your baby was swaddled in soft yellow, cheeks puffy and pink, eyes scrunched shut as she wailed in righteous protest at existing.

Denki’s legs nearly gave out. “Holy crap. That’s ours.”

You laughed weakly. “Surprise.”

The nurse gently motioned for him to come closer, and with shaking hands, Denki reached out, gently taking the baby into his arms for the first time.

And then he froze.

His eyes welled with tears as he stared down at this impossibly tiny being. His heart expanded until it felt like his ribs would crack. The baby hiccuped softly, tiny fists wiggling from the blanket.

“Hey there, little light,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m your dad.”

The baby let out a soft sound—half snort, half sneeze.

Denki laughed through a tear. “Wow. That’s fair.”

_________________________________

You watched him from the bed, heart full. He stood like he was holding the universe, like one wrong move would shatter the stars. You’d never seen him so serious.

He sat beside you slowly, still cradling the baby. “They’re perfect. Like… holy crap. Perfect.”

You smiled, voice raw. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m scared if I drop her, the government will arrest me for crimes against perfection.”

“You won’t drop her, Kaminari.”

“…What if she doesn’t like me?”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “She’ll love you. Because you’re sweet. And funny. And already so in love with her it’s killing me.”

He blinked. “You really think so?”

You kissed his cheek. “I know so.”

There was a long silence. The baby’s breathing slowed, and she blinked open her eyes—faint gold like dawn, already full of sleepy wonder.

Denki stared down at them in awe. “God, I didn’t think I could love anything this much.”

He sniffled. “Like, I love you obviously. But this? This is insane. I feel like I’d fight a dragon for her. Or a tax auditor.”

You giggled. “Those are scarier.”

The baby yawned.

“…Wait. What’s her name again?”

You groaned. “Denki!”

“Kidding! Kidding. I’m just lightheaded.”

He looked at the baby again, then at you. “She’s gonna grow up so cool. Like… she’s gonna have your smarts and maybe my charm if we’re lucky.”

“Or unlucky,” you teased.

“Yeah, fair.”

The baby made a soft noise, and Denki’s whole face melted. “Do you think she’ll be quirkless?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Either way, she’s gonna be loved. So much it won’t matter.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

_________________________________

Hours later, when the baby was tucked between you in a little hospital bassinet and the room was quiet, Denki traced a gentle line along her tiny forehead with his finger.

“…Can I tell you something?” he whispered.

You blinked sleepily. “Mhm?”

“I want her to call me dad. Like… the good kind. Like, ‘my dad’s my hero’ kinda dad.”

You turned to look at him.

“And I want to be the kind of guy who picks her up from school and makes stupid jokes and lets her color on my arms and teaches her to love who she is, even if it takes a while. I wanna be the guy who never lets her feel like she has to earn my love.”

Your eyes burned with tears.

“And I know I’m a little stupid sometimes,” he whispered. “But I swear—I’ll learn. For her. For you.”

You kissed him, long and slow and full of promise. “You’re already everything she needs.”

He chuckled softly. “Also… I might’ve ordered baby-sized headphones with Pikachu ears.”

You snorted. “Of course you did.”

“They were on sale!”

_________________________________

One Week Later

Denki scrolled through his phone, one hand bouncing the baby gently in a wrap against his chest. The tiny thing was asleep, drooling on his hoodie, completely unaware that her dad was trying to figure out how to install a baby swing without electrocuting it.

“Okay, so this bolt goes here… and this piece… wait, where’s the manual?”

The baby let out a sleepy burble.

“You’re right. Who needs manuals when you’ve got vibes.”

You watched from the doorway with crossed arms. “Last time you said that, you broke our blender.”

“Semantics,” he muttered.

You walked over, kissed the baby’s head, then his cheek. “Still think you’re not the dad type?”

He looked down at the tiny weight against his chest, then back at you.

“Nah,” he whispered. “I think I was always meant to be hers.”

Hanta Sero — “Sticky Fingers & Soft Hearts”

Hanta had always been the funny one. The chill one. The one who could defuse tension with a smile and make a bad day feel survivable with a single quip. It was part of what drew you to him when you were younger, and what kept your heart tethered to his even as the world changed around you.

Being married to a pro hero wasn’t easy, but Sero made it feel easier—every time he came home covered in grime but smiling like you were the best thing he’d seen all day. Every time he wrapped his arms around you with that lanky strength of his and murmured, “I missed you, babe.” Every time he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered promises into your skin that you’d both grow old together.

But this? This was a different kind of battlefield.

You were in labor, and Sero had never been more terrified in his life.

_________________________________

It started around three in the morning—because of course it did. The two of you had been curled up on the couch, watching old cartoons and eating popcorn that had gone stale because neither of you could finish it. He’d been rubbing your feet. You were half asleep on his shoulder. All was right with the world.

And then you shifted. “Mm… ow.”

“Bad position?” he asked sleepily.

“No,” you whispered, sitting up straighter. “No, that was… that was definitely something else.”

Your face went a little pale. Sero’s stomach dropped like an elevator.

“Wait. Wait, wait—is this it?”

You nodded slowly, blinking down at your belly. “Yeah. I think it’s starting.”

And just like that, calm Sero—the goofy, unshakeable guy who once joked through a villain attack—went into full panic mode… internally. Outwardly, he was doing his best to be your rock.

“Okay,” he said, trying to regulate his breathing as he helped you stand. “Okay. We’ve got the bag. We’ve got the car. You’re good. I’m good. We’re good.”

You gave him a half-smile as you clutched your belly. “You’re spiraling.”

“Only a little,” he grinned, already grabbing the overnight bag and your coat. “Let’s have a baby.”

_________________________________

Twelve hours later, you were still having a baby. And Sero was… hanging on.

“God, this hurts,” you growled as another contraction tore through you. You squeezed his hand so hard he swore his knuckles cracked.

“Hey, hey—crush my fingers if it helps,” he whispered against your temple, brushing your hair back as you trembled. “I’ve got a whole tape roll at home. I’ll just fix myself later.”

You barked a laugh through the pain, tears clinging to your lashes. That was Sero: comfort through humor.

He kissed your forehead and rested his hand over your bump. “She’s almost here, babe. You’re doing so damn good.”

And you were. He had never seen you stronger, fiercer, or more painfully beautiful than in that hospital bed—sweating, shaking, eyes burning with exhaustion but filled with fire. He wanted to protect you from every ounce of pain, even though he knew he couldn’t. So he stayed close. Grounded you. Reminded you how much he loved you. Whispered jokes and praises between pushes like his own life depended on it.

Then suddenly—the room shifted. The nurses called for a doctor. There was movement, urgency, hands guiding yours.

“One more big push!” someone shouted.

And then—

She was here.

_________________________________

The cry hit first.

It was small. Wobbly. Half-gasp, half-wail. But it was real.

Sero’s breath caught in his throat as he stood there frozen, watching the nurse lift the tiny body that had been curled inside you just seconds before. She was wrinkly. Covered in vernix. So incredibly small.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “That’s our baby.”

He didn’t even realize he’d started crying until a warm tear slipped over the edge of his jaw.

“Would you like to cut the cord?” a nurse asked gently, holding out scissors.

His hands were shaking. When was the last time his hands shook? Not in a fight. Not even when villains had thrown him through buildings.

But now? Looking at his daughter?

They shook.

He cut the cord with trembling fingers and the softest, most reverent hands you’d ever seen.

And then—she was placed on your chest. Skin to skin. Screaming and red-faced and unbelievably real.

You looked up at him, eyes glistening, and whispered, “Sero… we did it.”

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his lips lingering there. “You did it,” he murmured. “You’re incredible.”

You looked down at your daughter, blinking in stunned awe. “She has your ears,” you whispered.

Sero’s laugh came out choked and wet. “Poor kid,” he joked, running a finger ever so gently down the soft fuzz of her hair. “At least she didn’t get my nose.”

You smiled. “She’s perfect.”

And he—he couldn’t argue. Not when his heart was threatening to explode with how much love it was holding.

_________________________________

Later that evening, the room was quiet. You were sleeping, your hand still curled around Sero’s on the edge of the bed.

The baby was tucked into his chest in the little recliner by the window. She had finally stopped crying. Just stared up at him with those wide, unfocused eyes that still felt like galaxies.

He rocked gently, whispering nonsense to her.

“Hi, little lady… I’m your dad. Weird, right? Yeah. That’s me. Hanta Sero—Pro Hero Tapehead, and now… your personal jungle gym, burp cloth, and lifelong embarrassing dad joke supplier.”

Her tiny fingers twitched. He chuckled softly.

“You know, I used to think the best thing I’d ever do was save people. Be a hero. But you? You and your mom… you’re my greatest rescue. You saved me.”

His voice cracked. He looked at her for a long moment before speaking again.

“I don’t know how to be perfect. But I swear, I’ll be the kind of dad you can run to. Every single time.”

She hiccupped, and he swore his soul turned to mush.

_________________________________

You stirred in bed, blinking sleepily at the sight of them both by the window—Sero holding her like she was made of spun glass, humming a soft lullaby under his breath.

You let yourself watch for a moment. Memorize it. Etch it into your bones.

He caught your eye and smiled—your smile, soft and sleepy and overfull.

“Wanna hold her again?” he whispered.

You nodded.

He brought her over, tucking her carefully into your arms like he was passing off a treasure. Which, to him, he was.

“I think she likes you more,” you teased gently.

“Nah,” he smiled. “You’re just her whole world. I’m just the guy who’s gonna spoil her rotten.”

You looked up at him, eyes misty. “You’re gonna be such a good dad, Hanta.”

He leaned down and kissed you—slow, soft, and steady. Like a promise.

“You already made me a good man,” he whispered.

_________________________________

Six weeks later the apartment was a maze of pastel blankets, rattles, and bright-yellow sticky notes Sero kept slapping onto every flat surface so he wouldn’t forget anything:

 • warm bottle 2 a.m.

 • diaper stash—buy more wipes

 • kiss wife ← circled twice for importance

It was 1:47 a.m. when a soft, questioning whimper came from the bassinet beside the couch. You stirred, but Sero was already on his feet—bare-chested in plaid sleep pants, hair a disaster, grin sleepy but sure.

“Daddy’s got you, princesa,” he murmured, scooping the tiny bundle into his arms. Your daughter blinked up at him, wide brown eyes catching the lamplight. Tape-scarred fingers cradled her head with practiced tenderness while he walked slow laps around the living room, humming the same off-key lullaby he’d made up the first night home.

You watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame—too in love with the view to announce yourself. He didn’t see you; he was busy narrating the room to her in a hushed, excited voice:

“That’s Mom’s favorite plant—don’t eat it when you crawl. That—” he pointed to a framed photo of your wedding “—is proof she said yes even though I had tape stuck in my hair. And this—” he touched the flame-shaped pendant at your throat where it rested on his T-shirt laundry pile “—is what taught me how scary it is to love something delicate.”

Sh cooed, tiny fist wrapping around the string of his dog tags. Sero melted.

“Yeah, take whatever you want,” he laughed softly. “My heart’s already yours.”

He settled into the rocking chair you thrift-refinished together, guiding her bottle to tiny lips. The apartment lights were dim, but moonbeams painted silver stripes across the floor. Outside, the city buzzed with distant hero patrols; inside, time slowed to the beat of one small swallow after another.

“Know what I realized?” he whispered. “Every villain I web up from now on, I’m picturing you on the other end. Because I gotta come home—no capes, no glory—just Dad jokes and sticky fingers waiting.”

You crossed the room and knelt beside the chair, resting your head on his shoulder. He kissed your hair without missing a beat in his rocking rhythm.

“She’s got you wrapped,” you teased.

“Completely,” he admitted, eyes soft. “And I’m never cutting the tape.”

When the bottle emptied and her eyelids fluttered closed, he brushed a kiss to her downy forehead, then one to yours. Three hearts, one quiet room, and a future tied together stronger than any quirk-made filament.

You exhaled into the hush, feeling utterly safe.

“Sticky fingers,” he whispered, smiling at the tiny milk line on her chin. “Soft hearts.”

And the night rocked on, gentle and bright, beneath the city that had just gained one very lucky little girl—and a dad who’d already mapped the stars for her first sky-gazing lesson.

[moghedien]

This really was the moment when we knew Kassandra was the best girl around tho

[foldingfittedsheets]

I worked retail for a long time and people really do treat you like shit sometimes. But between selling sex toys, mattresses, and jewelry I can say definitively I got treated worst selling mattresses.

All three of my jobs were in sales but selling sex toys we were allowed to put people in their place, and in jewelry people didn’t want to misbehave in a fancy setting. But people at the mattress store had no problem yelling at me, hitting on me, or insulting me to my face.

For a while I was managing my own store for the company. I ran a small location and had struggling employees placed with me for rehabilitation. If their numbers improved they could go back to bigger stores. If not, they got fired.

So this meant I was the manager of problem employees. At one point both of my people had a foot out the door. The company was going downhill and changed computer systems and they were fed up. Consequently, they made a ton of mistakes, because they just didn’t care about the job or learning the new systems.

I strolled into work on what was essentially my Monday to a shit show. Deliveries scheduled without product, wrong things on orders, poor expectations of the process, you name it. I spent the entire morning getting yelled at for mistakes that weren’t mine.

The final straw came when a man called furious that his moms bed for her nursing home had a delivery window he couldn’t accommodate. This wasn’t a huge disaster since we still had time to deliver it before she moved. I ran him through the options and he just kept screaming at me. Not for a solution but because I was there and he was frustrated.

My heart filled with malice and a cold fury. A calculating part of my brain had a realization in that moment that I could stay a punching bag or I could strike back.

I quavered my voice delicately, taking in a shaky, warbling breath like I was trying not to cry. “Sir,” I quivered through fake tears, “I don’t know what you want from me! I told you what I can do, I didn’t make this mistake I’m just trying to fix it!” My voice broke pitifully on the last syllables, sounding in all ways like a sweet innocent person being yelled at who’s just trying her best, really!

It was like I’d doused him with cold water. My emotional act was the realization that he was screaming at someone who was just doing their damn job, and he was being an asshole. He hastily made an excuse and hung up.

I had a third employee covering with me from another store that day who heard everything. When I hung up, I looked over to see them watching me with an awed expression. “Did… did you just pretend to cry?”

“I absolutely fucking did,” I said with feeling, “and I’d do it a thousand more times. If that’s what it takes for someone to realize they’re behaving like a fucking prick, they deserve it.” The employee looked at me like I was their hero.

The man called back, apologizing profusely, having magically arranged his schedule to accommodate delivery. He came in later that week with an apology Starbucks gift card. I was gracious in my acceptance.

I pulled it a few more times before leaving the company. I felt no shame in the ruse. If someone behaves so poorly that it’s plausible their behavior would drive someone to tears they deserve to feel absolutely wretched about it.

[b0nten]

HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

[brookaboo]

Snatched by a Feather

Keigo Takami x ProHero fem!reader

summary : a training day between reader and the hero’s leaves a little jealous bird boyfriend

warning: language, Flirting/Light Sexual Innuendo, Physical Combat (Training)

“You call that a punch Princess?" Mirko scoffed, hopping back with a grin as you threw a right hook her way. "My grandma hits harder—and she’s dead."

You huffed, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove. “Oh yeah? Pretty sure I just saw you flinch.”

“That was a laugh, sweetie. Your punches are cute, like bunny taps.”

You circled her with a grin. “Maybe I’m just going easy on you. Don’t wanna embarrass you in front of your many admirers.”

Mirko barked out a laugh. “Babe, the only thing I’m embarrassed about is how you’ve lasted this long without face-planting and if anything I’m going easy on you don’t want to deal with your bird brain boyfriend”

You let out a laugh as the two of you launched back into sparring, your boots kicking up dust as fists and feet flew with impressive speed. While the rest of the heroes trained across the field with their quirks, you and Mirko stuck to raw physical combat—no quirks, no shortcuts. Just you, her, and a whole lot of smack talk.

Eventually, you both flopped onto the grass during your water break, panting and sweaty.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Spa day. Tomorrow. I need my joints un-cracked and my soul cleansed.”

Mirko snorted. “I was born ready for that. And if we don’t end up in matching robes drinking cucumber water, I’ll sue.”

“Oh for sure I already ordered the robes,” you winked. “Yours says ‘Punch First.’ Mine says ‘Talk Shit.’”

“You know me too well.” Mirko tilted her head at you. “Hey, when you and Bird Boy get married, I better be the best woman.”

You grinned. “Obviously. You’re the only one who can handle both my sass and his ego.”

Suddenly, you felt a tug on your shirt collar.

“Huh?”

You looked down—one of Hawks’ red feathers had hooked onto your top, and before you could blink, it was yanking you to your feet and pulling you away.

“HA!” Mirko doubled over in laughter. “You’ve been feather-napped! Tell birdbrain I said hi!”

“I hate you!” you yelled over your shoulder 

As Mirko’s cackling laughter ringing in your ears. “Love you too, loser!” she called back, cackling. “Have fun, lovebirds!” she shouted out behind you.

 the feather dragged you toward the edge of the training grounds. The feather eventually let go, and you stumbled into a more shaded, secluded spot. You barely had time to gather yourself before you saw Keigo  leaning against a tree with his arms crossed and his usual smug smile in place.

“Well, well,” you said, brushing off your shirt. “Couldn’t even wait until training was over to get me alone?”

He walked over slowly, wings twitching. “Can you blame me? You’re out there, sweaty and literally glowing, flirting with your bestie while I’m stuck with Captain Hothead. It is torturous and unfair treatment”

You laughed as you said “you are so dramatic” before crossed your arms. “You know, normal boyfriends use words to ask for attention.”

He sauntered over, tilting his head. “Yeah, well, normal boyfriends don’t have girlfriends who look that good sparring with someone else.”

You arched a brow. “Are you… jealous of Mirko?”

He leaned in with a lazy grin. “Of course I’m jealous. My hot girlfriend’s out there all bouncy and smiling and calling another woman babe. What am I supposed to do—not drag you away?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “So dramatic. You know I call everyone babe.”

“Yeah, but you don’t get to look that good and just be sparing with that bunny” He brushed a finger along your jaw. “And you definitely don’t look at them the way you look at me.”

You playfully shoved his chest. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

You leaned in to kiss his cheek—just a quick peck—

But he swerved and stole your lips instead.

The kiss was heated, just long enough to make your knees wobble before you pulled back, breathless.

“Later,” you whispered against his lips. “We have training to do.”

He pouted. “But I wanna keep kissing you…”

You turned your head away hiding your smirk. “Maybe next time, don’t act like a possessive bird and steal me mid-spar.”

He let his hand catch your head as he gently turned it back to him and tilted it up as he lowered his voice saying Bet you love training with others because you like when I get all possessive and jealous over you”

He chuckled as your dace heated up “You’re blushing….is that because of me?”

“I am not.”

“You Are too.”

You shot him a warning glare, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

He whistled. “Damn, still got it.”

“Ugh, you’re lucky you’re hot.”

Before he could come up with a smug comeback, Endeavor’s booming voice echoed across the field.

“Takami! [L/N]! Get back to work!”

Keigo didn’t miss a beat. “Relax, Endeavor! Don’t get mad just ’cause no one wants to get dragged off by you!”

You snorted and elbowed him. “Keigo!”

“What? It’s true.”

Endeavor glared at him from across the field like he was ready to set something on fire. Keigo just winked and took off toward the training zone—though not before shooting you one more flirty glance that promised a whole lot more later.

You jogged back over to Mirko, trying (and failing) to wipe the stupid grin off your face. She was already leaning against a training dummy, arms crossed, one ear twitching with mischief and a smug smirk plastered across her face.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, raising a brow. “Back from your steamy makeout session with Birdbrain?”

You scoffed. “It was not steamy.”

Mirko eyed the flushed cheeks, your slightly swollen lips, and the way you were clearly floating two inches off the ground. “Mhm. Yeah. That feather didn’t just tug you away—it snatched your whole soul.”

You shoved her shoulder with a laugh. “Shut up.”

“I train with fists. He trains with tongue,” she teased, cackling.

“Rumi!”

She threw her head back laughing. “Okay, okay, I’m done. Just saying—if I got yanked away every time I looked hot while training, I’d never finish a damn session.”

You bumped her again, rolling your eyes. “This is why I can’t leave you unsupervised for more than five minutes.”

“And you,” she grinned, tossing you a water bottle, “are so telling me everything later over face masks and wine.”

You caught the bottle, cheeks still burning. “Fine. But only if you don’t tell Hawks I told you how needy he was.”

Mirko winked. “No promises…..babe.”

[letteremi]

a/n: so i got a little carried away, but this is meant to be a little teaser for my next idea — fwb!gojo x afab!reader, set in nyc and amongst the rich and famous (think gossip girl) - can be read like a one shot tho

wc: 3k ish 

warnings/tags: mdni, nfsw, alcohol, cunnilingus, fingering, piv, slightly sub satoru, slightly dom reader — shes gonna make him regret his words oh boy, making out, creampie, masquerade ball but deranged, light angst (but it's like nonexistent - throwaway comments), university setting

Credit goes to @/strangergraphics for the divider!

You didn’t want to be here — actually, you were this close to not coming at all. But your friends practically dragged you, arms linked, squealing about how you had to let loose for once (like you literally were not shit-faced last weekend).

And fine, maybe you also wanted to come, just a little. Call it FOMO, or call it embracing university life. 

Someone’s mixed alcohol into the lime punch, and someone else is breakdancing on the fountain — faculty yelling at them to get down right now. 

You let out a giggle, hand swiftly shielding your mouth. You scan the hall to see if anyone’s caught this ridiculousness. No one looks at them — too caught up in their own festivities. You shake your head slightly, and briefly close your eyes — for nothing but to memorise that moment — and when you look up, someone else catches your eye.

His sapphire gaze cuts through the hazy light, barely holding a laugh himself. The moment you catch that, your own laughter bursts out, untamed. 

Your hand darts to your face, embarrassing, you chide yourself. But his smirk is teasing, and he shakes his head slightly in amusement. 

He lets out a laugh of his own. But he doesn’t hide behind his gloved hands. He lets the party see his delight. He rolls his eyes, entertained, before pushing off the wall, slinging his arms around some tall dark-haired guy, and disappears into the fray. 

You raise the cup to your mouth, and the drink tingles on your tongue with a slight burn. 

Suits and ball gowns sway to the music on the floor; a twirling, glittery haze of fabric, discarded masks, and lithe movements. Feathers are scattered on the floor, sashes forgotten. The masquerade ball is quickly dissolving from formality to glorious, messy degeneracy. 

“The drink-spiker should’ve really added more vodka,” you muse, swirling the beverage and peering into its chartreuse depths like its alcohol percentage would rise if you just stared hard enough. 

Yuki readjusts your mask with a pitiful hum. “I agree,” she says. “Like, if you’re going to try to get everyone drunk, commit to it, y’know?” She pulls back with a satisfied grin, hands on her hips, before settling right beside you. 

“Where’s Shoko?”

“Outside.”

Letting out a short laugh, you bring the cup to your lips again. “That tracks.”

Suddenly, the DJ throws on some 2000s pop — something that you can’t help but grin at, a small spark of nostalgia.  

“Oh, yes.” You grip Yuki’s wrist. “You’re coming with me.” She doesn’t resist, giggling as you drag her to the dance floor. 

You slip into loose movements and easy spins, twirling Yuki. She’s throwing her head back, laughter bright and unrestrained as she pulls you back. You’re screaming lyrics into each other’s faces, hand movements sloppy and free. 

You tuck a strand of hair behind Yuki’s ear. She cackles, nuzzling her cheek in your palm before bursting into giggles. Now she’s spinning you, and you’re tossing your hair, running fingers through tangled strands. 

Someone bumps into you — a sharp elbow, knocking the breath out of you for just a second. You have half the mind to elbow him right back. Instead, you whip around — and there he is. 

Mask slightly askew, that same sapphire gaze pinning you in place.

The dancing lights stain his hair a myriad of eddying colours, his mask — a glittering white — placed squarely on the top half of his face, is dramatically feathered. His suit clings to his athletic body, though the top of his dress shirt is unbuttoned in that hot, intentionally disheveled way. 

Her eyes darting between the both of you, Yuki nudges your back — driving you into his chest. Not that you needed the help. 

A gloved hand pulls you close, and away from the dance floor. The masked man guides you to an empty hall, the sounds of the party distant. Your eyes sweep around the vast room — classical Roman columns adorn the space, while dim lightning illuminates great Renaissance paintings. 

The man pulls you to the edge of the room, a pillar to your right, glass encased artifact to your left. 

He’s got you caged to the wall, and the tips of his white hair glow as he looks down at you like he wants to kiss you.

Fuck it. 

You close the distance, throwing your arms around his neck. Like it’s instinct, his hands wrap around your waist, before falling to the small of your back, groping your ass under thick layers of tulle. 

Bodies pressed together, you lift your leg to wrap around his hip, and he ruts into you, bringing your pelvis towards his. His lips are impossibly soft, pillowy, and you wonder what chapstick he might use. The smell of his cologne, a sharp citrus, fills your senses as you fall deeper into the abyss of his touch. 

His kisses were consuming, like he was trying to coax the parts of you that you didn’t even know existed. It felt exhilarating, to be kissed like this — like you were the fruit he had been craving his whole life, and now that he had tasted you, he wasn’t going to let go. Your fingers card through his silken hair, and when you pulled at the roots, the boy let out a pretty moan that you swallowed. 

When he pulls back, he drops to his knees, leaving you gasping against the wall. 

What is this guy doing? 

You don’t have to wonder for long, because you feel his lips on your inner thigh, nipping up to your clothed core. Without a word, his smooth hands wrap around your legs — hoisting you up — and pulling your underwear down, and you jolt when his cold palms meet your heated skin, throwing your head back against the wall. 

When he begins sucking at your clit, electricity hurtles to your pussy, sending thrilling ripples through your spine. You feel his smirk under your dress, teasing against your cunt. 

“Did you seriously get so wet from a little kissing?” His voice is arrogant, and you can hear the grin within his words. “Touch-starved, aren’t we?” That brings a scowl to your face, but he’s not wrong.  

You’re about to snap back a reply when his tongue drags through your folds, and you slap your palm to your face for the second time that night. He’s messy, making out with your cunt like it’s his own personal toy. You’re glad he’s under your dress, because the sounds that he’s making are obscene. 

“I know you’ve put your hand over your lips again,” he says, with all the confidence of a man who knows he gives good head. “Why don’t you put it down for me, hm?” 

And then a pause. 

“My name is Satoru.” Because he knows you’ll be screaming it tonight. 

When he hears your arms fall to the wall with a thud, Satoru hums a ‘good girl’, into your pussy, sending vibrations that have you quivering. And then he begins his onslaught again, this time adding a few fingers to the mix, laughing when he hears you keen his name, when you clench helplessly around his long digits. 

And when you cum with a wanton moan, Satoru laps up your juices like he’s been thirsting for decades, continuing to scissor his fingers within your sex while you ride out your high. 

But Satoru doesn’t think you’re done yet. In fact, he wants to get to know this pussy just a little bit more. Afterall, it’s not everyday you come across something this good. 

Hand in hand, he leads you up spiralling stairs — to the top of the building. 

The weighted door slams shut with an echoing thunder. Wintry air meets your heat-flushed face, sending shivers down your spine and tensing your shoulders. 

Satoru’s glacial eyes note the goosebumps that prick your skin, shrugging off his jacket and slipping it over your shoulders with the ease of a gentleman who has done this before. Clad in only his crisp dress shirt, his rippling muscles are ever so more obvious. The sinew you grasped at a reality before your very eyes. 

Satoru only smirks at the way you’re undressing him before your eyes with an expression of well-earned smugness. Then, without looking back at whether you follow, he strolls to one of the many wooden benches littered amongst the rooftop garden. Satoru doesn’t need to glance back, as Orpheus might Eurydice, he knows you’ll follow. 

The sound of your heels clicking across the concrete brings a sardonic smile to his lips. 

When you reach him, no time is wasted. He wraps you in his arms like you’re a cherished lover, only to lay you down on frosty panels of timber, leaning over you, ogling your heaving breasts. Satoru’s fingers twitch, like he’s aching to rip you out of your corset, to see you bare. 

But he knows it’s freezing outside. And he knows it’d be a cruel thing to do. So he settles for sloppy kisses that trail down your neck, sucking where you’re sensitive. His teeth are sharp, lips twisting into a mean grin that you can feel on your tender skin, when you let out a pant — like the air was forced from your lungs, 

Satoru pulls back with a satisfied expression, empty delight in his eyes at the way you’re littered with red splotches, claiming your neck as his territory. 

When you reach to pull the mask from your face, fingers trembling, he interrupts — his own digits wrapped around your wrist. 

“The mask stays on,” he purrs, husky undertone and all. But you know what he means. He doesn’t care to know your face, won’t need to know it after tonight.

Fine, so be it. 

You drop your hand, though it’s not with defeat. He wants casual? You’ll give him casual. 

When Satoru leans back in, his chest is met with your spread fingers, stopping him in his tracks. The man locks eyes with your ferocious ones, and his head reels. The submissive girl, who was putty in his fingers and sweet on his tongue, is gone. 

Was it all an act? The compliant, doe-eyed seductress, just a role you slipped into for the night? His cock twitches in his tightening pants. 

Satoru is bewildered, head cocking to the side with amusement. Not once has a girl ever refused his advances, and a spark ignites itself in his chest. Just what will you do next?

You rise up, and off the bench. Satoru tracks your every move, and he won’t admit it, but disappointment is harsh and heavy in his heart when you do. 

But then you push him to sit, clambering onto his thighs like he’s your personal throne for the night. Satoru is greedy, his hands immediately grabbing at your waist and fumbling under the tulle of your billowing gown.

Your eyes sharpen at his movements, and he can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong. Delicate, your hands reach for his wrists and pull his hands away, planting them onto the bench. 

Leaning in, you whisper into his ear, “No touching.” Your intimate areas are separated only by thin cloth, and you feel his jumping. Satoru’s blue eyes are conflicted, and he bites his lower lip, tilting his head downwards. He resembles a puppy, you think, as you place your hands on his built shoulders. 

“Oh? You like it when I tell you what to do?” You roll your hips expertly, grinding on his hardness in circular motions. “Pathetic.” Satoru only grows harder, practically straining within the confines of his expensive pants. A whimper escapes his throat, and he looks up, helpless. He is pathetic, and right now, he needs you. 

He wants nothing more than to drag your sticky panties down your thighs, maybe snap the elastic on your hips. Once, or twice. For good measure. Nothing more than to feel your heat on his aching member, feel the strings of your arousal drench him before he sheaths himself. 

Fuck. 

You look at him like you’ve read his mind, and he hopes that you fulfil his wishes. But he knows that you’re going to do the exact opposite. 

And he’d groan, if the notion wasn’t so hot. 

You release one hand from his shoulder, and trail it down his chest. Satoru’s heart thunders under your teasing touch, his breaths coming out in short, sharp gasps every time your manicured finger catches on the ridges of his pecs, his abs. It gets painfully close to where he needs you, when you instead slip the finger under your own thighs.

Satoru’s eyes bulge with betrayal, and he looks so heartbroken you almost want to take pity on him. But, you’re lying if the sight doesn’t just make you hornier. 

This close, your breaths of pleasure fan onto his face — as intangible as you are — as you press one finger pad against your clit, and then two, rolling the pearly bud between your fingers. Satoru’s fingers twitch, and you shoot him a glare. Immediately, he stills. Resigning himself to having to watch you pleasure yourself on him, and not being able to do a single thing about it. 

Your hole flutters around nothing, leaking sinful syrup onto your panties. Satoru can feel the wetness through his own pants, can sense that through your pride, you just want him. 

He chuckles, low and cocky, in your ear — though it's strained. You narrow your eyes at the sound, retracting your fingers to press onto his pants hard. Satoru winces at the sensation, and shuts his mouth, though a fresh wave of arousal rushes straight to his dick. 

“Enough teasing, alright?” He tries to sound bored, but desperation seeps through the cracks of his voice. And he can hear it. A red flush spreads through his face, burning the tips of his ears. 

You hum with consideration. “You’re right,” you say, shimmying slightly so you can reach down to unbuckle his belt. The metal drops to the side with a resounding clang. Satoru has never heard a more merciful sound.

His cock, swollen red, leaking with precum, springs up, curving towards his abdomen. Satoru knows he’s big — he’s been told this countless times — but you gaze down on his pretty length like it’s nothing. Your face betrays nothing, expressionless through and through. And he can’t help it, he’s a little disappointed. 

Inside though, you’re a swirling mess. Fuck. You cannot fit that. You have never tried to fit that. You bite your lower lip, eyebrows furrowing in trepidation. 

You just hope gravity is on your side as you ease yourself down his erection. Satoru’s hands find themselves by your sides, and this time, you don’t stop him. He coos in your ear, and you want to slap him, if not for feeling like you were literally being split apart by his dick. 

“Speechless now, aren’t we?” Satoru nips your ear when you’re half the way down, and he grunts when you clench your walls around him to shut him up. “Where’s Miss Bossy now, hm?” He grips your hips so hard you’re sure bruises will form tomorrow. He can’t help it. Satoru is trying so hard to not just slam your creamy hole down, waiting for you to adjust.

Though, if you don’t stop squeezing around his cock like that, he might just change his mind.  

Tears well in your eyes at the stretch, and he kisses them away, smirking when the salty droplets hit his taste buds. 

You give him a withering look, to which he only laughs, resuming his endless kisses down your neck. 

Satoru is getting a little too cocky for your liking. 

Your narrowing eyes are his only warning, as you drop fully onto his dick — his bulbous tip kissing your cervix, just about nudging the ring of muscle apart with his thick head. You can feel the precum seeping into your crevices, mixing with your own arousal, as you let out a debauched sigh. 

The boy in front of you chokes on his own spit. Fuck. 

Mind drunk on the feeling of your warmth around him, your gummy walls clenching and spasming around his cock, he recalls the old saying — be careful what you wish for.  The way you pulse in tandem with his throbbing length, like you’re two souls who had finally found each other. 

Okay, pause. Where did that come from? 

Satoru shakes his head slightly, banishing the traitorous thought from his mind. His hands move you up down up down, savouring how you grip his cock, how your greedy hole sucks him in. Takes what it wants from him. 

He’s relentless. The tempo he’s set is fast, way too fast for you. Overstimulation calls your name, a result of your previous orgasm. But the pain burns in the best way, and the air is no longer chilly against your skin. It’s charged with electricity and desire, and you want more. 

Want more of the way his cock bounces against your spongy walls, curving to hit your G spot deliciously. Heat coils in your core, your cunt begging for another orgasm, though you’re not sure you want this experience to end so soon. 

Want more of the way his hands are starting to traverse all over your body, his fingers plunging into the plush of your flesh. Grabbing like he can’t get enough of you, grabbing like he wants you more than just this one time, meaningless, encounter. 

You need the way he bucks his own hips, stuttering to meet your pelvis with harsh, urgent slaps. You need the way he needs you. 

Satoru cums first, his seed coming out in hot spurts of desire that swirl inside you. The sensation makes you spasm violently around his cock, but his hands don’t stop, urging you to continue to grind onto him. When it’s over, the boy leans his head against your shoulder, panting. 

But you push his head back, and he hits you with devastatingly pitiful baby blues. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, peeling your tacky thighs off his. 

And then, with his cashmere jacket still perched on top of your dainty little shoulders, you walk off, strutting to the door and letting it thud behind you. 

Leaving Satoru to fall back on the bench, hands covering his face. 

What the fuck just happened?

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms

[nameless-jamie]

hi <3 love your fics, they bring me joy!

was wondering if i could request a PA fic where y/n is iron deficient and overworks herself and faints at work, and jamie is naturally quite concerned for her.

Drabble - The Irony

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, mentions of fainting, iron deficiency

A/N: Hi I don't know much about iron deficiency, but I hope this drabble is good enough! Thank you for the request! This is just a small imagine-like situation.

Jamie Tartt wasn’t exactly known for subtlety.

Sure, when he and Y/N first started dating, they’d tried to keep things professional at work—quick kisses before morning meetings, teasing glances across the pitch, stolen moments when no one was looking. But that phase hadn’t lasted long. Subtlety just wasn’t Jamie’s style.

Now, everyone at AFC Richmond knew they were together. Jamie’s arm slung around her shoulders in the break room? Normal. Jamie stealing sips of her coffee during meetings? Annoying, but expected. Jamie yelling, “Oi, love you, babe!” across the pitch before training? Classic.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Because Y/N was slumped on the floor of the Richmond office, her clipboard abandoned beside her, and Jamie’s heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest. He was just casually walking into her office when he saw her unconscious body sack down to the floor.

“Oi, someone get a medic or somethin’!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside her. His pulse hammered in his ears as he cupped her face, her skin cool and pale beneath his fingers, he was in shock. “Babe? Babe, c’mon—can you hear me?”

Her eyelashes fluttered, her lips parting in a soft, confused murmur. “Jamie…?”

“Yeah, I’m here, love. I got you,” Jamie promised, brushing damp strands of hair away from her forehead. Behind him, footsteps pounded down the hallway, but he didn’t look up. His entire world had narrowed down to the girl in his arms.

“What happened?” Rebecca’s sharp voice cut through the air as she approached, heels clicking against the tile.

“I dunno! She was standin’ there one second and then—” Jamie’s throat tightened. “Then she weren’t.”

“She fainted?” Higgins asked, kneeling beside them with a frown.

“Yeah! Why’re we all standin’ ‘round talkin’ about it? Someone call a bloody doctor!”

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered weakly, attempting to sit up. Jamie’s arm tightened around her shoulders, holding her steady.

“Yeah, no. Don’t think so,” Jamie muttered, his brows drawn in frustration. “You scared the shit outta me, babe.”

“Language,” Rebecca warned absently.

“Sorry,” Jamie mumbled, not sounding sorry at all. “But she did.”

“I just—I’ve been a little dizzy lately. It’s not a big deal,” Y/N mumbled, cheeks heating as she realized half the office was staring.

“Not a big deal?! You collapsed!”

“It happens sometimes…” she admitted hesitantly.

“It what?” Jamie’s voice shot up an octave. “Since when?”

“I don’t know—off and on? My doctor said it’s just iron deficiency. I’m supposed to take supplements, but I forgot—”

“You forgot?!”

“I’ve been busy!”

“Babe, what’s more important—your work or, y’know, bein’ conscious?”

“I—”

“I swear, if you say work, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Jamie—”

“No, don’t ‘Jamie’ me!” His eyes were wide, his breath coming too fast. “You’re runnin’ ‘round takin’ care of everyone else—makin’ sure I show up to stuff, keepin’ track of all my interviews, dealin’ with my schedule—and you don’t even stop to take care of yourself!”

The room fell awkwardly silent. Rebecca cleared her throat and exchanged a glance with Higgins.

“…We’ll, ah, give you two a moment,” she said, ushering the others out of the hallway.

As the crowd dispersed, Y/N slumped against Jamie’s chest, her pulse still fluttering against his palm. His hand rubbed slow circles against her back as his breathing gradually calmed.

“Hey,” he said, softer this time. “You scared me.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because…” Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his jersey. “Because you’ve got enough to worry about with matches and training and—”

“Don’t,” Jamie cut her off, his voice rough. “Don’t act like you gotta handle everythin’ on your own. Not when I’m right here. This won't work if you don't let me take care of you once in a while, Y/N.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes prickling with unexpected tears. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze—blue eyes searching hers with a vulnerability she hadn’t expected.

“I just…” Her voice wavered. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Jamie exhaled sharply, like she’d punched him in the gut.

“You’re not a burden,” he whispered. “You’re—you’re the reason I don’t show up late to everythin’. You're the reason I even show up here. And you're the reason I smile everyday.” His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Besides, pretty sure Richmond’d fall apart without you. But don't tell Higgings I said that.”

Y/N sniffled and nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

“Still,” Jamie added, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek. “If somethin’ hurts, you gotta tell me. Yeah? You're my girl now.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Jamie pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly like he was afraid she might disappear. His hand found the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he whispered against her temple:

“Swear to God, if you faint again ‘cause you forgot to take a bloody vitamin, I’m gonna start followin’ you ‘round with a spoon and feedin’ you spinach.”

Despite everything, she let out a watery laugh.

“There’s my girl,” Jamie murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Later that night Y/N sat cross-legged on Jamie’s couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders and a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Jamie hovered nearby, eyeing her with a level of suspicion usually reserved for rival players.

“Did you take your iron pill?” he asked for the third time.

“Yes, Jamie.”

“And you ate dinner?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Proper dinner? With, like, protein and veggies and—”

“Oh my God, yes!” She threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with a grin.

“Just checkin’!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. But his smile faded slightly as he stepped closer, his eyes softer now. “I mean it, though. You gotta take care of yourself. I can’t—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t have you keelin’ over again. Gave me a bloody heart attack.”

“You won’t,” she whispered.

“You better mean that,” Jamie muttered, flopping down beside her. After a beat, he added, “Still gonna carry spinach ‘round, just in case.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Y/N snorted and shook her head, but Jamie caught the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips—and he figured that was enough for now.

[ptolemaeacles]

♡ becoming hazel callahan's cheerleader gf hcs

pairing: hazel callahan x cheerleader!reader

synopsis: headcanons i have about becoming hazel's cheerleader gf.

notes: … i did rush the ending a bit because i have school and i did not proofread the entire thing but hope guys liked :))))

word count: 1.3k

i'd imagine you guys meet when you decide to join the self defense club that pj and josie were teaching.

she always admired you from afar but being the loser lesbian that she was, she never made a move on you.

eventually, the both of you got paired up to fight. poor baby was so scared she might hurt you, she barely hit you. more like slightly aggressive taps rather than punches.

"c'mon hazel! hit her!" pj yelled from behind you. you had hazel on the ground, crouched over her body. her nose was dripping blood and it was all over her teeth. no matter how many punches you threw her way, she never retaliated. not a single kick or punch was given back to you. the sight of you on top of her certainly wasn't helping her win this fight.

now that you guys were acquainted, she would get so nervous around you. of course she was always nervous around you but more so now since you actually knew who she was.

you guys would actually speak to each other in the classes you shared instead of her just staring at you. (and you taking quick glances because you're a lot more slick than she is)

hazel convinced herself you were pin straight. to her, there was no way someone so hot was gay. (god damn cheerleader stereotypes) so when she heard from isabel that you liked girls, she had no idea what to do. she had no idea what to do even when she thought you were straight but now it was 10x worse.

she started second guessing every compliment, every time your hand brushed past her when you guys were getting lunch, every single time your eyes held her gaze a little too strongly.

you always thought she was cute. even when she acted a little crazy. the whole bomb situation was actually a bit endearing to you, as concerning as that is. while everyone was in the car, yelling at hazel for setting off a fucking bomb on jeff's car, you squeezed her hand and sent a sweet smile her way. that smile alone erased any feeling of guilt or blame within an instant.

and when pj had said hazel had no friends and called her mom a skank, you were the first person running after her. you searched half the school campus before finding her hiding under the bleachers,

"haze, oh my god, i was so worried about you!" you crouched down and brought hazel into your arms. the nickname brought a warmth to hazel's heart. you were the only person who called her that.

"everything that pj said is not true at all," you let go of her to hold the sides of her face in your hands, "forget all that shit about your mom. and you have friends. you have josie, you have isabel and brittany, you have me."

hazel looked up to you slowly with a new look in her eyes.

"i don't want to be your friend." you felt your heart get heavier for a second. hazel leaned in without thinking. she caught your bottom lip between hers and-

she was kissing you. hazel was kissing you. and to her surprise, you were kissing her back.

after the unexpected love confession under the bleachers (typical high school romance), hazel decided she wanted to take you out on a proper date. it's what you deserved. (plus she's not getting caught in the 'u-haul lesbian' allegations crossfire). unfortunately, those plans were postponed.

she never told you that pj and josie lied about juvie or that she agreed to fight the school's star boxer. (you later find out she had no idea she was fighting him too.)

the aftermath of the fight was terrifying for you. of course, you had seen her bloody face before (and had even been the cause of it before) but it was never this bad.

you stayed with her for a long while after that. always taking notes for her in class and coming by her house to check up on her. the other girls would come by as well. it made you happy that they were all there for her, even after the club disbanded.

you opted to sleep over from time to time which she was always appreciated. it quickly got old when you guys could barely hear each other talk over the sound of ms. callahan and jeff going at it.

both you and hazel were in her bed, laying on your backs, next to each other. hazel laid with her hands behind her head, elbows facing outwards, and you laid with your hands on your stomach, palms facing down. both of you still giggling over a joke hazel made about your shared english teacher earlier.

"hey so, uh, i wanted to ask you something." hazel turned to face you, resting her head against her arm on her pillow.

"yeah? go for it." you turned your head to her.

"well, um, i wanted to ask if you wanted to go on a da-" hazel's question was interrupted by loud moans and rhythmic thumping coming from her mom's room.

'goddamn it...' hazel thought. it was jeff and her mom again.

"you know what, never mind, it was stupid."

eventually, the game against huntington arrived. hazel was nervous for the game and she wasn't even playing nor did she care about sports. she was going to officially ask you out. and she wasn't going to let anything ruin it this time. she watched you do your cheerleading routine, admiring your uniform. (she was obsessed with it and wanted to see you wearing it all the time. but not even batman could beat that information out of her...)

once again her plans were cut short, when a frantic pj and josie came up to her in bleachers asking her for another distraction. you were in the middle of your routine when you saw hazel running across the field towards the girls from the club. (you didn’t happen to see the little device she had in her hands)

what confused you even more was when hazel ran up to you mid-routine.

you moved your pom poms in a choreographed motion, the way you had been practicing for weeks.

the girls from the club had been running around in the corner of your eye and you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. they looked distressed but you had to focus on your routine. that was until hazel came up to you.

she called out your name, loud enough for you to show some concern and put your pom poms downs.

“come ‘ere” she murmured. she wrapped her arms around your waist, slotting her lips between yours.

to say it took you by surprise was an understatement. you tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and brought your hands to either side of her face.

when the both of you pulled away, the mixed groans and cheers finally met your ears. but by then, it seemed you guys had bigger problems.

the fight was chaotic to say the least. the huntington players were known to be ruthless and unforgiving. throughout the entire fight, you and hazel fought back to back, constantly covering the other. more like hazel stared you while you broke a guys nose in. and your mouth definitely didn’t get a little dry when she kicked a guy unconscious.

the fight felt like it had been going on forever, especially with the way your body was aching. you and hazel looked around the field and you see tim getting on the ground, sticking his tongue onto the wet field.

“it’s pineapple juice!” he exclaimed as he got up.

you finally put 2 and 2 together.

you turn to hazel.

“we did all that for jeff?”, you huffed, “god, we’re just as brain dead as the rest of the school.” hazel chuckled before bringing her bloody, bruised hands to either sides of your waist.

“i wanted to ask you something and i’m not letting anyone ruin it this time,” she looked at you with a newfound confidence, “will you go out with me? i know it took me a long time to ask, i was looking for a good moment-“

you crashed your lips into hers, shutting her up. which she took as a definite yes.

taglist: @heartrobynn @masclover111

[motherofpirates]

“Dustin called he wants to have a movie night round my place. So, here I am looking for movies, because I am now apparently one his father figures.” Eddie gave a put-upon sigh that Steve recognised.

“Sucks to be you man.” Steve commiserated. “Did you walk here? You didn’t pull any stitches, did you? That must have taken you forever.”

“No, sweetheart, I did not pull any stitches. I took my time and waited for my meds to kick in before I left. I can’t get anywhere any other way, not got the all clear to drive until next week. Besides my van is still on your drive, Harrington, I hope you’re taking good care of her.”

“The best, man, she’s chilling on a big ole drive in the shade up in Loch Nora. I can take you to see her after work so you can check up on her if you like.”

Robin punched him on the arm, “Aren’t you supposed to be taking me home, dingus?”

The store’s phone began to ring, as Robin was closest to it, she picked up.

“Hello, Family Video, Robin speaking how may I help?” She made a face and shoved the phone into Steve’s hand. “It’s one of your children.”

“Yello?”

“Steve? Thank god, I need a ride to Eddie’s-“ Dustin started.

“We all need a ride to Eddie’s!” Lucas interrupted.

“I can’t believe you made Eddie walk here when he just got out of hospital last week, do you have any idea how inconsiderate that is?”

“He didn’t get hurt, did he?” Asked Dustin.

“Well, no… But that’s not the point.” Blustered Steve.

“Everything is fine then. No need to worry, wind in the need to mother-hen, Steve, he’s a big boy.” Steve rested his head on the counter and groaned. Eddie and Robin rubbed his back in commiseration.

“Exactly how many of you need a ride to Eddie’s?” There was some muttering as someone executed a head count.

“…Six…” Said Lucas.

“Can’t Nance take you in her Station Wagon?”

“She��s out somewhere with Jonathon and Argyle.” Shouted Mike.

It was Steve’s turn to give a put-upon sigh, to which Eddie and Robin laughed. Eddie began to look for movies that he thought the younger members of the Party would like. “I can’t wait for one of you little shits to learn to drive because you will be chauffeuring my ass around Hawkins.”

“You know, you love it, dumbass.” Max informed him.

“You’re not all gonna fit in my car, some of you are going to have to bike there.”

This statement caused uproar at the other end of the phone; Steve pulled the handset away from his ear as a squabble ensued.

“They have zero fucking chill.” He complained to Robin and Eddie. “I’m going to go prematurely grey.”

“We could take my van,” Suggested Eddie.

“I’ll drive.”

Eddie harrumphed.

“Hey, dingus, I still need to get home.” Robin reminded him.

“Why are you so desperate to get home, Birdie, you got a hot date?” Eddie asked from the horror section he had drifted over to; Robin threw an empty video case at his head.

“Rude.” He retorted as it narrowly missed him, he didn’t look up from his browsing.

“For your information I need to tell my parents I got into college.”

Steve was trying to get the kids over the phone to listen because they were still arguing.

“Can you guys shut up and listen for once in your lives!” He yelled trying to get them to notice him. “We’re coming to get you in Eddie’s van, you can all chill the fuck out!”

“Language, Steve, there’s children present.” Replied Dustin sarcastically, followed by laughter from the younger members of the Party in the background.

“Carry on and you’ll be the only one walking there, Henderson.” Steve threatened.

“As if you’d do that to me.”

“Want to try me, it might help with your attitude. Now where do I need to get you from?”

“Mike’s please.”

“That’s better, we’ll see you in-.” Dustin had got what he wanted and had put the phone down.

Steve groaned in frustration. “I’ll drop you off before we go to my house to get the van, Rob.”

“Make sure to make them wait, they deserve it for being obnoxious little shits anyway.” Eddie said as he brought his video choices up to the counter. “You dropped this.” He handed the empty case back to Robin.

“They get their obnoxiousness off you, you know.” She accused Eddie pointing the video case at him for emphasis as she rang up his videos.

“What can I say it’s a talent.” He shrugged.

____________________________________

If you enjoyed this snippet please head on over to AO3, my fic is entitled I Want You to Want Me.

[captainsamuelmorrigan]

Poolverine/Deadclaws

[Fluff/Angst with a happy ending]

I just think about Wade BEGGING Logan to let him sleep in bed with him. Logan just shakes his head every time, "You don't wanna do that, bub."

But Wade VERY MUCH does. He would literally kill to sleep with Logan, either way he takes that. Well, he'd literally kill someone regardless, that's his job, but you know!! He wants to run his bumpy, scarred fingers through Logan's chest fur so bad. He daydreams about big spooning his Honey Badger, sliding his arms around him and pressing his front to Logan's big, strong, and warm back. He only feels a little horny about it. A normal about of chubbing up about it.

He begs Logan for weeks, getting on his knees for all the wrong reasons. He hasn't wanted anything this bad for at least a few months! He's desperate.

Like most things in Wade's life, it happens at an unexpected and probably bad time. They had had a mission go bad, both bloodied, and ended up showering and finding comfort in bed with each other. They hardly spoke. It just mattered that they were physically touching. They were both still here. Wade got his Wolverine snuggles, and everything was alright again.

Well, until around 4 in the morning. Wade woke up to three adamantium alarm clocks punching through each of his lungs. It hurt like a bitch. He coughed blood right onto Logan's face. Gross. He definitely wasn't getting invited back to bed after this. He weakly tapped the furry man's shoulder. "Logie-bear, I was expecting some penetration tonight, but I like the pre-made holes played with a little more."

Logan growled in his sleep before the taps brought him back to consciousness. His eyes flipped open, and his expression changed from anger to horror in an instant. "WADE! Wade, I'm so sorry-" The claws withdrew, drawing another wet cough out of Wade. "Please, please, stay with me." He started to gather the sheets to press against Wade's chest, his hands slippery and red. "Althea!! Help! Please!" His eyes were wild, scared, and firmly on Wade. "We'll fix this. I'll fix this!" He turned towards the door again, yelling louder. "Althea!! Help me!!"

Wade was a little stunned. What was going on? He patted Logan's arm, trying to get 400 pounds of superhero off of him. He coughs out an "Off!"

Logan looked at him like he was crazy. "Fuck you if you think I'm letting you die here."

Wade tried to push him off again, smearing blood onto Logan's hairy chest. He sputtered, trying to get words out, but the air wasn't quite doing what he wanted yet. Drowning in blood sucked! 0/5 stars on Yelp for sure.

Al knocked loudly on the door. "Logan? You okay in there?" Logan leaped to unlock the door, allowing Wade to sit up a little bit, his flesh starting to really knit back together, feeling his lungs start to clear.

Logan opened the door. "Althea, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I stabbed Wade, he's- He's bleeding out. You need to call a medic- a doctor, someone!" His voice wavered a bit.

Althea placed a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow as she leaned on her walker. "Motherfucker, what the fuck are you talking about? A doctor?" Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of Wade's blood permeating the room. "Whew, that's nasty. Clean that up when you're done with whatever this shit is."

Wade coughed. "Very sweet that you care, Logan." His tone softened. He was realizing Logan wasn't 'here,' he was somewhere else, Wade wasn't really Wade in this scene. "Take a breath, Honeybadger. I'll be fine if you just give me a-" cough "second."

Logan's breathing was still heavy, his eyes still wide and scared. Wade was sure the blood spatters across his face weren't helpful either.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm fine! Or, I'll be fine once the mutant cancer does its job. Remember? I don't die." He waved, smiling at Logan from the bed. He wasn't sure the blood dripping from his chest and mouth was helping his case.

Logan deflated a bit. "Oh." He turned to Al. "Althea, I'm sorry. I didn't realize, or, I forgot. I apologize for waking you up."

Al waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna go smoke a joint. If you need to loosen that tight ass, feel free to join me."

Logan closed the door, coming to sit on the bed, holding his head between his knees.

Wade wiped his hands on the sheets before crawling to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You deserve to get to freak out here and there. We've been through some crazy shit. Did you want to talk about it? Do you want me to go swipe Al's weed? She's not as stingy about it as her cocaine, promise."

"I could've killed you." Logan admits from behind his hands.

"Not possible. Great try though, good form." The Merk quips.

"Don't! Don't joke right now. I would've killed you if you weren't like this." Logan gestures to Wade, his hand still trembling, Wade's blood starting to dry between his fingers. "I shouldn't have let myself fall asleep around you."

"Logan, bud, hey, look at me." Wade patted Logan's knee, scooting closer. "Really look at me."

Logan sat up, turning to face Wade, his eyes red-tinged. His hair is crusty with blood. "Okay...?"

"Am I dead?"

"No, but-"

"No! That's the whole thing. I am alive, whether I deserve to be, or should be, or anything else. I'm here! I'm still here." He smiles softly at Logan. "That's all that matters to me. If a Wolverine cuddle costs me some minutes drowning in blood, I can assure you that is a very small price to pay."

Logan opens his mouth to respond, his sharp canines catching the light from the street lamp outside before he shuts it again. "I'm dangerous."

"I eat danger for breakfast, usually with unicorn marshmallows."

Logan actually laughs at that. "You're insane."

"Insanely in love with you~" Wade teases, jostling Logan with his shoulder.

Logan groans, wiping his face with his bloodied hands. "That can't be the first time you say you love me, that's terrible."

"I think it's perfect. Now, c'mon, let's change the sheets."

"It's gonna stain the mattress." Logan moves.

"Number 2 rule of sex and superheroing without an in-unit washer and dryer, always use a waterproof mattress cover." Wade taps his temple, smirking.

After another shower, a quick change of sheets, and replacing the mattress cover, Wade and Logan are back in bed, cuddled close.

"I love you, too." Logan says softly. "That's a pretty dangerous thing, though."

"Again, danger, breakfast, unicorn marshmallows." Wade mumbles as he pulls Logan closer.

[lulunothulu]

I absolutely love all your works!!! I was just wondering if you could write a Glenn x Nurse reader where she has a combative patient and maybe gets punched or something?

As someone who’s worked with combative patients, I would LOVE to write this 😂

“Black Eye”

Glen Powell x Reader

It’d been a long day at the hospital. Your shift was about to end, in an hour but still. You could practically feel the bed and Glen’s warmth around your body. But you knew better than to daydream before the end of shift.

Why? Because a lot could happen in an hour.

“Man, it’s so quiet,” your coworker, Hailey, tells you.

You whirl around to face her, eyes wide. “Why would you jinx us like that?”

As if on cue, the psych patient the patient sitter had to keep their eyes on, starts screaming. This large mountain of a man stands from his bed, eyes wild and full of rage. He begins to try to leave the room, pushing the sitter out of the way and onto the floor.

“I need to leave!” He screams.

“Hailey, call security and for help.” You order, taking your radio, and any sharp objects out of your pockets.

“Let me leave!” The patient screams at you as you stand before him, hands up in silent surrender.

“Hey, Roger is it?” You start. You try to keep your voice calm and light as you approach him. “Can we talk in your room?”

“No!” Roger yells.

Behind you, a few of the stronger paramedics and nurses begin to approach you. You knew they’d have the restraints and medicine to subdue him, so you wave your hand frantically behind you to get them to back up.

“They’re coming for me,” Roger says darkly before looking back at you. “You told them to come for me.”

“No, no,” you start. “They’re here to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t believe you!”

For someone so large, you didn’t expect him to move so quickly. So when he rushes toward you with his fists raised, you barely have time to move when he lands a fist to the right side of your face.

All chaos erupts.

Shouting and hands come from behind you as you try your hardest to stay present and help your colleagues out as much as you can.

By the time Roger was medicated and falling asleep, your shift was up and you had ice to your eye while you filled out a report on the computer.

“Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?” Hailey asks.

“Why would I? He’s not well, there’s nothing I could’ve done to help him.” You reply. “Let’s just be glad he didn’t tackle me onto the floor like that one patient two months ago.”

You gather your things after logging off and start toward the break room for your rain jacket when you cringe.

What were you going to tell Glen this time? Glen knew that part of the job was to treat psych patients whenever they came into the ER. But after the patient two months ago…he’s been apprehensive about the job and what comes with being a nurse.

Sighing, you grab your jacket, clock out, and then make the twenty minute drive back home to Glen.

As you’re walking into the house, you almost forget about the black eye. That is, until you lock eyes with your boyfriend. 

“What happened?” He asks, his parents following him from the living room.

Shit. You forgot they were visiting this week. “Hailey said the ‘Q’ word.”

“Y/N, your eye is swelling up!” Cyndy gasps. Yo her husband, she says, “Sweetheart, go get some peas from the freezer.”

“I tried icing it as much as I could before I got home,” you tell them, glancing at Glen who’s quiet.

The look on Glen’s face broke your heart. It was worry and anger mixed together but the worry remained in his eyes.

“It was a psych patient,” you tell him as you take the peas from Glen Sr.. “I’m fine other than this.”

“Okay.” He nods, softly smiling before kissing you. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him. “I mainly feel bad for the patient. They’ll keep him longer now.”

“As long as he’s not your patient again,” he tells you, pulling you into him.

“It’s part of the job!” You laugh. ”You make movies and get bruised up all the time. He didn’t mean to hit me. And besides, I t’s just a bruise.”

Glen sighs in defeat. He knew there was nothing he could do to make you stop doing what you loved. So instead he smirks and asks, “Did you help retrain him?”

“I did.”

“That’s pretty badass.” He laughs.

“You’re dating a modern superhero,” Cyndy smiles.

Glen looks at you before smiling. “Yeah, I am.”

[yunaversalluv]

★﹐Harder Than You Think．﹗﹑

Rivals to lovers abby x fem!reader

note - if you see any mistakes in the fic please feel free to tell me i'll go and fix it!! (this was not proofread by someone esle) This is also more short and sweet type one shot so i apologize if its cliche

If you want to join my personal taglist let me know!!

permanent taglist - @valeisaslut @sourrswitchblade @sewithinsouls

You knew from the moment she walked into the compound that she’d be trouble.

Abby Anderson. Towering. Scarred. Broad-shouldered and broad-tempered. She looked like she could punch through a brick wall — and probably had. You’d heard the rumors before she even opened her mouth. Ex-WLF. Trained killer. Real piece of work. A human battering ram with a resting bitch face and a reputation.

You didn’t care.

You’d seen worse.

But the minute she challenged you during your first training session together — called your grip on a blade “sloppy” with that infuriating calm — it was over. She made you want to spit fire. Or win. Or both.

“I didn’t realize muscle mass was a personality trait,” you snapped, flipping your knife and tossing it hard into the wooden post.

It landed just left of center. Shit.

Abby smirked. One of those closed-mouth grins that felt more like a dare than a smile. She stepped up beside you, her own blade out. Thicker. Balanced.

She threw.

Dead center.

“Didn’t realize ego could bleed so fast,” she said, retrieving both knives without waiting for permission.

You hated her.

Not really.

But enough to make it your daily goal to beat her at something. Anything. Knife throws. Sparring drills. Food ration speed. Scavenging haul count. Hell, you once nearly started a bet on who could carry more bricks before collapsing.

She never gloated. That made it worse.

She just gave you that look. The quiet, knowing one. Like she knew you were trying too hard and loved it anyway.

That pissed you off more than losing.

The outpost wasn’t big. A few dozen survivors, max. Some were old Fireflies. Some ex-Scars. Most were just people trying to survive. They didn’t care where you came from, so long as you pulled your weight and didn’t start fights.

You and Abby were toeing that line daily.

She was stronger, sure. But you were faster. Sharper. Smarter in tight quarters.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The real problem was that you worked well together.

Too well.

No one else could keep up with your rhythm. No one else could cover your blind spots as smoothly. And no one else had the guts to call you out when you were being reckless, except her.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one day rushing in like that,” she said once after you cleared a runner nest.

“Better than sitting back while someone else bleeds,” you snapped, chest heaving.

She didn’t yell. Didn’t flinch.

Just took a breath and said, “I’m not your enemy.”

You laughed in her face. “Could’ve fooled me.”

But your stomach twisted, because part of you didn’t believe that anymore.

Part of you wanted her to keep saying things like that.

Keep seeing you.

Keep trying.

They paired you for patrol again.

Third time this week. Either fate was cruel or Manny was playing matchmaker in the most passive-aggressive way possible. You made a mental note to punch him later. If Abby didn’t beat you to it.

The morning fog clung low to the ground as you moved through the forest edge. Pines overhead. Muck underfoot. Every sound was amplified in the silence — twigs snapping, boots squelching, the whisper of your breath in cold air.

Abby walked ahead, quiet as ever, movements fluid. Tactical. Annoyingly competent.

“Try not to fall behind this time,” she said without looking back.

You rolled your eyes. “Try not to be a condescending asshole for once.”

She didn’t stop. Just tossed over her shoulder, “Still bleeding from that sparring match, huh?”

You clenched your jaw. She’d pinned you yesterday in front of half the camp. Quick and clean. No flair. Just efficiency. It had haunted you all night.

“Still milking that one victory?” you shot back.

Now she turned. Slow. One brow raised. “You think I keep track?”

“Don’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed a little. Not angry. Just studying. Then she stepped closer. Not much. Just enough to make your pulse spike.

“Only when it matters,” she said.

Your breath caught. That tone again. Not a threat. A challenge. An invitation.

You stared at her, words dried up in your throat. Close enough to smell pine and sweat and something warm beneath it. Close enough to see the scar above her eyebrow. The way her lashes clumped at the ends.

Your fingers itched.

To touch. To push. To test.

She tilted her head slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, stepping back before you could do something stupid. “Let’s just finish this patrol.”

Coward, you thought.

But you didn’t know if you meant her.

Or yourself.

The sky cracked open the moment you reached the outer perimeter.

Rain came fast — heavy and loud, drenching your jacket in seconds. Abby cursed behind you, voice low, as the two of you ducked beneath the skeletal remains of an old carport. Rusted steel. Sagging beams. But shelter, for now.

You both stood there, panting, water running down your faces, your sleeves clinging to your skin.

“Well,” you said, brushing soaked hair from your eyes, “at least we don’t have to pretend to like the view anymore.”

Abby let out a sharp exhale — maybe a laugh, maybe just annoyance. She pulled off her backpack and set it down between you.

“We’re not moving until this slows down,” she said.

“No shit,” you muttered, crouching.

Minutes passed. Then more.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by thunder and the slow drip of water through rust holes above. You didn’t look at her. You were too aware of how close she was. Of the way her knees brushed yours when she shifted. Of the steam rising off her skin.

Eventually, she broke it.

“You always this reckless?”

You turned your head slowly. “You always this judgmental?”

She didn’t rise to it.

“I meant it,” she said. “Back in the nest. I’m not your enemy.”

“I know.”

The words surprised you both. But they were true.

You looked down at your hands. Mud under your nails. Scar on your thumb. A tremble in your fingers that wasn’t from the cold.

“I just don’t like losing,” you added, quieter this time.

Abby studied you. “Neither do I.”

You looked up.

And there it was again — that tension. Not anger. Not even rivalry.

Just heat. Like you’d been circling something dangerous without naming it.

Outside, lightning flashed. A jagged line across the grey.

Inside, something cracked open.

And this time, neither of you looked away.

The rain didn’t let up. Not really. Just softened into a steady drizzle by the time you headed back. Everything squelched. Your boots. Her boots. The path. The space between you.

You should’ve said something.

But what the hell would you even say?

That you kept catching yourself staring? That her voice stuck in your chest like a splinter you couldn’t dig out? That you didn’t just want to win anymore — you wanted her to see you.

The thought made you angrier than it should’ve.

Back at camp, the world was dim with dusk and mist. You split without speaking, without looking. Abby peeled off toward the barracks. You went straight for the showers.

You scrubbed hard.

Like you could wash off the way she looked at you.

The way your skin burned under it.

Later that night, you found her in the common room. Hood up. Elbows on knees. Staring into a fire that had long since gone to embers.

You didn’t know why you walked in.

Didn’t know why you sat beside her.

But you did.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

Finally, she said, “You always got something to prove?”

You stiffened. “You always gotta ask questions with knives in ‘em?”

She didn’t laugh. Just leaned back against the bench.

“I used to think being strong was the same as being right,” she said.

You turned to her. “And now?”

She looked at you then — not just glanced. Really looked.

“Now I think being right doesn’t mean much when no one wants to stand next to you.”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you said, quieter than you meant.

“Yeah,” Abby said. “I know.”

She didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t need to.

Because the space between you wasn’t empty anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough — for now.

She was fast.

Not just in combat — though she moved like she had something to prove, something to outrun. No, she was fast in every way that mattered. With comebacks. With fury. With the way her eyes flashed like a struck match every time she turned them on Abby.

Abby told herself it was annoying.

That twitch in her gut? Just adrenaline. Old habits. A leftover instinct to win.

But she kept watching. Kept cataloguing the curve of her lip when she smirked, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her fingers always flexed twice before throwing a knife — like it was muscle memory, or a tick she didn’t know she had.

She noticed too much.

And that meant something dangerous was creeping in.

Abby leaned against the doorframe of the armory that night, fingers tapping absently against the edge of the holster strapped to her thigh. She watched the flicker of firelight across the campyard. She knew she should sleep.

But her body was still humming. From the patrol. From the rain. From her.

She’d been close enough to smell her shampoo — citrus and gunpowder — and it had done something stupid to Abby’s brain.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

She’d spent years sharpening herself into something unflinching. Something built. But this? This was messy. Sharp in the wrong ways. A thousand tiny cuts instead of one clean break.

She didn’t even know when it started.

Maybe it was the second time they sparred. Maybe it was the blood on her lip. The grin she gave Abby after she hit the mat. Or maybe it was earlier than that — when she first heard her laugh. Harsh and honest. Like she wasn’t trying to sound pretty, just real.

She didn’t trust it.

But she wanted it anyway.

“I’m not your enemy.”

She meant it.

But when she said it, and saw how the girl looked at her — chin up, eyes hard, like she’d rather die than be seen soft — Abby knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Because the truth was, she liked her.

More than liked her.

She respected her. Feared her a little, even — not for what she was capable of, but for what she made Abby feel. She was sharp and bright and unforgiving, and every time they talked, it felt like standing too close to a fire she had no business warming her hands by.

Abby clenched her jaw, swallowed thickly, and stared at the flame in the distance.

No one warned her that wanting something could hurt more than losing it.

But she knew now.

Because wanting her felt like grinding glass between her teeth and pretending it was sugar.

And still — Abby couldn’t stop coming back.

The dawn crept softly over the compound, casting pale gold across dew-slick grass and weathered wood. The world was quiet except for the distant crow of a crow and the steady rhythm of your own breath, puffing out in little clouds of white. You stood near the edge of the barracks, fingers twitching with nerves that felt alive beneath your skin.

Abby came into view from behind a rusted fence, her tall frame outlined by the early light. The damp strands of hair stuck to her neck, and the scar above her brow caught the glow, making it look almost like a silver slash. Her eyes, sharp and guarded as always, locked on yours. There was a softness there this time — a flicker of something almost shy.

“You’re up early,” she said, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shifted your weight, stepping forward a little, daring to close the distance you’d been circling for weeks. “Didn’t want to miss the sunrise,” you replied, your voice quieter than you expected.

Abby glanced up at the sky, streaked with pale pink and lavender clouds, then back at you, lips quirking with a small, knowing smile. “Figures. Always trying to catch something before it slips away.”

The space between you was charged, the cold air suddenly thick with heat and possibility. You could smell the faint tang of citrus soap mixed with earth and something distinctly her — sharp and grounding.

Your fingers itched to reach out, to touch that scar or catch a stray curl behind her ear. Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke, “I’ve been thinking.”

Abby’s brow quirked. “That’s dangerous.”

You grinned, a little breathless. “Maybe. But sometimes, it’s worth the risk.”

She took a step closer, narrowing the gap until you could see every shade of green and gold in her eyes. Your pulse hammered in your ears.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” you admitted, voice steady but vulnerable. “Not with you. Not over this.”

Her gaze softened, vulnerability cracking the edges of her usual tough facade. “Neither do I.”

You looked down for a second, nerves twisting your gut. Then, slowly, you reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Your fingertips lingered against the rough skin of her cheek.

She leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“I don’t want it to be complicated,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… us.”

Abby swallowed, voice low and sincere. “Yeah. Just us.”

The silence between you was fragile and electric, stretched taut like a held breath.

Carefully, you closed the last few inches, lips meeting hers in a slow, tentative kiss — like tasting something fragile and precious for the first time. Her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, the warmth of her body chasing away the morning chill.

When you pulled apart, breaths mingling, her smile was radiant and unguarded.

“Guess I’m glad you’re not my enemy,” she teased softly.

You laughed, heart light and full. “Maybe we’re better than that.”

The camp came to life around you—slow, quiet. Birds chirped, and distant voices floated through the mist. But you felt like you were in your own little world with Abby, fingers intertwined, sharing small smiles and gentle touches that said more than words.

At breakfast, she swiped a piece of your bread when you weren’t looking, flashing a mischievous grin.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to chase you down,” she joked, voice playful but warm.

You smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”

Later, near the cracked training grounds where your rivalry first ignited, Abby pulled a knife from her belt and tossed it with effortless precision — the blade sinking dead center into the weathered target.

“Your turn,” she said, eyes glinting with challenge and something softer.

You took the knife she offered, feeling the familiar weight settle in your palm. Breathing steady, you aimed carefully, muscles tense but sure. The blade thudded into the target just a hair off center.

Abby clapped softly, eyes bright with pride. “Not bad.”

You grinned, feeling a rush that wasn’t about winning anymore — it was about this, about her.

She stepped closer, fingers brushing yours in a casual, electrifying touch.

“Want to go again?”

You nodded, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and joy.

The sun climbed higher, warming your skin, the earth around you glowing with new light. The walls you’d built around yourselves cracked open just enough to let something real slip through — something tender and fierce all at once.

You paused, breath hitching as Abby reached out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, her hand lingering against your cheek like she didn’t want to let go. Her eyes searched yours, full of unspoken promises and quiet strength.

“You’re not so bad,” she murmured, a teasing smile curling at her lips.

You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over her scar with reverence. “Takes one to know one.”

She leaned in, voice dropping to a serious whisper. “We’ve both been fighting for so long. Maybe it’s time we stop.”

You nodded, heart full and steady. “Together.”

Abby’s grin softened, and she pulled you into another kiss — deeper, warmer, and brimming with all the things you’d both been too scared to say.

When you finally parted, her forehead rested against yours, breath mingling.

“No more enemies,” she whispered.

“No more fighting,” you agreed.

You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as the morning light bathed you both in gentle gold.

For the first time in a long time, you believed it was real.

[gigiii1sblog]

KISS ME LIKE A SECRET 009

Warnings: mature content, cheating, fluff, sexual content, 2 year age gap, 18 & 20 and more

Chapter nine: The moment it all fell apart.

NATE:

I didn’t mean to walk in.

I didn’t even know where I was going, honestly. The party had started dying down. I was tipsy, bored, looking for another drink or maybe Matt or Nick. I thought I heard music coming from the upstairs Bluetooth speaker.

But when I opened that door—my sister’s door—everything stopped.

Everything froze.

And then I saw him. Chris. On top of her.

Inside her.

My best fucking friend.

“Are you fucking serious?” The words came out like a whip. Loud. Sharp. Cutting through whatever haze was left in my head.

They both jerked apart. Y/N scrambled to pull the blanket over her chest. Chris shot upright, wide-eyed, panic all over his face.

“Nate—wait—” Y/N started, voice shaking.

“Don’t.” I stormed in, heart pounding so hard it rattled my ribs. “Don’t fucking say my name right now.”

Chris moved like he was going to get off the bed, explain, do that calm-down voice he always pulled. I stepped forward so fast he flinched.

“Don’t you fucking move.”

“You need to chill—” Chris tried, but his voice cracked.

“Chill?” I laughed, bitter and loud. “You’re inside my sister, man!”

“I didn’t plan—”

“You didn’t plan? You didn’t plan?” I was yelling now. No filter. No control. “You’ve been around my house for years, Chris. You’ve been to every family trip, every birthday—you were like my fucking brother—”

Y/N stood up, blanket wrapped tight around her. “Nate, please—”

“You shut the fuck up too!”

She flinched like I slapped her, and that made something twist in my chest. Guilt. Rage. More rage.

“This is why you’ve been weird lately?” I snapped. “You’ve been sneaking around with him?”

Chris stood now, jeans only half-pulled on. “I care about her, Nate.”

I lunged.

Fist first.

The punch landed square in his jaw. His head snapped back. Y/N screamed.

Matt and Nick must’ve heard it downstairs because suddenly feet were thundering up the stairs. Matt shoved the door open, already out of breath. “What the fuck is going on?”

“He fucked her!” I shouted. “That’s what’s going on—Chris fucked my sister!”

Matt’s face went white.

Nick pulled Y/N aside, shielding her as she trembled behind him, half-naked and crying.

“Nate, calm down,” Matt said, stepping between me and Chris, who was wiping blood from his mouth. “Just chill, bro—”

“Don’t call me bro!” I shoved Matt back. “None of you get to calm me down!”

Chris straightened, still breathing heavy. “I love her.”

That shut the whole room up.

Y/N’s breath caught. Nick looked between them in disbelief. Matt muttered, “Oh, fuck.”

“You love her?” I laughed again, wild this time. “You loved her when you were dry humping girls in my car three months ago? You loved her when you made jokes about her being off limits?”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

“But it did, didn’t it?” My voice cracked. “And you didn’t stop. You didn’t tell me. You let me sit next to you, let me trust you, while you were sneaking behind my back—”

“I was scared!” Chris shouted, suddenly matching my volume. “You don’t know what it was like—feeling like this and knowing I couldn’t say shit without losing everything!”

“You should’ve lost everything.”

The room went silent again.

Y/N’s voice broke the silence this time—small, but clear. “Nate… it wasn’t just him.”

I turned, glaring. “Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not.” Her eyes were glassy, but steady. “I wanted it too.”

That was the last punch. Not physical—but it landed harder than anything else.

I backed away. Shaking. Fury boiling under my skin so hot I could barely breathe.

“I can’t even look at either of you,” I muttered, pushing past Matt and storming toward the stairs.

“Nate, don’t leave like this!” Y/N called after me.

But I was already gone.

Because if I stayed, I was going to kill someone.

I hit the bottom of the stairs like a storm, hands shaking, heart tearing itself apart inside my chest. I didn’t even register the music or the laughter anymore. The house was full—packed—but I couldn’t see any of them. All I saw was red.

They lied to me.

They all lied to me.

“EVERYONE OUT!” I roared from the bottom of the stairs.

Heads turned. The music cut off mid-song. Conversations died. People blinked, confused and wide-eyed as I stormed into the living room, knocking over a chair on my way.

“The party’s over. GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Someone laughed like it was a joke.

So I grabbed the nearest speaker and threw it across the room.

Glass shattered.

That got the message across.

People started moving. Fast. Scrambling for keys, phones, jackets. Chris’s lacrosse friends were whispering, eyes darting upstairs. I didn’t care. I didn’t fucking care.

And then I saw them—Nick and Matt—coming down the stairs slowly, like they’d been hit by the same train I had.

“Did you know?” I asked, voice low and shaking. “Did you fucking know?”

They froze.

Nick looked away first. Guilt written all over his face.

Matt opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“ANSWER ME!”

Nick winced. “Nate—listen—”

“You knew.” My voice cracked. “You both knew. And you didn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Matt rushed out, stepping forward. “It just… it started and we thought it’d blow over—”

“BLOW OVER?” My fist slammed against the wall, rattling the frame. “She’s my sister. He’s my best friend. And you stood there and said NOTHING?”

Nick’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t our secret to tell—”

“YES, IT FUCKING WAS!” I lunged at him, and Matt grabbed me, holding me back as I thrashed in his arms.

“You should’ve told me,” I growled, fighting him off. “You should’ve fucking warned me.”

“We were protecting her,” Matt shouted, breathless. “She was scared!”

“Protecting her?” I ripped away from him. “You think this is protecting her? Letting her sneak around? Letting them lie to my face? Watching me joke with Chris like an idiot while they were fucking behind my back?”

The front door slammed. More people hurried out. The house was half-empty now. Quiet enough to feel the weight of every breath, every betrayal.

And then Chris came down the stairs.

His mouth was bleeding. Shirt half-buttoned. He looked like hell.

“Get the fuck out,” I said without hesitation.

He didn’t move. “Nate, I’m not leaving her—”

“I said GET. OUT.”

“Nate—” Matt started.

“I SWEAR TO GOD,” I turned on Chris again, fists clenched. “If you say one more thing, I will end this friendship with my hands. Right fucking now.”

Chris swallowed, jaw tight, but he didn’t speak.

He just turned and walked back upstairs.

Not to leave.

To go back to her.

And somehow, that felt worse than the punch I’d thrown.

NICK:

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

When I heard the crash upstairs, I knew. The second Nate started screaming, I knew he’d found out. But I never expected him to look at me like that—like I was just as bad as Chris.

Maybe I was.

Maybe keeping their secret this long was betrayal.

But I couldn’t watch Y/N break. I saw how Chris looked at her—how she looked at him. It wasn’t just a hookup. It never was. They tried to stop. They wanted to stop. But it was too late.

And now everything was on fire.

Matt dropped onto the couch, head in his hands. Nate stood in the middle of the living room like he couldn’t breathe. Just shaking. Breathing like he was about to pass out.

“What the fuck do we do now?” Matt whispered.

Nobody had an answer.

CHRIS:

I didn’t even have time to pull my shirt over my head before Nate’s voice ripped through the room like a shotgun blast.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

Y/N froze under me. Her nails still dug into my shoulders, her mouth parted like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to scream or sob. I scrambled off her like I’d touched fire.

Nate was already storming across the room. His face was red, his jaw locked, fists clenched like he was deciding whether to hit me or throw something instead.

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

Matt and Nick were right behind him, panic flashing across both their faces. Matt looked at me like he wanted to teleport me out of the room. Nick’s mouth was open, already trying to step between us.

“Nate—” Matt said quickly, stepping in front of him.

“You fucking knew?” Nate turned so fast Matt actually stumbled. “You knew about this?”

I grabbed my jeans off the floor, yanking them on as fast as I could. My adrenaline was on fire.

“Nate, listen—”

“No, you listen! That’s my little sister, man! You said— You promised me. You promised.” His voice cracked at the end. “How long has this shit been going on?”

I couldn’t speak.

Nick did instead, his voice calm but steady. “It wasn’t like that at first. And yeah… we knew. Not everything. But—”

“You’re all liars!” Nate shouted. “All of you!”

Y/N was pulling her hoodie over her head now, face flushed with more than just embarrassment. “Nate, you’re overreacting—”

“I walked in on you! Half-naked with my best friend, and you want to tell me I’m overreacting?”

“I’m not a kid anymore!” she yelled back.

“I don’t give a fuck! You’re still my sister!”

The tension was boiling—bubbling over into chaos. Nate pushed past Matt and lunged at me. I didn’t hit back. I couldn’t. I took the hit to my jaw and stepped back, only blocking him from swinging again.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Y/N screamed, grabbing Nate’s arm.

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped, jerking his arm away from her like she burned him. “You betrayed me. Both of you.”

Matt finally shoved himself between us, chest heaving. “Enough. Nate, you need to calm the hell down.”

“I want everyone out,” Nate growled. “Now.”

“No—wait,” Y/N said, tears in her eyes. “You don’t get to act like this. You don’t own me—”

“I trusted you,” Nate interrupted, pointing at me. “I let you into this house. I let you into our family.”

“You think this was easy for us?” I snapped. “I fought it. She did too.”

“You’re disgusting,” he spat. “You all are.”

Y/N stepped forward then, chest rising fast. “Don’t fucking talk about him like that.”

That was it. The moment everything shattered.

“Then maybe you should go with him,” Nate said coldly. “Pack your shit and get out.”

And Y/N—Y/N slapped him.

The room went silent.

Nate’s face turned to the side with the force of it. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at her like she wasn’t even his sister anymore.

“I hate you for this,” she whispered, voice breaking.

Matt was already pushing me toward the door. “Let’s go. Now.”

Nick was shaking his head, devastated, grabbing his jacket with trembling hands.

I took one last look at her as Nate stormed down the hall. She was shaking. Chest heaving. Looking at me like she didn’t know if she should run after me or fall to her knees and cry.

I didn’t know how we were supposed to come back from this.

Y/N:

The front door slammed shut like a gunshot.

The second it did, the silence became unbearable. I could feel Chris’s presence vanish behind it—like I could still feel the echo of his body pressed against mine, his voice in my mouth.

Now it was just me. And Nate.

He stood in the living room, arms crossed over his chest like a wall he refused to lower. His jaw clenched, eyes bloodshot—whether from anger or whatever he’d been drinking, I didn’t know.

I could still taste the panic in my mouth. The heat of shame on my skin. My fingers trembled at my sides.

“I can’t believe you,” he finally said. His voice was low, like he was too angry to raise it. “I really can’t believe you, Y/N.”

“Oh, shut up,” I snapped, walking toward him. “You act like I murdered someone.”

“You didn’t murder someone,” he growled. “You betrayed me. There’s a difference.”

“You kicked everyone out over something that wasn’t even your business!” I yelled, chest heaving. “You embarrassed me. You humiliated me in front of everyone.”

“I should’ve burned that room down,” he shot back. “I should’ve beat the shit out of him.”

I stepped up to him—close enough to see the veins in his neck pulsing. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

He laughed bitterly. “Jesus Christ, are you even hearing yourself? You’re defending him? After everything?”

“I love him!” I shouted.

The words were out before I could even decide to say them. They just ripped from my chest like they’d been sitting there for years.

Nate blinked. Just once. Like I’d punched him in the stomach.

I saw it—saw the way his shoulders dropped. Not out of sympathy, but out of disbelief.

“No. No. You’re confused. He used you, Y/N. You’re just some girl he fucked for fun—”

“Shut the fuck up!”

I lunged forward, shoving him. Hard.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I’m stupid?” I screamed.

He didn’t move, didn’t fight back. Just stood there while I pounded my fists into his chest—again, and again, and again.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Nate,” I sobbed, fists still hitting his arms, his shoulders. “I’m not your baby sister. You don’t get to decide who I sleep with or who I fall in love with.”

“I was trying to protect you!” he finally yelled back.

“I didn’t ask you to!”

I pushed him again—hard enough that he staggered back a step. My whole body shook from the rage, the heartbreak, the exhaustion.

“You treated me like a secret,” he said, eyes glassy now. “Like I didn’t deserve to know the truth. All of you. Even them.”

“We didn’t tell you because we knew this is exactly how you’d act,” I choked out. “You never would’ve been okay with it. You don’t even try to understand.”

He stared at me. Just stared.

And then, finally, he turned away. Running a hand over his face.

“You made your choice,” he muttered. “So go.”

I didn’t move.

“Go, Y/N,” he said again, louder.

My breath caught. I looked at him like maybe, just maybe, he’d take it back. But he didn’t.

So I turned. Walked toward the front door with tears streaming down my cheeks, hands shaking at my sides.

When I stepped outside, the boys were waiting.

Chris was pacing. Matt was sitting on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Nick looked like he’d aged ten years in ten minutes.

The second Chris saw my face, he was in front of me. Hands hovering like he didn’t know if he should touch me. “Baby…”

I collapsed into his chest.

And everything broke.

I hope you guys enojoy having a bit of everyone pov!

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @emeraldsturns-deactivated202505 @sturnslux3 @kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

[webslingingslasher]

hii!! can you do one where situationship!peter like yells at trouble or something along those lines or is like embarrassed to be seen w her (i jsut wanna read something angsty 😭😭)

no rush ofc!! hope u had a good new years 🎀

added these two asks together <3

what do u think that frat!peter would do if he made trouble cry, like it was his fault

-----

when peter got a congratulatory clap on his shoulder with a 'heard you got cuffed up. good for you, man.' he brushed it off. peter had a good guess on why someone made that connection, he's been a little handsy with you at parties, and on campus. it's a natural thought.

when peter got nudged by a member of another frat, and a 'congrats, bro. she's a hottie.' he felt confused.

the third time it happened, while at his own house, peter finally asked what was up. 'where did you hear that?' a punch to his arm, 'your chick. she's telling everyone you're her boyfriend.'

and that? it made his blood boil.

'she's lying, i'm not dating anyone.' the brother's eyebrows raised, 'oh. i mean, i guess she told ja-' peter spoke up louder, 'she's a fucking liar.' the brother leaves it alone.

peter was almost pacing his floor while waiting for you. you've brought it up a thousand times, he's made his opinion very clear, and yet you're going behind his back and telling everyone he's the one thing he's not.

you don't notice his distaste, reaching out for a kiss you're dodged. peter wants to scoff at your pout, no wonder you feel sad, your boyfriend refused your touch.

'anything you wanna tell me, trouble?'

you're immediately taken back by his tone. 'anything that might get back to me?' you have a sinking feeling you know what it's about, you didn't know it would be whispered about, but you should've.

but, you won't put your foot in your mouth yet. 'i don't think so.' peter lets out a dry laugh, 'no? there's nothing that you did that makes you look fucking crazy?'

you swallow hard, is that what he thought of you? if so, he's wrong. 'i'm not crazy.' peter throws his hands up, 'really? okay, let's see if we can figure this one out together. i'm not your boyfriend, but apparently you're telling people i am. is that supposed to make you look sane?'

it's downright mean. 'you're being very condescending right now, peter. i don't like it.' peter's loud with his next sentence. 'just how i don't like being called your fucking boyfriend?'

your world comes crashing down. how could he be so brutal with such ease. it's so harsh you can't swallow back your emotions.

tears blot at your eyes while your lower lip trembles. 'is the idea of being with me that bad?' peter feels as crushed as you look. once it starts you can't stop, and to break down in front of peter, after he just called you fucking crazy, makes you dehumanize yourself.

you huff small breaths and try to wipe away the tears as they fall. you struggle to say your words without pausing to gasp. 'you didn't even... ask why.' it brings a new wave, he's being silent and you think it's over and final and you didn't get a chance to plead your case.

'i need... to leave.' you can't breathe, you can't even feel your feet when you move. you don't make it far because peter's in front of you and using his chest to back you up.

'alright, alright. just stop crying, okay?' peter doesn't know what to do because he's never actually made a girl cry that hard, or at least in his face, making him aware of his actions and how he could've tried to approach this in a calm way.

'you hate me,' you gasp, 'and you think i'm crazy,' another gasp, but this time you're scooped into his hold. 'stop. please, stop. please stop crying.' peter thinks if he squeezes you hard enough he could piece the parts he ruined back together.

'i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.' peter doesn't know what he wanted, but it wasn't a pleading apology coughed out between sobs. fuck, he was mean, wasn't he? 'stop it, trouble. just breathe, alright? it's done, okay?'

oh, peter's shit at this. you cry even harder, 'i know we are. i'm so sorry, i'll tell everyone i made it up and... and you-'

'we're not done. the conversation is done. just please stop fucking crying.' peter can't stress it enough because he feels so guilty he's about to start crying in solidarity.

'no! not until, not until you hear-'

'i'm not going to listen to anything until you can say three words without holding your breath.' it's useless, 'i think i'm dying.' you don't know how, but you're held even tighter to his chest, 'you're not dying. you're upset because i said mean things.'

you're able to take a deep breath, it feels good. 'you did.' peter can finally relax, you're not on the verge of passing out anymore. 'i know. i was really mean, wasn't i?'

'yeah.' fuck, he really, really hates how miserable he made you. peter cares about you, it's the one thing he makes sure to tell you, but he doesn't think you talk to the people you care about that way.

'i promise i'm not crazy, i just-'

'you're not crazy and i should've never said that.' you try to keep your face tilted down when peter pulled back, but he was adamant on having you look at him.

'i'm so sorry, okay? i was caught off guard by all these comments today and i took it out on you. you're right, i should've asked why. but i didn't, and i'm sorry.'

'jackson ruth got all weird and touchy at his party last week and i just blurted out that you were my boyfriend so he'd leave me alone and i swear i didn't mean for him to have it spread.'

you hate that you made him ashamed, maybe you said that part out loud too because you think you saw something break inside his eyes.

peter softly cups your face, any stray droplets cleared with a brush of his thumbs under your eyes. 'i'm not ashamed of you, i'd never be ashamed of you. you're my baby.'

hook, line, and sinker.

'you are always allowed to use my name if you need to, i promise. i was a dick and i made you cry and now i feel like shit that i made you feel like shit, and now i feel even shitter because i'm somehow making this about me.'

you wrap your hands around his, you'd rather him keep his hold. you feel special. 'do you mean it?' peter nods softly, he leans down for a kiss. it's warming, your chest blossoms wide.

if you were fucking crazy, hypothetically, you'd claim the accusation boldly when he says 'on everything i love.'

[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . violenceee, use of guns & other weapons, matt shooting people, physical fighting, jumping of buildingssss uhhhh cursing, mentions of blood.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SECRET BUNKERS

read other parts here!

the air is still, unnaturally still. like even the wind knows what’s coming. below, the strangers don’t flinch when you challenge them. they just smile. calm. calculated. “we were hoping you’d say that,” their leader calls back. and then, they move. two of them peel off left and right, circling, flanking. the others raise weapons, but not at you. at the tower’s support beams. “shit!” matt grabs your arm, pulling you away from the edge. “they’re gonna bring it down!” chris yells, “protect the kid!” already diving to shield lana

“everyone grab something and hold on!” nick shouts. the first shot hits, wood splinters. the tower groans beneath you like it’s alive and in pain. you drop beside matt, one hand bracing against the floor, the other gripping your gun like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. “they’re trying to trap us in here,” nick growls, shoving ammo into the rifle. “wait ‘til they move in closer. we fire on my mark.” matt looks at you. not panicked, focused. “you ready?” you nod, heart hammering. “with you? always.”

“gross,” nick mutters, even as he lines up a shot. “if we die, i’m haunting you both.” more bullets. more wood cracking. the support beams won’t last much longer. you hear footsteps below. they’re coming up. matt’s voice cuts through the chaos. “now!” you all move in sync, one perfect, chaotic heartbeat. shots ring out. one of the raiders drops. then another.

you catch movement on the stairs, someone climbing fast. “matt!” you shout, pointing. he doesn’t hesitate. fires once. a body falls back with a sickening thud. but another one’s right behind him, and suddenly they’re inside, everything turns to screaming and blood and chaos.

you wrestle with a man twice your size, barely holding your own as he slams you into the wall. you feel the breath punch out of your lungs, your grip loosens—

“get away from her!” matt snarls, slamming the butt of his rifle into the guy’s skull. he crumples. you fall to your knees, dazed. matt’s there instantly. “you okay? talk to me.” you manage a breath. a nod. “i’m good.”

“never do that again.”

“wasn’t planning on it,” you wheeze. another blast hits the tower. it lurches violently, wooden beams snapping below. “we have to get down!” chris shouts.

“jump into the trees!” nick says. “they’ll break our fall!”

“or break our spines,” chris snaps. “either way, fun!”

lana tugs on your sleeve, holding something up. the key. small. silver. covered in grime.

“i know where it goes,” she says quietly. “i can take you. but we have to leave now.” the tower groans again. this is it. one more hit and you’ll all go down with it. matt grabs your hand, breathless. “we jump on three.” you squeeze his fingers.

“three,” he says.

“two…”

you look at everyone. your found family.

“one.”

you all leap.

the world flips.

branches slap past your face. pain blooms sharp and fast across your back as you crash through leaves, slam into bark, land hard.beverything spins. but you’re alive.

you gasp, roll over, matt lands beside you with a grunt, grabs your shoulders. “are you okay?!”

“yeah,” you croak, “i think—” but before you can finish, gunfire erupts again. they’re still coming. the group scatters into the woods, dodging bullets, ducking between trees. lana leads the way, fast, determined. her fear’s gone, replaced by something fierce. matt sticks to your side, always. covering you. trusting you.

“you sure she knows where she’s going?” nick pants behind you. “i trust her,” you say. “she’s survived this long, hasn’t she?” matt glances back, eyes sharp. “keep moving. they’re gaining.”

you break through a clearing, and there it is. a bunker. half-buried in the earth, hidden under ivy and rot.

lana runs to the door, jams the key into the lock. turns it.

click.

the door creaks open, rusted, heavy. you all pile inside, pulling the door shut just as the first raider breaks through the tree line. darkness.

then, soft lights flicker to life.

a hallway. clean. dry. stocked. you all stare, breathing hard.

“holy shit,” chris mutters. “it’s real.” matt turns to you. there’s blood on his cheek. your blood, maybe. or his. you don’t care. he cups your face again, forehead pressed to yours. “we made it.” you nod, breath shaking. “barely.”

“still counts.”

he kisses you like it’s the last thing holding him together. and maybe it is. maybe it’s the only thing holding you together, too. because you don’t know what’s waiting inside, but you know who’s with you, and maybe that’s enough.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: last chapter + epilogue soon <3

[saberlight1]

exes and oh’s — billy the kid

pairing: billy bonney x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, Y/N usage, established relationship, possessive!billy, arguments, standard billy the kid warnings.

authors note: im starting to think i have a problem.. 3 fics in one day lmfao. this one was based off of this request— thank you anon. i hope you all enjoy this one <33

masterlist

Ever since the day Billy had asked you to be his, he had thought the constant bugging of men around you would come to an end. But it seemed to be that the Bonney man only noticed those men’s stares towards you even more.

He sat at the bar you currently worked as he watched yet another man eye you from the corner of the room. It made his blood boil, his knuckles turning white from the harsh grip on his shot glass.

“Baby, leave the glass alone.” You teased with that charming smile that made him weak in the knees. “It ain’t done nun’ to ya,”

He put it down, your soft southern accent making his anger simmer down in a instant. “Sorry, honey.”

“What’s got you starin’ daggers over there?” You re-poured his now empty glass with whiskey.

“Them men starin’ at you.” His eyes darkened as he looked at you through his brows, his fingertips circling the rim of the shot glass.

Your tongue darted out across your bottom lip at his admission, his words making a deep want towards your outlaw settle in your gut knowing how protective he was of you.

“They can look all they want, darlin’.” You tried to ease his anger with a gentle voice. “You’re the only one that I’d ever let touch me—you know that.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust.” He murmurs as he leans back, his eyes boring into yours.

“Hey, foxy..” One of the men he was talking about now stood in front of you, slurring his words. “You’re mighty fine, mind if we.. talk somewhere privately?” He winked, making you want to throw up. “I’d love to see how you look under them fine clothes of yours,”

You looked him up and down in disgust. “I’m alright, sir. Got someone else in mind for tonight,” You looked at Billy from the corner of your eye, your cowboy smirking up at you. You sighed as you went to grab the drunken man’s glass to refill—he was still a customer after all.

His grueling grip caught your wrist before you could even grab the glass—almost pulling you over the bar.

“You little bitch, can’t take a real man, huh?” He spat as you let out a yelp, trying to get out of his grasp.

“Back the fuck off.” Billy’s menacing figure appeared from beside the man, throwing the man back by his shoulder, causing him to fall on his ass.

He groaned, but was back on his feet within seconds. “The fuck it mean to you, huh? I wan’ her, so she’s mine.”

The second the man finished his sentence, Billy’s fast fist made contact with his jaw hard, the man being back to his spot on the floor. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ say those words about her.” He hissed, leaning down to place more punches to the man’s bloodied face. You watched in a mixture of horror and admiration—mostly admiration.

The man below him only let out a cackle in return. “Oh, I see. She’s your whore,” He spat blood into Billy’s face, and you swore the whole room stopped at his words.

Billy’s cocked back arm stopped at his words, and within seconds his pistol was pointed at the man’s forehead. “What did you just say?” He yelled. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you—”

You grabbed his forearm, pulling him back up. “Billy, please—” He turned to you, panting as you tried to calm that wild look in his eye. “That piece of shit ain’t worth it, c’mon, baby.” Your eyes flickered between his, and after a moment, he sighed before relenting and putting the gun away.

“Yeah, gotta get your bitch to sort out your favors—” The man continued to talk shit, but Billy cut him off with a swift kick to the ribs.

“Shut the fuck up.” Billy rasped out, looking down upon the man.

“C’mon,” You pulled his hand, taking him to the room in the back. You were glad it was around last call—the bar being mainly empty. You sat him down on some old crates before you turned to grab the spare med-kit you had hidden back there months prior.

Once you had everything ready, you held your hand out, signaling Billy to hand you his cut and bruised knuckles. He did, knowing better than to argue with you on the matter.

Your heart sank in your chest when you first saw them. “Billy, you’ve gotta stop gettin’ into fights over me.” You whispered, your eyes not leaving his hand.

His other hand reached out to angle your jaw so your eyes would met his. “Darlin’, I’m never gon’ stop fightin’ for you. You know that.” He shook his head with a smile. “He ain’t even get a lick in—I’m fine.”

“I know you can handle yourself.” You mutter in reply. “I just don’t like seein’ you hurt. Regardless of how bad—I don’t like it. Nor do I like watchin’ you put yourself in danger for me.” You retort with a pointed look.

His gaze lowered. “Now, lady, let’s not pretend you haven’t done the same. I’ve witnessed some pretty crazy cat fights after hours at the boardin’ house,” He teased, his hand now cupping your jaw.

You sighed, trying to fight back the smile that threatened to break free. “Jus’ please, be careful.”

“Always am.” He leaned forward to kiss the frown off your face, his hands sliding down your body in order to squeeze your hips.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer to your body as you smiled against his lips.

He pulled back, leaning his forehead onto yours. You both sat there for a couple of moments, enjoying the comfortable silence.

You placed one last kiss to his plump lips. “Alright, let me see that hand of yours.” You asked, and when he placed it into yours, you got to work. You disinfected and bandaged it to ensure it wouldn’t get an infection. “That should do it,” You whispered as you finished tying the cloth, leaning down to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you for defendin’ me, honey.”

You swore that even in the darkness of the room you were currently in that you could see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “I’m always gon’ defend you, baby.” He whispered, pulling you up by your hand to place you in his lap, his arms slithering around you as he placed a kiss to your cheek. He went quiet for a moment before he turned to grab something. You looked at him questionably when you saw that glint in his eye.

He smirked as he placed his signature hat onto your head. “There.” He admired his work as he fixed your hair, styling it to compliment the hat. “That should tell all those fuckers that you’re mine.”

Your teeth sunk into his bottom lip at his words as your eyes flickered between his. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” You whispered, the tip of his hat hitting his head as you leaned in to reconnect your lips again.

He didn’t mind—he thought it looked better on you anyways.