#think of how you met and how they love you and how you two live together

[leaderwonim]

THE WORLD NEVER ENDED | JACK HUGHES

pairing. jack hughes x fem!reader (ft. platonic quinn & luke hughes x fem!reader + male!oc x fem!reader)

genre. childhood best friends to lovers, ANGST, fluff, hurt to comfort, reader & jack are both 18-19 in this!

synopsis: Y/N and Jack Hughes have been inseparable since childhood, spending every summer at his family’s lake house—until his hockey career takes off and leaves her behind. As Jack’s life moves forward and Y/N tries to do the same, the distance between them grows in ways neither of them expected. But when their paths cross again at a breaking point, they’re forced to confront everything they never said and the feelings that never really went away.

The lake house never changes. It still smells like pine and sunscreen, the same old dock creaking under your feet, the same late summer breeze curling through the trees. But this time, you’re the only one here.

You let the beer bottle dangle from your fingers, the glass sweating against your palm as you stare at the still water. It’s late. Too late to be out here alone, and your mom would probably kill you if she found out you were underage drinking, but you’ve been doing this since you were kids—sneaking down to the dock past midnight, toes dipping into the water, whispering about everything and nothing at all.

Except this time, Jack isn’t here. Not really. Not anymore.

The last time you saw him was months ago, after another whirlwind season, after Team USA, after everything. He’d come back, same easy smile, same stupidly messy hair, same Jack. And yet, he wasn’t.

He moved too fast, talked too much about things you weren’t a part of, laughed at jokes from teammates you didn’t know. He had an entire life outside of this town, this lake, this dock. A life that didn’t include you.

It wasn’t his fault though, you couldn’t blame Jack for being excited about this whole new chapter in his life, not when he’s worked his ass off so he could secure a spot in the NHL in the future.

You took a shaky breath, watching as the wind blew the waters back and forth, your thought raced with Jack, Jack, Jack. It wasn’t anything new; you had been in love with him since you had learned what the word love even was, when Ellen and your mom teased you two endlessly after your eighth birthday, declaring that you’d two get married when you were older.

And then he left, at age fourteen to go train at some hockey camp over the summer and you started seeing him less and less. Then he left again for USA Hockey, and all that was left of him was the little times he’d pop up on your screen for a FaceTime, or a quick selfie.

You never told him that it felt like the world had ended whenever he left.

❥

The first time you met Jack Hughes, he was seven years old, standing knee-deep in the lake, grinning like he had owned the world.

“You scared to jump in?” he teases, squinting up at you from where he’s splashing around.

You cross your arms, standing barefoot on the dock, the sun burning hot against your skin. “I just don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

Jack laughs like you just said the funniest thing in the world, and before you can react, he launches a handful of water in your direction. It splashes against your legs, cool and shocking, and you gasp.

“You jerk!” you shriek, but Jack’s already laughing, already diving into the water, swimming just far enough out of reach that you can’t get him back.

You don’t know it then, but that’s how it starts.

The Hughes family’s lake house becomes your second home. Your parents are close friends with Ellen and Jim, and summers are spent tangled in sunburns, mosquito bites, and the smell of bonfires. Jack, being just a few months older, quickly becomes your shadow—or maybe you become his.

You race bikes down dirt paths, climb trees until your hands are covered in splinters, and stay up late whispering under blanket forts in the Hughes’ living room, trying not to wake Luke and Quinn.

“You think we’ll still be best friends when we’re older?” you ask one night, voice sleepy, cheek smushed against your arm.

Jack frowns at you, like you just said something ridiculous. “Duh. Who else am I supposed to hang out with? My brothers?”

You grin brightly, shoving him. “You promise?”

He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

And that’s that.

As you both get older, things don’t really change. Not at first.

Winters are spent at the Hughes’ house in Michigan, watching Jack skate for hours at the rink, your fingers numb from gripping a hot chocolate too tight. Summers are still for the lake house, where the days blur together in a haze of sun, water, and laughter.

Jack is your best friend. The one who sneaks you extra s’mores when the adults say no. The one who ties your skates when your fingers are too cold. The one who always picks you first for street hockey, even when Luke complains about it. The one who knows everything about you.

And you know everything about him, too.

That he gets grumpy when he’s hungry. That he has to listen to music before every game, or else he feels off. That he’s already dreaming about the NHL, about Team USA, about everything that seems so far away but somehow already feels like it’s coming too fast.

You don’t realize when things do start changing.

Maybe it’s when Jack turns fourteen and starts spending more time away at tournaments. Maybe it’s when you turn fourteen and realize your heart speeds up whenever he looks at you a certain way.

Maybe it’s the summer you turn fifteen and see him talking to a girl from town, and something ugly coils in your stomach. You don’t say anything, though. You can’t.

Jack is your best friend. That’s all. Even if you wish it wasn’t.

When Jack is sixteen, everything does change.

It’s the Fourth of July. The lake house is packed, fireworks already popping in the distance. You and Jack sneak away from the party like you always do, climbing onto the dock and lying side by side, watching the sky.

“You excited for the USA team?” you ask, your voice light, like the thought of him leaving doesn’t make your chest ache.

Jack turns his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda nervous, though.”

You smile a little, the same smile that had reassured Jack every time he saw it. “You’ll be fine.”

He shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. “You think so?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “You’re Jack Hughes.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, almost hesitant. The air between you feels different, thicker, heavier. His fingers twitch on the dock beside yours, and for a second, you swear he’s about to reach for your hand.

But then he exhales sharply, sits up. “We should get back.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You stare at the fireworks exploding in the sky, feeling like something inside you is breaking.

Jack leaves for Team USA at the end of the summer.

And you don’t know it yet, but nothing will ever be the same again.

❥

At first, you still talk all the time. He calls after practices, FaceTimes you from hotel rooms, sends you stupid selfies from road trips. And for a while, it almost feels normal. Almost.

But then the calls get shorter. The messages come slower.

You see his name on headlines, hear people at school talking about him like he’s some distant star instead of the boy you grew up with. And suddenly, he feels… far away.

Not just in distance. In everything.

And then one day, you realize you don’t remember the last time he called.

You don’t text him, either. You figured he was too busy anyways—too busy with hockey, with interviews, too busy for you.

His absence leaves a hollow space inside you, one you don’t know how to fill. So you try.

That’s how you end up with him.

Aiden West. Star quarterback. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile and dimples that should make your heart flutter.

You meet at a party—one you only went to because your friends dragged you out of your house, tired of you spending your nights holed up in your room, pretending you weren’t waiting for a text that never came.

Aidan’s nice. He’s funny. He buys you drinks and calls you baby and kisses you like he means it.

You tell yourself this is good. That this is what you need.

But when he holds your hand, it doesn’t feel the same. When he kisses you, you don’t melt the way you think you should. And when you close your eyes, it’s not Aidan you see.

It’s Jack. Always Jack.

Quinn comes home in December.

You’re not expecting to see him, not really. Ever since he was drafted, he spent all his time in Vancouver, busy with his own life, his own team. But one night, you walk into the Hughes’ house, and there he is, sprawled on the couch like he never left.

“Quinn?” you blink.

He smirks, sitting up. “Hey, kid.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “You’re, like, a few years older than me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” he teases, but then his expression softens. “How’ve you been?”

You shrug. “Good.”

He gives you a look, like he can see right through you. Because of course he can.

Quinn has always been quieter than Jack, more observant. He was the one who bandaged your scraped knees when you and Jack were too reckless, the one who ruffled your hair when you had a bad day, the one who watched you grow up and somehow always knew what you were feeling before you even said it.

And right now, you can tell he knows you’re lying.

“You still talk to Jack?” he asks casually.

You stiffen. “Not really.”

Quinn nods, like that’s what he expected. “He’s been busy.”

“I know,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’s fine.”

He studies you for a moment. Then, his eyebrows furrow. “You dating that football guy?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Quinn tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You like him?”

You swallow. “He’s… nice.”

Quinn leans back, crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve seen you happy before.”

You furrow your brows. “And?”

“And that’s not what you look like right now.”

The words hit deeper than you want them to. You look away, staring at your hands.

Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. If you like the guy, great. But don’t force something that isn’t real just because—” He pauses.

You glance up. “Just because what?”

Quinn meets your eyes, and for the first time, his voice is gentle. “Just because Jack hurt you.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right. And maybe that’s the worst part of all.

❥

Aidan is kind when he breaks up with you.

That almost makes it worse.

You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while. The way he exhales before he starts speaking, the way his hands stay tucked into the pocket of his hoodie like he’s afraid if he moves too much, you’ll see how much this is bothering him.

“You’re not really here, Y/N,” he says, voice steady but laced with something bitter, something tired.

You don’t argue, because you know he’s right.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I like you. I really do. But I deserve someone who looks at me like I’m the only one they’re thinking about.”

Your stomach twists.

“Aidan—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, forcing a small smile. “I knew. I think I always did.” He swallows, glancing away before meeting your eyes again. “It was never gonna be me, was it?”

You want to tell him you tried. That you wanted to feel something more, something real. But the truth is, no matter how hard you tried, he was never Jack.

And that was never fair to him.

So instead, you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He nods, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah. Me too.”

A few days pass, and you still feel hollow, like you’re floating through life without really being in it.

You don’t know why you still go to the Hughes’ house. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s because it still feels like home, even when things don’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe it’s because, deep down, you just need someone who knows you.

Luke opens the door, and before you can even say anything, his face twists in concern.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

You pause. “What?”

Luke steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. “You have your sad face on.”

You frown. “Luke Hughes, I do not have a—”

“You totally do,” he interrupts, flopping onto the couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, and after a moment, you do.

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Quinn told me everything.”

You freeze. “Everything?”

Luke gives you a knowing look. “Yeah. And I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at Jack since we were kids.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Luke sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Look, I know he messed up. Jack is kind of known for that. And I know you’re hurt. But…” He hesitates. “You still love him, don’t you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Luke—”

“Just be honest,” he says gently.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Luke nods like he already knew that was coming. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

You frown. “What’s this?”

“Tickets,” he says simply.

You blink. “Tickets?”

“To Jack’s game against Finland.” His voice is casual, but there’s something behind it—something careful, like he knows he’s walking a fine line. “I was gonna go, but I think you should instead.”

Your heart stops.

“Luke…”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says quickly. “Just go. See him. Talk to him.”

You stare at the tickets in his hand, your pulse pounding in your ears.

This is a choice. A chance.

And to be completely honest, you aren’t sure if you’re ready.

❥

You end up deciding not to go until the last minute.

The plane ticket burns in your hands, Luke’s voice echoing in your head: Just go. See him. Talk to him.

So you do. You land in Finland, stomach in knots, trying not to think about what you’ll even say to him. If he’ll even want to see you.

But then the game happens. And Jack loses.

The scoreboard tells you everything—3-2, Finland. A brutal, heartbreaking end.

Jack stays on the ice, shoulders hunched, wiping his face as the Finnish players celebrate around him. You can see the way he’s blinking rapidly, how hard he’s trying to hold it together.

It doesn’t work.

By the time he’s in the tunnel for postgame interviews, it’s like the weight of everything finally crashes over him. The cameras capture everything; his red-rimmed eyes, the way his lips tremble when he speaks, the way his voice wavers when he says, “I feel like I let everyone down.”

Your heart cracks wide open. You don’t think. You just go.

You push through the lingering crowd, through the halls of the arena, heart racing. And then—there he is.

Jack is leaning against the wall, head bowed, gripping a water bottle so tightly his knuckles are white. His shoulders shake slightly, like he’s trying to get a grip, but he’s losing the battle.

You inhale sharply, willing yourself forward.

“Jack.”

His head snaps up, eyes widening. And for a second, he just stares.

Like he doesn’t believe you’re real.

“Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You nod, stepping closer. But before you can say anything else, Jack clears his throat and quickly swipes at his face, straightening up like he’s trying to compose himself.

Then he blurts out, “How’s Aidan?”

You freeze.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, looking down. “Quinn told me you had a boyfriend,” he mutters, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I—uh, I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. “Jack—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, still not looking at you. “I always wanted you to be happy.”

He sniffles, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. He looks exhausted. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen before.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

The space between you. The months of silence. The fact that he still doesn’t know the truth.

You move before you can stop yourself, closing the gap and wrapping your arms around him.

Jack stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath.

But then—slowly, so slowly—it’s like something inside him gives in.

His hands grip your back, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he melts.

You feel his shaky exhale against your neck. The way his fingers curl into the jersey you’re wearing with his name on the back, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

“I don’t—” Jack’s voice cracks. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t. Just just let me be here.”

Jack exhales shakily, nodding against you. “Okay.”

Despite your reassurance, he still feels like he’s falling.

The weight of the loss, the pressure, the expectations, it’s all crashing over him, relentless and suffocating. But in the middle of it all, there’s you.

And when you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, he realizes you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your hands stay on his face, thumbs brushing against his damp skin, and there’s something in your expression, something soft and certain that makes his chest ache.

Then you move closer, tilting your head, and suddenly, suddenly—your lips press against his.

Jack stills.

Then, all at once, he melts into you.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. Your lips are soft, warm, familiar, but new at the same time, like something that was always supposed to happen but never did.

It feels like breathing again. Like finally getting it right.

But then, Jack realizes and he blinks, something clicking in his mind as he pulls back abruptly, still holding onto you but panting slightly.

“Wait,” he says, voice hoarse. “Aidan.”

You shake your head quickly. “We broke up.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You exhale, your hands sliding from his face to his wrists, squeezing lightly. “Jack, I tried to move on. I tried so hard.” Your voice wavers. “But it was never him. It was always you.”

Jack’s lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

Then, suddenly, he laughs—a broken, disbelieving sound before his face crumples, his eyes shining again.

And just like that, he’s crying.

He presses his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut as his grip on your waist tightens.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you to say that,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

You smile softly, brushing his hair back. “I think I do.”

Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his hands fisting the fabric of your jersey, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. But you don’t.

Because after everything—after the distance, the silence, the missed chances—you’re still here.

He sniffles, pulling you into another tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder.

❥

Later, when the chaos dies down and the arena empties, you end up in Jack’s car.

The heater hums softly, filling the silence, the city lights casting faint shadows across the dashboard.

Jack sits in the driver’s seat, head tilted against the headrest, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You’re next to him, legs curled up on the seat, leaning against his shoulder.

It’s quiet.

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just comfortable.

Jack sighs, nudging his cheek against your hair. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You smile faintly, reaching for his hand. “Me neither.”

He squeezes your fingers, his grip warm and sure. “I thought I lost you.”

You shake your head, squeezing back. “You never did.”

Jack exhales, his body relaxing against yours, and for the first time in a long time, hfeels whole again.

❥

The lake house feels the same the next summer.

The scent of pine and sunscreen still lingers in the air, the dock still creaks under your feet, and the water still glistens under the late afternoon sun. But this time, Jack is here. And this time, he’s yours.

He had turned freshly nineteen last month, but still was the same annoying boy you had known since you were seven.

You sit on the old wooden dock, legs stretched out, the warm breeze tangling your hair. Jack is lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over his forehead, his other hand resting on your knee, tracing absentminded patterns over your skin.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the occasional laughter from inside the house, where Quinn and Luke are probably chirping each other over something stupid.

Jack sighs, turning his head to look at you. “I missed this.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his. “Me too.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes soft, warm, completely yours. Then, without a word, he tugs you down so you’re lying next to him, your head resting on his chest.

“You know,” he muses, fingers trailing up and down your back, “last summer, I thought I’d never get this back.”

You inhale slowly, letting his heartbeat ground you. “Me too.”

Jack tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But we made it.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, smiling. “We did.”

He grins, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, then flips you onto your back, hovering over you with that look—the one that reminds you he’s still the same Jack, the same boy who used to splash you in the lake, who used to steal your s’mores when you weren’t looking, who used to be your best friend before he was everything.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Luke’s voice echoes from the house, and you both groan.

Jack turns his head, scowling. “Luke, I swear—”

Quinn’s voice cuts in. “Let them be, Luke. They suffered enough.”

You laugh as Jack rolls his eyes. “I hate that he’s right.”

You shake your head, pulling Jack back down. “Just kiss me already.”

He smirks. “Gladly.”

And as his lips meet yours, the sun dips below the horizon and the lake glistens around you, making you realize everything is exactly the way it’s meant to be.

It isn’t until Luke pretends to fake barf that Jack removes himself away from you, opting to chase down his little brother.

“Boys, am I right?” Quinn says, giving you a grin.

You wrap your arms around him, never feeling as whole as you did now.

[the-celestial-doll]

Some know the experiance of finding people at just the right time & knowing them brings so much joy and fulfillment. & sometimes those bonds break / & you have nothing to do with the breaking..

You are both alone with memories that used to mean the world -you showcased them proudly too, the world saw, even in the moment we always felt like our lives intertwining constantly felt like a tv show. Our own modern version of our favorite sitcoms bundled together but actually truly real. Happening live before our very eyes ✨-

I think that’s why my brain still thinks of you as an ally.. I never even got to say goodbye before I knew we were already strangers.

It’s in the eyes, stance, posture, your aura even.. like who I knew completely vanished. A facade! ha!

- but the pictures, videos, memories of the three of us, our vows together as a found family.. I felt selfish for taking time away, but it wasn’t very long & because of that I’ll blame myself forever! For where our lives could have been! If only my life didn’t have so much torment at home.. and to top it off I lost it all.

Not only did you dissappear but you two divided because I couldn’t mediate.. you broke off your friendship with him bc he was toxic to you.. you said you’d stay my friend and you loved me like your sister & confidant - then.. i was a ghost. It was like the current pulled me under, & when I came up for air -you were gone.

You & him talk now. It's odd how things happen, you even attended his wedding.. & i was a bridesmaid. We shared an elevator ride and i was so nervous- you didn't even acknowledge i existed.. then when brought to your attention later you looked heartbroken & like you wanted to talk to me? It's so odd when you try to hold a conversation as if nothing has happened.. but they don't say anything to you about what they did to you..

I even tried. Met you for coffee when you asked.. it was a mirror image of last time i saw you.. words of wanting to be around and catch up and know me again..

I had a feeling you needed me then. I missed being useful to you..but you just missed being able to use me as your therapist.

I know. it's hard to open up, & some connections you can feel in your soul.. I already knew his depths, fought his demons & cleansed his ghosts.. I could read his tells- I knew I was being used- I know you knew, I'd never hurt you. Even if I wanted to.

I just wanted to see my old friend again.. even if I knew it was all a lie.

sometimes i hate knowing all the looks in your eyes

— Trista Mateer, from “i still forget we’re not even friends”

[goldfades]

crazy cat people───joe burrow⁹

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had always been cat people—dogs were just too high maintenance, too needy. but you were never in a hurry to get cats until one night, joe finds a cat on a roadie and decides to bring her home.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | literally nothing but cat dad joe, and dog slander (JK!! not really, but we all know joe likes cats better). inspired by this clip.

The thing about Joe is that he’s always been a cat person.

You figured it out on your second date when the conversation somehow derailed into a passionate debate about why people automatically assume dogs are superior. It started off as a joke—some exaggerated takes for the sake of banter—but then Joe hit you with a well-structured argument about the independent nature of cats, their low-maintenance lifestyle, and the way they choose their people rather than blindly loving everyone.

“You ever seen a cat follow some random stranger home just ‘cause they waved at it? No. That’s some dog behavior.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No self-respect.”

That was the moment you knew he was the one.

Well, not actually, but it definitely solidified your interest. Three years later, the two of you were still going strong, bound together by an undeniable connection, a deep understanding of each other’s quirks, and a shared stance that dogs—while undeniably adorable—were just a little too much. Too excitable. Too dependent. Too… needy.

“We’d be cat people,” you had declared one night while curled up on the couch together, his arm draped lazily around you. “Like, if we were to get a pet.”

Joe hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, but I feel like we’d be picky about it. Can’t just have any cat. Gotta be one with personality.”

“A little bit of an asshole,” you added.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

Despite countless conversations about what you’d name your hypothetical future cat (the list had ranged from elegant, sophisticated names like Theodora to complete chaos like Little Shit), you never actually got one. Between Joe’s insane schedule and your own busy life, it never felt like the right time. You weren’t the type to impulsively adopt an animal just because it seemed like a cute idea—you took responsibility seriously. Joe was the same way.

But that didn’t stop you from sending him TikToks of cats daily. And it definitely didn’t stop him from pausing the TV anytime a cat appeared in a commercial, just to point and go, “That one’s kinda cool.”

It was just one of those things. A little inside joke, a shared fantasy, a part of your relationship that existed in theory but had yet to materialize.

Until Joe came back from a road trip with something unexpected.

Something small. And furry. And wrapped in the hoodie he had worn on the plane.

A cat.

He met your wide-eyed stare with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, funny story…”

--

It was one of those quiet, in-between days where everything felt a little dull without Joe around. You were used to it by now—his road trips, the stretches of time where you had to keep yourself entertained—but no matter how well you adjusted, the house always felt bigger when he wasn’t in it.

You filled the day the best way you knew how. Running errands, grabbing coffee from the spot down the street, making small talk with the barista who always remembered your order. You spent an unreasonable amount of time in Target, browsing the aisles aimlessly, tossing things into your cart that you definitely didn’t need but convinced yourself were essentials.

A candle? Necessary. A new throw blanket even though you already had five? An investment. A little ceramic dish shaped like a cat’s face? Joe would think it was funny.

By the time you got home, the sun was beginning to set, casting the living room in soft golden light. You went through your usual routine—changing into something comfier, throwing your hair up, and scrolling through your phone while curled up on the couch.

Joe had texted you earlier to say his flight landed on time, but you weren’t sure when he’d actually walk through the door. Traveling always took it out of him, and sometimes he lingered at the facility longer than necessary, just to settle back into the routine of being home.

So when you heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking, you perked up, setting your phone down.

Joe was home.

You stood, stretching a little before padding over to greet him—only to immediately freeze in place.

Because Joe Burrow, your extremely predictable, routine-driven boyfriend, was standing in the doorway holding a cat.

Not a cat carrier. Not a box from the pet store with a new cat inside. No, he was physically holding a cat in his arms, cradling it like some kind of newborn wrapped in the oversized hoodie he had worn on the plane.

“Uh…” You blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. “Joe?”

Joe, looking far too casual for someone who had just walked into your shared home with a whole animal, shot you a sheepish grin.

“So, funny story…” He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the tiny creature, who—shockingly—seemed completely unbothered.

You didn’t say anything. You just stared. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Joe cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “I found him at a gas station. In, like… the middle of nowhere.”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Yeah. Just… chilling. No collar, no tags, nothing.” He looked down at the cat, then back at you, as if that explanation was supposed to justify the fact that he had apparently just kidnapped an animal. “He walked right up to me. Super chill. Thought, you know, maybe he needed a home.”

“You—” You ran a hand down your face, processing. “So you just… took him?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “No one stopped me.”

You stared at him, then at the cat, then back at him.

The cat—a small, scrappy-looking thing with fluffy black fur and bright green eyes—gave the smallest little stretch before curling back up into the fabric of Joe’s hoodie, as if this was the most natural situation in the world.

A sigh left your lips, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You stole a cat.”

Joe scoffed. “I didn’t steal him. I rescued him.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you check to see if he belonged to anyone?”

Joe paused. “I mean… he was alone.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Well, no one else was around,” Joe defended. “It was late. Freezing cold. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “So your solution was to bring him home?”

Joe, completely unrepentant, grinned. “Yeah. He’s cool, right?”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples before shaking your head.

This man.

This six-foot-four NFL quarterback who spent three years claiming you guys would be extremely selective about what kind of cat you got, had apparently abandoned all standards the second a gas station stray blinked at him.

And worse? You were already kind of attached.

Because the damn cat was still curled up in his hoodie, looking completely at peace, like he had already decided he belonged here.

You sighed, waving them both inside. “I can’t believe you.”

Joe grinned, stepping past you and into the house, clearly taking that as a win.

“Should we name him?” he asked, already making himself comfortable on the couch, cat still in tow.

You groaned.

“Oh my God.”

The first night with Miss Honey felt strangely natural, like she had always belonged here. Apparently, you guys had been misgendering her the whole time.

After the initial shock of Joe casually waltzing into your home with a stray cat, the two of you got to work making sure she was okay. A quick check revealed she was mostly healthy—just a little underweight and carrying a few ticks, which you carefully removed while Joe held her still, murmuring soft reassurances. Despite being a random cat from a gas station, she was surprisingly chill about it, blinking up at you with those big green eyes like she already trusted you.

“This is insane,” you had muttered, brushing your fingers through her soft fur.

Joe, stretched out on the couch beside you, smirked. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You rolled your eyes because, of course, he was right.

That night, the three of you curled up on the couch and put on Matilda, your mutual comfort movie. Joe made popcorn, you pulled out the throw blanket you had impulse-bought earlier that day, and Miss Honey—named after the warm, soft-spoken teacher you both adored—made herself right at home between you, paws tucked neatly beneath her little body.

“She’s purring,” Joe whispered at one point, as if he was afraid saying it too loud would make her stop.

You had just smiled, gently scratching behind her ears. “Yeah. I think she likes us.”

It took less than twenty-four hours for Miss Honey to fully take over the house.

By the next morning, she had already established herself as a permanent fixture, weaving between your legs as you made coffee, hopping onto the couch like she owned the place, and—much to Joe’s delight—curling up on his chest while he lounged around watching film.

“She’s got good taste,” he mused, running a slow hand down her back.

You, sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting through your Target bags from yesterday, shot him a look. “You mean ‘cause she likes you?”

Joe grinned, glancing down at the cat who was currently making biscuits against his hoodie. “I mean, can you blame her?”

You snorted. “Unreal.”

Still, you had to admit—Miss Honey really did love Joe.

At first, you thought it was just convenience. He ran warm, he was still for long periods of time, and his heartbeat was steady enough to lull anyone to sleep. But over the next few days, it became clear that her attachment went deeper than that.

She followed him from room to room, her tiny paws padding against the hardwood whenever he moved. If Joe was at the kitchen counter making breakfast, Miss Honey was right there beside him, tail flicking lazily. If he was tying his shoes by the door, she sat next to him, watching intently like she had somewhere to be, too.

It was ridiculous.

“She’s obsessed with you,” you pointed out one night, arms crossed as you watched her bat playfully at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Joe grinned, scratching under her chin. “Yeah, but don’t be jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth blooming in your chest.

Because, truthfully, you loved it.

You loved that she trusted him. Loved that this cat—who had spent who-knows-how-long fending for herself—had chosen you both, nestled herself into the space between you like she had been there forever.

It didn’t take long for Miss Honey to establish a routine.

Every morning, without fail, she woke Joe up first. Not you—Joe.

You learned this the hard way when you woke up one morning to a quiet, disgruntled “Jesus,” followed by the sound of Joe shifting beside you. Blinking blearily, you turned over, only to find Miss Honey perched delicately on his chest, staring down at him like she was assessing whether or not it was time for him to get up.

“Babe,” Joe whispered, voice still thick with sleep. “Your cat is harassing me.”

You stifled a laugh, rubbing your eyes. “She’s your cat too.”

“Yeah, well, tell her to chill.”

Miss Honey, completely ignoring his complaints, took that exact moment to lean down and press her tiny nose against his, like a little wake-up kiss.

You melted on the spot.

Joe groaned, but even half-asleep, he couldn’t hide his smile.

From then on, it became a thing. Every morning, she woke Joe up first, then trotted to the kitchen like a little queen expecting breakfast. She had a schedule, and she stuck to it.

By the end of the second week, she had also taken over bedtime.

One night, you were finishing up in the bathroom when Joe called out from the bedroom, amusement lacing his voice.

“You’re getting replaced.”

You stepped into the room, brows furrowed. “What?”

Joe tilted his head toward the bed, where Miss Honey was curled up on his pillow, perfectly nestled into the space where your head usually went.

You crossed your arms. “Unreal.”

Joe smirked, patting the mattress beside him. “Sorry, babe. She called dibs.”

You shook your head, sliding into bed anyway, and—because Miss Honey was the most spoiled creature on the planet—you let her stay.

She purred contently between you, tucked snugly between your bodies, and Joe reached out, running a slow hand down her back before catching your gaze.

“I think she was meant to be ours,” he murmured, voice soft in the dark.

Your heart swelled.

Because he was right.

At first, Miss Honey had been a little more drawn to Joe. It wasn’t anything personal—she liked you just fine—but there was something about him that had her stuck to him like glue. Maybe it was his warmth, or the steady way he carried himself, or the fact that he had been the one to scoop her up from the cold and bring her home.

But after a couple of weeks, things started shifting.

It wasn’t sudden. There was no grand moment of realization where she decided, Actually, I love you too. It was slower than that—small moments that gradually built into something solid, something certain.

It was the way she started lingering in the kitchen while you made breakfast, winding around your ankles, soft fur brushing against your bare legs as she meowed up at you like she was part of the conversation.

It was how she started climbing onto your lap while you were reading, kneading her tiny paws into your stomach before curling up and purring herself to sleep, like you were something safe.

It was how she started following you into the bathroom whenever you did your skincare at night, sitting neatly by the sink and watching you with lazy, half-lidded eyes, as if she was deeply invested in your routine.

She was still Joe’s shadow, but you had become hers.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

“She likes you now,” Joe teased one night, watching as Miss Honey happily stretched out on your chest, perfectly content.

You smirked, scratching under her chin. “She always liked me.”

“Nah,” he mused, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “She tolerated you. Big difference.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you?”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Hey, it’s a compliment. You won her over.”

And you had.

Miss Honey wasn’t just a cat anymore. She was your cat. An irreplaceable little presence in the house.

Joe, naturally, leaned into it full force.

It started with the essentials.

A bed. A few toys. Some high-quality cat food that Joe meticulously researched before purchasing. He wasn’t about to give her just anything—he wanted the best, reading reviews like he was about to draft a new teammate.

You had laughed the first time you caught him looking up “best cat food brands for digestion” on his phone.

“Joe, she was literally eating bugs two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and now she’s got standards,” he shot back, tapping on a link. “This one’s got good ingredients.”

And that was just the beginning.

Before long, Joe was going all out—buying her the best litter (something natural and odor-free, because only the best for our girl), a selection of premium treats (“That Temptations crap is all filler,” he had said, with so much conviction you almost cried laughing), and multiple collars in different colors and patterns.

One morning, you caught him kneeling by the front door, carefully adjusting the tiny blue velvet collar around Miss Honey’s neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, leaning against the doorway, watching as he straightened the little golden name tag.

Joe glanced up, grinning. “She looks good though, right?”

You had to admit—she did.

But the real turning point? The sweaters.

That was unexpected.

It had started as a joke—one lazy evening, the two of you scrolling through Etsy, looking at cat accessories for fun.

“Wouldn’t she look cute in this?” you had said, showing Joe a tiny, knitted sweater in a soft cream color.

Joe snorted. “No way she’d wear that.”

Turns out, she would. And she’d like it.

The first time you slipped a tiny sweater over her head, Miss Honey barely reacted—just gave a big stretch, turned in a circle, and promptly plopped down on Joe’s lap like nothing was different.

Joe, stunned, just blinked.

“You’re telling me she’s okay with this?”

“She’s thriving,” you corrected, grinning.

And from that moment on, Joe took it as a personal mission to build her wardrobe.

Over the next week, more sweaters arrived in the mail—different colors, different materials, even a tiny hoodie with ears.

“This is getting out of hand,” you commented as Joe unboxed yet another package.

He held up a tiny lavender sweater, inspecting the material. “It’s for layering.”

You stared at him. “Joe, she’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked. “A stylish one.”

Miss Honey, stretched out on the couch, gave a slow blink, completely unbothered by the chaos she had brought into your lives.

And, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Three months in, and neither of you could remember what life was like before Miss Honey.

It wasn’t just that she had settled into your home—she had settled into you, woven herself into the rhythm of your days so seamlessly that the idea of waking up without her little body curled between you or coming home to a silent house felt… wrong.

Mornings were different now.

Gone were the days of lazy, drawn-out wake-ups—Miss Honey made sure of that. If Joe’s alarm didn’t get him up, her tiny little paws kneading into his chest certainly did. And if he dared try to roll over and ignore her? She’d take matters into her own hands.

Or, more accurately, her own whiskers.

One morning, you caught her using her best tactic yet—pressing her nose right against Joe’s, whiskers tickling his face until he groaned and finally peeled one eye open.

“You are the most spoiled creature on the planet,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Miss Honey responded by immediately rubbing her face against his chin, purring like a little engine.

Joe exhaled a laugh, eyes still heavy as he let his fingers trail through her fur. “Unreal.”

Meanwhile, your mornings had changed in a different way.

You used to make coffee alone, sipping it in peaceful solitude before starting your day. Now? You had company.

Miss Honey had claimed her spot on the counter—perched delicately by the coffee machine, watching your every move like an executive overseeing production.

“Supervising?” you’d ask her, sprinkling cinnamon into your cup.

She’d blink, tail flicking lazily.

Joe, walking into the kitchen at just the right moment, would snort. “She’s your little manager.”

And it was true—Miss Honey was involved in everything.

She had a routine. A life. A set of unspoken rules that ran the house.

If one of you was on the couch? She was there too, curled up in the crook of your leg or sprawled across Joe’s chest. If you were cooking? She was on the floor, watching you with silent judgment, like a tiny food critic.

If Joe was watching game film, she’d climb onto his lap and stare at the screen, like she had some real thoughts about the Bengals' offense.

She had her little preferences, too. She didn’t care for loud noises but loved when Joe played music on his speakers. She always sat with you while you read, always meowed when she wanted attention, and—for some reason—seemed particularly obsessed with Joe’s socks.

“She’s weird,” Joe said one night, watching as she enthusiastically dragged one of his socks across the living room like it was her prized possession.

“You brought home a gas station cat,” you reminded him. “What did you expect?”

Joe exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he reached down to scratch behind her ears. “She’s perfect.”

And she was.

She had changed things in the smallest, most meaningful ways.

The house didn’t feel empty when Joe was away anymore—not when you had her little paws padding around, her soft purrs filling the silence. Even on the loneliest days, she made it better, curling into you like she just knew.

And Joe—he had changed, too.

If he had been a cat person before, he was fully in his Cat Dad era now.

It had started subtly. The good food, the high-quality litter, the little sweaters he kept ordering. But at some point, it escalated.

Joe started carrying her around the house, tucking her into his hoodie when he was watching film, talking to her like she was an actual human being.

“Alright, Miss Honey,” he said one afternoon, kneeling in front of her as she lounged lazily on her little cat bed. “We got options. You wanna wear the blue sweater or the gray one today?”

You, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, stared at him. “Joe.”

He looked up, completely unashamed. “She likes choices.”

“She’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked, holding up the tiny sweaters. “A stylish one.”

And then there was the Ja’Marr conversation.

One night, after practice, Ja’Marr had made a casual joke—something about how “one cat turns into five real quick,” laughing at the idea of Joe slowly becoming that guy.

You had laughed too, shaking your head. “No way. We’re a one-cat household.”

Joe had nodded in agreement, completely confident. “Yeah, no shot.”

But then… a week later, he changed his tune.

You were curled up together on the couch, Miss Honey stretched between you, when Joe sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers down her back.

“She’s kinda lonely,” he mused.

You blinked. “What?”

Joe glanced over, tilting his head toward Miss Honey, who was currently kneading her little paws into his thigh. “I mean, she’s got us, but, like… I bet she’d like a friend.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes. “Joe.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, tone easy, like he wasn’t suggesting something huge. “She’s got so much energy. I think she’d like a buddy.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

Joe grinned. “Just think about it.”

And just like that, the conversation had started. And you had been so firm about it. Absolutely not. No second cat.

Miss Honey was thriving—happy, healthy, and fully attached to both of you. The idea of bringing another cat into the house felt risky. What if she didn’t like it? What if she got territorial? What if she felt betrayed?

Joe, of course, had started planting the idea like a damn politician.

“I just think she gets bored sometimes,” he would say casually while Miss Honey chased her own tail in the living room.

“She’s got a lot of love to give,” he mused one night, watching her rub up against every single one of your ankles like she was making the rounds.

“She needs a little sidekick,” he argued as she sprawled out dramatically on the kitchen floor, meowing at nothing in particular.

You shot him down every time.

Until, of course, fate decided to step in.

It was a random Saturday, and you and Joe were out running errands—nothing special, just a casual grocery run. You had been debating what kind of bread to get (Joe insisted the multigrain one tasted just as good as white bread, which was a blatant lie), when something caught his eye.

“Babe,” Joe said, suddenly abandoning the cart and heading toward the entrance. “Look.”

You turned, frowning as you followed his gaze.

Right outside the store, under a big white tent, was a cat rescue group—volunteers standing beside crates filled with tiny, curious faces.

A pet adoption event.

Joe immediately turned to you, eyes lighting up. “This is a sign.”

“No, it’s not,” you argued, grabbing the cart. “It’s just Saturday.”

“It’s a sign.”

You groaned as he practically dragged you toward the tent, already grinning like he had just won the lottery.

And then you saw them.

The kittens.

Tiny, wiggly little things with big eyes and oversized paws, rolling around in their blankets or climbing the sides of their enclosures with impressive determination.

You told yourself you were just looking.

Joe was crouched down almost immediately, eyes scanning the different crates as the volunteers smiled at him.

“You guys looking to adopt?” one of them asked.

Joe grinned. “Maybe.”

You shot him a glare. “We are not looking to—”

And then you saw her.

A tiny gray tabby, tucked in the corner of her crate, nibbling sleepily at her own paw. Big round eyes, the softest little face, and an expression that screamed, Yeah, I know I’m cute.

You inhaled sharply.

“Oh no,” Joe murmured, catching the look on your face.

You glanced at him, then back at the kitten.

“… I wanna hold her.”

Joe grinned. “Knew it.”

The second the volunteer placed the kitten in your hands, you were done for. She was so small, her little body barely bigger than your palm. She meowed—tiny and sweet—before immediately nuzzling into the crook of your neck, purring like she had just found home.

Joe, watching intently, exhaled a laugh. “Oh yeah. We’re done for.”

That night, you walked into your house as a two-cat household.

Miss Honey was not immediately sold.

The introduction process was slow—gentle, cautious. You followed all the steps, kept them separated at first, let them get used to each other’s scent. But, much to your surprise, Miss Honey didn’t react with any real aggression.

Mostly? She just seemed deeply confused.

The first time she saw the kitten, she just stared, tail flicking, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Joe, crouched beside her, grinned. “You got a little sister, Honey.”

Miss Honey turned her head, fixing him with a look.

You laughed. “I don’t think she asked for one.”

Still, within a few days, things started shifting.

The kitten—who you decided to name Fig—was relentless in her pursuit of Miss Honey’s love.

She followed her everywhere, mimicked her every move, and—on more than one occasion—attempted to curl up against her, only to be met with a single, unimpressed flick of the tail.

But then, one morning, you woke up to find them curled up together on the couch—Miss Honey’s paw resting protectively over Fig’s tiny little body.

Joe, standing beside you, smirked. “Told you she needed a buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt full.

And that’s how you and Joe became crazy cat people.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tend to remember the smallest things and dates which are of you and Chan, so you decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner on the date of when you both met for the first time. Except for, you didn't expect Chan to forget it, let alone react the way he did.

Warnings: Couple arguments. Use of strong language, a bit of angst & tears, Smut🔞, unprotected (make-up) sex, intimate, oral (f.receiving), pet names, brief mention of a tummy bulge (so size kink if you squint I guess?). Use of Y/N (but only twice).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I think I'm going through a phase rn, somehow I am ADDICTED to writing angst and tears— LMFAOOO @mrs-hwangh what have you done to me???

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your soft hums of your favourite song echoed quietly in the living room, smiling to yourself as you fiddled with a silver bow, wrapping a small box that contained a gift you bought for your boyfriend a few days ago.

Today was the day when you both met for the first time four years ago, in the same college, at the same coffee shop where he accidentally bumped into you and spilled his drink all over your notes and you never would have imagined that moment would lead to this.

To love. To Chan.

Your heart swelled at the memory, a fond chuckle escaping your lips. You had planned a simple evening, nothing too extravagant, just the two of you, sharing memories over a homemade dinner and the gift you picked out so lovingly. You knew how busy he was, but today mattered to you. It was the day everything began.

Once you had everything set, you waited for Chan to return home from work, your leg tapping on the floor and fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Minutes passed to hours and you hadn't received any calls or texts from him, but you waited patiently. Maybe he was caught up at work. Maybe he forgot to check his phone. Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of the door unlocking cut through your thoughts, and you quickly stood up, smoothing down your dress. Relief and excitement flickered in your chest as Chan walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted.

His bag slumped onto the floor as he kicked off his shoes, barely glancing up at you. Your heart sank ever so slightly but you tried not to let that disappointment settle in.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping forward. “Long day?”

He nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah. I’m drained.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I… I made dinner. And I got you something,” you said, gesturing to the neatly wrapped gift on the coffee table.

Chan barely spared it a glance, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

Your heart dropped, but you put on a soft smile. You couldn't get mad at him if he forgot it, even though you wished he didn't. That he didn't forget the date or not acknowledge the effort, the way you had been looking forward to this all day.

"You don’t remember?” Your voice came out quieter, trying to mask in a playful tone.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead, looking as if he'd been asked questions in an interview. "Um no, why don't you tell me?"

The way his voice sounded made you feel like you got slashed with a blade, but you shoved that dramatic thought aside and walked closer to him, biting your lower lip in order to swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat.

“It’s the day we met.” Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you but you continued smiling softly. “Four years ago today.”

Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his features. “Babe, I’ve been swamped with work. I barely know what time it is.”

You blinked, his words stinging more than you expected. “I get that you’re busy, Chan. I really do. But this was important to me.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s just a date. It’s not like an anniversary or anything.”

You took a small step back as if he had physically pushed you. You blinked up at him, trying not to let his words form the tears to gush up your eyes.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, hoping that would keep you steady. "I just thought this would mean something to you too."

His brows furrowed deeper, irritation creeping into his voice. "Of course it means something to me. But I don’t have the luxury of remembering every single date when I’m drowning in deadlines."

Your heart clenched, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So, what, I'm just supposed to understand that I come second to everything else in your life? That it’s okay for you to forget something that mattered so much to me?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a date."

"Just a date?" Your voice cracked, a slight tone of anger and heartbreak mixing in your chest. "It’s the day we met, Chan. The day everything started. I planned this for us. I waited for you, and you didn’t even think to text me back? Or check your phone?"

"I was working! I don’t have time to be glued to my phone every second!" His voice was sharper now, making you flinch hard, his frustration spilling over. "I come home exhausted, hoping to relax, and now I have to deal with this?!"

The venom in his voice made you shiver and you hugged yourself tighter. "Chan, please don't shout..."

"No, I mean you always do this. I get it, that you remember small things, but I just want an evening of peace after a long day at work."

Chan had rarely raised his voice, your throat tightened at his words, a dull ache forming in your chest. You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even though his tone made you feel like you were drowning.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, Chan,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I just thought—” You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “I thought maybe today would matter to you too.”

His jaw clenched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “Sure you did,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You always do this, Y/N. You put so much weight on things that I—”

He stopped himself, hesitating, but you already knew where he was going with this.

“That you what?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you don’t care?”

Chan looked at you then, eyes dark with exhaustion and irritation. “That I don’t have the mental space to deal with every single date, every little detail, every expectation you set for me without telling me.”

His words cut deeper and deeper, the sting of them making your eyes well up. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I never asked you to be perfect, Chan,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I never expected you to remember every little thing. But this?” 

You gestured weakly toward the dinner table, the untouched meal, the small, neatly wrapped gift that now felt like a stupid afterthought.

“It's the day we met for the first time, so it just meant as much to me as our anniversary.”

Chan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing. That silence, that hesitation, hurt more than his words.

Your fingers wrinkled your dress, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the apartment. “You know, I wasn’t even mad that you forgot. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Chan let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think that I don’t want to spend time with you? Do you know how exhausting it is to juggle everything, to be everywhere at once? And now, I come home and instead of just relaxing with you, I’m being guilt-tripped over a date I forgot?”

The sharp sting of his words left you breathless.

Guilt-tripping? That was what he thought this was? Your efforts, your love, your excitement, had all of it been reduced to you being an inconvenience to him?

Your lips parted, your throat constricting as a wave of emotions surged through you. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Chan,” you said, your voice wavering. “I just wanted you to remember. I wanted you to want this too.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so damn tired. I don’t have time to remember every little thing—”

“Every little thing?” you cut him off, your voice suddenly louder, cracking under the weight of your emotions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t important, I just—damn it, I forgot, okay? I’m human! I make mistakes!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, eyes stinging, heart breaking. “Forgetting is one thing,” you said, voice thick with unshed tears. “But the way you’re acting right now? Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands clenched at your sides. “That hurts more than you forgetting.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in his expression flickering for a brief moment. But the damage was done. The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, the walls closing in around you.

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Y/N…” he started, but you turned away from him.

“No. I get it. You’re tired. You need space. And I’m obviously asking for too much,” you said, your voice hollow. “So I’ll make it easy for you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, took your keys that were sitting on the coffee table and walked toward the door, grabbing your coat. Chan’s eyes darkened, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You untangled yourself off his grip and slipped in your coat, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention.”

His face fell, and for the first time that evening, you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes—as if he finally understood just how much he had hurt you.

“No, wait, please,” he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away before he could touch you.

You turned away and closed the door behind you, walking away as fast as you could to your car, driving back to your apartment.

Behind the door Chan grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grunting and growling under his breath as he fell on the plush couch.

His eyes caught the small, neatly wrapped gift that was sitting on the coffee table, he hesitated for a second but then opened it, his heart sank like a stone thrown in the ocean when he was what was nestling inside.

His favourite bracelet he lost when we went on a business trip a few months ago. It was the exact same design and brand.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bracelet, the silver catching the dim glow of the living room light. His throat tightened painfully as he turned it over in his hands, his vision blurring slightly.

And you… you had remembered. You had gone out of your way to find it, to replace something that meant so much to him, because that’s just the kind of person you were.

Chan exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of his words from earlier slamming into him like a truck.

What had he done?

***

The next morning you woke up, exhausted, your vision blurry, nose stuffed and what felt like a dull headache creeping up your forehead. You groaned softly and walked into the bathroom, to find your state in a mess.

Disheveled hair, puffy cheeks with stained mascara, swollen eyes and lips. You had barely stepped inside your apartment before the dam broke, tears spilling freely as you sunk in your bed.

You didn't know at what time you reached home or when you had fallen asleep.

You hated arguing with Chan. 

Sure you had a few disagreements once in a while but they were different. But this kind of argument; where it wasn’t just a misunderstanding, but something way deeper, made you question if you were the only one holding onto the pieces of your relationship while he let them slip through his fingers so easily.

You fixed yourself into the shower, letting the water wash away the fresh set of tears that began to run down your face. After a while you stepped out and changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, only to see a dozen calls and texts from Chan.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding as you scrolled through the missed calls. Channie <3 (12).

The unread messages blurred together, but you caught glimpses of them as your breath hitched.

Channie <3 [1:12 AM]: Please, baby, pick up. Channie <3 [1:13 AM]: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. But please, don’t shut me out. Channie <3 [2:03 AM]: Are you home? Are you safe? Just… let me know you’re okay. That’s all I need right now.

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled further, his messages growing more frantic, more desperate.

Channie <3 [2:45 AM]: I can’t sleep knowing I hurt you like this.

Channie <3 [3:20 AM]: I love you. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but please tell me you’re okay.

Your chin wobbled as you closed your eyes and kept your phone face down on the nightstand, not knowing what to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet, if you could talk to him and not break all over again.

You walked out of your bedroom, to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee when the front door bell rang. You glanced at the clock hanging on your wall, wondering if you were expecting anyone in the morning, you sighed heavily and walked to the door, only to be greeted by someone that made you feel like you got pulled into the floor.

Outside stood Chan, his face masked with exhaustion and faint hints of dark circles under his eyes and messy hair as if he had been running his hand through it the entire night. He was holding a bag, what looked like it was from your favourite bakery and bouquet of flowers, his gaze locking in with yours, pleading you for a chance and forgiveness.

You attempted to close the door but Chan held it, interrupting you from shutting him out. “Sweetheart…” He started but before he could say anything, you left the door hanging and walked into the living room.

Chan hesitated at the doorway, gripping the bag and flowers tightly as he watched you walk away. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual, like an invisible barrier had formed between the two of you. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, setting the flowers beside it, before slowly following your retreating figure.

You kept your back to him, your arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the window, staring outside as if willing yourself to be anywhere but here.

“Baby…” Chan tried again, his voice softer this time. Apologetic.

You tensed but didn’t turn around.

He took a careful step forward. “Please, just—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice a whisper, but it carried enough weight to stop him in his tracks.

Chan swallowed hard. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you he was sorry in a way that would make up for last night. But the weight of the argument hung so heavily between you both, without sparing a glance at him, you went inside your bedroom.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you echoed louder than it should have, and Chan exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He had messed up. Badly.

His gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped pastries and the bouquet he had brought. He had stopped by your favorite bakery the moment they opened, hoping—praying—that it would mean something, that it would show you he was trying to make up for the way he reacted.

But he knew better. A box of pastries and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t, wouldn't erase the way he had hurt you.

With a tired sigh, he sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

He glanced toward your closed bedroom door, debating if he should give you more time or if he should go to you now.

But his heart won over his hesitation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked toward your door, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He paused just outside, lifting a hand to knock, but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the bed, your back facing him, silent sobs filling the room. As much as you wanted to hate him for the way he behaved, you simply couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to pull you over, but the heaviness of your emotions made it hard to think. 

Chan’s heart ached at the sight and the sound of your sobs. You heard his footsteps, with a choked voice you said, “Chan, go away.”

He couldn’t go away like that. Not until he tells you how sorry he is and how much he regrets last night. 

“Honey…”

Your shoulders shook harder with each breath, Chan made his way towards you and sat next to you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush to his chest. You couldn’t react, just stayed frozen in his embrace.

“Baby, my love, I’m so sorry…” He exhaled deeply. “I hate myself for the way I was last night. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me because, God, baby, you are everything to me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I was stressed, and I let it make me forget what really matters. I forgot us. And that’s not okay.”

You swallowed thickly, your body still stiff in his hold, unsure if you should let yourself sink into his warmth or resist the comfort you so desperately craved. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat pounding in a frantic rhythm under your ear.

“I should have come home and held you,” Chan murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I should have kissed you and told you how much I love you instead of making you feel like you were asking for too much.”

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, the weight of his words pressing against your fragile heart.

“You never ask for too much,” he whispered, his voice raw, filled with self-reproach. “You only ever ask for me,” his throat flexed, “and I failed you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes, but this time, you weren’t alone in your grief. Chan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, as if he was trying to kiss away the pain he had caused.

He gently turned you in his embrace, urging you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he tilted your face up to his. Your vision was blurry, so you closed your eyes, unsure if you could look at him.

His thumbs brushed away the tears clinging to your skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

And then you did. And what you saw made your breath hitch.

Pure, unfiltered love—wrapped in sorrow, wrapped in desperation. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, rimmed with exhaustion and regret. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he had a thousand apologies to spill but didn’t know where to start. He looked just as broken as you felt.

His mouth brushed on your forehead, lips trembling as he whispered, “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you, baby.”

Your chin trembled. “Then why did I feel like I was alone in this?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling. “You’re not,” he said instantly, his voice urgent. “I swear, you’re not. I just—” He exhaled heavily, his fingers trembling as they traced over the curve of your jaw. 

“I shouldn’t have taken out my stress from work on you, when you only wanted to spend time with me on a day that I should have remembered too. I’m really sorry baby. I can’t lose you over this.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching, wavering. His words poured out so thick with emotion, unfiltered and raw, it made your chest tighten so hard, it hurt.

“Tell me now,” his fingers brushed away the faint tear stains from your face, “Do you want me to go?”

Your breath and words were stuck in your throat. Part of you wanted to let your pain fester a little longer so he could understand just how much last night had hurt. But the way he was looking at you, so full of remorse, it broke through the wall you had tried to keep up.

Chan was here. And he was trying.

The sincerity of his voice and his presence thawed the ice that built around your heart overnight, you couldn't stay angry at him for another moment longer. Because you knew the love you had for him could overshadow any kind of pain.

Your fingers reached up, hesitant, before threading through his soft curls. He sucked in a breath at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his grip on you tightening.

Time was frozen, breaths were stolen and before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. “Don't hurt me again…” You chokingly whispered.

“Never sweetheart. I won't ever do that again.” He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands running up your back, molding your body to his like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice so low and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His lips brushed over your cheek first, barely there, as if he was asking for permission. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering and waiting. “Please.”

And when you didn’t pull away, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Soft and hesitant.

Not demanding, not rushed, just a quiet plea wrapped in tenderness.

His lips molded against yours like a silent confession, staying there as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs tracing absent patterns over your skin. He wasn’t taking, he was giving, pouring all of his love into every press of his himself, every stroke of his fingertips.

Your body melted into his instinctively, your hands tightening in his hair as you deepened the kiss, letting yourself drown in the warmth of him. 

He made a quiet sound against you, almost like a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for this, for you to accept him, to let him back in as he laid you on your back and toyed with the waistband of your pants.

He had barely touched you and you were already on liquid fire. Blood coursed through your veins when he pulled them down, the chilly air making you shiver at the contact of your heated skin. 

“Chan…”  Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, half moan and half command, when his lips danced over the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Hmm?” when he pressed there, you couldn't help but sigh completely. “What is it honey?” He coaxed, the huskiness of his voice that made it hard to think. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to go on?

“I…,” He smirked against you as he made his way up, a path that he knew like the back of his hand. He spread your legs apart, the glistening sight before him reawoke a rush of possessiveness in him. 

“I hate fighting with you.” Chan whispered against your flesh, voice raw and aching. 

Your fingers found his hair, tugging him closer as if that alone could answer him. His breath fanned over your core, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your thighs.

“You’re my world,” he admitted, looking up at you, eyes dark but filled with something deeper than lust. “And I want to give you everything. I'm sorry for ruining last night baby.”

The words sent a warmth spiraling through you, melting away the remnants of your argument.

He brushed a kitten kiss right on your swollen clit, and your body responded instantly, arching toward his touch. He took his time, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that left you breathless. 

His hands kept you steady, but the way he worshipped you made you feel as if you were floating. You couldn't help but squirm, soft moans spilled from your lips, and when you murmured his name.

This wasn’t about just sex. It was about him making up for every harsh word he said, erasing any distance that had carved its way between you both over the past 12 hours.

His mouth moved over you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction, every soft gasp that spilled from your throat. His hands, rough and calloused, held you with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

“Cha—nhg,” You whimpers didn't slow him down. It only made him go faster and faster, tongue flicking and licking with an agonizing pressure. 

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You attempted to pull his head away from your pulsing core but he wouldn't budge. 

“I'm not done.” He looked up from your pussy, chin and lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. 

He dove back in with a renewed, hungry pace, his nose nudging against your clit, the warmth shooting up to every inch of your body. He couldn't get enough of how you tasted, how you moaned and screamed only for him. If he could, he would stay right were he was forever.

The band in your lower belly knotted tighter and tighter, had you writhing and bucking your hips, it was on the edge of snapping

And then you surrendered to him. Your orgasm left you gasping, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and only his name escaping your lips, Chan held you firmly as he helped you ride it out. 

He didn't let you go for a second as he sucked and licked your pussy splurting with arousal like he was on the verge of starvation, until he left you boneless but content beneath him.

Slowly, he made his way up your body, removing your top and his mouth hovering your hips, across the plane of your stomach, up the valley between your breasts. Each of it was an apology, a whispered promise against your skin.

“Baby,”—smooch—“fuck you're so sweet when you,”—smooch—“come on my face.” He said between kisses and gentle nipping on your sensitive, peaking buds that rebuilt the anticipation.

Soon enough every piece of clothing was discarded until it was only the fiery sparkles of your sweat misted bodies flying between you both. He shifted, positioning himself between your legs.

The tip of his cock nudged your nub softly before entered you slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chan let out a shuddering breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he started to move. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, but it was more than that. 

It was a silent conversation, an absolution, a way of reminding each other that no fight, no disagreement, could ever take this away from you.

You pulled him in deeper and deeper, his cock twitched hard inside of you, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, sweat and groans soaked the air. 

His eyes fell down to where you both joined, what he saw drove him out of his mind. A soft but visible movement in your tummy. 

“Shi— fuck.”

Your eyes fluttered open when he held your hand and brought it over your tummy where you felt the bulge that was moving in and out of you.

“Feel that?” He pounded into you that made you arch your back, digging your nails into his skin. “D’you feel that baby?” 

You nodded, out of breath, mouth falling open until the cries of pleasure consumed you whole, the feel of the bulge just spurring you on more. 

His hands roamed your body, mapping familiar paths, his lips never straying far from yours. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, words of love and devotion, apologies and reassurances.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled softly for the first time after the long hours, tilting your head to kiss him once more. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the fight was forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because what you had together was always stronger.

“You're squeezing me baby,” his orgasm rushed fast and threatened to take over him, climbing up his spine and snapping his restraints. 

“Chan I'm… I'm going to come,” 

And your release finally crashed over you again, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was catharsis. 

A loud cry tore off your throat as you flooded around his cock, shaking and moaning, Chan followed seconds after slamming into you in one last thrust, burying himself deep with a breathless groan, his body caging over yours.

The post sex high lingered but he didn’t move or pull out. He stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing away a few strands of hair. 

You smiled cheekily, fingers running through his damp sweat hair, “No,” you said lowly that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

His reaction made a laugh bubble up your throat, you pulled him down onto your mouth letting your tongue slip past his lips and had him melt all over again.

“Yes, I forgive you Chan.” You said pulling back, chest heaving and content. 

He chuckled deeply, hugging you tightly, the lingering amusement from your playful teasing was still evident in the crinkle of his nose. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he shifted, reluctantly pulling away from your warmth.

You watched him as he retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, wiped you clean before he reached for his pants, discarded somewhere on the floor, and retrieved something small from the pocket. 

When he turned back to you, he held a tiny velvet box in his hands.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Chan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of the box as if gathering the courage to speak. Then, with a slow inhale, he flicked it open.

Inside, nestled against the velvet lining, were two delicate rings, a simple silver band with a tiny, shimmering stone embedded at its center. It wasn’t flashy, nor extravagant, but it was beautiful in a way that felt so intimate and personal.

Your eyes flickered from the ring to his face, your heart hammering against your ribcage. “Chan…?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but you could tell he was nervous. His free hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he held you close.

“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And I—” He sighed laughing, shaking his head. “I guess last night was the moment but…”

Chan took a steadying breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I push too hard, tease too much. And when we fight, I say things I don’t mean.”

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second before continuing.

“It’s not… a proposal,” he clarified quickly, though his lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. “Not yet, at least. But it’s a promise.” He squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours with a raw kind of vulnerability. 

“A promise that no matter how much we fight, no matter how many times I mess up… I’ll always choose you. I’ll always come back to you. If you’ll have me.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions swelling so intensely in your chest that you could barely breathe. “Oh Channie,”

His smirk faltered, concern flashing across his face. “Is it too much?” he asked hesitantly. “I know we just—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off. “No,” a shaky laugh escaped you . “It’s perfect.”

Relief flooded his features, and for the first time, you saw the nervous tension completely drain from his shoulders.

“Then… will you wear it?” he asked softly, lifting the ring from the box.

“Of course, I will.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and holding out your hand, he slipped the cool metal onto your finger, the fit perfect, like it was meant to be there all along.

You took the other one from the box and slid it onto his finger with the same reverence, looking up at him through damp lashes.

“This is my promise to you,” you echoed, voice soft but sure. “That even when you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

Chan let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he gazed at you like you hung the stars.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t get the chance to respond before his mouth collided with yours again, slow, deep, and filled with a devotion that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

And as you fell back on the mattress, tangled in each other yet again, the silver bands glinting under the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window, you knew; there was no one else for you but him.

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Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[multiversediaries]

at last

bucky barnes x reader

summary: after months apart, bucky finally came home.

warnings: soft!!!!!! soft buck!

masterlist

“y/n? i’m back." you heard someone say loudly. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. you lived alone, well, sometimes. you were james barnes' wife. you had met him a long time ago, you were always there for him, and he was deadly in love with you. he cared so deeply about you. if something were to happen to you, he'd lose his mind. which is why he decided to hide your marriage, to keep you out of danger's way. you walked towards your front door, wondering who it was. your eyes light up as you saw your husband standing in front of you.

"hey, doll." bucky said smiling, genuinely smiling, as he took you into his strong arms. behind him, were the avengers, all of them. they were currently in a mission, that was supposed to take a while, which was the reason you were so surprised to see your husband back at your shared house.

"what's happening?" you heard tony say, confused at the sight of you two. you giggled a bit, pulling away from your hug. bucky smiled at you, taking in how gorgeous you looked. he wrapped his hand around your waist.

"i'm sorry i didn't let you know in advance, but we needed a place where we couldn't be tracked." bucky said, his voice as soft as always. you noticed the confused faces whilst your husband spoke to you as he has always done, soft and incredibly sweetly. you nodded, softly humming in response, a big smile planted on your lips, understanding him.

"alright, robocop, spill. where are we and who's the lovely woman?" tony asked, making your cheeks flush softly. you heard bucky sigh. you rubbed his back gently.

"she's bucky's wife, tony." steve said, gaining your attention. you smiled at him, he chuckled at you. "it's nice to see you again, y/n." he said, leaning over to hug you. you instantly hugged him back, squeezing him gently. steve was present at your wedding. you couldn't help but smile at tony's reaction. everyone always reacted the same way about your marriage to james. it sometimes made your heart ache. because how could so many people think that he's unloveable?

"wife?" natasha spoke in surprise, as you looked at her. you knew nat. you were a widow. you escaped a few years after she did. you gave her a hug as well, glad to see she was doing well. "you didn't tell me you got married. i must admit, my feelings are hurt." she sad, pouting, you laughed.

"it was my idea. i just- i didn't want her in any danger." bucky said, as you looked back up at your husband. you smiled at him, his hand tracing circles on your skin. natasha nodded.

"well, come inside." you said softly, walking into your living room, everyone following behind you. they all took seats around your couch. you walked up to your bathroom, grabbing your first aid kit, as you saw some of them were injured.

"everything alright?" you said gently, as you sat across from tony, who had a few cuts on his face. bucky stood by the door frame, as he watched you.

"it just got complicated." steve said, sighing. you nodded, not wanting to intrude. you began cleaning tony's wounds, earning a few hisses from him. you tried to be as gentle as possible.

"i'm sorry, i just don't get it." tony said, breaking the silence, looking at you. you tilted your head in confusion, as you applied a band aid on his small cut. "how can someone like you be married to him?" he asked cockily. you laughed a bit at his words. you knew tony and bucky were not in a good place, after all, the winter soldier was responsible for his parents' deaths. but that wasn't bucky's fault.

"because you only know the winter soldier, but i know james barnes." you simply said, moving onto clint's injuries. bucky couldn't help but smile at your words. that was something he loved about you, how unashamed you were to love him. even after everything he had done, you wouldn't leave his side. he felt so undeserving of you.

after cleaning all of their wounds, you prepared some food for them. you wanted to help as much as you could, and it just felt so nice to have people around. you didn't have many friends apart from bucky, steve and natasha. you smiled as you watched the avengers dine, talking over their mission as you cleaned the dishes. you felt someone's hand wrap around you. you smiled, almost instantly.

"i missed you, darling." bucky said, planting a sweet kiss to your neck. you smiled widely, turning around to face him. you wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging his body close to yours.

"i missed you even more, barnes. have you been doing alright?" you asked softly, your hands now laying in his cheeks, caressing his gorgeous features. you had spent so much time apart from him. almost three months apart. you felt empty without your other half. he nodded, kissing your forehead.

"i'm okay. i just want to be here with you." he said softly. your hands ran to now caress his back, as you looked up at bucky.

"i know, baby. but they need you. and honestly, you need them too." you said, leaning up to kiss his jaw. he nodded, before planting a sweet peck to your lips. he walked back towards your dining table, and continued the conversation about their mission.

it was very late at night already. all of the guys were resting. you had a lot of empty rooms, so you were able to offer a room to every single one of them. you wanted them to be comfortable, after everything they had gone through lately. you yawned softly as you waited for bucky on your shared bed. he walked out of the bathroom, drying his wet hair on a towel. you smiled at him, you couldn't believe he was back. he sat by the end on the bed and just looked at you. you smiled at him, before standing up, to help him off his prosthetic arm.

"it's alright, doll. maybe i should keep it on." he said, staring up at you as you stood right in front of him. you placed both your hands on his face.

"you're home, buck. you're safe." you said lightly, earning a shaky breath to leave his mouth. he wrapped his arms around your hips, hugging you. your hands ran to his soft hair, before planting a sweet kiss on his head.

"for the first time in a while, i was scared, y/n." you heard bucky say, you listened to his every word, as you played with his hair. "i was terrified of not coming back to you." he said, his arms tightening around you, earning a frown from you.

"james.." you said softly, trying your hardest to find his eyes. he was scared, you could tell. you wonder what had happened to have him this shaken up.

"it's just so much worse than we thought.. i'm not sure we'll be able to do something about it." he said, now looking up to meet your gorgeous eyes. you sighed softly.

"you'll be okay, my love. you will all be okay." you said, as you felt his hands pulling you even closer to him, as if he needed to feel you close. "i don't know the extent of what's happening, but i do know one thing. you guys are the earth's mightest heroes. it's alright to have doubts, but don't let them control you. you may not know what to do right now, but you will soon enough." you said, one of your hands running to his check to caress his beautiful face. "we all need a break sometimes. take this time to rest, and reflect. and a solution will come to you. but for now, rest, baby." you finished. he sighed and nodded. you always knew what to say.

"gosh, doll. i have missed you so much. being apart from you is torture." he said, now letting go of your waist. you smiled widely, kissing him lovingly, before helping him take off his arm. you placed it on the case and walked back to him, you placed a kiss to his shoulder, climbing back to bed once again.

bucky followed you to bed, laying his head on your chest. your hand ran to his hair, your fingers getting lost into his brown hair. bucky’s arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you as close as he possible could. you placed small kisses to his head and forehead, as your gentle giant fell asleep peacefully in your arms.

at last. he was home.

[queervegancryptid]

I'll never forget working at Walmart and going through orientation where they showed us this video literally encouraging us to snitch on anybody who might be in favor of unionizing.

They were all like, "Unions get in between you and management." And I had to smile and nod, because I needed the job, but all the while, I'm thinking, "Yeah, thanks for explaining what a union is for!" Unions correct a power imbalance between the individual worker and management by leveraging collective action. They're literally supposed to get between you and management to protect your interests and give you recourse in the case of employers violating your rights or otherwise mistreating you.

We met the GM directly after seeing that video. A calculated move on their part, I'm sure. He went out of his way to make himself seem like a "regular guy," just another Good Old Boy, and of course they trotted out the "we're a family here," bullshit.

They'll also do literally anything they can to avoid paying you what you're worth. One day, I accidentally clocked out about an hour late. This put me at something like 40.27 hours for the week. Next thing I know, management is furious with me. Despite only one other person being on the schedule for the shift, they forced me to take a three-hour lunch break to bring my hourly count back safely under the 40-hour threshold. Because otherwise they'd have to give me overtime and benefits.

They didn't fire me. But after that, my total hours for the week never went above 25. They also hired a new person in my department and gave her about 20-25 hours a week. The reason was transparent: better for their bottom line to have two people working 20-25 hours a week than one person who works 40-50 hours a week. I ended up quitting not too long after this. But that's another story.

And all the while, I'm hearing all over the news that "millennials don't want to work." Here I was, begging for more hours or to be trained as a cashier so I could pick up more hours doing shifts on that, and all over the news, people are screaming about how entitled people like me are and how we don't know how to do things and don't want to actually earn a living.

But yeah, the boss is not your friend. You can and should have a cordial and respectful relationship with your boss and coworkers, but they pull the "family," thing for a reason. It's designed to guilt you. Plenty of actual families do this, too: "we're family, so you have to love me, and you have to do/give me x." It's a way to get away with bad behavior, sometimes including outright exploitation and abuse. Don't fall for it.

An incomplete list of things that employers commonly threaten that are 100% illegal in the United States

"We'll fire you if you tell others how much you're making" The National Labor Relations Act of 1935 specifically protects employees who discuss their own wages with each other (you can't reveal someone else's wages if you were given that information in the course of work, but you can always discuss your own or any that were revealed to you outside of work duties)

"If we can't fire you for [discussing wages/seeking reasonable accommodation/filing a discrimination complaint/etc], we'll just fire you for something else the next day." This is called pretextual termination, and it offers your employer almost no protection; if you are terminated shortly after taking a protected action such as wage discussion, complaints to regulatory agencies, or seeking a reasonable accommodation, you can force the burden onto your employer to prove that the termination wasn't retaliatory.

"Disparaging the company on social media is grounds for termination" Your right to discuss workplace conditions, compensation, and collective action carries over to online spaces, even public ones. If your employer says you aren't allowed to disparage the company online or discuss it at all, their social media policy is illegal. However, they can forbid releasing information that they're obligated to keep confidential such as personnel records, business plans, and customer information, so exercise care.

"If you unionize, we'll just shut this branch down and lay everyone off" Threatening to take action against a group that unionizes is illegal, full stop. If a company were to actually shut down a branch for unionizing, they would be fined very heavily by the NLRB and be opening themselves up to a class-action lawsuit by the former employees.

"We can have any rule we want, it's only illegal if we actually enforce it" Any workplace policy or rule that has a "chilling effect" on employees' willingness to exercise their rights is illegal, even if the employer never follows through on any of their threats.

"If you [protected action], we'll make sure you never work in this industry/city/etc again." Blacklisting of any kind is illegal in half the states in the US, and deliberately sabotaging someone's job search in retaliation for a protected action is illegal everywhere in the US.

"Step out of line and you can kiss your retirement fund/last paycheck goodbye." Your employer can never refuse to give you your paycheck, even if you've been fired. Nor can they keep money that you invested in a retirement savings account, and they can only claw back the money they invested in the retirement account under very specific circumstances.

"We'll deny that you ever worked here" not actually possible unless they haven't been paying their share of employment taxes or forwarding your withheld tax to the government (in which case they're guilty of far more serious crimes, and you might stand to gain something by turning them in to the IRS.) The records of your employment exist in state and federal tax data, and short of a heist that would put Oceans 11 to shame, there's nothing they can do about that.

[sunseed-fandump]

I need more backstory on bad batch wizard!! What do you mean my baby boy was almost devoured 😭

(Also totally not cus he's my fav and im biased to want more content of him no wayyyy 👀💧)

(An old picture sits in Vampire Cookie’s desk drawer. A reminder of a happier time, back when he and his sister used to live in a place very far away…)

Tell me, what are you willing to do for the sake of survival?

When Wizard was first baked, he was lucky he got away when he did. The life powder in his body had kicked in very late. When he awoke, it wasn’t to crackling flames, burnt cookies, and oven walls; he woke up on a plate, the only cookie in his batch to have come alive at all, stuck under the weight of inanimate dough. He didn’t even fully comprehend what was going on until the entire pile had shifted from the Witch taking one of the cookies from the top, offering him a wonderful view of her biting off its head.

He panicked, kicking and flailing in an attempt to free himself and run. The hard porcelain beneath him, the crushing weight above him, and the looming threat beyond that was all too much. He didn’t even know his own name yet and he was already afraid of losing what little life he had.

His struggles had caused the pile to shift slightly, gaining the Witch’s attention. Before she could discover him, the sound of glass shattering and the cat screeching heralded the arrival of a blessing in disguise. With the Witch preoccupied, Wizard was able to wiggle his way out from under the pile and flee to safety.

Like I said, he got lucky.

He wandered the Castle alone for a time, piecing together an identity for himself as he went. However, he didn’t discover his love for knowledge until he stumbled across the Witch’s library. With every book he read, (and he taught himself how to read very very quickly) he understood things a little bit better. The world around him suddenly seemed less scary. Those stringy things in the tunnels? Just cobwebs. Strange-looking shadows? Just a trick of the light. The thunder that crashed beyond the castle walls? A by-product of lightning from the expansion of rapidly heated air. Simple!

Then he found the magic books and Wizard discovered a whole new thing about himself.

He loved magic. He loved the very concept of it. He loved the idea of being able to use it. He wanted to shoo away the cobwebs by conjuring a gust of wind. He wanted to illuminate the shadows by creating light from nothing. He wanted to call the lightning from the heavens and have the thunder clap at his command.

(He wanted - needed - a shred of control over his own fate, lest the Witch find him.)

So he studied, and he practiced, day in and day out, using twigs and common quartz as foci. They weren’t strong, and would break if he tried anything too advanced, but he managed.

Then he met Alchemist Cookie.

At first they didn’t think much of each other. Wizard preferred the Arcane Arts while Alchemist stuck with her potions and elixirs, both considered their chosen path to be superior to the other. Yet, after a few encounters, the two found companionship in one another. It was refreshing finally being able to meet someone just as passionate about magic. It was thrilling to engage in academic discussion and not have to be met with blank confused stares. They became friends.

She introduced him to other castle residents who were just as passionate about magic. She was willing to share her lab with him so he could practice in a safer environment. She showed him the safest paths through the castle walls and all the settlements to find the best reagents. He was very lucky to have met her.

And then came the day his luck ran out.

If you were to ask the two of them whose idea it was to sneak into the Witch’s Lab that day, Wizard would blame Alchemist, while Alchemist would blame Wizard. The truth is, neither of them remember, and by this point it doesn’t matter.

The rarest reagents and best supplies in the castle could be found in that lab, but while Alchemist had plundered the cabinets, Wizard had found something of interest in a display case. A staff, relatively simple in design, with dragon wings carved from amethyst, and a small flickering azure ember hovering above it. Despite his better judgement, despite knowing the Witch would notice such a thing going missing, despite the red flag of repressing runes surrounding the artifact, Wizard Cookie took the staff.

The minute his little hand lifted it from its display, the tiny ember burst into a strong flame and a bright blazing eye slid open. Wizard had been scared at first, almost putting the staff back, but then it spoke to him. It thanked him, it told him it had been trapped for so long, its last master had been killed and it had been waiting for a new wielder worthy of its powerful secrets ever since.

It asked if Wizard would like to know those secrets…

But before the boy could give the staff his answer, Alchemist Cookie had returned from the cabinets. She scolded him for being so reckless and told him to return the staff where he had found it, but Wizard refused. After all, if this staff was as powerful as it boasted, perhaps it could be used for the good of the cookies back home? Besides, the other scholars would probably love to study it. It was such a good find!

Alchemist eventually relented, and the pair left the lab, reagents and staff in hand.

They didn’t know that they were being followed.

When they had returned to the settlement nestled in a crawlspace, the two were wholly unaware of what else they had brought back with them until it was too late.

The Reaper, one of the Witch’s faithful servants created from a hollowed out pumpkin and vines, had followed them back home. She, like the other familiars, had been tasked with capturing the sweetest creatures they could find, especially Cookies. She descended on the town with ruthlessness, spreading seeds that grew into brambles and swinging her scythe with deadly grace.

The town was in complete chaos. The militia scrambled for control, spells did nothing as The Reaper grew back whatever damage was done to her plant-composed body too quickly, nobody could escape because the town had been sealed in by the thorns. That did not stop Wizard and Alchemist from trying to find a way out or helping the other desserts hide while searching for Alchemist’s brother, Vampire Cookie, to make sure he was safe.

Unfortunately, the Reaper found them first.

Two of the many vines that made up her body had caught them, plucking them up like a fresh harvest.

“Oh goody, more cookies!” The Reaper had said with a cackle, but then paused and raised them higher for closer inspection. “Wait... Oh, I know you two! You’re the little thieves I followed! I’m sure The Witch will reward me handsomely when she finds you on her plate tonight!”

Now, as a plant, the Reaper had no need for real food. All of her sustenance came from planting her roots into soil and absorbing whatever sunlight filtered in through the castle’s windows. Because of this, her large empty head was used as a prison for whatever creatures she caught. It was a perfectly harmless holding space. Wizard knew this, of course, because he had done extensive research into as many of the Witch’s minions as he could. (Unlike the cobwebs, shadows, and thunder, the more he learned, the scarier they became.) Despite this knowledge, however, when the Reaper had raised him to her mouth in order to stash him away inside her head, Wizard felt a terribly violent spike of fear for his own life.

His first memory had returned to him, unbidden. The vision of the Witch biting the head off of a cookie flashed in his mind, and that combined with his fear, caused the irrational thought of “I am going to die. She is going to eat me.”

And then the staff, still clutched tightly in his hands, spoke to him once again.

It told him it could save him. It told him it knew a spell that could stop the Reaper once and for all. He needed only to ask, and it would happily whisper the words into his ear. After all, it would hate to see Wizard wind up on a plate like its last master.

All Wizard had to do was listen closely…

The words of the spell felt vile on his tongue, but the Azure Flame Staff assured him that he would get used to it. He was mere inches from the Reaper’s face when the blue flame at the top of the staff burst.

A massive inferno consumed the Reaper and soon the flames spread to the brambles. The force of the explosion had shook the foundation and support beams, causing the old castle stones to collapse which resulted in a cave-in that buried some of the town.

It was complete and utter devastation.

Wizard and Alchemist had been flung from the Reaper’s grasp when she flailed around in a desperate attempt to put the fires out. The azure flames ate away at both her plant-like body and the magic that fueled her life-essence. It was a weirdly beautiful sight, though Wizard didn’t have a chance to see what became of her as he and Alchemist crashed into a fountain, the water just barely broke their fall.

They hauled themselves out of the fountain, soaking wet and trembling, but alive. They were alive. Wizard had done it. He finally had the power to change his fate however he wished. He’d done it!

Laughter had bubbled out of his chest at the revelation, the hand that wasn’t clutching the staff had flown up to his hair. (He had lost his hat in the fall. Pity.) All the stress and fear melted into an emotion he couldn’t quite describe, but it gave him butterflies in his stomach and a lightheaded feeling that just made everything suddenly seem so funny. He could barely contain himself as he leaned back against the edge of the fountain and released all that pent up emotion through cackling laughter that could only just barely be heard over the sounds of crackling blue fire.

“I did it!” He had said with joy in his heart. “We’re safe, Alchemist, we’re–!” But his joy melted into concern when he looked over to his friend. Where he had been expecting her to be just as relieved and happy as he was, he saw fear.

It took him a moment to realize that it was directed at him.

“Alchemist?” His brow furrowed.

“Wizard…” Alchemist began slowly. “Put the staff down.”

The staff almost seemed to hiss at her suggestion, and Wizard found himself clutching it tighter. “Why?”

“Please, I just need you to trust me, okay?” She slowly got to her feet, approaching him like one would a scared animal.

With the Reaper no longer an immediate threat, the townscookies had begun leaving their hiding places in favor of getting the inferno under control. The square was suddenly full of noise, cookies shouting orders and rallying others to shift through the rubble. Wizard didn’t hear any of it as he stared at Alchemist with confusion.

“But, Alchemist, it’s fine. See?” He held it up and she cringed away, as if expecting him to cast that same explosive spell at her. Why did she think he would hurt her? They were friends!

“Th-That’s great, now put down the staff.” Her insistence made annoyance flare up in Wizard’s gut. They had just escaped certain death and this was what she was focusing on?! He wasn’t a threat, so why was she acting so weird? She knew he’d been looking for a strong foci for a while now, so why was she trying to take the staff away from him?

Wizard narrowed his eyes. “... No.”

“What?”

“We finally have a means of defending ourselves against the Witch and her minions and you want me to just let it go?” The boy rose to his full height, taking a step forward (and ignoring her taking a step back).

“Wizard, that thing is dangerous!” She flung her arms out to the side, gesturing at the burning town all around them. Wizard scoffed.

“I have it under control!” He didn’t, but that wasn’t important right now.

“You call everything that just happened control?! You just killed one of the Witch’s familiars and buried half the town!” Alchemist was getting visibly hysterical, but Wizard was too angry to notice. She was treating him like a child! He knew what he was doing!

“I just saved your life! A ‘thank you’ would be nice!” He put a hand on his hip, offended at the lack of gratitude.

“Thank you? You want a thank you?! There are cookies buried under there, some of them might have even crumbled, and you want me to THANK YOU?! My brother is over there and–!” She stopped short, as if surprised by the words that had come from her own mouth. The color drained from her face as realization set in, her eyes were wide and she spoke with a soft trembling voice, “Vampire Cookie….”

She had spun on her heel, anger towards Wizard forgotten in favor of fear for her brother. “VAMPIRE COOKIE!”

“I’ll help!” Wizard’s own anger simmering into concern over the lax cookie’s well-being. Yet he was stopped by a spear impacting the ground in front of him.

“I believe we’ve all had enough of your ‘help’,” spat the militia-cookie who had gotten in his way before he extended a hand toward the boy. “You’re under arrest for use of dark magic. Come quietly.”

“Wha–?!” Wizard jumped back, looking from the armored cookie to Alchemist Cookie’s back. “You-You can’t be serious! You’re joking, right? It was just the one spell, how does that make me a criminal?! Alchemist, tell him he’s wrong! Alchemist!”

The girl said nothing for a long moment, refusing to look at him. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. When she finally spoke it was a whisper, “Leave…”

Wizard cringed as if he had been struck. “B-But–”

“I said LEAVE!” She whirled around on him, tears and fire in her eyes. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!”

Wizard Cookie felt numb. This couldn’t really be happening could it? He had just defeated the monster attacking the town, and now they were treating HIM like the monster! All he did was cast a spell! A spell that saved them from the Witch’s dinner table!

“HAS EVERYONE GONE CRAZY?!” Wizard snapped. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU–AH!”

A stone had gotten thrown at his head, and it was only now he realized the scene had amassed quite an audience.

“The only crazy one here is you!” shouted one of the cookies in the crowd.

“What were you thinking?!” cried another.

“This is so much worse than what the Reaper would have done!”

“Get out!” Another stone was thrown, which Wizard was able to avoid this time.

The boy began to feel overwhelmed. Despair settled in his gut and made it feel like heavy stones had been tied to his feet as he looked around at all the cookies who were angry at him. He gave one last pleading look to Alchemist, who stared at him with a cold look.

Without another word, she turned her back to him and left.

Wizard scrambled back when a few more militia-cookies began advancing on him. Outnumbered and heartbroken, he fled. The militia probably would have caught him if the staff hadn’t whispered a teleportation spell into his ear, which he used without a second thought.

And the minute he left town, the azure flames blew out.

Wizard was on his own for a while after that. The experience made him bitter, especially when word spread throughout the castle of a cookie of his description practicing the forbidden arcane. A menace, a mad wizard, a twisted child who could destroy a whole town and laugh about it. He hated those rumors. He despised the vile things everyone said about him, especially since most of it wasn’t even true! But nobody asked for his side of the story. They only ever pointed and called him a monster!

And after everything he’d done for them…

Did they expect him to have just let himself be taken and eaten by the Witch? Did they want him to just rely on luck like everyone else? Did they want him to just accept whatever fate the Witches designed for him?! No, he refused. He wanted to live. He wanted to learn. He wanted to paint his own destiny and leave a mark on the world that no one would ever be able to erase.

Wizard Cookie did not want to be lucky, he wanted to live.

So, I ask again.

What are you willing to do for the sake of survival?

[hazel-tanthamore22]

Money Trees

Fluff

Req

Megan Skeindal x Broke!Boxer!freader

A/n: Stationed in LA. Reader is a puncher and a punching bag. Megan is the caring ginger labradoodle she is.

Sypnosis: You love being a fighter, the feeling, adrenaline and its the only thing that helps you get by. But Megan hates it, knowing she could give you want you need and more.

Another jab to the side has you wince in pain. The opponent goes for another headshot but you duck below it, landing an uppercut on them and sealing the win.

After the winning announcement is made you go back to your dressing room and look into the mirror. A bruise on your temple, a busted lip and a bruise on your side. Megan wasn't going to be happy.

Boxing made you feel content in a way. You get to let put your anger on other people and you get payed, it's an all win situation, especially since you need the money.

You get a good amount of money per win, a few hundreds and if you're lucky, a thousand or two. Megan has persisted on and on that she gets enough as an Idol and can take care of you, but you refuse each time.

She hates seeing you hurt, seeing the bruises and cuts every other day makes her sulky, not liking the sight of you hurt.

You change into your training clothes and step out of the room with your duffel bag slinged over you shoulder. Your coach hands you an ice pack for your lip as he congratulates you.

You walk out to your car, sitting in the driver's seat as you open your phone. A missed text from Megan. A smile comes to your face as you open the text, she's asking for you to come to the kats house.

You set the ice bag in the passenger seat as you start the car, soon pulling out of the venues parking lot and driving to the kats house.

You park the car and wear you face mask, and cap, not wanting to alert the kats, they knew you were a fighter, but it didn't mean you didn't get scolded by them for having bruises every other day.

You knock on the door, waiting till you're met with the familiar Red hair of Lara. "Megan, you're wife's here" she yells into the house as she let's you in. You hear a loud shut up before a body crashes into yours.

"Nice to see you too Yoonchip" you chuckle, your voice a bit muffled by the mask. "Another fight" Sophia asks as she walks around the living room, seemingly fixing some things. You hum as Yoonchae let's go of you and Megan finally get downstairs.

She wastes no time grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs to her room. Obviously you follow like a lovesick puppy. "Sit" she says, her voice stern as she nods her head to her bed and walks to her closet grabbing the medkit she kept with her ever since she started dating you.

You sit on her bed and she walks back to you, taking off your mask and cap. She frowns at the bruise on your temple and the red swollen corner of your lip. She gets a gauze pad from the med kit in next to her.

She presses it to the corner of your lip, almost with zero care, causing you to wince. "Meg, I know you're mad-" you start just to be cut off by her pressing the gauze pad harder to the wound.

"How many times have I told you, you don't have to keep fighting, I could take of you" she mumbles, removing the gauze pad from your lip and finally looking in your eyes after staring down your bruises.

"I know but-" you start, just fo be cut off again. "No, do you think this getting you small amounts of money is a justifiable reason?" She cups your face in her hands. "Please stop, I don't like seeing you beat up, what if one day you lose and it's bad, maybe even fatal? What am I gonna do then" her voice wavers as tears build in her eyes.

You sigh heavily, pulling her into your lap as you hug her. "Fine, I'll stop" you mumble into her shoulder. You hear her exhale shakily as you agree to stop fighting.

Megan finishes dressing your wounds, the one on your side being the most painful, you may or may not have a fractured rib bit that can be dealt with when Megan isn't clinging to you like a koala and definitely when it's not night.

Night had fallen in LA. You decided to stay in the kats house, playing video games with Dani and Manon and helping Sophia and Lara control them two. When everyone had retired to their own rooms you found yourself next to Megan in her bed.

Both of you dozing in and put of sleep as you make pointless conversation and laughter.

"Were you being for real" she mumbles as she looks in your eyes in the dark. "About the fighting? Yes, ill stop for you love." You respond, your eyes drooping as you answer. She smiles, her hands wrapping around your waist as she nozzles her face into your neck.

"Goodnight" she mumbles. "Goodnight love" You respond as you both fall asleep in the comfort of each other's arms and presence.

[rickydoodahgrimez]

𝞋𝞎 ─────── 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

pairing: rick grimes x reader

summary: rick overhears you speaking with maggie that you feel like that rick doesn't love you. rick shows you how wrong you were. . .

warnings: pet names, teasing, dirty talk, soft sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (rick receiving), multiple orgasms, cum inside, fluff at the end, hope you enjoy :))

word count: 2.0 k

a/n: apart of my valentine's day special :)) hope you guys like it

𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Truly, he didn’t mean to. He just wanted to go to the kitchen to get something. But as he was about to pass the living room, the sound of your voice and what you said made him stop in his tracks.

“I don’t know, Maggie,” You said quietly. “I know we haven’t said it yet, and I know what I feel but, I feel like Rick doesn’t love me. He’s been so. . . distant.”

At your words, the air seemed to leave his lungs. His chest felt tight, his pulse roaring in his ears. You thought he didn’t love you?

There was a sudden ache in his chest and the room start spinning. It was like his mind disregarded what else you said and his mind kept on replaying those other words that he dreaded.

You believe he didn’t love you.

He hadn’t meant to be distant—just careful, searching for the perfect moment to say those three words without losing everything.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to step in, to fix this now—but his feet wouldn't move.

The hollow ache in his chest tightened.

You don’t understand, he thought. You’re all I ever think about.

But he hadn’t said it. Not once. And that was his fault.

Rick sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, the weight of his own hesitation pressing down on him. The soft creak of the door broke the silence, and he lifted his eyes to see you step inside.

The door clicked shut as you leaned back against it, tension thick between you both.

His voice, rough and low, pierced the silence. “You think I don’ love you?”

The room fell deadly still. Your chest rose and fell with a shaky breath. “How did you hear?” You asked softly, your voice tight.

Rick’s blue eyes locked with yours, his voice taut with urgency. “Please. Don’t avoid the question.”

You hesitated, the weight of your heartache pooling in your chest, and then, slowly, you nodded without a word.

A ragged breath escaped Rick, the pain in it raw and undeniable. Then, in two strides, he was in front of you, his lips crashing into yours with desperate intensity.

The kiss was rough, searing, and filled with every unspoken word he’d been too afraid to say.

His hands cupped your face, as your body slammed back against the door. Your hands made his way up his shoulders, up his neck and then they landed in his messy, curly hair.

Rick let out a small groan and pulled you closer to him, as your fingers grabbed the back of his hair.

When he pulled back, his hands still cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. His voice, thick with emotion, trembled as he bared his soul. “You have no idea. . . no fucking idea how much I love you. I couldn’t—couldn’t breathe at the thought of losing you. I stayed quiet ‘cause I was scared. Scared that sayin’ it out loud might—might push you away.” His voice cracked, eyes burning into yours. “But I can’t hold it in. You’re everything to me. Everything. And I—” His lips brushed yours again, softer this time. “I can’t live without ya’.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but it was different—charged, fragile, and filled with understanding. And when your lips met his again, it was your answer, your vow, your everything.

You pulled away from the kiss, looking him in his gorgeous blue eyes, as your fingers still stayed to the back of his neck.

“God, I love you too.” You smiled and Rick smiled with you, resting his forehead against yours. “I was scared—scared that you wouldn’t feel the same, but I don’t have to be scared anymore. I fucking love you, Rick Grimes.”

Rick leaned down and instead of kissing you rough, like he did before, he kissed you slow and deep, portraying all of the emotions inside of him.

When you two pulled away, Rick’s eyes softened as he looked at you and he traced your cheeks. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Rick’s voice was thick with desire, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath quicken.

Rick gently guided you back onto the bed, his fingers trailing along your bare arms, sending shivers down your spine.

He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours, as he untied the sash of your robe, letting it fall open.

The silk slid off your shoulders, revealing the delicate lace of your black lingerie. The sheer fabric hugged your curves, accentuating your full breasts and the subtle swell of your hips.

Rick’s breath caught in his throat, his desire for you palpable.

“You’re breath taking, sweetheart. Every inch of you is perfection.” He muttered, as he traced his eyes all over you.

You felt a surge of pleasure at his words, your body responding to his touch. You arched your back slightly, offering yourself to him, your nipples hardening against the thin lace.

Rick leaned forward, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he kissed the sensitive hollow of your throat.

His lips trailed feather—light kisses down your collarbone, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“I want to worship every part of you.” Rick murmured, as he continued his kisses. “Your body is a temple, and I want to explore every sacred inch.”

With tender care, he cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your taut nipples, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. You arched into his touch, your body craving more.

“Oh, Rick. Please, don't stop.” You panted.

Rick smiled against your skin, his lips finding your nipple through the lace. He suckled gently, his tongue teasing the sensitive peak until it pebbled against his mouth. Your head fell back, your body trembling with pleasure.

His hands roamed freely, exploring your curves, tracing the lines of your waist, and dipping lower to cup your hips.

He gently squeezed, his fingers dipping beneath the lace to stroke the bare skin of your lower back.

Your hands roamed over his body, your fingers tracing the contours of his broad shoulders and the hard planes of his chest. You tugged at his shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours.

Rick obliged, shedding his clothes with haste, revealing his toned physique. His erection strained against his boxers, a testament to his desire for you.

Your eyes locked onto his throbbing cock, your mouth almost watering at the sight.

Rick lightly smirked as he caught your eyes staring at his physique and he gently tilted your chin up to look at him, your eyes immediately connecting with his.

He then leaned down to kiss you softly on the lips, your mouth moulding against his as he swiftly slipped his tongue into your mouth. He pulled away after a few seconds, smiling at your dazed expression.

“I want to taste you, Rick. Let me show you how much I love you too.” You practically pleaded, your hands on his thighs.

“Sweetheart, I just want to take care of you tonight, I'm perfectly fine.” Rick gently said as one hand traced your cheek.

You shook your head with a slight smile. “I want to show you how much I love you.”

Rick’s eyes darkened with desire at your proposition and nodded, as he lay back on the bed, his hands guiding you head towards his aching shaft.

You knelt between his legs, your hands gently caressing his length through the fabric.

With slow, deliberate movements, you slid his boxers down, freeing his rigid cock. It stood proudly, glistening with pre—cum at the tip.

You leaned forward, your breath washing over the head, making Rick shudder with anticipation.

Your lips parted, and you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head, tasting his essence.

You sucked gently, your lips sliding up and down his shaft, your hand cupping his balls, massaging them softly.

Rick groaned, gently taking a fist of your hair. “Fuck. Sweetheart, your mouth feels incredible.”

You hummed in response, your mouth working him with increasing fervour. You took him deep, your throat constricting around his girth, your saliva coating his length.

Rick’s hips bucked involuntarily, thrusting into your mouth, his pleasure building.

But Rick wanted more. He wanted to give you the same pleasure you were giving him. With a gentle hand, he guided you up his body, positioning you above him.

“Ride me, darlin’. Let me feel you.” He whispered against your lips.

You straddled his hips, your wetness already glistening on your thighs. You positioned yourself over his throbbing cock, your hands resting on his chest for support.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you sank down, taking him inside you inch by inch. Your walls stretched to accommodate his girth, and you moaned as he filled you completely.

“Oh, God, Rick. You feel so good inside me.” You cried out, your head tipping backwards.

Rick’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you began to ride him. Your breasts bounced with each downward thrust, your nipples rubbing against his chest, eliciting a chorus of moans from both of them.

“That's it, baby. Take all of me. Show me how much you love me.” He moaned, his hands momentarily gripping your hips.

Your movements became more urgent, your body riding him with abandon. You leaned forward, your hands braced on his shoulders, as you set a relentless pace, your hips rolling in perfect rhythm with his.

Rick's hands roamed your body, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, and caressing your thighs, heightening your pleasure.

He could feel your muscles clenching around him, your orgasm building.

You buried your face into his neck, moaning. “I'm close, Rick. So close.”

Rick's own need was reaching a crescendo. He wanted to prolong your pleasure, but his body demanded release.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you come around me.”

As if on cue, your body stiffened, your walls clenching tightly around him. A wave of pleasure washed over you, your back arching as you cried out his name.

Rick held your hips firmly, thrusting up to meet you, his own orgasm claiming him.

They rode the waves of ecstasy together, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Your juices flowed freely, mixing with Rick’s seed as he filled you completely.

As their breathing slowed, Rick gently rolled you onto your back, his body still joined with yours.

He brushed the damp hair from your forehead, his eyes filled with adoration.

“You’re everything to me,” He whispered softly, his thumb tracing your cheek. “I love you. More than anyone could describe.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your lips, he pulled away and sat up, his gaze never leaving you. “Stay right here,” He murmured, his voice low and warm.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and moments later, he returned with a warm, damp towel.

Kneeling beside you, Rick was careful and gentle as he cleaned you up, his hands soft and attentive, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

Once finished, he tossed the towel aside and pulled the sheets over both of them, gathering her into his chest.

His lips brushed against your temple as he whispered, “You okay?” His hand rubbed slow, comforting circles along your back.

You nodded, a soft hum of contentment escaping you.

Rick smiled against your skin, his voice tender. “I’ve got you. Always.”

The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the steady, protective beat of his heart beneath your ear.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so worried after all.

some more will be uploaded tmr <33

[blxxmingrose]

“have a little faith in our little arthur,” hans said encouragingly, the little patch of soil that their son had tried tending to set aside for now, but hans knew he’d be back later to give it a little more inspection. “you know he gets excited by learning something new, but scooter is always a tempting playmate.” 

scooter had been wonderful when arthur arrived, his watchful eyes always looking on as the little infant grew to become a curious one. he had even played around with arthur’s antics, just as he was playing along with julia’s now. 

jinx was a more laid-back companion for the kids, but she was there too, nuzzling beside them when they napped. and when there were tears, all of them were quick to do whatever they did best to turn frowns into smiles. hans was especially grateful for those moments that made june’s calming presence shine through. he always held hans’ hand securely, but he held their children even more, assuring them that they were loved and cherished. 

hans reached out to june but was met with a smaller hand whose fingers wrapped around his finger so tightly, a gummy smile melting his heart as he looked at her fondly. “are you enjoying your time watching your brother make a mess, julia?” he asked gently before his eyes shifted to june, hearing his words about how this kind of happiness was so surreal, and now they had it. they’re living it. 

he looked at the front door and the simple shoe rack beside it where there used to be two pairs of boots. now there were four. there were colorful umbrellas on a stand, and toys that had escaped this morning’s roundup. hans chuckled at the fact that now, there was always undeniable evidence that their life had grown. their love had grown. it had grown into two tiny humans they would lay their life for if it was ever needed. 

two tiny humans whose smiles served as a soothing salve for the roughest days. “i don’t think i would have believed it either, but now here we are.” hans scanned the garden for the giggles of their son running after scooter, who has grown even bigger now too. “i did not know this kind of happiness existed. i'm glad we get to experience it.” 

as their son’s laughter echoed around them, hans couldn’t help but say a silent prayer of thanks for everything they now had with them. it was not an extravagant life, but it had everything they could ever need to be happy. “the sun is about to set,” hans noted as he looked up at the sky, the colors changing into golden hues. “shall we go take a walk on the beach before dinner?”

it was another habit they had started as a family, showing the children that there was joy to be had in something free—in being free. and as hans called on arthur to wait up, he stood up slowly and motioned to take julia in his arms. “let me carry her, you need a break,” he said fondly, pressing a quick kiss to june’s cheek. they had always been good at teamwork, at taking care of each other, and supporting each other. it was what their vows spoke of, and they were living it every day.

june hadn’t known what came after a love like theirs, either.

he had spent so much of his life believing in temporary things, in fleeting moments that would never last. even after meeting hans, even after falling into the kind of love he never thought was meant for him, there had always been that quiet fear lingering in the back of his mind — what happens when the dream ends?

but it hadn’t ended. it had only ever grown.

june shifted slightly, adjusting the weight of their daughter in his arms as she babbled softly, her toy gripped tightly in one hand as her other rested against his chest. she was warm, safe, small fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt as he rocked her gently, watching the scene unfold before them.

hans and their son in the garden, a sight so tender and so full of love that it made june’s breath catch. hans had always been gentle, always careful, and the way he guided their son’s hands over the soil, the way he had dressed him in a tiny apron and sunhat to protect him, made june’s heart ache with something deep and immeasurable.

this was their happily ever after. and it wasn’t an ending. it was the start of something endless.

june returned hans’s wave with a small smile, tilting his head as their daughter let out a delighted squeal at the sight of her father. she adored hans — both of their children did. how could they not, when hans had the kindest hands, the warmest voice, a love so vast and unwavering that it wrapped around them all like a shield?

scooter came bounding in with a stick, and just like that, their son’s attention shifted, his little hands grasping for it as he threw it with all his strength. june chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to their daughter’s head as hans made his way toward him, his expression full of pride as he took his seat beside him.

june huffed a quiet laugh, his free hand finding hans’s without a second thought, fingers sliding together as naturally as breathing. “that’s longer than i expected,” he murmured, eyes flicking to their son, who was now fully immersed in a game of fetch with scooter. “i’d call that a win.”

jinx wasted no time curling up in hans’s lap, and for a moment, june just sat there, taking it all in. the warm weight of their daughter against his chest, the feeling of hans’s hand in his own, the soft afternoon breeze rustling through the trees. this was their home, their life, their family.

he had never imagined this for himself. never thought he’d have something this whole, this complete. and yet, here it was.

june let out a slow breath, his grip on hans’s hand tightening slightly. “if someone had told me years ago that this was what happiness looked like,” he admitted, his voice quiet, thoughtful, “i don’t think i would’ve believed them.”

his gaze drifted over their home, he thought about the garden hans had cultivated with such care, the patio they had built together, the little hands that had reached for them in the middle of the night, needing comfort, needing love. “but it’s ours,” he said, tilting his head to look at hans, at the man he had chosen to spend forever with. “and i wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

the sun had started to dip lower in the sky, painting the world in soft gold, and june knew — he knew — that no matter what came next, no matter how many new chapters were written, their love would be woven into all of it.

[voxslays]

EPHEMERAL — HWANG IN-HO

Falling in love with you was never apart of the plan. No, it was simply to infiltrate the games, disguised as a player, find out what Gi-hun’s plan was, and get out. He never planned on falling head over heels for someone he had just met. But you were different, weren’t you?

It was obvious in the way you walked, the way you talked, the way you made him feel something besides grief or anger since his late wife had died. You were a blooming flower amongst all the trash in the world. You didn’t deserve to be here, treated like the trashy common-folk who had nobody but themselves to blame for their debt.

That’s why during Mingle, he made sure you never strayed too far. How could he live with himself if you had died? And with the way you desperately clutched the sleeve of his tracksuit jacket, it was obvious you felt the same. “What do you think it’ll be next?” You ask, your tone wavering.

‘Two.’ Young-il answered. “Why?” You looked into his deep charcoal eyes. “There are 126 players remaining and fifty doors.” He paused, looking you in the eye. “A hundred of us will live. They’ll kill the rest.” And like he had ‘predicted,’ the number two was called by the voice over the loudspeakers.

Without missing a beat, Young-il grabs your hand and pulls you off the platform with ease, already running to one of the doors. You weren’t met without struggle though. Young-il had to push multiple strangers out of your path before even reaching a room, holding player 285 back so you could run inside.

Yet, inside was no better. There was another man, Player 343, standing in the corner of the bright yellow room. You hear a loud slam and turn your head to be met with Young-il’s dark eyes. “Out.” He commands the remaining player. “Please.” The man begs. “We were here first!”

Before you can even comprehend your next move, Young-il already has the man in a chokehold. You were so distracted by his sharp movements that you weren’t even ready for when Player 285 charged into the room with one harsh push and threw you outside in one fluid movement.

Young-il immediately snapped the man’s neck as the doors locked. He threw the man’s body down, throwing a harsh punch at the living man’s face, permanently bruising it. He pushes past 285 with ease, aligning his eyes with the small rectangular peep hole in the bright yellow door. “No.” He says angrily, as you run up to the door.

“Young-il.” You cry desperately. “No, no, no!” He nearly screams. He turns to 285, who already has a forming black eye. You turn around, hearing the sounds of an approaching guard. Left with no other choice, Young-il shouts “Stand down!”

Before you know it, you are being sedated and carefully dragged away by the guards. When the doors open, Young-I’m is surrounded by Gi-hun and the rest of his ‘friends’. “Where are they?” Dae-ho asks worriedly. “They…” Young-il pauses, his clever plan going into motion. “They didn’t make it.”

For Gi-hun, Young-il, and the rest of your ex-teammates, it’s a night of mourning. To them, it seems heaven has gained another angel—even though many of them aren’t even religious. As for the other players, you are simply another dead body lying in a pile to rot. To In-ho, however, you are asleep in his private quarters, waiting for him to return.

And Player 285? He was shot by one of the triangle guards who promptly sent his body to the organ harvesting station, before his body was burned, never to be seen again.

[kcsplace]

After Carole died, her will had left everything to Rooster. Everything except for Goose's academy ring. For years it had been Mav's most precious possession, worn on his tags safely against his heart. As he was deployed around the world, a part of Goose traveled with him, even as he transitioned to the F-18 and beyond, no longer requiring a RIO.

Not to fly, anyway.

The ring meant more to Mav than just a possession of Goose's, or even that it was the representation of an achievement of which the RIO was justifiably proud. It was the ring Goose had worn as a physical symbol of his marriage. Of a love so fierce and joyful, a cleaving of two people so destined to be together, so happy and in love until the end that it still made Mav's heart ache to think about. Carole had never so much as glanced at another man after Goose's death; she'd remained married, if not legally then emotionally and spiritually, heart and soul until her own untimely death had reunited her with her husband.

Just as Mav hasn't looked at another man, at anyone, since Ice surprised Mav their first month as instructors by shoving him into the side of the hangar after a hop and kissing the living daylights out of him. Why would he? He'd never been able to look away from Ice from the first day they'd met and now loving Ice, being in love with Ice, was as easy and necessary as breathing. Choosing to love Ice despite the dangers of discovery and a dishonourable discharge, was easier still. There was no part of Maverick that couldn't love Ice. It would be like living without flying.

Utterly unthinkable.

With the eventual repeal of DADT , Ice had proposed the night before Mav's latest deployment, dropping to one knee in the fragrant hush of their backyard. A month into the cruise, a month into trying to plan a wedding via email which more often than not ended in Mav just telling Ice to "order whatever you think is best", something they'd never planned for and never been trained on how to evade had struck.

Cancer.

It had started with a cough that lingered, then Ice, stubborn and refusing to go to base medical regardless of Mav's begging, had lost his voice. Then Slider had been the one to answer Mav's call after numerous emails had gone unanswered, Ice's former RIO breaking the news as gently as he knew how.

More than a few strings pulled and favours owed later, Mav had been by Ice's side for the rest of treatment, resolutely ignoring the sad looks that Ice shot him every time they drove to the hospital, the same hospital where Mav had sat with Carole as what they'd all prayed would be life-saving poison had dripped into her veins. The same hospital where Carole had one day gone in and never come home.

The treatments had been long and arduous, Ice losing weight as rapidly as his hair, but never losing his steely determination. He'd always thrived on a challenge, on having an opponent, and cancer was, to him, the ultimate opponent he would defeat.

Mav, in contrast, had never felt more lost. Planes he understood. Engines he could fix. But there was nothing he could do for Ice. Not in any way that would change his numbers or make the tumours shrink, nothing he felt was useful. Changing their detergent to one recommended to be kinder to his fiance's newly sensitive skin, or finding foods plain enough for Ice to keep down didn't feel like enough, and every night was plagued with nightmares of a folded flag, of a cold stone instead of a warm body at his side.

When Carole had been ill, he'd had Ice to turn to. Ice in whom to confide his feelings of inadequacy and his fear of losing Carole, of Bradley losing Carole. But how could he tell the man he loved that he dreamed of his funeral every night? Ice already had such a fight ahead of him, he couldn't be taking on Mav's fears too. So instead he found other ways to cope, burying himself in research on Ice's treatment and the occasional trip into the desert to rage at the unfairness of life, of the thought of another loss, another vibrant life snuffed out before time.

But month after month, round after round, test after test Ice's prognosis improved. Mav's drives out into the desert to weep or scream without witnesses became fewer and fewer. Ice began to smile again, and the day he was able to rasp out Maverick's name for the first time in months, so did Mav.

Life didn't quite return to what it had been before, but ice got back to work and Mav returned to finish his tour and they finally got around to wedding planning and in no time at all the conversation quickly turned to rings.

Mav reconfirmed he didn't care about whether they wore suits or uniforms, whether there were roses or sunflowers on the tables. He didn't care if there was a religious aspect to the ceremony or not.

Marrying Ice with the ring was all Mav cared about.

All he could think about was holding Ice's hand in his, the other man once again warm and full of life, and watching as the ring slid into place. It had been the thought that had powered him through the fear of Ice's illness, a comforting dream he turned to again and again when life had become overwhelming.

Anytime Mav thought about it, of the man he loved beyond all reason moving through life bearing his most prized possession, for his own marriage to have a piece of the Bradshaws...his heart ached and a warmth he suspected would be considered inappropriate at a wedding in front of their assembled loved ones flooded his belly.

Of all the preparations, the many moving parts that their wedding promised to have (and truly Ice had to be joking about how much there was to plan with even their small backyard wedding) that was all he wanted as he spoke his vows.

He'd had to wait for so long, they'd had to wait for so long and as the days ticked down he could barely contain his impatience, much to the irritation and annoyance of those around him. Between the military causing them to hide and then the diagnosis coming so soon after Ice's proposal, their wedding had been so delayed anyone would think Mav would be used to waiting.

Used to it, but not good at it.

He'd been ready to marry Ice the moment the other man had uncharacteristically stuttered through his question. He'd been halfway to finding his keys to drive them straight to Vegas before Ice had laughed and pulled him to bed to celebrate. Later, he'd been desperate to marry Ice in his hospital room when they had been warned the next surgery would likely steal Ice's voice even if it saved his life.

But Ice had stood firm.

Thirty years he'd spent wanting to show off his relationship, his love, to the world and he was damned if his own wedding was going to be a rush elopement in a sterile hospital room with him unable to stand at Mav's side the way he wanted.

Ice's determination to have the wedding a certain way, had ended up being a blessing for Mav. He could happily sign off on whatever Ice decided to choose and not have to get bogged down in cake flavours, appetizer choices or even have to chime in an opinion on which of the four absolutely identical looking stationery options looked best for their invitations and trust that Ice's perfectionist nature and classic taste would ensure the day was as beautiful as possible.

A man unused and indifferent to wearing jewellery beyond his tags, Mav didn't even care that much about what ring Ice gave him. As long as Ice was the one to stand up there, in front of God and Government and goddamn Slider, and announced to the world that he chose Pete Mitchell over all others, and would always choose him, and he slid a ring to prove it onto Mav's hand, he would be happy. So long as when the party wound down and the guests left, they were legally bound together, and that there was nothing anybody could do about it, Mav would consider the day perfect.

So, like almost everything else to do with the wedding, he left the choice to Ice, trusting his taste, and was neither bothered nor surprised that Ice didn't ask him to sign off on the decision.

So when the day came and Ice slipped his own Academy ring over Mav's knuckle, removing it permanently for the first time since it'd been put on after Tom's Youngster Year at twenty years of age . For three decades that ring had adorned Tom's hand at all times except during flights and now it rested warm and heavy upon Mav's finger.

Ice's eyes crinkled at the corners when Mav had looked up at him in shock, the older man lifting Mav's hand to his lips and dropping a kiss against the blue gem and then each of Mav's knuckles without looking away.

It was perfect.

Later, as they made their rounds to shake hands and accept congratulations and hugs from friends and family, Ice had slid his arm around Mav's waist to rest his hand, complete with the ring, upon his hip. When his new husband had laced their fingers together, their matching rings had slid together with a gentle clink.

"Happy," he'd asked as Mav nuzzled into his neck.

"Ecstatic."

"Enough to admit I'm the better pilot?"

"Never."

With a chuckle, Ice had pressed a kiss against Mav's temple and pulled him closer.

Yeah, it was perfect.

Casey's IceMav ficlets

Casey's Top Gun Ficlets

Casey's Hangster Ficlets

[movingmusically]

Hi can you do a fluffy where austin and reader fell in love while shooting caught stealing and they are on their press tour together and the people are starting to speculate about their relationship through their chemistry and when austin is in a talk show to promote he gets emotional while talking about her which basically confirms their relationship and please make it in an austin pov

Word Count: 5,893

Masterlist

Rumour Has It

Press tours are a machine. Same schedule, different city. Hotels that all look the same, blacked-out car windows, cameras waiting at every stop. I know the rhythm. I know when to turn it on, when to let the words fall out in a way that sounds effortless.

It’s a strange thing, sitting in the same chair all day while a rotation of journalists shuffle in and out, asking variations of the same ten questions. Most of the time, I can answer on autopilot, let the words settle into well-worn grooves.

But this time, it’s different.

Because Y/N is here.

And suddenly, the hours don’t drag the way they usually do.

Maybe it’s the way she nudges my knee under the table when she senses I’m zoning out, like she knows exactly when I need to be pulled back. Maybe it’s the way she always seems to have a second coffee waiting for me, despite insisting she doesn’t enable my caffeine addiction. Maybe it’s the way she laughs—really laughs—not just when the cameras are rolling, but when I catch her off guard, something quiet and unrestrained that makes my chest feel too full.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I spent the night with her.

I’m careful—don’t look at her too much, don’t lean in too close—but still, it’s there. The weight of it. The way my body feels aware of hers, even when I’m not touching her.

She nudges my knee with hers, just a small tap. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I huff a quiet laugh, tilting my head toward her. “And you look suspiciously awake for someone who barely slept.”

There’s a beat where her lips press together like she’s trying not to smile. Then, smoothly, she lifts the coffee cup to her lips. “Sheer willpower.”

The next journalist is already settling into their chair, a producer giving them the go-ahead to start.

“Alright,” the interviewer says, beaming. “So, Caught Stealing is such a unique, character-driven story. It’s dark, but not in a flashy way—it’s lived-in, messy, raw. What was it about this film that drew you both in?”

A safe, easy question.

Y/N takes it first, shifting slightly in her seat. “The characters, honestly. The way their relationships are constantly shifting, how nothing is simple. There’s no easy hero, no clean resolution. It felt real.”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s not just about a guy who gets in over his head—it’s about what that does to the people around him. How every choice he makes has a ripple effect. Nothing exists in isolation.”

The journalist nods, jotting something down, but their gaze lingers on us a beat too long. I recognise that look.

The I’m not here to ask about your chemistry, but I see it anyway look.

Because it keeps happening. Every time Y/N glances at me mid-answer, like she’s checking if I agree. Every time I catch myself mirroring the way she shifts in her chair. Every time we break at the same time over something small—a joke that wasn’t really a joke, a word that came out weird, a memory that doesn’t need explaining.

“So, I’ve seen an early cut of the film,” the journalist continues, flipping through their notes, “and I think what really makes it so compelling is how lived-in these performances feel. Nothing feels rehearsed, everything just... moves naturally. Did you two spend a lot of time together before filming?”

Y/N and I glance at each other at the same time.

And then—it happens.

That thing where we have a conversation without having a conversation. A flicker of amusement in her eyes, a twitch of my lips in response. A silent should we mess with them?

She bites back a smile. “Well, we met before filming,” she says lightly.

I hum, pretending to think. “Yeah. Darren got us together for dinner so we could talk about the script.”

Y/N groans, leaning forward. “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Forgot?”

She places a hand on her chest, feigning sincerity. “I blocked it out.”

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “You’re so full of it.”

The journalist chuckles, glancing between us. Their posture shifts—more relaxed now, like they’ve stopped trying to decipher something and have simply settled into the reality of it.

It happens in almost every interview.

No one asks about chemistry, but they see it. It’s in the way our movements fall into sync without trying. It’s in the way Y/N mutters something under her breath when the next question is a little too serious, and the way I exhale a laugh before I can stop myself. It’s in the way we don’t overthink it, even when everyone else does.

The next question comes, but I only half-hear it, because suddenly, I'm remembering.

That first dinner.

The first time I saw her.

Darren had chosen some quiet little restaurant in the West Village, the kind of place with handwritten menus and candle wax pooling in the centre of the tables.

I got there first, early enough to check my phone three times, drink half a glass of water, and wonder if showing up early made me look too eager.

Then the door opened.

And Y/N had walked in.

She was slightly breathless from the cold, scarf slipping from her shoulders as she unwrapped it, tucking her gloves into her bag.

“Hey,” she’d said, flashing a quick smile.

I stood up automatically—I don’t know why, it just felt right—offering my hand.

She took it, fingers warm. “Y/N.”

“Austin.”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah, I figured.”

Darren arrived moments later, launching straight into the script—breaking down the themes, the character dynamics, what made this different from other films in the same space.

But I wasn’t fully listening.

Because Y/N had pulled out a notebook, flipping past scribbled-out words and margin notes, and suddenly, I was captivated.

“What’s that?” I asked.

She’d glanced up. “Just—thoughts on Yvonne. Stuff I don’t wanna forget.”

I leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

She hesitated, then turned the notebook toward me. A half-filled page, little arrows linking thoughts together.

Wants to leave, but stays. Doesn’t trust him, but can’t let go. Is it love, or just familiar?

She spoke, voice softer now. “You don’t think she’s stupid for going back, do you?”

I looked at her then, really looked at her.

“No,” I said. “I think she’s just human.”

And that was it.

That was the moment it clicked.

“—Austin?”

I blink, snapping back to the present. The journalist is looking at me expectantly. Y/N is hiding a knowing smile behind her coffee cup.

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “What was the question?”

And just like that, I’m here.

With her.

And suddenly, press tours don’t feel so exhausting after all.

Another city, another wave of interviews.

I barely register which one anymore. The cycle repeats itself—airport, hotel, press junket, premiere. Somewhere in between, I sleep just enough to keep functioning, drink enough coffee to keep from crashing. It should feel exhausting. Maybe it is. But this time, there’s Y/N. She makes it easier.

It’s in the way she always has some inside joke ready to throw at me when the energy in the room starts to dip, the way she leans in a little too close when she laughs, eyes bright with something mischievous, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And maybe she does.

We’ve slipped into a rhythm now, something easy and unspoken, something that doesn’t need rehearsing. The interviews blur together, but I can still pinpoint the exact moment in each one when she catches my eye, when my response shifts just slightly because I’m talking to her now instead of the room.

And people are noticing.

I can feel it—not just in the way interviewers hesitate a second too long before moving on, but in the way the internet is running wild with it.

I don’t look at the posts. Not directly, anyway.

But Callum does.

My phone buzzes during a break between interviews, and when I check it, there’s a message waiting for me.

You guys are the internet’s new favourite obsession.

I frown, scrolling up. He’s sent a link.

I shouldn’t click it.

I click it.

It’s a tweet. One of those slowed-down edits, the kind people put together when they’ve decided to make something out of nothing. Except—it’s not nothing.

Clips from the press tour, spliced together like evidence in some case file. Y/N laughing at something I said. Me turning toward her at the same time she turns toward me. The way my hand lingers a second too long on her back before we pose for pictures. A moment where we both start speaking at the same time, cut together with a voiceover about “soulmates always mirroring each other.”

The caption reads:

They think they’re being subtle. They are not.

I lock my phone and shove it into my pocket before I can spiral.

It’s not that deep.

Except—it kind of is.

Because it looks exactly how it feels.

It’s always felt like this, hasn’t it?

The thought sticks, lingers like something just out of reach, and suddenly, I’m not here anymore.

I’m back in New York.

Back in a darkened theatre.

Darren had suggested it. Said we should see Y/N’s play before filming started.

“She’s good,” he’d said. “Better than good. You’ll see.”

I’d nodded, agreed, gone in expecting to be impressed.

I hadn’t expected to be ruined.

She stepped onto the stage like she belonged there, and for the next two hours, I forgot about everything else. Forgot why I was there, forgot who I was supposed to be.

There was a moment—halfway through the second act—where her character stood in the centre of the stage, framed by dim, moody lighting, and she wasn’t even speaking. She was just there.

And somehow, that was enough.

The audience was silent, caught in the gravity of it, but I could feel my own breath sticking in my throat, my hands tightening around the armrests.

Because I wasn’t watching her as a director would. Or a co-star. Or even as an actor admiring another actor’s performance.

I was watching her as something else.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Then the moment broke. The scene shifted, the lights changed, the spell lifted.

But something stayed.

Something stuck.

After the final bow, Darren and I waited backstage. When she walked out, eyes still bright with adrenaline, she spotted us instantly.

“Austin?”

I grinned. “Hey, superstar.”

Her smile widened. “You came.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.”

Something shifted then.

Something that’s only gotten stronger since.

I blink, the theatre fading, the present snapping back into focus. Y/N, sitting across from me, scrolling through her phone like she doesn’t know I was just somewhere else entirely. Like she has no idea I was just remembering the first time she wrecked me without even trying. I run a hand over my jaw, exhale slowly. Maybe I should let this go. Maybe I should stop overthinking it.

Or maybe—maybe it’s too late for that.

We’re in a different city now, a different room, but everything blends together—same setup, same questions. Except this time, we’re sitting on the floor. And this time, there are puppies.

A producer counts down, “We’re rolling in three, two—”

Before they even hit one, there’s barking, followed by the unmistakable sound of tiny paws skidding across the floor. A handful of golden retriever puppies burst into the room, tails wagging, tripping over each other in their rush toward us.

Y/N lets out a dramatic gasp, eyes going wide as one immediately scrambles into her lap, burying its face against her sweater. “This is the best day of my life!”

I laugh, already struggling to keep hold of one that’s climbing up my chest like it has somewhere important to be. “I don’t think we’re getting through a single question.”

The interviewer chuckles. “We’ll do our best. First one—what’s something you learned about each other while filming?”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly scratching behind the puppy’s ear. “Austin has an insane memory. Like, borderline freaky. He’d hear a line once and know it perfectly. And all of my lines, too.”

I shrug. “Or maybe you just forgot yours a lot.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “The slander.”

I smirk, nudging her shoulder with mine.

The interviewer shakes his head, amused. “I feel like you two just communicate in banter at this point.”

Y/N sighs dramatically, cradling the puppy against her. “It’s our love language.”

It happens before I can stop it—a flicker of something in my chest, a second where my breath catches before I smooth it over.

I don’t react.

I definitely don’t react.

But later, the internet catches it—the way my fingers freeze for just a second before I move again.

By the time we get to London, the speculation is already spiralling.

At Radio 1, Greg James grins as he leans into the mic. “Alright, we’re gonna play Unpopular Opinion. You two ready?”

Y/N adjusts her mic. “Born ready.”

A listener’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“I think tea is overrated.”

Y/N’s reaction is instant. She sits up so fast she nearly knocks over her drink, outrage etched across her face. “Get. Out.”

Greg bursts into laughter. “This might be the most visceral reaction we’ve ever had.”

I shake my head, grinning. “I knew that was gonna set you off.”

“I’m actually upset,” Y/N says, turning to me. “Tea is a lifestyle.”

I shrug, smirking. “I mean, I’m a coffee guy, so…”

Her head whips toward me, genuine betrayal in her eyes. “And I thought I knew you.”

Greg loses it.

The internet follows.

- I THOUGHT I KNEW YOU?? THEY’RE MARRIED. - She reacts like he personally betrayed her, and he just smirks through it. - Austin being a little shit and Y/N getting dramatic about tea… classic.

Snack Wars is worse.

It starts harmlessly enough. A debate over crisps versus chips, a minor disagreement about the correct way to eat a scone. But then—

Then it happens.

I bite into a Jaffa Cake and immediately make a face.

“What is this texture?”

Y/N gasps, horrified. “How dare you?”

“It’s like it can’t decide if it wants to be a cookie or a cake,” I insist, chewing slowly.

She shakes her head like I’ve personally offended her. “You don’t deserve British snacks.”

I smirk. “Say that again after you try this peanut butter cup.”

She takes a bite.

And then—she moans.

The room freezes.

I stare. My brain completely short-circuits. It’s one second, maybe two, but it’s enough. Enough for heat to prickle at the back of my neck, for my thoughts to spin somewhere I really, really shouldn’t be going right now. I force myself to blink. To swallow. To not react.

The crew laughs.

Y/N turns red. “Oh my God.”

I recover before she does, settling back in my chair with a smug grin. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The TikTok edits hit the internet before we even leave the studio.

- The way Austin looked at her when she moaned over a peanut butter cup?? Sir. - Y/N making an accidental NSFW noise and Austin malfunctioning? Top-tier content.

I don’t check the posts.

Not really.

But later that night, as I scroll through my phone in my hotel room, I can feel it sinking in.

This is getting harder to hide.

And maybe… maybe I don’t want to anymore.

The London premiere is tomorrow. We should be getting some sleep. Instead, I’m lying on my hotel bed, staring at my phone, watching the internet completely lose its mind.

I knew the speculation was getting out of hand, but now it’s everywhere. The TikTok edits, the slowed-down clips, the tweet threads analysing our every move.

- They literally breathe in sync. This is not normal co-star behaviour. - Austin leans into her every time she speaks and it’s driving me insane. - The way he LOOKED at her after the peanut butter cup?? Sir, do you have something you’d like to tell the class?

I sigh, running a hand down my face.

Callum’s latest text sits at the top of my notifications.

Not to alarm you, mate, but the internet is in full FBI mode.

I shouldn’t click the link.

I do anyway.

It’s another edit—this time, someone’s taken clips from the press tour and layered them with a soft, romantic score.

Me laughing at something Y/N said. Her looking at me before finishing a sentence, like she’s checking my reaction. The way my hand lingers too long on her back before we pose for pictures. The moment in the Buzzfeed interview, when I freeze for just a second after she says love language.

It looks…

It looks exactly how it feels.

I lock my phone and toss it onto the nightstand like it’s burning a hole in my palm. I know what’s happening. I’ve spent enough time in this industry to recognise when something is slipping out of my hands. It’s not just edits and slowed-down clips anymore.

People know.

And maybe it wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t true.

Maybe it wouldn’t make my chest feel tight if every single clip didn’t look like a confession.

There’s a soft knock on my hotel room door. I don’t even have to ask who it is. I open it, and Y/N is standing there, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower. She’s wearing a hoodie that isn’t hers. It’s mine.

She exhales a small laugh when she sees my expression. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I shake my head, stepping aside to let her in. “The internet’s insane.”

She moves past me, curling up on the couch without waiting for an invitation. Her legs tuck beneath her, and she reaches for the TV remote like she belongs here. Like this is normal. And maybe that’s the problem.

It is.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to let her stay, to sit beside her, to lose a few more hours in this quiet, private version of us that no one else gets to see. But how much longer can we pretend it’s still a secret?

I lean against the back of the couch, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “You seen the posts?”

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Which ones? The ones calling me the girl who made a peanut butter cup sound R-rated, or the ones diagnosing you with unhinged heart-eyes syndrome?”

I huff out a quiet laugh, tipping my head back. “Both, apparently.”

She grins, but it softens at the edges. Like she knows what I’m actually asking. Like she knows this is getting harder.

There’s a long silence before she shifts slightly, one foot nudging against my knee. “Does it bother you?”

I don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is—I don’t know.

I should say yes. I should say we should be more careful.

But sitting here, watching her pull my hoodie over her hands, watching the way she fits so easily into my space—

I think I stopped caring the second she walked through that door.

I glance at her, my voice quieter now. “Does it bother you?”

She watches me for a beat. Then she just shakes her head.

“No,” she says simply.

And that’s the end of it.

The next night, the speculation is at a breaking point. I feel it the second we step onto the red carpet. The questions aren’t direct, but the way the reporters phrase them—it’s careful, curious.

"How was it working together?"

"Did you two always have that natural chemistry?"

Y/N laughs at something a reporter says, tilting her head up to look at me.

I smile back at her without thinking, and the camera flashes go off like fireworks.

I don’t have to check Twitter to know what’s being said.

At this point, they should just hold hands and put us out of our misery.

And the thing is—I want to.

Not yet. But soon. I can feel it creeping up on me, the inevitability of it.

Just like I felt it that day on set.

It was one of the final days of filming.

We were outside, crammed into the narrow space between two graffiti-covered buildings. The scene was a turning point—our characters finally giving in to everything they’d been denying.

The kiss was scripted.

We’d rehearsed it, blocked every movement. I knew where to put my hands, how to tilt my head to stay in frame, how to match her rhythm without stepping on it.

But when the cameras rolled, it felt like none of that mattered.

She stepped closer, her breath just brushing my neck, and suddenly the world shrank. It wasn’t the set anymore. It wasn’t the crew, or the lights, or the dozen people standing just out of frame.

It was just her.

When her lips met mine, it was deliberate but soft, the kind of kiss that says everything without words. My hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer without even thinking.

And then—just for a second—she used her tongue.

It wasn’t in the script.

I don’t think she even meant to do it—just a fleeting touch, tentative, like she’d caught herself halfway through. But it was enough.

It was enough to make my grip tighten on her waist, enough for me to tilt my head deeper into the kiss, lifting her slightly onto her toes without realising I’d done it.

Her fingers curled into the front of my jacket, her breath hitching against my mouth before she eased back, just barely breaking the kiss.

The director didn’t call cut right away. We stayed in it longer than we were supposed to, neither of us pulling back until the moment dissolved around us.

When it was over, Y/N stepped back, her breathing a little uneven, her eyes just barely meeting mine before she turned away.

I stayed where I was, frozen, trying to pull myself out of it.

I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling.

Later, I was sitting in the corner of my trailer, still trying to piece myself back together, when she knocked.

She didn’t wait for me to answer.

The door creaked open, and there she was, still in costume, her hair loose around her face.

“You okay?”

Her voice was soft—quieter than usual, like she didn’t want to spook me.

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself to.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “You sure? Because you’ve been in here for, like, an hour.”

I looked at her then, and the words just spilled out. “That scene…”

She leaned against the edge of the couch, her arms crossed. “What about it?”

“It felt…” I trailed off, trying to find the right word.

Her gaze softened, her lips curving just slightly. “Yeah. It did.”

She didn’t have to explain.

I didn’t have to ask.

In that moment, we both knew.

And when she crossed the room and sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, I didn’t stop her.

I just let her stay.

Now, standing on the red carpet, cameras flashing, her voice somewhere behind me, laughing at something a reporter said—I realise it’s been inevitable for a while.

She steps closer, our arms brushing, and lowers her voice just for me.

“You okay?”

Her voice is light, teasing, but her eyes are warm.

And I know, right then, that I don’t care who sees it.

Not anymore.

The energy in the studio is infectious.

The stage lights are bright, the applause thunderous as Jimmy Fallon greets me with his signature enthusiasm. I settle into the chair, offering the audience a grin as I adjust my jacket. I’ve done this before.

I know how to play along, how to keep things light, how to sidestep the questions that toe the line between work and personal life.

But tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s the fact that Y/N isn’t here. She’s back at the hotel, catching up on some sleep after a whirlwind day of press. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that her absence doesn’t mean people aren’t still talking about her.

About us.

Jimmy starts with the usual—talking about the film, throwing in a few jokes about the intensity of the role, teasing me about the internet’s obsession with my hair.

It’s easy. Familiar.

But then he leans forward, his grin widening in that way that lets me know what’s coming.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out for effect, “we have to talk about the internet’s other obsession—your chemistry with Y/N.”

The audience reacts immediately—applause, laughter, a few cheers from the back.

I laugh, shaking my head as I rub the back of my neck. “I knew this was coming.”

Jimmy laughs too, holding up his hands like he’s innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking! You guys are electric on-screen. And off-screen, it’s like… I don’t know, there’s just something there.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, gesturing dramatically.

“I mean, have you seen the edits people are making? It’s like a rom-com trailer, but better. They’re calling you guys ‘the internet’s favourite couple who won’t admit they’re a couple.’”

The audience erupts again, and I can feel the tips of my ears burning.

I shake my head, trying to laugh it off. “That’s—yeah, that’s the internet for you.”

Jimmy leans back, his grin turning sly. “So… what’s it like working with her?”

It’s a harmless question.

I’ve answered it a hundred times.

But tonight, for some reason, the words don’t come as easily.

I glance down for a second, my hand instinctively moving to rub the crease of my pants at my thigh. “She’s… amazing.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Just amazing?”

The audience laughs, and I can feel their anticipation like a weight in the room.

I clear my throat, my fingers brushing along my jawline before I let them drop to the armrest. “No, seriously. She’s one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with. She’s so committed, so intuitive—she just gets it, you know? And she makes everyone around her better.”

I should stop there.

I know I should.

But the words keep coming.

“She has this way of… I don’t know, making everything feel real. Like, you forget there are cameras and crew and a million distractions. It’s just her. And it’s…”

I trail off, my thumb grazing my bottom lip like it might steady me.

Jimmy tilts his head, his expression softening. “You okay, man?”

I nod quickly, forcing a laugh. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I guess I didn’t realise how much I appreciate her until I started talking about it.”

The audience lets out a collective “aww,” and I feel a pang in my chest—not embarrassment, but something softer.

Jimmy gives me a knowing smile, his tone gentler now. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of respect for her.”

I nod again, my voice quieter this time. “I do. A lot.”

It’s not a confirmation. Not really.

But as I glance out at the audience, I catch a few people exchanging smiles, whispering. The energy in the room has shifted—warmer, quieter, like everyone is in on something now.

And I know that whatever they’re thinking, whatever they’ve decided to believe…

They’re not wrong.

The studio is buzzing when the cameras stop rolling. Crew members scatter to reset the stage for the next segment, and I make my way backstage, still trying to shake off the weight of what just happened.

Jimmy claps me on the shoulder as I pass him. “You killed it, man.”

I nod, offering him a quick smile, but my head’s somewhere else entirely.

The moment keeps replaying in my mind—the way my voice caught when I talked about her, the look on Jimmy’s face when he realised I wasn’t just talking about a co-star.

The audience’s reaction.

I can still hear their collective aww, feel the way the room shifted.

I shouldn’t check my phone, but I do anyway.

The notifications are already piling up. Mentions, tags, texts. My fingers hover over Callum’s name when a text from him flashes on the screen.

Mate… you’re trending.

I exhale, running a hand down my face. Of course I am.

But trending or not, it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, she’s the one waiting for me. She’s the constant—the one thing in all of this noise that makes sense. And that’s what I’ll always come back to. Always.

By the time I get back to the hotel, it’s late. The lights in the hallway are dim, the soft hum of the elevator the only sound as I make my way to my room.

I unlock the door, step inside, and freeze.

Y/N is curled up on the couch, one of the hotel’s oversized robes wrapped around her, hair messy from sleep. She stirs at the sound of the door, her eyes blinking open slowly.

“You’re back,” she murmurs, her voice soft and a little raspy.

I nod, setting my bag down by the door. “Yeah. Thought you’d be asleep.”

She stretches, the robe slipping slightly off her shoulder. “I tried. Didn’t stick.”

I cross the room, sitting on the edge of the armchair across from her. For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence between us stretching but never uncomfortable.

Then she tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So, how’d it go?”

I let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “It was fine. The usual… until it wasn’t.”

Her smile falters, her brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, my fingers tapping against the armrest. “Jimmy brought you up.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts—something soft, something careful. She straightens a little, pulling her legs underneath her as she waits for me to go on.

I lean back in the chair, exhaling. “He asked about working together. About the internet stuff, the edits, the… chemistry.” The word feels heavier than it should.

Her lips part slightly, her brows lifting just enough to show surprise. “What did you say?”

I glance at her, then down at my hands, which are resting against my thighs, fingers fidgeting. “I said you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with.”

She doesn’t say anything, just watching me, waiting for the rest.

“And…” My voice drops, my thumb brushing over the seam of my pants. “I said you make everything feel real. That you make everyone around you better. That…” I trail off, my throat tightening like it did back on the show.

“That what?” she asks softly.

I rub the back of my neck, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “That I didn’t realise how much I appreciate you until I started talking about it.”

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting, but she doesn’t say anything.

“And the thing is…” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together as I let out a breath. “I meant every word. But now—now everyone’s talking about it. They’ll read into it, twist it, turn it into something bigger. And I don’t—I don’t know how to feel about that.”

She shifts on the couch, the robe slipping again, revealing her bare collarbone. Her fingers fidget with the hem of the oversized robe, and for a moment, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, something I’ve noticed she only does when she’s trying to find the right words. Her lips press together briefly, like she’s weighing what to say, and it makes her look so completely like herself—unguarded, soft—that my chest tightens just watching her.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks, steady. “Does it bother you? That they’ll think there’s something between us?”

I blink, caught off guard by the question. My first instinct is to say no, to brush it off like it doesn’t matter. But that’s not the truth.

“It doesn’t bother me,” I admit, my voice low. “Not because it’s not true, but because… I think maybe I don’t want it to be a secret anymore.”

Her breath catches—just barely—but I see it. Her hands rest against her knees, fingers curling into the plush fabric of the robe.

“Then why are you so worried?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost tentative.

I shake my head, my hands moving restlessly against my thighs. “I don’t know. Maybe because once it’s out there, it’s not just ours anymore. It’s theirs. And I don’t want this—what we have—to feel like… like something we have to defend, or explain.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Austin…”

I look at her, and for a moment, the air between us feels heavier, quieter. She reaches out, her hand covering mine where it rests on the armrest. Her touch is warm, grounding.

“You’re right,” she says gently. “Once it’s out there, we can’t control it. But we can control how we handle it. And honestly?” She tilts her head, a small, wry smile curving her lips. “I’m kind of tired of pretending I don’t love you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest—not because I didn’t know, but because hearing her say it out loud feels different. Bigger.

I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I cover her hand with mine. “You just say stuff like that, huh?”

She shrugs, her smile widening just slightly. “Guess so.”

For a moment, I just look at her, my thumb brushing over the back of her hand. And then, without thinking, I slide off the chair and onto the couch beside her. She shifts to make room, her legs brushing against mine as I settle in, and when I don’t answer right away, her hand moves—just barely—to rest on my jaw, her fingers light, hesitant, like she’s giving me space to pull back if I need to. I don’t. Instead, I lean into her touch, the faint pressure grounding me in a way nothing else can.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Okay?” she echoes, her brows lifting.

“Okay,” I repeat, leaning in just enough for our foreheads to touch. “Let them talk. Let them say whatever they want. Because none of it changes this.”

Her smile softens, her hand moves back further, her fingers threading gently through the hair at the nape of my neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight in my chest feels lighter.

Because she’s right.

None of it changes this.

[rekino2114]

Genderbent Rin Itoshi with a male reader who was cheated on by Sae Itoshi

Fem!rin itoshi with a reader who was cheated on by fem!sae

A/n:this request was so good and I got into this so much, so thanks for requesting

You were always friends with the itoshi sisters, you spent the majority of your evenings playing football with them and getting ice cream together. You practically lived in their house and always used any moment you could to spend time with them, They were your best friends but little did you know that both of them had started to develop more feelings than just friendship for you.

In the meantime, you started thinking about the same thing. Did you have feelings for the two sisters? you loved their presence, and they were both undoubtedly beautiful, not to mention that just being near them made your heart flutter in a way it never had before. You quickly realized you did indeed have a crush but the problem was that you also realized that you had said crush on both rin and sae.

You had no idea what to do so to try and not ruin your great friendship and maybe even their sisterly bond you tried your best to repress your feelings for both of them.

That was until on one Valentine's Day in high school sae confessed to you, in that moment you felt it again, that love that made your heart flutter and immediately accepted the pink haired girl's confession. Your acceptance was met with a wide smile and a hug from sae. Your relationship was a happy but short one

Because a few months later she left for Spain to go play for re-al, leaving you and rin to keep your dream of becoming the best trio of strikers in the world alive. You still remember when she kissed you before leaving, saying that she would be going to become the best striker in the world, that moment feels like an impossible dream now.

During sae's leave you and rin became way closer, playing together and basically only passing to each other during games, you both told yourselves that you needed to become better for sae that when she would come back you would need to be near her level, just playing with you made rin feel something, that love she had worked so long to suppress, she couldn't do it, you were sae's boyfriend and no matter how much her heart yearned for you she loved her sister too much to do something so horrible like stealing you from her, so she just did what she was already used to and buried her love for you even deeper in her heart.

But everything changed when sae came back from Spain. She called you and said she had an important thing she needed to discuss with you so you waited for her at your house and when you opened the door you saw her but you immediately knew something was different.

Her gaze was almost colder than the snow outside, and her face wasn't even trying to make the faintest of smiles. you offered her a chair, but she refused, telling you that what she was going to be quick

"Our relationship is over, I met another man in Spain and I've been dating him for a while, goodbye"

Before you had the time to process what she said, she just left, the same coldness on her face. You just started crying and thinking about everything. What did you do wrong? Why did sae seem so cold? What happened to her? Or was she just sick of you?

You had nothing else to do so you decided to call the person that had never abandoned you and that you always felt something for: rin.

Rin was not ready to deal with anything after what sae said to her in the football field, but she had promised to herself that she'd do anything for you and hearing your crying voice on the phone broke her heart, she quickly rushed to your house with her heart in her throat, she knew her sister had something to do with this.

Seeing you so sad and miserable with tears flowing down your eyes awoke something in rin, she wanted to destroy whoever did this to you and when she heard the word sae spill from your mouth at her question a really small part of her was happy only because she had even more of a reason to destroy her.

When you fully explained what happened you could have sworn you saw her eyes turn black and her pupils becoming buzzsaw like, but your thoughts were interrupted by the younger itoshi hugging you incredibly tightly and letting you cry on her chest while she talked

"Listen y/n you did nothing wrong, it's sae who's........she's not my sister anymore, I don't know what happened to her but I don't care, she was horrible to me too but what she did to you was just unforgivable, she threw away the best boyfriend she could have had like it's nothing, you're amazing y/n please just know that there is someone who loves you and will never leave you"

Before you could figure out who she was talking about, rin instinctively crashed her lips into yours, her kiss felt amazing. It was like she reanimated the heart sae had stepped on, right in that moment all of the love you ever felt for rin resurfaced and you saw her as what she actually was, the true love of your life, someone who would never abandon you and would always love you

You two continued kissing for a while and then started cuddling, your head still on her chest and your body wrapped in her arms, sweet whispers that promised to keep you safe and to love you forever filled your ears as you closed your eyes, promises that rin was 100% sure she was going to maintain.

Looking at your adorable sleeping face made rin even more angry, not only did that bitch reject their dream and stepped on it like it was nothing she also did the same with you, with the most perfect and adorable guy in the world, she was going to show her how wrong she was. That dream was no longer sae's now just like you were longer hers, rin and you were going to become the best strikers in the world and reject her like she did to the both of you, walking hand in hand in front of her defeat.

The next day, you two talked it over, and your relationship with rin officially started, a much longer and happier one. You couldn't be happier when the letter to join blue lock arrived, that was the place you were going to hone your skills in to defeat sae.

You always stayed together in the facility. During lunch, sleep, training, and especially matches, it looked like you two were the only ones on the field with your perfect chemistry and skills. All of your teammates joked about how rin's coldness melted instantly whenever she talked to you, but they were quickly shut up by a glare from the turquoise eyed girl, as if she was going to treat you coldly after what you went through.

When the u-20 match was announced, the fire in your souls burned even brighter. That was the occasion in which you were going to destroy sae. You had to stop each other from training yourselves to death on multiple occasions, but you both knew that the reason was worth the effort, you needed to show sae how wrong she was.

The night before the match, you couldn't sleep, and your girlfriend who, as always, had her arms wrapped around you comforted you like only the girl of your dreams could.

"Y/n......I understand why you're nervous, but don't be, we will win tomorrow, we'll show that shitty excuse for a sister who the strongests really are, we're going to destroy her and become the best strikers in the world......together, like we always do everything, I'll personally kiss you in front of her to show her what she missed on, you're perfect my love, don't let that bitch get to you, I'm here now.....and always"

She kissed you one more time and tightened her hold around you, starting to play with your hair and lull you to sleep with her sweet words, just like she did on the day you became a couple, on the day you both started your true life, a life together that sae was never going to ruin, rin loved you too much to let that happen, she was going to protect you from everything, especially from that girl who dared tell you she lived you once

"I love you y/n.......good night, and tomorrow, we're going to get our revenge"

As she said those words rin started to fall asleep too, looking at your beautiful face one last time and smiling, because she had you, she had healed your heart and she was never going to let anyone hurt it again.

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 10

Masterlist Here, Moodboard Here, Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600+

Series Playlist: Sapsorrow

"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Warning: MDNI, 18+, smut, making love, husband and wife, marriage, gendered terms, love, romance, supernatural themes.

Notes: This is the final, and shorter, chapter of Mihawk's fairytale au. I want to thank you all for allowing me to take you on a journey through this land, and I truly hope you have enjoyed your time here. Happy reading!

The sounds of melodies and the warm crackle of fire continued in its rise at the gathering on the grounds of Kuraigana. The merriment of the disjointed gathering held on the forefront of the new lord and lady Dracule continued to spread into the night. Many of the less spritely exited the party long after the first hour of their absence, and many more bid their farewell after the following two that continued thereafter. 

“You reckon they fell asleep?” the nasally tenor of the infamous clown grimaced towards the soft illuminance in the window above the steeple peak. The follow of several pairs of eyes trail up beside the teal gaze of Buggy’s lingering curiosity. 

“Now, now. That would be rather rude of them, don’t you think?” the red-haired pirate joined beside his old friend, smirking up at him while trailing his gaze up on the window beside him. “They’re newlyweds, but they’re still the two we know and love. There would be no way they’d fall asleep without at least saying ‘goodnight’, despite how long they've been waiting for one another.” 

Buggy scoffed, immediately moving to the other side of the campfire beside Sir Crocodile, who placed another cigar between his lips and moved to strike it ablaze. Once illuminated, he exhaled a breath of the sour mixture up into the sky, watching the wispy vapors joining with the pale moonlight. Within the silvery streaks glittering the chilled frost of the dust, the image shifted to reveal a shape of a haunting spectre glancing at him with malicious intent. Blinking rapidly to adjust his amethyst colored eyes, he assumed he was mistaken by some trick of the light. 

“Anyone know any other songs? Or something else we can toast to?” Shanks twirled around before the fireplace and beamed his smile brightly towards his first-mate, “Go on, Becks. Give us a reason to sing, would you?” The usually grimacing face of the silver-haired Benn Beckman withdrew itself into a soft smile while he echoed the earlier sentiments of the evening. 

“What else is there to drink to than the bride and groom?” he shrugged, uncorking another bottle of rum and gesturing to the guests that remained with them for a top up, “Everyone, raise your glasses, tankards, goblets, or bootheels in your case, Clown.” 

Buggy toasted up with his heeled boot, the froths of ales and rums mixing together to form an otherworldly concoction of blood-poisoning spilling over the edge of the leathery ankle as he did as such. Zoro and Perona elevated their glasses, as did the Red Hair pirates, Sir Crocodile’s associates, and a handful of remaining guests. Benn Beckman drew the bottle to the air and saluted to the illuminated window. 

“To the Lord and Lady Dracule, rulers of Kuraigana. Long may they live.” 

“Long may they live.”

Water sloshed over the porcelain edge of the bathtub as your bodies moved in synchrony against one anothers. Lips met against yours as your husband’s knuckles whitened on either side of your bed as he perched them. His hips staggered against your own as you gripped beneath his shoulders, clawing at his back to tether you against his motions. 

At a few more manic thrusts, he elicited a soft cry as ropes of his viscous release spilled deep within your abdomen. Your walls spasmed around him as words were lost to you. All that you could do was trust your new husband, Lord Dracule Mihawk of Kuraigana, to shepherd you through your ecstasy. Euphoria crescendoed and drew you both to your conclusion, all while soft echoes of devotion and adoration continued to echo within the silence. 

Mihawk’s eyes met with yours as his right hand reached to grasp your left, interlacing his fingers with your own while drawing his water-damp forehead flush with your own. Smiles slowly drew up your faces, Mihawk’s eyes creasing at the corners as his boyish grin became one silently promised to be reserved only for you. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” Mihawk whispered to you as he gave your hands a gentle squeeze with his own, “It appears I may have to assist you in cleaning once more.” You shook your head with your laugh, breaking away contact against his forehead to press a chaste kiss against the bridge of his nose. 

“That is how we got into this mess in the first place, my lord,” you retorted as you angled your hips, withdrawing himself from you and gathering the washcloth to the side of you both, “And while I do appreciate your desire to continue to ravage me well into the quiet hours of the morn, our guests are still outside by the campfire waiting for our emergence as husband and wife.” You began to wash yourself as Mihawk moved to the outer edge of the large bathtub, appearing out and witnessing a drunken stupor occur where Shanks was attempting to teach Zoro a swashbuckling maneuver. 

“It does indeed appear that way,” he uttered softly before becoming distracted in his viewing by you leaving the bathtub. With a small wobble in your step, Mihawk immediately stood and rushed to stabilize you: arms bracing against your shoulders and collecting your left hand with his own. “Easy now,” he uttered with a smirk within his drawl, “You must be more careful where you step, darling. We have been exercising for a few hours now, and you must allow your body to recover before attempting such a greater feat as exiting our bathtub unaided.” 

Rolling your eyes, you peered over your shoulder and gifted him a pointed look of disapproval. Where your students would have cowered and apologized for whichever way they vexed you, Mihawk only leaned down and gazed at you with a dark and possessive aura within his honeyed eyes. That darkened gaze drew down to your lips before floating back to dispute which of your own he would focus on the most. You shook your head to silently chastise him for attempting to begin another unspoken round of ensuring the union was undeniably consummated, stabilizing your stand and using him as a brace before reaching for your towel. 

“We gave our word we would return,” you spoke softly as you dried your hair and body with the featherlight towel. “And I know you to be a man of honor, Lord Dracule. As much as I desire to remain in this room, or the one thereover,” you turned to watch your husband in his glory exit the bathtub, holding his eyes against your own as you tied the towel over your chest, “We have the rest of our lives to explore one another within any room that takes your fancy.” 

Mihawk took his own towel and dried his body hastily before tying it around his own waist. As you became distracted by finding the appropriate part in your hair, two arms grasped around your waist and hoisted you into the air. A squeak fled your lips as those hands shifted to hook beneath your bare legs and around your back as your husband escorted you towards your marital suite. Your voice became jovial as you and Mihawk began laughing in complete unity, only halting when he placed you back onto the bed you had enjoyed a few hours prior together. 

“I informed you before I drew you your bath that I had a gift for you,” he nodded softly while moving his hands slowly against your body, down your knees and over your calves. “I would like to bestow it onto you now, should you be ready to receive it.” He withdrew his hands from your body and moved himself towards his adjoining ensuite dresser.

The rounds of rustling materials pricked at your ears. Buckles and buttons were the objects to follow, all before your husband had reemerged clad in a more relaxed version of his marital uniform. His pale, frilled shirt was unlaced to above his navel, an embroidered red and gold belt donning buckles and braces were hovering above his darkened pants. In his arms, an embroidered red dress matching the belt clasped around his waist.

“It is not as intricate as the ones you designed prior, nor is it as glamorous,” he informed you whilst stepping closer towards your form sitting against the bed. He slowly sat to your right, bringing the material and flat-laying it over your thighs as he did so. “It is another custom of my people. This is a gesture, a symbolic reminder that you are now representing not only yourself, but the Dracule name. I… My…” He trailed off, peering down and taking your right hand in his left. 

His wedding band warmed the back of your skin, a contrast to his cool fingers as he rose it to his lips. Placing a small kiss to your knuckles, he inhaled and exhaled deeply against your skin before resuming his speech.

“This was something my mother wore, one of the few memories I retain are all within the portraiture I hold in my treasury. She,” he brought his eyes up to peer into your own with that melancholy smile you had known drawing into his lips, “Would have adored you. All of you, my love. My largest regret is you two had not met in this lifetime.” He slowly reached up and hovered over the tie at the front of your towel. “The only question I have for you now is: will you bear this dress in the same way you will bear my name beside yours?” 

Without hesitation, you drew your hand over the one on your chest and fully removed your towel from your body. He smiled as you took the bust of the dress in your arms whilst leaning up to press your lips to his. 

“I am your lady, Lord Dracule Mihawk of Kuraigana,” you uttered firmly against his lips before pulling away, darting your eyes between his and shuddering through a smile filled with more emotion than you had expressed prior, “If you would have me bear your name, pledging yourself to be mine as much as I am yours, I will wear whichever dress you elect to don my form.” Mihawk exhaled a sigh of relief before a mischievous grin crawled onto his whiskered lips. 

“It would fare far better to greet our welcoming entourage than what I had to remove earlier this evening,” he uttered smoothly as you stood, hastily throwing the dress over your head and flicking your hair away from your face. You scoffed, scolding him wordlessly while fastening the embroidered material against your chest and body. 

Both yourself and Dracule Mihawk continued readying yourselves to greet your guests once more, all while stealing kisses from one another between each tie, sock, and boot. Upon returning to your mess of various states of drunken guests, a loud cheer uproared from the party as they welcomed you beside the fire. 

As you approached the burning heap, you noticed Sir Crocodile gazing pensively up in the clouds as opposed to the variety of onlookers gracefully welcoming you into their company. Perona and Zoro were the first to join you on either side, the former tugging at your dress with thick tears beginning to spill over her lash line. Zoro was fairing none the better, far from the bratty attitude he had once welcomed you with upon your introduction. 

Meals began to pour from the pot, the traditional midnight wedding soup exchanging between hands as Lucky Roux ladled each portion as it came. Both Buggy and Shanks had begged drunkenly for your forgiveness as they asked politely to spirit your husband from his position beside you to speak with him discreetly. Mihawk made to cast them aside in favor of spending his night soldered to your side, but you shook your head and spared him a moment away from you. 

Sir Crocodile continued to gaze up at the moon, eyes troubled by something within the light while whisps and vapors continued to waft from his lips and shoulders. Considering your husband was indisposed, you took the initiative to approach the hulking man lingering isolated beside the fire. 

“Sir Crocodile,” you spoke firmly to introduce your presence to the position beside him, “Are you not enjoying the festivities at this hour?” He turned to face you, gifting you that devious smirk as he gestured for your hand. Using his hook, he plucked the cigar from his lips before stooping down to place a kiss to the backs of your knuckles, rising as hastily as he stooped while making mention of your full name and title as his greeting. 

“I would assume you to be having a far greater time than myself,” he offered with a small chuckle before placing his thick cigar back between his teeth. “You are a married woman now, with name and title to follow behind. The World’s Greatest Swordsman as your beau, and a legion of allegiances to follow suit. Tell me…” He took a moment to pause, gazing up at the moon before drawing his eyes back to yours, “...Was it so bad afterall, Lady Dracule?” Sir Crocodile’s question was posed with an almost innocence and urgency to his tone, one that took you off your guard.

Taking a moment to ponder, you gazed down at the twin-set of rings donning your fingers. The union band forged by and for your husband lingering beneath the curse bestowed upon your courtship band.  You spared your thoughts towards each event that transpired to allow for all of this possible. The job offer, the two wards, the broody lord, the creature of fur and feather you eventually learned to be your husband in disguise: every element to the cursed Sapsorrow specter that drew each element together. 

“There are worser fates to be bestowed with, both you and I can agree on that as fact,” you admit fondly as you recount the dresses and love growing between you and your beloved, “I only asked for dresses to be made from impossible substances, nothing that my now husband had within his reach of capabilities.” You leaned forward, grasping his upper shoulder and giving it a small squeeze of reassurance. “And for your role in procuring one of those heavy feats, both he and I are indebted to you. You have my gratitude, Sir Crocodile.” 

"Lady Dracule," Sir Crocodile nodded softly, focussing on your motions while you withdrew from his side towards the merriment now returning at the campfire. Music was played by Cabaji and Galdino, a tune you were witnessing Perona attempting to take the reins in the masculine dance position while Zoro was the unwilling feminine counterpart. Your smile drew up on your features as the two of them eased into an easy rhythm, only growing broader as Zoro used his countenance to balance her motions flawlessly. 

Mihawk drew himself once more to your side, reaching for your hand and entwining it with his own as he lead you both towards the makeshift dance floor by the fireside. His eyes grew half-lidded as he leaned in, humming along to the tune as it came to him, only desiring to depict his love and adoration towards you in each swooping motion. As each moment passed, you and he both had it dawn on you with the sun as it split across the horizon. 

It was done, the feats finally completed. You and he had successfully become that which was bound in stone and gold: twin souls now forged in matrimony. Whatever those dates held was now secured by the tight bonds of unity between you and your husband, all with gratitude and smiles to the forces that thrust you together. All you had to do now was wait for the next tomorrow to rise and set, all with those to come thereafter: faced together as the Lord and Lady Dracule Mihawk of Kuraigana. 

The End.

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @mermaniaa @feral-artistry @be-good-please @sukilovesyou @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood @jaguarthecat @marsbars09 @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @indydonuts @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

Further Notes: Big thank you to my sister, Mermaniaa, for being the one to push me to write this series - and to write in general. This series was made to express my gratitude and absolute joy to have you as my baby sister. Happy Birthday, and I hope you liked it.

[boofeine]

2 to 18+ – verkyeom

pairing: dokyem x fem reader x vernon

genre: smut

warnings: mdni, threesome, member x member moment, fingering, oral (f and m), multiple orgams, dirty talk, love triangle kinda type of situation, penetrative unprotected sex

a/n: uncommon ship, i guess, but happy 218 bros day ;D !

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @kooqitas @unlikelysublimekryptonite @kwannibalism @bewoyewo

"There's no answer" You say again.

"Of course, there is" Vernon replies.

There is not, you think again. You look to the men sit across your both sides, a whimsy grin on Vernon's face and curiosity and nervousness on Seokmin's innocent eyes; he's the one who could possibly be more affected by the unknown answer and still, he looks so excited. 'If You had to chose one of the two to fuck you alone, who would it be?' You try the thought again and still can't come up with one answer. Each of them has their own strong points, and it's almost funny how they complement each other. You can't have one alone. You need them both, together, that's how it is supposed to be.

"Okay, shirt off" Vernon's words cut off your line of thoughts, and you shake your head to yourself, thinking it's unfair since there's no right answer to the question, but you decide against fighting this fight, pulling your shirt up to your head and tossing it to the side, their eyes being meet up with no bra and perked nipples. When did you get this turned on? you think.

Vernon has just his boxers and socks on which it's a really funny sight. Seokmin has just his shirt off, and you think that should change, maybe you are going too easy on him today.

"Seokminie" You call, and he hums in your direction, looking at your face "Do you prefer when I suck you or when Vernon does?" You shoot, a little teasing grin crossing your lips as he glups dryly at your question.

To this day, you still don't know how Seokmin agreed and stayed to this dinamic of you three, outside the bedroom he doesn't look like someone who would be okay in some type of love triangle situation. But while on that, he's much more into it than you'd imagine.

He looks to Vernon and then back to you again "There's no answer" He steals yours. LIAR!

You arch a brow, and Vernon laughs, out loud and clear. "Short off" You demand, finally.

You still playing until the whine bottle is empty on the living room middle desk and your visions a little blurry, bodies heating up at how suddenly the game turned into some type of dirty talk. The outline of Seokmin's half hard cock is easily seem through his boxers, Vernon's is no longer seen as he sits naked and spread on the sofa.

You come over to him, taking a leg to his other side as you sit over his lap. He doesn't do anything, just stare at your form, just your panties on and an embarrassing wet spot on it. You spit on your palm, taking his base as you press your hands around it. He sighs, breaths heavening as you start to work on his length.

"Seokmin" You say, not spearing a glance, too occupied on admiring Vernon's lust as the other man comes closer to you both. "Fuck me or have me riding you?" You ask.

"I—" He starts.

"Don't answer" You say in a hurry before he finishes. "Trousers off" You demand, and he grins, obeying. His cock spreading free as he gasps in relief while it hits his core.

Vernon uner you finally takes a move, his hands sliding inside your panties, his fingers immediately met with your wet folds. "You're so fucking wet" He states and you moan, nodding furiously. He teases your entrance, sliding the wetness up to your clit, messaging slowly the muscle next. Your head goes back in pure bliss, your hands haulting on his length as your mind goes blank from how good it feels to be touched

You sigh, smiling, getting your head back up to look at Vernon staring at your body while he plays with your clit and Seokmin's working on his cock while he watches the nasty scene.

You pin the man's wrist, slowly pulling it out of your core before getting up. The men in front of you stare hungrily at the way you take down your panties, getting completely naked for them. Slowly walking back to your position, sitting on Vernon's lap again but with your back facing him this time, spreading your legs.

"Seokminie" you call, whinily "Can you get on your knees for me... please?" you say.

He groans, affected by the way you talk to him, coming to kneel in front of your legs. You carress his cheeks softly "Good boy" you add, before gripping his hair and pulling him into your core, legs resting on his shoulders and heels pressing on his back. You can feel his hot breath fanning on your center, and know he's out of it.

Seokmin licks a long stripe of your cunt, making his way up to suck your clit. "Fuck..." you inhale, your eyes rolling back as your head ends up rested on Vernon's shoulders.

You relax, spit and arousal dripping down your walls as he sucks and licks messily and hungrily. His tongue entering your walls, his perfectly shaped nose pocking your clit, it has you swearing and moaning under your breath.

If that wasn't already enough, Vernon starts to carresses your sides, going up slowly and teasingly "Is he doing good, baby?" He whispers on the nap of your ear, and you whimper, noding to him. "Hmm, I bet he is" he laughs lowly after saying that "You can't even talk, can you?" he teases some more. His palms finally reach your breast, unexpectedly pinching your nipples.

"Ah!" you hiss, your legs closing on Seokmin's head inside your legs as he grunts on you.

"There it is" Vernon adds. "Tell him how good it feels" He demands, his palms soothing your nipples this time instead.

"It– It feels so good" You try, sounding way too weak. Seokmin stops on his tracks, looking up at you with his mouth all wet by you and him, his eyes small and drunk from you. Your grip tightens on his hair by how perfect he looks like this in between your legs while Vernon lets wet kisses and licks on your neck and shoulders.

Seokmin is kissing your inner legs now, and just above your clit, teasing his way as your legs trembles and gets weak. "What about you cum for us, hm?" He says, looking up again.

"Yeah" You answer.

You watch as they both share a look as in awareness to ruin you, Seokmin's restless tongue back to your clit, Vernon's hands unstoppable gripping and pinching your boobs as his breath burns your neck skin with sucks and bites. You moan, grip tight on one's hair and other's arm as you feel close to collapsing. Your whole body starts shaking as you cum. You can feel and hear Seokmin humming as he rides your high, happily, drinking down your cum.

You're out of it when they pick you up and lay you on the sofa, they both watching you still shake a bit, cum slipping down your hole as they are back at bumping his lengths. They are both heated, breathing loudly and fast. Your eyes open, blicking back to reality when they share a look, locking eyes for a moment before crashing on each others mouth.

You wake up from your daze by the sound of their messy kissing and how they moan and grunt on each other's lips. You suddenly grow jealous, wanting your lips on them too, but you decide to stay just on looking, elbows going up to rest on the sofa cushion to watch it better.

They rest their foreheads on each other's and stay like that for a while before Vernon looks at Seokmin's eyes, a teasing smirk while going down on him. He grips his base, eyes on his when he sucks his cockhead. Seokmin falls down, sitting in the back of his thighs, moaning out the feeling of his warm mouth. Your mouth falls open, feeling yourself all horny again.

"Shit, Vernon!" Seokmin shoots when he starts to bob his head on his length, sometimes taking him to the back of your throat.

LIAR! You think again, grinning to yourself, you knew Seokmin would always prefer Vernon to suck him off and you're not a bit offended.

You bring your fingers to your clit again, feeling the sore walls but getting off at the sight in front of you anyway. Seokmin lets out a cicle of curses and moans, and you know he's close. Adding a second finger in, you ease your swollen pussy at the man cumming in front of you. He lets one last throaty moan, head back as he's cumming, inside Vernon's mouth. You look at him, and you can see him smiling even with his mouth full of his friend's cock. Vernon comes up again when he's finished, crashing on a kiss again while he brings his fist to bump Seokmin's length again, that whines for overstimulation, his cock not threatening to soften, staying at the half hard state to hard again. It's nasty and hot, makes you moan, fingers deep down your hole.

They both seem to remember you're in the room, spearing a glance while fisting each other. Seokmin motions with his fingers for you to come closer, "C'mere" He adds.

You slip out your fingers with a gasp before crawling yourself to them as they stop to watch, you come up with your knees pressed on the sofa, putting yourself in between them. You face Vernon, a look to his hard cock, tip red from being like this for so long, and then back to his face, you say "Doing so good for everyone, I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

You push him on his chest, making him sit and rest on the cushion as you crawl over him again. Handing his base, you press it over your entrance, and he rolls his eyes just at it. You start to slowly go down on his length, his arms spread on the heardboard as he just enjoys.

"So fucking tight..." He moans out, your walls clenching around him until you bottoms down.

You both stay there out of breath for awhile, adjusting yourselves when Seokmin appears behind you. You can feel his cock hard pressing over your lower back, his hands sliding to your jaw, pulling your head back. He looks down at you, "Good girl" he praises and you gasp. He's the one to kiss you first, airy and needy, a sudden build inside you as you start to rock back and forth on Vernon's lap. He groans, handing your hips to help you ride him.

Seokmin slides his hand to your throat, adding pressure over it slightly, you almost scream, but the cut of air doesn't let it come out as loud as it should. He chockes you, letting soft kisses around your face to contrast with the harsh move, since you're unable to keep the kiss right now, feeling dumb what how good it feels.

"Shiiit, you keep clenching on me" Vernon's voice erupts to your ear as you whimper. He puts you in place as he starts to fuck you instead. You moan loudly, and Vernon does, too. Cursing under his breath when he pounds fast inside you. You feel the build on your lower belly, your lungs burning for air when Seokmin finally let go of your throat. "Fuck!" Vernon swears, feeling the way you relax on him, sliding out fast and cutting your high. You whine and shake as his cock twitches on his hands. "Fuck, Y-nie... let me cum in your mouth, please, please" He says, out of breath, trying his best not to burst yet.

"In all fours" Seokmin demands behind you, and you do so. Ass up on him and face down on Vernon's sensitive length.

You feel Seokmin palming your ass, spreading it open before sliding his length in at the same time you take Vernon's cock on your mouth. They both sigh, and you moan around his cock.

You bob your head a few times with hollow cheeks and he's already cumming, moaning your name. You drink the first lines of his hot cum, before sliding out with a suck, it makes a loud bop and more cumming is hitting your lips, nose, chin and neck. You hiss, still bumping him.

Seokmin is still fucking you from behind, his tip pocking your further spot everytime he hits you. skin slapping and it's all too much, your eyes start to water, and you can't seem to keep them open anymore. You call Seokmin's name and he grunts when you cum. He tries to ride you some more, his length sliding easy at the mix of your cum and arosal that won't stop coming. When he can't take it anymore, he slides out and cums on your ass, he presses himself until he's empty.

You are all out of breath and full of post orgams lust and exhaust. You slide your body to the side, resting it on the sofa, the same way Vernon is. Seokmin rests on the back on his thighs like before, feeling it numb from the positions, whimpering when he stretches his sore legs.

You start to feel their cum dry on your skin but your eyes too heavy for you to move. "I need a shower" you announce, sleepy and weak.

"You go first" Vernon says, angling his head to the side to look at you. "Go while we clean up everything here, then we can nap" he adds.

You nod, making your way to the bathroom with wobbly legs as you three laugh at it.

They clean everything up, from changing your sofa cover to putting your ruined one and your clothes to the wash machine while you clean yourself. Vernon goes shower after you and Seokmin after him. Once everything is neat, you find yourselves sleeping for the rest of the night.