#unless you FORCE her in she barely gonna do anything

[dailykugisaki]

Day 177 & 178 | id in alt

Kugisaki has a formula. If she dosent care, it's not her issue. It has worked.

[jennxxe]

You didn’t see shit.

pairing — erik campbell x fem! reader

summary — you’re julia’s best friend

warnings — cursing, making out, getting caught by ✨bobby✨, erik bribes him to stfu tho

a/n — i have one more idea for an erik ff after this one and then i will do billy and carter from fd1 <33 yall are free to message me requests for characters tho, js put a summary of what you want the fanfic to look like. all final destination characters are welcome!!

You were halfway through laughing at something Julia said when Erik sauntered into the room like he wasn’t the human equivalent of a traffic violation. That cocky smirk already plastered across his stupidly punchable (and unfortunately hot) face.

“Damn,” he muttered, eyes dragging from your thighs to your lips like he was trying to memorize your measurements by sheer force of will. “Didn’t know Julia had hot friends. You always look like that?”

Julia groaned instantly. “Erik, no.”

He leaned on the kitchen counter like he owned the place, tossing an apple from hand to hand like he was being casual, but everyone knew better. His voice dropped into that low but casual tone he used when he was being deliberately inappropriate. “I’m just saying. If I knew this one was around, I would’ve stayed home more often.”

Julia’s face scrunched like she’d eaten a lemon. “She’s not interested.”

“You sure?” He glanced at you, grin slow and lazy. “Doesn’t look like she’s complaining.”

You fought the smile tugging at your lips. Erik caught it, winking at you. Julia stood between you two now, arms crossed. “Literally go die.”

Erik snorted. “Can’t. I’m the cool sibling. I’ve got plot armor.”

Julia threw a spoon at him. He caught it midair, didn’t blink. Still smirking. That smirk that said: I definitely mean it.

Later that day, Julia had gone upstairs to grab something later that day, promising she’d “be back in two seconds,” which was apparently all the time Erik needed to find his way back in your personal space.

He leaned forward, palms flat on the counter on either side of you, his breath hitting the curve of your neck like something deliberate.

“I’m gonna say something,” he said lowly, his voice rough like it’d just rolled out of bed, “and you’re gonna tell me to fuck off.”

You turned slowly, finding him closer than you expected, close enough to see all the tiny healed scars from the piercings he changed his mind about and took out.

“Didn’t Julia already tell you to leave me alone?” you asked, but your voice betrayed you, just a little more curious than cold.

“She did,” he said. “But I’ve got this thing where I don’t listen to her.”

“Oh, shocking.”

“Look, you’re her best friend. You’re sweet. Smart. Probably way too good for the kind of thoughts I’ve been having since you walked in.”

Your breath caught, barely but enough for him to notice. His grin curved, slow and shameless.

“See?” he said softly. “You felt that too.”

You shook your head, stepping back until your hip hit the counter. He followed, didn’t touch just looked. Held your eyes like he was trying to find the flicker of permission. Like he was testing the line to see if you’d let him cross it.

“And what if I told her?” you asked.

He laughed, one of those careless ones that made your stomach flip in a good way. “You won’t,” he said, certain. “Not unless you want her to know how long you let me stand here.”

You exhaled, smiling a bit. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still not walking away.”

He leaned in, slow enough to give you time to stop him—which you didn’t—and brushed his lips against your jaw, just a ghost of contact. Barely anything. But it burned.

“You tell me when to stop,” he murmured. “Or you don’t.” Before you could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs.

Julia.

He pulled back in an instant, grabbing a slice of pizza off the counter like nothing had happened. Smirking to himself like he’d won something. And when Julia walked back in and rolled her eyes at him, he just said, through a mouthful of crust. “We were just talking about you.”

You decided to sleep over for whatever reason that night, too lazy to walk back home and Julia gave you her bed.

…

Jk, she would never, she made you sleep on the couch like she was punishing you for indulging her brother.

The living room was half-dark, lit only by the blue glow of the muted TV and the tiny strip of moonlight bleeding in through the blinds. You were on the couch, curled under a blanket, phone long forgotten at your side. Tank top loose, one strap slipping just slightly. Legs stretched out, bare and warm against the worn leather cushions.

You hear someone coming downstairs and, of course, it has to be Erik. No shirt, all tattoos on display. Hair tousled like he hadn’t even tried to sleep. Those damn silver piercings glinting faintly in the dark.

He stood at the edge of the couch, eyes skating down the length of your legs without shame, his jaw slack with something both lazy and playful.

"You're in my spot," he said finally, voice lower than usual, like the hour required secrecy but his intent didn’t.

You didn’t move. "You weren’t down here."

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t planning to be.”

He dropped onto the other end of the couch like he owned it and stretched his legs out until his foot casually nudged yours. The contact was small, insignificant. But he didn’t take it back. He just let it linger.

You shifted under the blanket. He watched that too.

“You always stare like that?” she muttered, trying to keep her voice level.

His head tilted, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, muscles lazy, confident. “Only when I wanna see what you’ll do about it.”

There was a beat of silence. Heavy. Tense. Loaded.

Then he moved slowly, like the moment had been waiting on him, until he was closer. Close enough for his knee to bump your thigh. Close enough that she could smell him, faint cologne and the stubborn smoke that always clung to his skin. His fingers ghosted along the blanket near your hip, barely brushing fabric, but intentional.

You should’ve shifted away. Should’ve told him to back off. Should’ve said Julia’s upstairs. But your body betrayed you… okay, it didn’t, he was hot as fuck.

He leaned in, slow enough to be deliberate, lips brushing just shy of your jaw. His breath hit warm and even across your skin, his voice a whisper now.

“You gonna tell me to leave?”

Your fingers curled into the blanket, tighter.

He chuckled under his breath, low and full of mischief. His hand came up, brushing your thigh through the blanket, fingers spread like he needed to feel just how warm you were under there.

“You’re real quiet now,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “That mean I can stay?”

Your breath caught. And then you nodded. He dipped closer. His mouth brushed the line of your collarbone, lips soft, breath hot, his hand sliding just beneath the blanket now.

The couch groaned softly beneath you as you shifted, and your knee bumped his thigh, bare skin on bare skin. That was all it took for Erik to settle his hand at your waist, pulling gently, testing you.

And he kissed you. Not all at once. He started near your throat, barely-there kisses that felt like secrets, like confessions. Then up along your jaw, near the corner of your mouth, just hovering, giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

So he claimed your lips like he meant it.

It wasn’t gentle. It was heat and hesitation, all twisted up. Teeth. Tongue. The press of his body against yours, as if he’d been holding himself back all night and finally got permission to start losing control.

And even in the middle of that kiss, Erik smirked against your mouth. Because he knew he was winning.

He eventually pushed you back, climbing on top of you. You were soft under him, lips flushed, eyes dazed, that little noise you made when his teeth caught your lower lip nearly making him lose the last ounce of restraint he had. Erik wasn’t good at waiting. Not when he wanted something. And right now?

He wanted you under him, under that stupid blanket, moaning his name like it meant something.

Your legs shifted to either side of his hips, his hand sliding under the hem of your tank top, palm hot on your stomach as your breath hitched. You tugged him closer by the waistband of his pants, and he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he laughed through it.

“Fuck, if you keep doin’ that—”

Footsteps.

The stairs creaked.

Erik froze. You froze.

And then—

“…Hey?”

Erik looked up like he’d been shot. "No."

Bobby stood in the hallway in basketball shorts and a hoodie, hair a mess, holding a half-eaten Pop-Tart and blinking like he just walked into a war zone.

Erik was still on top of you. Your tank top was wrinkled halfway up your chest.

Bobby just blinked again.

“...Are you guys wrestling or something?”

You scrambled back, yanking the blanket up to your chin like you were about to enter witness protection. Erik nearly tripped over his own legs as he got up, adjusting his waistband like it owed him money.

Bobby squinted. “Wait. Is that Julia’s—”

“NOPE!” Erik bellowed, launching himself across the room so fast he almost tripped. “Bobby. Bobby, look at me. Right here. Look in my eyes. You didn’t see shit.”

Bobby backed up, Pop-Tart still in hand, eyes wide. “Dude, I literally just came in for water, what the hell—”

“Shut up,” Erik hissed, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I will buy you so many protein shakes, you don’t even know.”

“What were you—were you guys hooking up?!” Bobby’s voice cracked halfway into the question.

Erik slapped a hand over his mouth. “She fell. I was catching her. With my mouth. Shut up.”

Bobby made a strangled wheeze. “Jules is gonna kill you—”

“No she’s not,” Erik said quickly. “Because you’re not gonna tell her. Because you love me. Because I gave you your first beer. Because I didn’t tell Mom when you got that illegal tattoo that looks like a bruised banana.”

Bobby was still blinking, still confused, but Erik could see the cogs turning, gears clicking into place.

“Are you gonna bribe me?” Bobby asked, hopeful.

“Yes. I will bribe you so hard, you’re gonna forget you even have a sister.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Then Bobby shrugged.

“Okay. I want the good chicken nuggets. And your Netflix password.”

“Done.”

Bobby beamed. “Love you, bro.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Erik shoved him back toward the stairs. “Don’t come back for water. Dehydrate.”

As soon as Bobby disappeared upstairs, Erik turned back to the couch, hair disheveled, still a little breathless, and fully flushed from the chaos.

You were still under the blanket, staring at him like he was insane.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, flopping down beside you again.

“You bribed your brother with chicken nuggets.”

“I bribed him with silence and loyalty, thank you very much.”

You snorted, and he smirked, his fingers already sliding under the blanket again.

“Now,” he said, voice low and smug, “where were we?”

[rafeyssugar]

daddy's got you

rafe knew something was wrong the second his phone buzzed.

she never called him this late—not unless she needed him. and the moment he answered, the shaky breath on the other end made his stomach twist.

"rafey?"

his grip on the phone tightened. "what’s wrong, baby?"

she sniffled, voice small and broken. "i had another fight with my parents."

his jaw clenched. "what did they say?"

"the usual," she murmured. "that i’m a disappointment. that i never do anything right. that they don’t even know what to do with me anymore."

rage burned in rafe’s chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. "where are you, angel?"

"my room, but—"

"i'm coming."

—

she barely had time to wipe her tears before rafe was climbing through her window, his movements quick and effortless.

"rafe—"

she barely got the word out before he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms. she melted into him instantly, clinging to his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"shh, i got you, baby," rafe whispered, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. "daddy’s here."

her breathing hitched, another sob shaking her frame. "they—they always act so disappointed in me. like i’ll never be good enough. like i’ll never be the daughter they wanted."

rafe let out a slow breath, his grip tightening. "baby, that's not true. they just don’t see you the way i do."

"but what if—what if you start seeing me like that too?"

rafe pulled back just enough to cup her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"that’s never gonna happen, angel."

"but what if—"

"no," he cut her off gently, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "you're my girl. my sweet, perfect girl. daddy could never be disappointed in you."

her lip wobbled. "promise?"

"i swear on my life, baby."

she let out a shaky breath, her body finally relaxing against him. rafe leaned back against her bed, pulling her into his lap so she could curl up against him. his hoodie swallowed her frame, and he couldn't help but smirk a little at the sight.

"you know what i think?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"what?" she whispered.

"i think you were made for daddy," he said, voice firm. "nobody else sees you the way i do, angel. nobody else gets to love you the way i do."

she sniffled, nuzzling into his chest. "i love you, daddy."

rafe’s heart clenched.

"i love you more, baby. and you never have to doubt that."

he pulled the blanket over them, keeping her wrapped up in his warmth. her breathing slowed, the exhaustion from crying settling in.

"sleep, princess," he whispered, lips brushing against her forehead. "daddy’s got you."

[peachhcs]

samy struggling with a little bit of her ed and Quinn and Jack and Luke are helping her and being good brothers and are by her side

why have i not seen this ask until now omg (starting to respond to my 140 inbox) i kind of strayed off the ask, but it all comes together in the end trust

eds are always such a difficult topic to write about but i think it’s important to also show it’s possible to recover and overcome something so hard with the right support by your side.

warnings: ed, talk of struggling to eat, talk of skipping meals, talk of throwing up, mental health struggle, please read with caution if this is something that's triggering for you

my messages are always open if you ever need a shoulder to lean on❤️

au masterlist | part 2

it was hard knowing what was going on with one another when it wasn’t summer. the siblings didn’t see each other a lot throughout the year except for breaks or spontaneous trips, so the summer was the only true time they all caught up on each other's lives unless they visited.

jack noticed it first.

it was surprising since luke was always the one to notice changes in their baby sister before him and quinn, but with the brunette being back home again after his second shoulder injury, he caught on a lot earlier this time. samy came home for a weekend before finals started to decompress and take her mind off of studying. jack was happy to have company that weren't their parents breathing down his neck and babying his every move (as much as he loved it, it got old fast.)

samy had always been go, go, go, so her rushing out of the house at times and never slowing down was pretty typical. jack understood that part because he, too, was always in and out of his apartment and on the move to do something because he hated being stationary. her being home though was forcing herself to slow down some and because of that, jack finally noticed samy's behaviors he didn't notice before.

it started small and nearly unnoticeable to someone who wasn't as observant as jack could be sometimes. the siblings were eating lunch together. jack was basically shoveling the food into his mouth, and while samy was eating her sandwich, it was only in tiny bites. she mostly played with the crust and chips on her plate to make it seem like she was eating.

"are you gonna finish that?" jack had been watching her play with her food for the past 15 minutes now. most times, the brothes would eat the leftovers she didn't have, but jack knew she never had that much left over.

samy looked up, "i'm pretty much done. you can have it if you want." she pushed the plate in his direction.

for a moment, jack stared at the barely eaten sandwich and broken up chips. samy almost always ate all of her sandwich besides a few bites and the chips were usually cleaned off the plate. it hardly even looked like she ate anything.

jack was not one to say something though. whenever he noticed something not right he was never the one to mention it, so he didn't say anything as samy hopped off the stool.

"are you sure?" the older boy finally asked.

"yeah, totally. all yours," samy smiled and left the kitchen before jack could ask anything else.

the hockey player glanced at the plate one last time before deciding to let it go figuring maybe samy just wasn't that hunrgy at the moment. he was still hungry, so he'd gladly eat the sandwich so it didn't go to waste.

however, the pattern continued into dinner. ellen and jim were making mindless conversation between the four. jack was half listening, mostly because he didn't care for the topic, but also because he had his attention on samy. she was doing the same thing she did earlier where she played with her food with her fork to make it look like she was eating all of it.

the girl did take a few bites of everything, but what jack didn't know was the internal battle she was having within herself. the voices in her head were screaming at her and the anxieties about her exams coming up hadn't eased as hard as she tried to not think about them. samy couldn't handle the idea of eating.

those thoughts had been plaguing her mind for weeks now. she looked at food and wanted to throw up at the mere idea of putting it in her mouth—and she did even when she did eat something.

samy knew it was bad. she knew she shouldn't be doing it..but after awhile, something in her brain was enjoying the way she locked herself in the bathroom after every meal. the starving..it ignited this itch in her brain that she didn't otherwise feel in the offseason. she couldn't stop.

once dinner was over, jack watched as samy scraped what she didn't eat into the trash. she shot him a brief smile, not knowing he'd been watching her at dinner. she disappeared upstairs and the sound of a door closing could be heard. jack knew it was the bathroom door and he suddenly wondered what she was doing in there.

the situation was hard to approach when jack didn't even know if what he was thinking was right. he knew that confronting someone with an eating disorder always had to be treated delicately and if it was the case, he worried he'd set off samy even more.

for now, he decided to let it go. maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought and it was just high stress because of finals coming up. everyone slips up once in awhile and samy was an adult. she knew how to take care of herself. jack didn't need to be breathing down her neck like she was fifteen still. plus, there was a chance he was just looking too deep into things because of how long he's been at home and everything was just more heightened.

so jack let it go.

what a huge mistake.

two weeks later, luke and quinn flew home for a week once the season was officially over to just catch up with family before completely immersing themselves up at the lake house where they had guests coming every week of the summer. samy came home again too and this time, it wasn’t just jack noticing the changes in her behavior.

luke was the most observant out of all of them, especially with samy, so he caught on pretty quickly after hanging around her for a day. she honestly looked even different than when jack saw her two weeks ago. the bags under her eyes had deepened significantly and her dark circles were way more apparent than before. she looked completely exhausted and..maybe even thinner? jack couldn’t exactly place it, but he knew something was different and it wasn’t good.

like jack, the younger hughes brother watched the way samy threw out most of her lunch when she usually ate everything on the plate. it didn’t even look like she took bites of it and by the time luke dared to ask, she left the kitchen to do something else.

that something else was the youngest hughes crouched over the toilet forcing herself to throw up what she had just eaten. at this point, this was routine for samy. she ate a few bites to make it look convincing and then went to the bathroom to get it out of her system. the brunette didn’t even know why she was doing this. it felt good? she’d been living the past few weeks on autopilot and in anxiety because of her finals that she somehow made herself anxious to food. the mere idea of trying to get something down set the girl into a spiral of well what if she ate it and gained weight because she wasn’t playing soccer at the moment? what if she got sick? what if, what if, what if, what if—those two words phrase clouded her mind.

so she couldn’t eat. no matter how hard she tried. no matter how much she knew she needed to, she just couldn’t do it. it was just normal for her now to skip meals. she couldn’t even remember the last time she had a full meal. days? weeks? it was hole she was struggling to get herself out of the further down she went.

luke was worried for his sister though. she was an athlete. she had to eat and she knew it too. the middle hughes decided to go to his brothers to see if they picked up on their sister's behavior too.

"i don't really know how to not be blunt, so i'll just ask. is samy not eating?" luke asked one day when samy was out of the house and it was just him, quinn, and jack.

jack immediately frowned, "you noticed it too?"

"what do you mean too? you knew?" luke looked surprised while quinn had no idea what they were talking about.

"knew what? what's going on?" the older boy quickly asked.

"i noticed when she came home like two weeks ago before finals. i thought it was just stress of finals or something," jack continued without answering quinn.

luke's face hardened, "and you didn't think to say anything?"

"what would i say? hey, you're not eating, what's wrong?" there was an argument brewing and poor quinn was still out of the loop.

"yes! exactly that!" luke exclaimed.

"dude, in case you didn't know, first rule with someone with an eating disorder is that you cannot confront them like that. it will only make things worse," jack argued right back.

quinn finally understood what was happening as he put the pieces together. luke's expression twisted and the anger in his face dissipated as the weight of jack's words settled in the room. eating disorder. saying it out loud made it that much more real and the reality of their sister's situation quickly set in.

"you really think that's what's going on?" the youngest brother wondered softly.

"i mean what else could it be? she's not eating and if she does she's throwing it up. that bathroom door closes upstairs like clockwork every night," jack said and the brothers all exchanged wary glances.

the thought of what to do next was hard. they needed to talk to her, but they had to approach the situation from a non confrontational standpoint. if they came at her too hard about it, she'd probably freak and deny it and neither of them wanted that to happen. luke decided to call gabe and ryan since he knew they were there for samy when she struggled with her mental health earlier in the year and knew how to approach it without putting labels on her that she wasn't ready for yet.

"hey hughes, what's up?" gabe answered.

"hey gp, how are you?" luke wondered.

"i'm good, man. new york's been real good so far."

"that's great to hear. i've seen some of the highlights. it looks like you've been doing awesome. i'm proud of you," luke smiled.

"thanks, luke. that means a lot. congrats on your season too."

it was always so awkward to go from making small talk to getting to the point of the call. luke shifted on his feet as he changed the topic, "hey, so i don't know how to sugarcoat this so i'll just ask. has samy ever mentioned anything to you or any of the other guys about an eating disorder?"

there was a pause on gabe's end.

"eating disorder? no, why? is she okay?"

"i..i-i..yeah? i don't really know to be honest. she's been acting weird and..we think she isn't eating properly and we don't really know what to do. we were hoping you or ryan or someone may know something or how to approach it with her," luke grimaced.

"shit..i..i mean she's never really said anything about that to us. earlier in the season back in like the fall she passed out during her game, but she told us it was just because she'd been feeling overwhelmed with things, but was gonna work on taking more care of herself," gabe explained and luke knew that part. they all thought she was working on taking better care of herself.

"i think she has a habit of not taking care of herself when things get stressful or reaching out to anyone," luke mumbled and both boys frowned at that.

"how bad is it?"

"she hardly eats anything and jack thinks she's throwing up whatever she does eat."

a painful silence fell between the call.

"do you want us to fly out? help you talk to her?" gabe offered.

luke thought about it for a moment. he didn't wanna make the situation worse, but he also knew how much these guys meant to samy and maybe having them close by could help her.

"yeah, actually. if you could," the boy nodded.

"okay, yeah. we'll fly out. i'll call ryan, will, hannah, and all them."

luke knew if anyone could help samy out of something as serious as this it was her family and best frinds that have been by her side since day one.

—

the sound of a dish breaking and glass shattering woke luke up from a dead sleep. he sat up thinking something in his room fell, but when he didn't see anything broken, he pushed the covers off himself and shuffled into the hallway.

he could hear someone cursing downstairs. the door beside him opened and jack's head popped out. "what the hell was that?"

"i dunno. maybe quinn?" luke mumbled sleepily and the two brothers glanced in the direction of quinn's door. it opened as if they summoned him and his head popped out.

"what the fuck was that?" the older boy grumbled.

they knew it wasn't their parents because they were out of town for the weekend. the idea of someone breaking in flashed in their minds until luke's gaze wandered to his sister's door. it was cracked open which meant she wasn't in her room and it was most likely her downstairs making the noise.

"i think i know who," luke said and took the lead down the stairs. the other two followed silently behind him.

there was a soft glow of light coming from the kitchen. luke rounded the corner and like he suspected, samy was struggling to clean up the glass of a plate that must've fallen. remnants of what looked to be a sandwich was also scattered in between the pieces of glass. the girl jumped when she saw her brothers staring at her in the doorway.

"shit, you scared me," she mumbled.

"what are you doing awake? it's 2 in the morning," luke mumbled while jack went go find a broom to clean up the pieces easier.

"i couldn't sleep," samy shrugged like it wasn't a huge deal.

"so you made a sandwich?"

"yeah? i was hungry? late night snack."

jack came back with a broom, but stopped when he saw his younger siblings staring one another down. luke's fear had a habit of manifesting into anger.

"that's funny coming from you," the curly-haired boy said.

"luke," jack immediately warned.

samy's face twisted, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"we know you haven't been eating in weeks," luke spit out.

samy finally hearing someone say that out loud to her made it all set in. the anger the brothers were bracing themselves for from her never came because luke was right. she hadn't been eating in weeks. she ran to the bathroom anytime even a morsel of food touched her mouth. the only thing she thought about was how much she was eating and if she looked overweight. she thought no one noticed yet here were her three brothers were staring at her with eyes full of worry that she's never seen before—and that told her how bad it was because neither of them had looked at her like that before.

instead of speaking, she cried. her eyes watered and the tears started slow until they all poured out at once. the three boys were motionless until luke stepped over the glass to collect her into a hug. he sunk to the floor with her while jack and quinn huddled around the two once the shock was over.

"it's okay, pop. don't cry. we've got you," luke whispered. he rocked her like a baby and it reminded him of when they were younger and he'd hold her exactly like this when jack or quinn were being a bit too mean, except this time he was comforting her from herself.

"it's gonna be okay, i promise. you're gonna get through this."

when the tears settled the boys helped samy back up. she looked like a shell of herself standing there with puffy eyes and self-deprecating thoughts plaguing her mind. none of her brothers have ever seen her like this before. quinn got her some water to clear her throat while jack cleaned up the rest of the broken plate and sandwich crumbs.

"if you wanna talk we're here," luke brushed some hair from her face.

"it's like i can't get out of my own head..like ever. it's easier when i have soccer to distract me, but when i'm not doing anything for weeks on end, it gets bad again," samy explained briefly. her brothers frowned.

"has talking with that psychologist you mentioned helped at all?" jack wondered.

the girl grimaced, "i sort of ghosted her..."

"pop..you know you can't do that. she wants to help you," quinn said.

"i know, i know. i don't really know what it is or why i just can't ask for help," the girl frowned.

"i get it, it's hard. it's never easy, but there's so many people who love you, pop. we don't wanna see you struggle like this. we want you to get better," jack rubbed her arm and the girl leaned into his touch.

"i called gabe. i didn't know how to approach this and i was hoping him or ryan might know. they're gonna come down sooner. he said he'd call will and hannah too," luke explained.

"it was probably better they heard that from you then from me a second time. i appreciate it, moose," samy forced a smile.

"we don't have to get mom and dad involved, but we need to make sure you're going to get better because if you don't, we have to involve them," quinn stated truthfully. the brothers knew it was hard to bring their parents into things, but if this was something that couldn't get better on its own then they would have to tell them.

samy nodded, "i understand."

they cleaned up the rest of the kitchen and helped get their baby sister back into bed for the night. as if they were kids still, they tucked her in and kissed her forehead. when they let her be the three of them exchanged, sad but hopeful glances. samy was probably the strongest one out of the four of them mentally and they knew she could get herself through this. it may be a long road, but they'd stick it out with her for as long as she needed them for.

[lanaroff]

Is it too late?

Paring: WandaNat x Daughter Reader

***************************************************************

It had all started as an impulse.

Y/N had always been a good kid. Straight A’s, a solid friend group with Peter, MJ, and Ned, and a happy life with her mothers, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. They were her everything—Natasha, the strict and disciplined ex-Black Widow, and Wanda, the soft, nurturing stay-at-home mom. Despite their differences in parenting styles, they both loved Y/N more than anything.

But something had changed the day she found out Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

It wasn’t just the shock of realizing that one of her best friends was out there risking his life to save people. It was the realization that she, too, could do more. She had potential—potential she was wasting by just going to school, studying, and hanging out. She was the daughter of two legendary heroes, and yet, she was doing nothing while people out there needed help.

That night, she made a decision. A reckless, exhilarating decision.

She snuck into Natasha’s weapons stash, her hands trembling slightly as she carefully picked up a pair of old batons and a small knife. They felt foreign but also... right in her grip. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, a mix of fear and excitement making her breath quicken. She wasn’t planning on killing anyone—just scaring the bad guys away. And so, with adrenaline rushing through her veins, she snuck out into the city, searching for trouble.

It didn’t take long before she found it—a couple of guys trying to steal a car. With her heart pounding, she stepped forward.

“Hey!” she shouted, gripping her weapons tighter. “Step away from the car.”

The men turned, laughing when they saw her. “And what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?” one of them sneered.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She charged, using her mother’s training that she had picked up over the years just by watching. Her movements were raw, unpolished, but effective. The fight lasted less than five minutes, and when she stood over the groaning, defeated criminals, she felt something she hadn’t before—power. The thrill, the rush of stopping them, the knowledge that she had done something good—it was intoxicating. So she kept doing it. Night after night, sneaking out, fighting crime, helping others.

But she told no one. Not Peter, not MJ, and certainly not her mothers.

At first, it was easy. She balanced school, family, and her secret life. But as the weeks passed, the exhaustion started creeping in. Her grades slipped. She became irritable, snapping at her friends and avoiding her mothers. Family time, something she had always cherished, now felt like an obligation. And her mothers noticed.

The next day, at dinner, Wanda finally spoke up. “Y/N, is something going on?” her soft eyes full of concern as she sat across from her daughter at the table. “You seem distant lately.”

Y/N barely looked up from her plate. “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired.”

Natasha, sitting beside Wanda, exchanged a glance with her wife. Her sharp instincts told her Y/N wasn’t telling the full truth. “Tired from what?” Natasha pressed, her voice calm but firm. “You’re not in any sports, and school’s never drained you like this before.”

Y/N sighed, forcing her frustration down. “MJ and I had an argument,” she lied. She could feel the weight of their stares on her, the concern in Wanda’s gentle eyes, the suspicion in Natasha’s narrowed gaze. “It’s nothing, really.”

Natasha wasn’t convinced. She had spent years detecting lies, and her daughter wasn’t as good at hiding them as she thought. One afternoon, while cleaning Y/N’s room, she found something troubling—her daughter’s latest math test, covered in red ink. Y/N was exceptional at math; there was no way she would fail a test unless something was very wrong.

That night, Natasha confronted her.

“What’s going on with you?” Natasha asked, stepping into Y/N’s room and holding up the test. Her voice was measured, but there was an undeniable sharpness to it. “Your grades are dropping, you barely talk to us anymore, and now you’re lying? This isn’t like you.”

Y/N clenched her fists. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Natasha snapped, stepping closer. “You think you do, but you don’t. And whatever is happening, it’s affecting you. We’re worried about you, Y/N.”

Wanda, who had been watching from the doorway, stepped forward, her voice softer but no less concerned. “Sweetheart, we just want to understand. Please, talk to us.”

Y/N’s frustration boiled over. “There’s nothing to understand!” she shouted. “I’m not a little kid anymore! You don’t need to control every part of my life!”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but it was Wanda’s wounded expression that made Y/N’s anger falter for a second. Still, she couldn’t back down. She couldn’t tell them. So, instead of staying home and dealing with it, she did the only thing that made her feel better—she went out to fight.

That night, long after Y/N had gone to bed, Wanda and Natasha lay awake in their room, both lost in thought. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated Wanda’s worried expression as she turned to her wife.

“She’s not okay, Nat,” Wanda said softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the blanket. “I can feel it. Something’s wrong, but she won’t tell us.”

Natasha sighed, staring up at the ceiling with a deep frown. “Yeah, because she’s lying,” she muttered. “That whole thing about arguing with MJ? I don’t buy it. I saw them together yesterday, laughing like nothing happened.”

Wanda bit her lip. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk about it yet. She’s seventeen, Nat. Teenagers go through things.”

Natasha shook her head, sitting up slightly. “This isn’t just a phase, Wanda. Her grades are slipping, she barely looks at us at dinner, and she’s exhausted all the time. I know Y/N. She’s not like this.”

Wanda reached for Natasha’s hand, squeezing it gently. “You think she’s in trouble?”

Natasha hesitated, glancing toward the door as if expecting their daughter to suddenly appear. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know she’s hiding something.”

Wanda sighed, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder. “I hate this. She used to tell us everything.”

“She used to be a kid,” Natasha murmured. “Now she’s trying to be independent. But if this keeps up, we’re going to have to push her to talk.”

Wanda nodded, her heart heavy with worry. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

However, what Wanda and Natasha missed was that Y/N was not asleep, and that she was not at their house. She wa doing the one thing she thought was good for her. And she failed torealize how reckless she was being. She didn’t notice the men she picked a fight with were more than just common thugs. She was outnumbered, outmatched. And before she could react, a sharp pain erupted in her side, followed by another blow to her head.

For the first time since she started, she realized just how dangerous this was. Just how much trouble she was in.

As she collapsed onto the cold pavement, the world around her blurred. The last thought in her mind wasn’t about winning the fight or proving herself.

It was about her mothers.

And how much she wished she had listened to them.

[eringobragh420]

｡ﾟ･° ｡‧˚⋅ 1, 2, 3 ...

✘ pairing — damian priest ♥︎ plussize!f!reader ♥︎ liv morgan ✘ kink list request — 38. threesome/group sex ✘ summary — damian has been listening to your and liv’s taunting for weeks now about the possibility of him moving to smackdown. he’s ready to take matters into his own hands. ✘ words — 2.9k ✘ warnings — nsfw. oral (m and f receiving), wlw, threesome (m/f/f), Papí kink, unprotected p in v, spanking, dirty talk, cum 18+ ✘ taglist — if you'd like to be added, please click here! ✘ requested by — @miss-kuki-nz hope you enjoy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait!

✘ MASTERLIST ✘ DAMIAN PRIEST KINK LIST

“Heard you might be going to Smackdown,” you said, passing Damian backstage at Raw.

Beside you, Liv Morgan burst into obnoxious laughter. “Way to get demoted right when Raw moves to Netflix,” she mocked. The two of you giggled as you continued on, Damian glaring after you.

You and Liv had been bothering him for weeks—well, years, technically, but it had only recently gotten out of hand to the point that Damian was prepared to do something about it. He just didn’t know what. 

“Oh, are you still here?” you asked, running into the Archer of Infamy on the elevator. “Thought you’d be gone by now.” While Damian had had it up to here with you and Morgan’s mouths, he enjoyed the moments his eyes got to linger on your body—thick thighs, curved ass, full breasts—which had quickly become material for him to jerk off to in the shower. As his dark eyes rose to your pretty face, he realized you’d caught him staring, leering really, and he expected more obnoxious taunting, but instead, a smirk tugged at your lips and, as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you winked before heading into the hallway on your respective floor.

It came to him when he arrived back at the hotel, passing his eyes over the mildly attractive woman behind the front desk. She blushed instantly, eyes downcast, and it wasn’t uncommon for women to fall at his feet, ready and willing to do whatever he asked, but it wasn’t often he took advantage of it. Unfortunately for her—and you and Liv—he made a beeline for the desk, grin on his face, brandishing a set of dimples under a light beard, and he thought her face might actually catch on fire.

He had an extra pep in his step as he boarded the elevator, pressing the button for a floor two above his. Arriving at the correct door, he inserted the key card he’d sweet-talked the receptionist into making for him, his jaw set, and he strode inside. You and Liv squealed at the intrusion until he rounded the corner, your screams cut off by sheer incredulity, but the both of you scrambled to cover yourselves with your respective plush hotel robes. 

“Damian!” Liv shouted. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“How did you get a key to our room?” you wanted to know, matching your best friend’s volume.

Damian shook his head, gaze lingering on your exposed legs through the opening in the robe, doing the same to Liv’s bare shoulder when her ill-fitting robe toppled down her arm. “What you should be asking is what’s it gonna take for me to leave your room,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, standing from your bed. “Somebody’s getting fired,” you declared, starting for the door. 

Damian’s arm shot out in front of you, his hand slamming against the wall, and you stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes meeting his. He wasn’t trying to scare you—at least, not in the sense that he might hurt you. Unless, of course, you asked him to. He was attempting to promote more intimidation than anything, and the way your pupils expanded and you licked your lips, he knew you weren’t fearful of him. He glanced at Liv, the tiny blonde slowly standing from her bed, returning his attention to you.

You crossed your arms. “Fine,” you forced out, “I’ll play. What’s it gonna take to make you give us that key and get the hell out?”

Damian smirked, nodding. Liv giggled. “Nothin’ too big,” he replied. “Just an apology. From both of you.”

Liv snorted, approaching you and Damian. “For what? You just broke into our room!”

You and Damian’s eyes were still locked, his head tilting just enough for you to notice as his gaze passed over the unflattering bulky robe covering your naked body. He glanced at Liv, then returned his attention to you, eyes narrowing, understanding now what he’d walked in on—or, almost walked in on. Somehow he quickly recovered, ignoring the urge to adjust the growing bulge in his jeans. 

“For giving me shit about going to Smackdown,” he replied. 

“Aw, did we hurt your feelings?” you cooed. Damian glared down at you, nostrils flaring, and your eyes danced with mischief. 

“You’re not getting an apology,” Liv said.

Yours and Damian’s eyes were still battling. “And besides,” you purred, “you couldn’t handle an apology from us.”

Challenge accepted, Damian thought. His long arms were around you suddenly, hands on your fleshy ass, and he lifted you effortlessly into the air. Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands gripping his broad, sinewy shoulders. “Oh, I think I can handle it,” he rumbled, hot, minty breath ghosting across your face. He started toward the bed as the atmosphere in the room became thicker, positively charged with the overwhelming amount of sexual tension between the three of you that had been building for so long. 

Clearly distracted, you stammered, “I’m still not apologizing.”

“Me either,” Liv chimed in.

After a moment of searching your face, still steadily holding you in his arms, Damian said, “Guess I’ll have to force it out of you.” He eased you back down to your feet before he tugged at the belt on your robe. As it fell open, he did the same to Liv’s, discovering the both of you were stark naked underneath, surprise coloring his face. 

“We were about to get in the shower when you came in,” Liv explained. 

“Together?” Damian asked, opening your robe, revealing your full breasts and curvy hips, and he licked his lips as he pushed the garment down your shoulders.

You shrugged, helping Liv to remove her robe, drawing Damian’s attention momentarily. “We like to play with each other sometimes,” you confessed. 

“Is that so …” Damian trailed off. You and Liv nodded. “Show me.”

You snickered, Liv grinning, and she pulled you to her for one of her all-encompassing kisses, dipping her tongue in your mouth in such a way to make it visible for Damian. You cupped her face, and her hands came up to cup your breasts. It obviously wasn’t the first time you and Liv had fooled around, nor would it be the last, but you’d never done it in front of someone or had anyone else join you. It was difficult to ignore the urge to perform rather than enjoy. 

“Get on the bed,” Damian ordered, “but don’t stop.”

You and Liv carefully crawled on the bed, sharing a giggle as you each lost your balance a bit, both recovering before completely falling over. Liv laid on top of you between your legs, that giant mouth of hers talented in ways you’d never expected. Damian watched, shocked to find out about the relationship you and Liv had, but even more turned on by the new direction the night was headed. He licked his bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth as your and Liv’s breasts pressed together, and his hand slid down from his chest to his abs, over the buckle of his belt, and he massaged his dick as he watched.

After several salivating moments, Damian pulled his cock out, giving it a few strokes as he stepped closer to the bed. As Liv lifted her head just a bit so that only your tongues were connected, swirling around one another, Damian captured the opportunity to slide his length between your mouths. Liv laughed, but you completely forgot about being defiant and bratty—all you wanted right now was to lick every inch of this man’s perfect cock.

Damian chuckled wickedly, pride surging in his chest at how easy it was to get you two under control, but it rapidly transformed into a profound moan as two pretty pink tongues twisted and coiled around his shaft. You and Liv continued kissing as best you could around Damian’s flesh as he slowly thrust back and forth across your lips. His long arm reached over Liv’s body, slapping her bare ass without warning, and she threw her head back, squealing. 

“Are you sorry?” Damian asked.

Liv chuckled. “Nope.” She licked his cock theatrically, smile dropping as she glared up at him. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

Damian suddenly changed his angle as he took a handful of her hair in a tight grip. As she opened her mouth to complain, he shoved his length inside, poking the back of her throat, reveling in the sounds of her gagging. He pumped a few times before pulling out, Liv’s drool stuck to the head of his dick, and then he was pressing that soaking tip against your lips. Automatically your mouth opened, accepting him, allowing him to push into your throat as far as he could. You didn't bother trying to stop the moan, instead encouraging it, intentionally sending obscene vibrations all throughout his dick. Damian grunted, the hotel room suddenly filled with the wet, squelching sounds of a thorough face-fucking, as he caressed your cheek with one hand, the other curling around the back of Liv’s head, directing her, and she grinned her little sucia grin. As she tweaked one of your nipples, gently tugging at the pebble, she leaned over you and licked along the couple of inches of Damian's cock he wasn't able to force past the muscle in your throat.

“Fuck,” Damian moaned. “Just a couple of little brats that need to be put in their place.” He yanked his cock from your throat, disappointment and drool painted all over your face, and he looked at you. “Ready to apologize?”

You shook your head. “Gonna have to do better than that, Papí,” you taunted, and Damian fleetingly wondered what it was really going to take to get you to say you were sorry.

Glaring at you, Damian ordered Liv to the head of the bed, back against the pillows, legs spread, and just as she was about to protest, maybe throw a make me in there, he grabbed her under her arms, all but launching her off you and tossing her onto the pillows. The blonde cackled, though she spread her knees enticingly, hands sliding down her thighs toward her bare, satiny pussy. 

“Hands and knees,” he directed you. “You're gonna lick that pussy until I say stop.”

“And what if I—”

A strong, painful slap echoed off the walls and the generic paintings of meadows sprinkled throughout the room. You cried out, spine bowing, instantly closing your legs, fearful of another smack to your inner thigh—fearful of it happening again, fearful of it making your pussy gush even more than the first time.

“Ask me again,” Damian said.

Before you could retort with something snarky, Liv interrupted, “Come on, baby. You love licking me anyway.” Her eyes met Damian’s, expression stone and dead serious. “Let's show him how you're supposed to eat a pussy.”

Smirking, you rolled over and crawled the short distance to the sexy blonde with the spread legs. Her folds were so wet, they were separated, and you could see her sweet clit jutting out, begging to be sucked and nibbled. You gripped the backs of her knees and pushed her legs back, knowing the limber girl could handle a little stretching, and your tongue invaded Liv’s soaking cunt. You moaned at her heavenly flavor, sucking on that special bundle of nerves, and Liv screamed, grabbing the back of your head so she could ride your tongue.

The bed dipped behind you, and where you expected to feel Damian’s dick against your dripping pussy, he instead assaulted you with his tongue. Mouth glistening with Liv’s juices, you threw your head back and cried out, pressing back against Damian. Following a moment of enjoyment, you went back to your meal, wondering if and when Damian was planning on forcing an apology out of you and Liv, because if these were the consequences of taunting the Archer of Infamy, you would never learn your lesson.

As you inserted two fingers inside Liv, tongue still fluttering against her throbbing clit, Damian pulled away from you. Tiny rivers of your own juices were beginning to flow down your thighs, and your cunt was suddenly cold, clenching, begging in its own way for more attention. Seeking to entice him, you wiggled your ass in the air, and Damian chuckled from behind you. 

“It’s cute that you’re excited to be punished,” he rumbled, rubbing the spongy head of his cock along your overflowing slit. 

“It’s cute you think this is punishment,” you replied, winking up at Liv. The blonde kissed the air at you.

Damian smacked your right ass cheek so hard, you couldn’t ever remember anything so painful. Your jaw dropped so you could scream, but Damian’s hand on the back of your head shoved your face back into Liv’s cunt. “Guess I’ll have to step it up,” Damian declared.

He immersed himself inside your slick, tight hole, buried to the hilt in less than a second, and you attempted to cry out once more, but there was his hand on your head, forcibly occupying your aching mouth with Liv’s equally aching cunt. “Shut up,” he hissed. “You talk … so … fucking … much.” He punctuated each word with a thrust of his hips, steel length pounding inside you, stretching your walls, scratching the itch that had been burning for Damian Priest for months. His hammering bumped your face into Liv’s pussy, your tongue poking in and out of her hole, and the blonde’s body undulated as she moaned. 

“She might talk too much,” Liv breathed, “but her mouth is so good.” Her hand joined Damian’s on the back of your head. “I’m gonna come …”

Damian gripped your shoulder and pulled you back, your mouth coming off Liv’s clit with a wet smack, and as you looked up at her, she gaped at Damian. “You don’t get to come until she does,” he told her, never once pausing his pummeling of your pussy, leaving his hand on your shoulder while the other squeezed your ass cheek.

You glanced up at Liv, scissoring your fingers still inside her, and your eyes rolled when she instantly reacted. Damian leaned forward, hand sliding from your shoulder to your wrist, and he slowly removed your fingers from Liv’s hole. 

“That’s cheating,” Damian growled, pulling both your hands behind your back, locking his own hand around your wrists. His cock lurched inside you, and you smashed your face in the blankets between Liv’s legs. With his free hand, he slapped your ass, first going one direction, then the other, and these were not playful swats. 

After the fifth one, you roared into the mattress, your wrists struggling against Damian’s grip. For the first four, his fucking had been enough to mask, or at least make tolerable, the pain from the spankings, but the fifth one—made over already-raw, sensitive skin—set your ass on fire. In other news, your cunt gushed with fresh juices all over Damian’s shaft, the sound of him sloshing inside you music to your ears, and despite the tears pricking your eyes, you bounced back against Damian. Your body was beginning to tighten, pussy gripping Damian’s cock desperately, and just as you were about to scream his name, he pulled out, leaving you empty and unsatisfied.  

“Now would be a good time to apologize,” Damian said, still holding you in place. You heard the slapping as he jerked his cock, and your eyes rolled again, yearning to have him back inside you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Damian shrugged. “Good enough.” He looked up at Liv, who was smiling, ready to pull your mouth back to her clit. “Your turn.” Her eyes defiantly met his. ”I’m waiting,” he growled. 

“I’m sorry,” she forced through clenched teeth.

Damian guffawed, smacking your ass without warning, and your body jolted. “You can do better than that,” he said. “At least she tried to sound like she meant it.”

Damian’s thumb traced the length of your clit, then it was gone just as quickly. “Liv, please?” you begged.

Liv inhaled deeply, her face softening, eyes glittering and somehow seemingly innocent, and she blinked up at Damian. “I’m sorry, Damian,” she said.

He jammed himself within your cunt suddenly, and you roared into the bed. He ordered you to continue licking Liv, that he wanted to see her come all over your face, and the mere thought of performing this scene with Damian Priest watching loaded your orgasm to almost one hundred percent. You sucked and tugged on her dripping clit, dipping your tongue inside her, and after a few rolls of her hips against your face, she was coming on your tongue enough that it dripped down the sides, coating your chin. 

“Fuck,” Liv mewled, massaging her breasts, grinning blissfully. “You always make me come so hard.”

Damian’s eyes fluttered at the relationship you and Liv had that he’d had no idea went so deep, and his balls tightened. He pulled out of you, came around the bed as he stroked himself to orgasm, aiming and firing each string of his cum all over the bottom half of Liv’s face and her tits. And as Liv sucked the remaining cream from the tip of his cock, you slithered up her body to lick her free of the mess Damian had made. 

“You should have went to Smackdown a long time ago.”

✘ Papí - Daddy

[cozmowrites]

Seven Minutes in Heaven?

The room was energized, red solo cups in hand and laughter bouncing off the walls. You hadn't even wanted to come to this party, but Ashido's pleading eyes and the promise of good snacks had been enough to convince you. Now, you sat cross-legged on the carpet, awkwardly watching as the group began to organize a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

"Okay, okay!" Ashido clapped her hands, voice carrying over the chatter. "Rules are simple: two names are drawn, and you spend seven minutes in the closet. No backing out unless you're a coward!"

You rolled your eyes but stayed seated. You guys played for a little bit, silly pairings like Uraraka and Tsuyu, Sero and Todoroki, Kirishima and Kaminari, though, no one has even been caught kissing yet.

"And the next name is... (Y/n)!" Ashido declared dramatically.

You froze, the heat rising to your cheeks as everyone's attention shifted to you. "What? No! Pick someone else."

"Nope, no take-backs! And now for your partner..." Ashido reached into the bowl, a sly grin spreading on her face as she pulled out a slip and read it before calling out. "Bakugou!"

Your stomach flipped. Of all people, it had to be him. You dared a glance at Bakugou, whose expression was irritation. His crimson eyes narrowed as he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

"No way," he grumbled.

"C'mon, Bakugou!" Kaminari teased, slapping him on the back. "Be a good sport!"

"Don't be lame," Kirishima added with a grin. "It's just seven minutes."

Bakugou clicked his tongue but pushed off the wall. "Tch. Fine." He turned to you, his sharp gaze making your heart race. "You coming or what?"

Your feet moved before your brain caught up, trailing after him toward the closet. The group cheered and laughed behind you, Mina's voice counting down dramatically as the door shut with a soft click.

+++

The closet was small and barely lit, the outside colored lights of the party could be seen through the cracks of the door., The scent of old wood filling the air. You pressed your back against one wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Bakugou leaned against the opposite side, arms crossed and looking utterly unamused.

"This is stupid," he muttered.

You nodded, though he couldn't see, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until you decided you couldn't take it anymore. "We don't have to do anything, you know. We can just wait it out."

He snorted. "Like I was gonna do anything."

You rolled your eyes, the initial nerves fading as his usual attitude surfaced. "Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in the faintest smirk. "What? You think I'd waste my time on some dumb party game?"

You crossed your arms, a smirk of your own forming. "And yet, here you are."

He scoffed. "I was forced to obviously." The silence that followed wasn't as suffocating this time, tension settling between you.

"So," you started hesitantly, "you really didn't want to come either, huh?"

"Nope." He glanced at you, his expression softening just a fraction. "Raccoon eyes dragged me here. Said I need to 'loosen up' or some crap like that."

You laughed softly. "Same. She's good at that."

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the awkwardness easing with every passing second. Then Bakugou shifted, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. Time felt slow. Seven minutes should've been up but it wasn't It's barely been a minute.

"You really hate this kind of stuff, don't you?" He asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You hesitated but nodded. "Yeah. It's just.. too much sometimes. I don't like being the center of attention."

He hummed, his gaze thoughtful. "Then why'd you agree to play?"

"Didn't really have a choice." You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Didn't want to be the buzzkill."

Bakugou frowned, his brows knitting together. "That's dumb. If you don't want to do something, don't do it. Screw what anyone else thinks."

His bluntness caught you off guard, you didn't know how to respond. But then you smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "Thanks, Bakugou. You could've done the same too. Skipped on the party."

He blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he wasn't sure how to handle your gratitude. "Whatever. Just saying."

The silence returned, but this time, it was almost comfortable. You found yourself studying him, the way the dim light cast shadows across his sharp features. He really was kind of handsome, in a rough-around-the-edges sort of way. You kind of wanted to kiss him, but being caught like that would be terrible for the both of you. You were counting quietly in your head. 2 minutes passed. Time was extremely slow.

"What?" He asked, catching you staring.

You quickly looked away, your face heating up. "Nothing!"

He smirked, and for a moment, you swore you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

He leaned forwards towards you. "W-what are you doing-?" You inhaled sharply as his hands were on either side of you. Your knees were in-between his and he was so close. You could feel his breath on your skin. It made the hair's on your arm stick up and the blush on your face deepen. You guys were just friends. Just friends. Just friends.

His crimson eyes gleamed with mischief. You weren't sure if he was serious or just messing with you. Either way, your heart was pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it.

"Relax," he said, his voice low and teasing. "What's got you so jumpy?"

You swallowed hard, your back pressing further against the wall. "Y-you're too close, that's what!"

He chuckled, the sound sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "You're acting like I'm gonna bite."

You glared at him, trying to muster up confidence despite the way your cheeks burned. "Wouldn't put it past you."

That earned a genuine laugh from him, the sound rare and surprisingly warm. He stayed there for a beat longer, his gaze dipping to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

"Seven minutes is a long time," he murmured, his tone softer now.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. His presence was overwhelming, his proximity intoxicating.

Then, he leaned in closer.

"Unless you tell me to stop," he whispered.

Your breath hitched. You didn't want him to stop.

Your voice was caught in your throat, but your lack of protest was answer enough for him. Bakugou hesitated for the briefest moment, as if giving you one last chance to push him away. When you didn't, he closed the gap, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was softer than you ever expected from someone so intense.

It was slow at first, unsure and nervous, but when you instinctively leaned into him, he was sure. One hand moved to cradle the back of your head, while the other pressed against the wall near your waist, keeping you steady as he deepened the kiss. You had moved your arms around his neck, to keep him in place.

Your heart raced, every nerve in your body alight with the feeling of him so close. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but perfect against yours. You weren't sure how long it lasted—seconds, minutes, it all blurred together—but when he finally pulled away, you were both breathless.

His forehead rested lightly against yours. He gave you soft kisses, then another, long passionate kiss.

Then the door opened.

It made you both freeze.

Ashido stood there, her grin wicked as she took in the sight of you and Bakugou, still pressed close together, as you both scrambled to stop kissing.

"Well, well, well," she teased, hands on her hips. "Didn't think Seven Minutes in Heaven would actually live up to its name!"

You scrambled to put some distance between you and Bakugou, but his arm stayed firmly around your waist. He shot Ashido a glare, his voice low and irritated. "Shut up, raccoon eyes."

But before you both could get up so the game could continue, Ashido yelled out that they have their first couple of the game and you hid into his chest. You two were the only interesting talk of that game. And the rest of the night was easier than the beginning.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

[sleeplessbunni]

Hiiii I had this dark Abby thing!

Dark Abby who kidnapped you a while back and is now forcing you to watch your missing persons report on the tv and who frames the news article of you being missing 🧸🤍 Love you hun

Waittt this is good😈thank you love you too🫶🏻❤️

Pretty when you cry

Dark!Abby x Fem!Reader

DARK THEMES

She took you so long ago, you forgot what your old life was even like. You’ve barely been able to keep track of how old you are. You couldn’t go outside without her, or go anywhere without her. She needed to be by your side everywhere you went. She couldn’t have you escaping and telling people what she’s done.

You haven’t seen sunshine in months. She’s kept you well bathed and fed but, you couldn’t use some more vitamin D. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was that you were hers.

She only let you out of the basement when you were extra good. You’ve learned that it’s just best to be good and do what she says. Unless you want to get relentlessly beaten.

Today was different. She was different. More excited about something. It scared you to be honest. You didn’t know what was happening.

“Hi baby,” she said while smirking a little too happily. “H-hi Abby…” you responded while slowly backing up from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s ok, don’t worry. You’ve been good for a while now, I wanna show you something.” She said in a lighthearted tone. But the meaning behind her words was anything but light.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs.” She says while slowly approaching you. You backed up all the way against the wall and put your hands up to guard your face from being brutally beaten. It was just a reflex at this point.

“It’s ok,” she chuckled, chuckled. At the way your body reacts to her movements. She fucking loved it. The power she had over you. “I’m not gonna do anything babygirl,” she says while reaching down to grab your hips to bring you up to your feet.

You let her. There was really nothing you could do about it. Every time she put her hands on you, you had to channel the energy to not fight back. It made you sick how used to it you were getting. Like it was ok. Your self worth was getting whittled away by Abby’s knife little by little. Exactly how she wanted it.

You two walked up the stairs. You were trying to be as careful as possible, not wanting to upset her.

As you made it upstairs, she sat you down one the couch, the couch you’d only ever seen about three times. She sits down rut next to you. Giving you zero space between you and her.

The tv was on, she grabbed the remote and started flicking through channels to find what one she wanted. You wanted to question her, ask her what the fuck she was doing. But you knew how that would end.

Once she got to where she wanted with the tv, she set the remote back down. “Don’t take your eyes off the screen baby,” she said while staring daggers into the side of your skull. “I don’t wanna have to put my hands on that pretty face again, and I don’t think you do either.” She smiled at you. You didn’t look away from the screen, just like she asked. Like a little toy for her to control.

The volume was quite loud, it was a news cast. And before you could even be confused, you saw it.

You.

On her tv screen. A photo of you taken by your school god knows how long ago. The guy was talking about you. How your family and friends were looking for you. Still, after months. You had thought everyone had given up. But they were out there every day. Never stopping the search for you.

You couldn’t stop the flow of tears falling from your eyes. All Abby did was smile and occasionally let out a hearty laugh at your pain.

“A-Abby…” you started. “Why?” You questioned, eyes still glued to the screen. Even if you wanted to look away, you couldn’t.

“Shut up and listen” she said, clearly getting annoyed.

That’s when the tv flashed with a video of your mom and dad. Asking…begging for whoever had you, to let you go. Abby watched with amusement. You clasped a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries.

Abby turned her head to you. “You look so pretty when you cry, doll” she said while sheepishly smiling at your tears. “C’mon baby, let’s go to sleep. I’ll let you sleep with me tonight if you promise to be good tomorrow, ok?”

You just nodded without saying a word. You couldn’t. Nothing would come out. So you didn’t even try.

She viciously snatched your jaw and made you look at her. “I need a yes or a no, you should know this by now,” she said fuming.

“Y-es…Abby” you said, trying not to break down on the ground…or even worse, in her arms. You didn’t wanna give her the satisfaction of owning you. But you knew that stage wasn’t too far away.

Hope you all enjoyed🫶🏻🐇

[belit0]

I don’t know if it’s a weird or too dark request, but I’ve been thinking about it the whole night and I’ve seen that your profile has almost only dark topics, but if you‘re not comfortable writing that, you don’t have to!! (I’m extremely sorry for my English btw, it’s not my first language)

Tw!!

It would be cool if you’d do the uchiha‘s, you don’t have to do all of them but it would be nice if you did obito, Madara and shisui finding the reader on the floor after a big fight trying to attempt? (I don’t mind if you do overd0se or else, I’ll leave it to you!!)

THANK YOUUU!!

Yes, my lovely pip, this blog is dark af, you came to the right place

HUGE TW FOR 4TT3MPT3D $U1C1D3

Modern AU

Madara

He had left to cool off.

Just for an hour.

He thought she’d still be angry when he got back, he was ready to fight again, even.

But the apartment is too quiet

No bedroom light. No domestic sounds.

Just the low hum of running water.

Then he sees it.

The crimson drip down the hallway tile.

The half-open door.

He walks in half knowing what to expect, even if he doesn't want to admit it.

Controlled.

Efficient.

Ice in his veins.

Until he sees her

Curled in the tub.

Sleeves soaked red.

Eyes barely open.

His throat closes.

All that practiced calm shatters.

-What the hell did you fucking do? Huh? What the actual fuck (Y/N)? You don't get to fucking leave me.

He grabs a towel first, presses it tight around her wrists with hands steadier than they should be.

She whimpers when he lifts her, weak and fading.

-You don’t get to leave me like this. You hear me? You don’t get to fucking leave me.

His voice breaks halfway through.

But his grip never does.

Blood smears his shirt.

The towels.

The tile.

He’ll clean it later.

Right now, she’s in his arms, and that’s all that matters.

-You hold on. Do you fucking hear me? You’re not going anywhere. Not without me.

Obito

The second he sees the pill bottles on the counter, his stomach drops.

One’s open.

Half-empty.

A glass of water, tipped over.

He doesn’t wait to call her name.

He runs, finds her on the bed, too still, head lolled slightly to the side.

-(Y/N). Hey—no, no, no, nonono. Wake up.

He climbs the mattress, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Her skin is clammy.

Eyes sluggish, barely focused.

-What did you take? What the hell did you take?!

She mumbles something, but it’s slurred.

Distant.

And he’s already dragging her up, one arm locked around her back, the other gripping her jaw.

-Come on—please—help me, just help me—Nonono don't faint-

He forces her to the bathroom, then to the sink.

Sticks his fingers down her throat.

She gags, chokes, cries.

He doesn’t stop.

-I know, I know, I’m sorry—just get it out—

She vomits.

Once. Twice. More.

He holds her the whole time, whispering apologies between panicked breaths.

Then he’s dialing.

Hands covered in tears and spit. His voice barely works when the dispatcher answers.

-She took something. Pills. She threw up but I don’t know how much—please hurry, please—

He holds her in his arms after, rocking slightly, whispering over and over: -You're okay. You're gonna be okay. I'm here. I'm right here.-

Even if she’s barely awake to hear it.

Shisui

The curtains move gently.

So does her hair.

She’s on the balcony.

Not standing inside it, but on the other side of the railing, back facing him.

Shisui doesn’t move at first.

His heart stops.

His lungs burn.

Then he forces air back into his body.

Steps forward.

Slowly.

Quietly.

-(Y/N)... please don’t do this.

She doesn’t react.

He keeps his voice steady.

Barely.

-Whatever I said, whatever I did—it wasn’t worth this. I know I hurt you.

The wind picks up again.

Her fingers twitch around the railing.

-(Y/N), I need you to listen to me. Just your foot—just one foot over that bar. Please. Just come back over. Look at me. Say something. Anything.

Still nothing.

But her shoulders shake.

Her breath catches.

So he inches closer.

Never rushing, never loud.

Just… there.

-I can’t fix what I said unless you let me. I need you. I love you. That’s not drama, that’s not desperation—it’s the truth. You don’t have to believe it. Just let me prove it. Please.

She finally turns.

Just slightly.

Just enough for him to step in.

He grabs her gently.

Pulls her back over with trembling arms.

Wraps her in them as soon as her feet hit the floor.

And he holds her like the whole apartment could fall away and she’d still be the only thing that matters.

-We’re gonna be okay. You hear me? We’re gonna be okay.

[paxaz535]

Just for Now

chapter 6

synopsis : when a group of students go on a school field trip are suddenly forced into a deadly real-life game of Mafia at a retreat center. They receive a message that tells them the game has started, and the only way of survival is by eliminating classmates and identifying the Mafias.

___

note : 😛

___

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You showed the phone to Stormi, whose brows shot up. “I knew I had a fucking feeling.”

“What are you gonna do?”

You thought about it for a moment, the weight of your decision pressing down on you.

“If she tries to lie about it, I’ll have to expose her.”

The words felt like they should be final, but you hated them. You were getting closer to Aaliyah, starting to see her as more than just another player in this twisted game. But that connection—your connection—was fragile. It could snap in an instant.

Stormi didn’t say anything else, just nodded once and walked back toward KK, Ice, and Sarah, leaving you with the buzzing weight of your thoughts.

“Hey, what time is it?” KK asked, her voice steady but laced with a quiet urgency.

You glanced at your phone. “6:30.”

She nodded, her face unreadable. It wasn’t time to finalize a vote yet. Not quite.

You and Stormi shared a look, a silent agreement passing between you two. The game had reached a boiling point, and there was no turning back now.

A Mafia is going to die tonight.

-

You sat on your bed, staring at the blank wall, your thoughts swirling in a storm of confusion and regret. The weight of everything—the people who were already gone, the game that was getting darker by the minute—it was too much. You could almost feel the walls closing in.

Then, as if summoned by your thoughts, two figures appeared in front of you.

You looked up, startled. A blond and a brunette. They stood there silently, their expressions neutral, unreadable. The silence between you three felt thick, suffocating, as if the very air was holding its breath.

The three of you stared at each other for what felt like hours. Time stretched, warped, and all you could do was wait. Waiting for them to speak. Waiting for something to break the silence.

But nothing came.

They didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched you with eyes that felt like they could see straight through you.

“What are you not telling us, Rose?” Paige asked.

You swallowed hard. Her voice was deep, stern—but there was softness beneath it. Like she didn’t want to believe whatever truth might come next.

You glanced at Azzi. Her brows were lifted, her stare sharp and expectant. She didn’t look angry, just… ready. Like she already knew the answer and was waiting for you to say it out loud.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” you said quietly.

Silence. Heavy. Dense.

The air around you buzzed with unspoken accusations. Your skin felt hot, like your body had registered the fight before your brain could.

No one moved.

Paige tilted her head slightly. “You think we’re hiding something?”

“I know you are,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

And you did. You just weren’t sure what it was yet—or how much more you were willing to lose to find out.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was charged. Like a storm about to break. You could feel their eyes on you, feel every glance like a match dragged across your skin.

Paige stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “Careful, Rose,” she said, voice low. “You’re not the only one who knows how to play this game.”

Azzi leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze locked on yours. “We’re not your enemies,” she said. “Unless you make us one.”

You stood up.

You didn’t mean to—it just happened. Like your body was done waiting.

“You think I wanted any of this?” Your voice cracked with something raw. “You think I like pretending I don’t see the way you two look at each other when you think I’m not watching?”

Paige’s mouth parted slightly. Azzi’s brows dipped just enough to show it landed.

For a moment, it wasn’t about the game. Not about roles or alliances or strategy. It was about the heat sitting heavy between the three of you. The unspoken things. The glances. The tension.

Azzi pushed off the wall, slow. “Say what you really mean, Rose.”

You looked between them. Your pulse in your throat. The lie on your tongue.

“I don’t care.”

But you did. God, you did.

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, a faint smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “You don’t care?” she repeated, stepping closer. “Then why does it bother you?”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. The space between you three felt electric, tight, like a wire stretched to its limit.

Paige was still watching you, her gaze unreadable but intense. “This isn’t about the game anymore, is it?”

“No,” you said, voice low. “It never really was.”

Azzi was close now. Too close. You could feel the heat of her body, see the way her pupils darkened as she stared you down. “You could’ve played this smarter, Rose,” she murmured. “But you let feelings get in the way.”

“So did you,” you shot back.

Her smirk faltered. Just a flicker. Just enough to show you’d hit something real.

Behind you, Paige spoke—quieter now, but with weight. “Maybe we all did.”

That’s when the door creaked.

The three of you turned at once—instinct kicking in, hearts thudding.

It was Stormi.

Her face was pale.

“It’s almost time to vote,” Stormi said, her voice a little softer now, like she regretted cutting into whatever had just been happening.

She lingered for a second too long, eyes darting between the three of you. Then she cursed under her breath and backed out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Silence.

You swallowed, nodding once, but Paige and Azzi hadn’t looked away from her. Not yet. Their bodies were still turned in that direction, like her presence had jolted them out of something… charged.

Then slowly—like a tide rolling back—they turned to face you again.

And just like that, it was back. That thick, magnetic pull between the three of you. The heat. The mistrust. The ache.

You looked at Paige. Then Azzi. The fire and the ice.

And you realized: no matter how the vote went tonight…

You were already burning.

“You were saying?” you asked.

Paige looked down at her shoes before stepping closer. “I said—maybe we all let our feelings get in the way.”

You gulped, turning your gaze to the wall beside you, refusing to meet either pair of eyes.

Then, a hand touched your chin. Gentle. Certain.

Azzi.

She tilted your face back toward her, eyes steady as they dropped to your lips. “Question is,” she said softly, “what are we gonna do about it?”

That did it for you.

Your breath caught. Heat surged through your body, not from embarrassment—but want. Confusion. Need.

Azzi was so close you could smell her skin. That clean, electric scent that always hit you too hard.

Behind her, Paige didn’t move. She didn’t step in. Didn’t flinch.

She just watched.

You leaned in, instinct overthinking. Heart racing.

And then—

“Rose!”

Stormi’s voice, sharp and urgent through the door.

You jerked back, the moment cracking in half like glass under pressure.

“What?” you called, throat dry.

“People are waiting. They’re asking for you.”

You hesitated, eyes still locked with Azzi’s.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did Paige.

But something had changed. You could feel it.

And whatever happened in that vote…

It wouldn’t just be about the game anymore.

-

“Okay,” Ice started as she looked at everyone. “Has anyone gave off weird vibes?”

You knew Aaliyah was going to die tonight.

Because you had checked her occupation.

And she was Mafia.

Your eyes drifted toward her—sitting across from you, hunched just slightly, fidgeting with her fingers like she wasn’t trying to hide something… but trying not to get caught.

You watched her carefully.

She was good. Composed, quiet, but not too quiet. Just enough to slip under the radar. But now that you knew the truth, every twitch, every breath, looked like a crack.

Paige and Azzi were watching you. You could feel it.

You looked up and met their eyes. No words passed between you—but you knew they were thinking about that conversation. About trust. About lies.

“So far… nope,” Sarah said, glancing around as she tugged at the hem of her hoodie.

It was quiet for a beat too long.

“I don’t know,” KK muttered. “Someone’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

You shifted slightly, keeping your face unreadable.

“Anyone want to throw a name out?” Ice asked, flipping the pen between her fingers.

Your heart beat steady. Calm.

Stormi looked at you for a fraction of a second. It was the smallest nod. She remembered what you told her earlier.

You didn’t have to say it out loud.

The noose was already tightening.

And Aaliyah had no idea it was her neck.

“I still think it’s one of those four,” Nora said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Nika snapped her head toward her. “Oh, shut the hell up, freshie,” she spat.

KK and Sarah exchanged a glance, lips pressed tight— trying to not to laugh.

Nora rolled her eyes, but it was forced. She glanced around the room, slower this time, realizing the weight of her words.

You decided it was time.

Your voice was calm, but it cut clean.

“Which one of the four, Nora?”

She froze.

Then looked at you—surprised. Not just because you were speaking to her.

But because you weren’t asking.

You were challenging.

Nora hesitated. You saw it—the flicker of doubt in her eyes before she tried to stand taller, like that would make her words hit harder.

“I don’t know exactly,” she said, voice lower now. “But there’s something off about the way they act. The four of them always look at each other before they speak. Like they’re checking.”

“Checking for what?” you asked, tone calm but sharp enough to draw blood.

She swallowed. “Approval. Or… guilt.”

“Names, Nora,” you said. Cold. Controlled. The air had turned thick around the circle.

Nora’s eyes moved slowly—almost too slowly—as she looked at each of them.

“Paige,” she started. “Azzi. Nika. And…” Her voice caught for just a breath. “Aaliyah.”

You didn’t look at any of them.

Not yet.

Your eyes stayed locked on Nora.

Because she had just made a move.

And in this game, every move was a gamble.

She might’ve spoken the truth.

Or she might’ve just lit the fuse that would blow everything apart.

A beat of silence.

Then Nika laughed—short, sharp, and without humor. “You’re kidding, right?”

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing on Nora. “You’re seriously throwing my name out there? What happened, you get bored of blaming someone else?”

“No one’s blaming,” Paige said quickly, but her voice was tight, her jaw clenched. “She’s guessing. That’s what this is. A desperate guess.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but you saw the muscle in her jaw tense.

And Aaliyah… Aaliyah didn’t even flinch.

She just tilted her head, eyes locked on Nora, like she was calculating something. Slowly. Silently.

The air in the room thickened, tension creeping into every glance.

“Convenient,” Ice muttered, her voice barely audible. “All four names just happen to be the ones who’ve been quiet lately.”

“You want noise, Ice?” Nika snapped. “How about I say what everyone’s thinking—maybe Nora’s throwing names out to distract from herself.”

Nora opened her mouth, but you cut in before she could speak.

“Enough.”

Everyone turned to look at you.

“Whether she’s right or not,” you said, voice low and firm, “we’re not going to scream our way to the answer.”

You looked at each of the accused, one by one.

Paige. Azzi. Nika. Aaliyah.

Somewhere in that list, someone was lying.

and you knew exactly who is was.

The room was holding its breath.

Paige and Azzi exchanged uneasy glances, but Aaliyah didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. It was as if the accusation hadn’t even grazed her.

You knew better.

Aaliyah was the Mafia. You had already checked her occupation. She was playing everyone in this room, weaving her web with the calmest of smiles. The way she sat there, so composed, like she hadn’t a care in the world—it was almost too perfect.

Nika’s words hung in the air like a challenge, but you didn’t look at her. Not yet. Your eyes stayed locked on Aaliyah.

She was the one who’d made this game dangerous.

And now, it was time to make sure she never saw it coming.

“So,” you said, the room quieting in response, “you don’t think it’s you, Aaliyah?”

She tilted her head just enough to make it look casual, but her eyes flashed—briefly. A crack.

“I’m not the one guessing names,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Nora’s the one throwing out accusations without proof. Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

“You’re right, Aaliyah,” you said softly. “But you know what’s even more suspicious? The way you’re not even trying to defend yourself. You don’t have to convince anyone you’re innocent. You just need to make sure we don’t see you as a threat.”

Aaliyah’s lips curled into a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

“You don’t need to be sure,” you said, feeling the weight of every word. “Because you know exactly who you are. And you know exactly who you’re fooling.”

The silence after your words was thick, suffocating.

Aaliyah didn’t break eye contact. But there was a shift. A shadow of doubt in her gaze.

And that was enough.

Everyone watched in dead silence as you pulled out your phone, your movements deliberate, measured, as if each second stretched out to the breaking point.

“There’s no point in lying anymore, Aaliyah. You’ve fooled us long enough,” you said, your voice cold but steady. Every word you spoke felt like it carried the weight of the entire game.

Aaliyah’s confident facade finally cracked. Her eyes flickered—first to your face, then down to the phone in your hand.

Her gaze hardened, but the smallest tremor in her fingers betrayed her. She knew exactly what was coming.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you turned the phone around to face the room.

Aaliyah’s Occupation: Mafia.

The room was dead silent for a moment, the words hanging in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.

You could feel the shift. The collective realization. The disbelief.

Ice was the first to speak, her voice breaking the tension with a sharp edge. “No… this isn’t…”

Nora’s eyes narrowed, her fists clenching at her sides. “So it was you. All along.”

Kk expression twisted into something between disgust and amusement. “You really thought you could get away with this, huh?”

Aaliyah’s face wasn’t tough anymore, and for the first time, the mask slipped. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat.

“Explain yourself,” you said, your tone still calm but cutting through the chaos.

Aaliyah’s breath came in shallow gasps. She looked around the room, but the walls were closing in on her. There was no escape now.

“I… I didn’t want this,” she whispered, but the words were weak. “I didn’t want any of you to get hurt. I…”

You took a step forward, your gaze never leaving hers. “You didn’t want us to get hurt?“

Aaliyah’s eyes flicked to the others, her expression shifting from guilt to something colder. Something darker.

“You think you’re so much better than me,” she spat, her voice trembling with anger now. “You don’t know what it’s like to be in my shoes. You think you can just point fingers, judge me—like you’re so perfect.”

But the room wasn’t on her side anymore.

Aaliyah stood up abruptly, eyes wild, her voice rising. “You don’t understand! I had no choice! You don’t understand!”

It was too late for apologies. Too late for excuses. The truth had been revealed.

And now, the only thing left was to see how the game would end.

Aaliyah’s chest heaved with rage, her eyes wild as she struggled to hold on to whatever control she thought she had left. She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

“You think I’m the only one?” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. “You think I’m the only one hiding something?”

The room tensed, everyone leaning in, waiting for her to finally reveal who else was playing the game.

She pointed toward Paige, her finger trembling. “You—”

But before she could finish, her body jerked violently, a brutal cough tearing through her chest. She gasped for air, blood spilling from her mouth, splattering across the table.

The room froze.

Aaliyah’s hand flew to her lips, trying to stop the blood from spilling, but it kept coming, dark red staining her fingers. Her eyes widened in horror, and her breath hitched as another cough racked her body, her chest heaving.

Her face contorted in pain, but she forced herself to speak, her voice ragged. Then, the alarm came on.

“You can’t disclose other mafia players.”

Another cough erupted, cutting off her words completely, and she doubled over, gasping for air, the blood continuing to drip from her lips.

The reality of the situation hit her like a brick. She was no longer in control. She was breaking. And the game’s rules were unforgiving.

Aaliyah’s hands trembled as she wiped the blood away, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to…”

Her words trailed off, lost in the silence that followed, her body still shaking, the blood pooling on the table as the room stared at her in stunned silence.

You shook your head, casting the first vote.

“Sucks it had to be this way,” you muttered, voice low but final.

Then you turned and walked away, the weight of everything finally crashing down. The truth was out. The mask was off.

One Mafia down.

The others followed, murmurs and footsteps fading down the hall.

But three stayed behind.

Paige. Azzi. Nika.

They stood in the quiet, looking down at the girl barely holding herself up, blood on her hands, her breath ragged.

Aaliyah.

“I kept telling you,” she gasped, her voice broken, trembling. “I kept— I kept telling you…”

There was guilt in their eyes. For a moment.

But it didn’t last.

Paige’s expression hardened as she stepped back. “You were about to rat us out, Lili.”

Her voice was cold. Unforgiving.

Then she turned and walked away without another word.

Nika clicked her tongue in disgust. “That’s on you,” she muttered, and followed after Paige.

Azzi lingered for a second longer. Her eyes met Aaliyah’s—something passed between them. Regret. Maybe even pity.

“That’s fucked up,” she whispered.

And then she left too.

Aaliyah was alone.

Bleeding. Gasping.

Left to die by the only people who had ever known who she really was.

“With the most votes, Aaliyah will be executed.”

“Aaliyah was a Mafia.”

-

The three remaining Mafia sat in heavy silence.

This was their second loss.

They never even got the chance to know the first—Jaida. You had been on her the moment she slipped, and she didn’t last long. But Aaliyah… they knew Aaliyah. She wasn’t just a teammate. She was a friend. A sister.

And now she was gone.

“I can’t help but feel bad,” Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. It cut through the thick silence like a crack in glass.

Paige and Nika turned to her, their faces unreadable—stone-cold and sharp with something unspoken.

Azzi shrank back slightly under their stares, her words curling in on themselves.

“She brought that on herself,” Nika muttered, her eyes fixed on nothing, like she was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere darker.

No one argued.

Because deep down, they all knew it was true.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Paige leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, jaw tense. The silence settled in again—thicker now, like grief and strategy were fighting for space in the room.

“She panicked,” Paige said eventually. “That’s why she tried to name us. She thought if she burned us, she’d survive.”

“She knew the rules,” Nika said flatly. “And she still tried.”

Azzi looked down at her hands, fingers twisting in her lap. “She was scared.”

“Scared doesn’t matter,” Paige snapped, her voice sharper than before. “We don’t have room for scared. Not anymore.”

They were quiet again.

Then Nika broke it. “So what now?”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “Now we play smarter. Tighter. We already lost Jaida and Aaliyah. That’s half of us gone.”

Azzi looked up. “And the others? They’re going to come after us next.”

“They don’t know it’s us yet,” Paige said. “But they’re suspicious. Especially of me.”

“And me,” Nika added.

Azzi hesitated. “I don’t think they’re looking at me. The only person is probably that Nora chick.”

“Then that’s our edge,” Paige said, locking eyes with her. “If you’re the one they trust, use it. We’re not out yet.”

Azzi nodded slowly, the weight of the role settling on her shoulders.

For a brief second, the room felt colder.

The three of them weren’t just surviving anymore.

They were preparing for war.

“Who’s next?” Azzi asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nika sat still, jaw tight. As much as they didn’t want to say it—someone had to.

“It’s getting too risky,” Nika murmured. “We have to kill Rose. You two… we have to.”

Both Paige and Azzi’s heads snapped toward her, eyes wide.

“Nika—no.” Paige’s voice was sharp, disbelieving. “Don’t even say that. You wouldn’t want to kill Stormi, would you?”

Nika looked away, jaw clenched. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Azzi stepped in, voice steadier. “Besides… we can’t kill Rose. And not just because we have feelings for her.”

That made the other two pause. They looked at her—really looked at her.

She met their eyes.

“We let her live too long,” Azzi said. “If we kill her now, it’ll be too obvious. Everyone will turn on us. The timing’s wrong.”

A beat of silence.

And she was right.

Even Paige couldn’t argue it—not when the logic lined up with the feelings she tried to bury.

Rose had become too central, too known. A sudden death now would send the whole group into suspicion. And all fingers would turn inward.

They were boxed in.

Hearts tied. Hands tied.

And every move from here on out?

It had to be perfect.

“So,” Paige said, folding her arms, “if we can’t kill Stormi… and we won’t kill Rose…”

She trailed off, the unspoken truth settling between them.

Someone else had to go.

Azzi exhaled slowly, her voice tight. “We need someone they trust. Someone whose absence will rattle them, shake their sense of safety.”

Nika leaned forward. “KK?”

Paige shook her head. “She follows the crowd. No one’s going to lose sleep over KK.”

“What about Sarah?” Azzi offered.

That made them pause.

“She’s quiet,” Nika said slowly. “Smart. Always watching.”

“She’s close enough to Rose and Ice to cause a stir,” Paige added, the beginnings of a plan forming behind her eyes. “But not so close that they’ll immediately point fingers.”

Azzi nodded. “Her death will feel random. Out of nowhere. That’s what we need—chaos.”

“If we do this right,” Paige said, “they’ll turn on each other trying to figure it out.”

Nika hesitated again. “We sure about this?”

No one answered right away.

Then Paige: “We have to be.”

There was no more room for hesitation.

They couldn’t kill the people they loved.

So they’d kill the people around them instead.

taglist:

@iowahawkeyes22 @evry1luvzzae @kalan1z @evanpeterstoe

[nymph0maniaccc]

Misery Loves Company

Part 4

1 2 3

1.6k words

Jax Teller x Fem!reader

Background: Tara doesn’t want to accept the new reality so Gemma handles it for her.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of drug use, criminal past, cheating themes, eventual smut MDNI, show spoilers, unrealistic adaptations of being on the run and probation, Unrealistic things in general but it’s tumblr anything is possible.

a/n: This will be a 4-5 partish series will a few blurbs if you have any request you can send them I’d love to write your thoughts <3, this is also written with a black female reader in mind but anyone can read as long as you aren't being weird. Also thank you to my baby @starfxkrinc for proofreading mwah I love you so much‹3, last but not least enjoy! Also thank you so much for the love on part one and two! Enjoy my babies<3 one more part after this!

One Week Later

Tara’s world is unraveling.

It’s been seven days since You and Jax came back to Charming, seven days since he stepped out of that van with you at his side. Seven days, and he still hasn’t come home. Instead, he’s holed up in the clubhouse with you, the woman he threw his entire life away for.

And the worst part? The only time Tara’s allowed to see him is when she’s bringing the boys.

Tara grips the steering wheel as she pulls into Teller-Morrow, her hands white-knuckled. The sun is just beginning to set, casting long shadows over the lot. She parks and takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself before grabbing Abel and Thomas from the car.

Inside the clubhouse, it’s the same scene as always. The guys are around, drinking, laughing like nothing is wrong. Like Jax hasn’t abandoned his family.

She finds him in his room, the one he used to bring her to, back when they were young and reckless and in love. Now, it’s your space. The door is cracked open just enough for Tara to see inside. Jax is on the bed, stretched out lazily, while you’re curled up beside him, legs draped over his, looking like you belong there.

Rage boils in Tara’s chest.

She pushes the door open with more force than necessary. Jax glances up, barely reacting, while you simply watch, calm and collected.

“You got the boys?” Jax asks, pushing himself up.

Tara glares at him. “Yeah, I have the boys.” She steps inside, setting Thomas’s car seat down while Abel shuffles in behind her. He barely hesitates before climbing up onto the bed next to you, curling into your side like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Tara swallows the lump in her throat. “This is bullshit, Jax.”

Jax sighs, rubbing his face. “Tara”

“No, don’t Tara me.” Her voice shakes with barely contained anger. “You come back after God knows what, and instead of coming home, you hide out here with her? You don’t even see me unless I have your sons with me.”

Jax’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.

Tara lets out a bitter laugh. “You don’t even care, do you? About what you’re doing to me? To them?” She gestures to the boys, her voice rising. “You’re just gonna keep playing house with her and pretend like I don’t exist?”

Jax exhales heavily, looking at her like she’s an inconvenience. “I’m trying to keep shit from getting worse.”

“Worse?” Tara scoffs. “You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jax finally looks at her then, his eyes darkening. For a second, she swears she sees something in them regret, maybe but it’s gone before she can be sure.

“You done?” he asks, voice flat.

Tara’s blood runs hot. You glance at her again, watching quietly from the bed, a small, knowing smile playing at your lips. Like you’ve already won.

Tara’s hands curl into fists at her sides.

She turns on her heel and storms out.

The message is clear: she’s not part of his life anymore.

But? She refuses to accept that.

Tara wasn’t stupid. She saw the way Jax stood close to you, the way his hand lingered on the small of your back when he thought no one was looking. She saw the way Abel gravitated toward you, how Thomas, still just a baby, curled against you like its where he belonged.

And the worst part?

No one else seemed to care.

The guys at the clubhouse welcomed you like you’d been there all along. Chibs, Opie, even Happy, Happy treated you like family. You laughed with them, drank with them, fit into their world like it was nothing.

Tara was being erased. And no one gave a damn.

So she does the only thing she can do.

Gemma.

So the next night, she’s sitting in Gemma’s kitchen, a glass of whiskey in front of her, hands clenched into fists. Gemma watches her, unimpressed, stirring sugar into her coffee like she’s got all the time in the world.

“He’s shutting me out,” Tara snaps, voice low but shaking. “He won’t even talk to me unless I bring the boys. And her, he’s with her every second of the day. He won’t even come home.”

Gemma takes a slow sip, tilting her head. “And?”

Gemma sighs, long and slow, before tipping back her drink. Then she stands, smoothing down her leather jacket.

“You done?”

Tara glares. “No. I’m not done. I—”, as if she didn’t hear her right. “And? What do you mean, and? He’s supposed to be with me, with his family.”

Gemma scoffs. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what fantasy you’ve been livin’ in, but Jax ain’t been yours for a long time.”

Tara’s face twists in frustration. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, what’s bullshit,” Gemma says, leaning forward, voice low and even, “is you thinkin’ you could take my son away from the club. You been tryin’ to turn him into somethin’ he ain’t since day one. And now? He finally sees you for what you are.”

Tara shakes her head, eyes burning. “This isn’t about the club, and you know it.”

Gemma smiles, slow and knowing. “Oh, baby, this is always about the club.”

Tara opens her mouth to argue, but before she can, Gemma stands up, stretching like she’s shaking off a long, tiring conversation. Then she steps around the table and grips Tara’s chin between her fingers, forcing her to look up.

“You’ve been a problem for too long,” Gemma murmurs. “And I’m real tired of your mouth.”

Tara jerks away, eyes wide now, something flickering in them. Fear.

She knows.

Gemma moves fast. Too fast. One second, she’s just standing there, the next she’s got a fistful of Tara’s hair, dragging her toward the back hallway.

Tara yelps, struggling, but Gemma is stronger. Meaner. And she’s had enough of Tara’s mouth.

The moment they’re alone, Gemma slams Tara against the wall, eyes cold. “You don’t get it, do you, sweetheart?” she murmurs. “Jax ain’t yours no more. He made his choice. And you? You’re just a problem I need to fix.”

Realization dawns in Tara’s eyes.

“No,” she breathes. “Gemma—”

But by the time she moves, it’s already too late.

The guns already been let off.

The next morning, Tara is nowhere to be found.

The guys don’t ask questions. Not when Gemma tells them what needs to be done. Not when they’re scrubbing blood off the concrete in the dead of night. Not when they load a body into a car and drive it out to a place where no one will ever find it.

By the time the sun rises, it’s like she never existed.

The clubhouse is quiet, but there’s an energy in the air, something shifting beneath the surface. A few of the guys Tig, Happy, even Chibs have been around longer than most. They don’t ask questions. They just handle things.

By the time the sun comes up, there’s no trace of Tara Knowles.

And no one seems to notice.

Or if they do, they don’t care.

No one asks questions. No one looks too hard. Because this is Charming, and Gemma Teller knows how to clean up a mess.

And when Jax finally comes home to the house Tara so desperately wanted him back in he doesn’t come alone.

He comes with you.

When he wakes up that morning, you’re still beside him, curled up in his bed, the early light filtering through the window. He reaches over, brushes his fingers along your arm, and you stir, eyes fluttering open.

This is it. This is his life now.

Tara is gone.

But you?

You’re still here.

You step into the role seamlessly. You don’t try to replace Tara, don't force anything, but it doesn’t matter. Because Abel already loves you. Because Thomas still needs someone to hold him, to feed him, to soothe his cries in the middle of the night.

And Jax?

Jax finally looks at peace.

The first night without Tara, Abel cries himself to sleep. The second night, he asks for his mommy. By the third, he just clings to you.

Jax doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t want the details. He just knows Gemma handled it. Knows Tara’s gone.

And he lets it happen.

Because deep down, he knows what Gemma does: Tara was always a problem. A liability. A weight around his neck, dragging him down.

But you?

You fit.

The guys love you. Tig calls you Mama Bear. Happy doesn’t say much, but he’s always around, always watching your back. Chibs smirks and calls you Jax’s old lady like it’s already set in stone.

Even Thomas barely more than a baby settles against you like he’s known you forever.

And Abel?

Abel adores you. He follows you around the house, tugs at your hand, curls up against you when he’s tired. When he cries, it’s you he reaches for.

One night, Jax walks in to find you sitting on the couch, Abel curled up in your lap, Thomas asleep in your arms.

And something in him settles.

Maybe this was how it was always meant to be.

So when Abel looks up at him, eyes heavy with sleep, and asks,

“Is she my new mommy now?”

Jax doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah, buddy.” He brushes a hand over his son’s hair, voice steady. “She is.”

Gemma watches it all unfold with satisfaction.

She’s never liked any of Jax’s women. But you?

You’re different.

You get it.

And that makes you the perfect old lady.

Tags<3: @smokahontas-113 @secretlysamcro @fallout-girl219 @daryldixonswifesworld

[tragedy-of-commons]

notes: based on this brainrot. platonic silver wolf & reader. modern au. the stellaron hunters are a family. reader is implied to have come from a troubled homelife. barely proofread. my heart wasn’t in this but it’s here. wc: 2.1k.

“Hey.”

Your sister—your new big sister—snaps you out of your stupor. She’s standing in the doorway to your room, her arms crossed over her chest and puffy jacket. After you whip your head around (your previous fixation was on the adjacent wall), your heart sinks.

What could she want? She doesn’t look happy at all. Her brow is pinched in what looks a lot like annoyance, her voice is expectant, and she hasn’t spared you the time of day since your arrival, pretty much. What could’ve changed? Have you done something to upset her?

Lord knows you probably have, with you being new to this whole… loving family thing. You bring your knees to your chest and shift uncomfortably atop your new bedspread.

“Stop looking like a kicked puppy,” she huffs, daring to step over the threshold. “I’m not that scary. What are you doing inside? It’s Saturday. Shouldn’t you be outside, like, playing or something? Like kids do?”

You recover a little bit. So you’re not in trouble… or maybe you are? Trying to heed her demand, you attempt to mask your crestfallen expression with something more cheery: a smile. It looks more like you’re grimacing, but it’s the effort that counts, right?

“Sorry! Um,” you swallow, avoiding her eyes. The ceiling is suddenly very interesting. “Am I supposed to be outside? I can go out there now—”

Silver Wolf swiftly raises her hand. “Nuh uh, that’s why I’m here. Since you’re not outside like a normal kid would be, I came to enlist your help,” she pauses. “Not because I need it or anything, but because Kafka is making me ‘keep you company’. So we should get this charade over with, spend some time together, so we can get her off our backs.”

Oh. Kafka. The magenta-haired woman that now acts as your mother (feels weird to think about), has been trying to ease you into adjustment for weeks. You’re socially aware enough to understand that. She’s been taking you out on shopping trips, spoiling you with splendor you couldn’t fathom months ago, and trying to get you to hold awkward, one-sided conversations with retail workers. Maybe if you were older and more rebellious like Silver Wolf, you’d feel like a cagey chihuahua being socialized; you’d feel debased or insulted by Kafka’s meddling. 

But you don’t. You’re grateful—grateful but hesitant, and that’s apparent now as you stare at your older sister with your mouth slightly agape. 

“R-Right. What did you want to do?” There’s a small part of you that’s thrilled, endeared by the thought of someone as cool as Silver Wolf wanting to hang out with you, even if you know she’s just trying to satisfy Kafka’s fish-eyed coercion. “We could… read a book?”

The ashen-haired girl scrunches her nose up in disgust.

“Or not that!” you hurriedly backpedal, shaking your head. “Whatever you wanna do.”

“Good. C’mon, follow me. And speed it up, will you?” Silver Wolf goads impatiently, pivoting on her heel while you’re stuck scrambling after her to some unknown destination. She sounds almost amused, her ponytail bobbing with the force of her footsteps, you now trailing behind her. 

“Can’t believe you would suggest reading. The future is digital, and soon all stuffy books will be rightfully eradicated in the interest of perpetuating graphic novels. Or just things actually worth consuming.” 

“What…?”

“Okay, don’t speak. You’re gonna make me start taking poison damage,” she deadpans, reaching her bedroom door. Outwardly, it almost appears the same as yours down the hall, but hers is covered in glossy stickers and graffiti prints that you struggle to read. It’s distinctly her. Silver Wolf grips the knob and turns it, ready to push the thing open, but then she throws a suspicious glance over her shoulder. 

“No touching my stuff unless I say so,” she warns, “and remember, I’m only allowing you entry because Kafka is a tyrannical maniac. Normally only Stelle is permitted in here, but she’s away.”

The latter statement gets your attention. It’s like that in this house; people are always coming and going. You haven’t seen Stelle since you got here, something she seems very sorry about—she’s supposedly away on work. What work? You aren’t sure. Kafka, Blade, Firefly, and Stelle seem to be occupied with it at the weirdest times. You’re not too experienced yet, but something tells you families aren’t usually this odd. 

“Yeah, got it,” you murmur. Silver Wolf opens her door, revealing the inside’s blinding setup.

Bright monitors idling with neon pixel art greet you, the desk supporting them standing smack dab in the middle of the room. The screens paint everything in a purplish light, made easier by the drawn blackout curtains preventing any potential sunlight from bleeding in through the window. An unmade bed dotted with plushies sits in the furthest corner, and is that…?

“Why do you have a tiny fridge in your room?”

Your begrudging older sister scoffs. “Convenience. We—no, you—really need to work on your critical thinking skills. Luckily, you’ll have a chance today.”

Before you can question what that means, Silver Wolf ambles over to the other corner. A sizable flatscreen TV rests on the otherwise barren wall, a shelf below cluttered with all kinds of paraphernalia: controllers that your instincts tell you are for Video Games (she really likes playing those), pretty figurines of people wielding swords, and lots of cables. There’s a glowing block too. Oh, you know that one!

“A PlayStation?” you hope, tilting your head as she swipes a controller off the shelf and slumps down in one of two beanbags on the floor. She doesn’t invite you to come over and plonk down on the other, so you don’t move. This is already unfamiliar, tumultuous territory.

“Uh huh. Don’t just stand there! If we’re gonna be forced to spend time together, it’s gonna be my way. We’re playing Origami Bird Clash: Arena. Sit down and try to keep up.”

By the time you dive in headfirst, confusion is your best friend. The learning curve is steep and the moveset is not intuitive for someone who’s never even touched mobile games. The controller feels entirely too big in your small hands, the distance between each button stretching impossibly far. You become aware that Origami Bird Clash: Arena is a fighting game. You can challenge other players online, bots, or even your friends in real life. 

You’re clumsy, struggling through the tutorial while Silver Wolf pulls out her hair, likely suffering from the most dire case of second-hand embarrassment. To her credit, she tries to be helpful, though she’s not patient enough to be the mentor type…

“You need to—no, you have to press R2! Read the instructions again,” she winces. When you look over (mistakenly taking your eyes off the task at hand entirely), she looks to be fighting the urge to rip the thing out of your hands and complete it for you. “Dude, eyes on the screen!”

“What’s… what’s R2 again?” The sounds of your starter bird getting absolutely pummeled by the wings of the tutorial bot fill the silence as you press random buttons in hopes of finding it on your own. Oops. 

The ashen-haired girl groans. “The right trigger! Just recover, you can do it. You can’t die yet, so stop panicking.”

This can’t seriously be fun for her, you can’t help but monologue. She looks like she’s gonna blow her top.

Are you that much trouble? Kafka may have forced her to hang out with you, but that’s kinda your fault; you didn’t busy your hands, didn’t find something to do, and now you’re just being a big bother to your big sister. In between the buzz of the day, sometimes you wonder what the hell this… group of people were thinking, to take you in. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, feeling the mortifying sting of tears beginning to form. “I-I’m sorry I’m not good at it, I’m t-trying.” 

This isn’t good. It’s never good to cry—you’ll only make people angry, and you don’t want to do that. You don’t want this new home to be like your last one, where everything that went wrong was your fault. Recover, like Silver Wolf said. You must recover. Abashedly wiping your tears with one hand, you drop the controller into your lap.

You suck in a breath whenever she shifts in your peripherals, holding the air in your throat after she begins to reach over towards you, jutting out a little from her beanbag to close the distance. 

To your surprise, she doesn’t yell (even lightheartedly like she had been in frustration earlier), only sighing next to your ear and seizing the piece of plastic in your hands. She sets it aside on the floor, and then you deem it safe enough to sneak a peek at her. Silver Wolf still has that pinch between her brow, but she’s oddly devoid of complaints, staring at you.

“Look, don’t cry,” she beseeches, unsure of herself. It’s almost like she’s terrible at comforting people. Your vision blurs further while your bottom lip trembles, making her panic. “No, no, stop. It’s fine, okay? It’s whatever. You’ve never played before. And you’re not that terrible,” she rambles, “I’ve clashed against grown men with worse reflexes!”

Yeah. She’s terrible at comforting people.

“Damn it, I’ll get you a tissue or something. Not on your sleeve, that’s gross—”

She takes off out of the room, and by the time she comes back, it’s with a few crumpled paper towels that she all but shoves into your hands. You hiccup and blow your nose, muttering more apologies under your breath while she stands there, towering over you and clueless. At least she’s not mad…

“Sorry a-again. I’ll be better.”

“Kid, you may be new and monopolizing everyone’s attention—not like I care or anything—but you need to stop saying you’re sorry. It’s uncool and makes me look lame,” Silver Wolf says matter-of-factly, pushing up the flimsy shades resting on her forehead. “And if you’re gonna roll with me to keep Kafka out of our business, you’ve gotta be cool.” 

Cool. She’s right, you’ve gotta measure up to her attitude to fit in. But that’s not what makes you stall in your reply. You stand up too, even if you feel unsure on your feet. 

“You want to ‘roll with me’? B-But I thought this was… a one-time…” you gesture vaguely.  

“Ugh, just let me make you stop crying,” she plants her hands on her hips before waltzing over her desk in the middle of the room. Earlier you’d spotted the minifridge sitting just beside it, which your big sister kneels down to open, rummaging and subsequently clanging through its contents.

“Do you like Monster?”

“...I don’t think I’ve—”

“Well, you will soon enough. Heh.” Silver Wolf pops her gum and makes her way back over, shoving a can in your face. It looks way too big and heavy to drink in one sitting, making you wince, but you take it anyway after stuffing the paper towels in your pocket. You yank on the tab, watching the carbon dioxide ominously leave the opening after a snap. 

“We don’t have to finish the tutorial right now,” she stretches, “but maybe if you feel better—the Ultra White will def help—we can try again later. And if you learn to abuse combos like me, that’s a plus.”

Your heart warms a little, rises just a smidge. Maybe things will be different here after all. Even if she’s just saying that to make you feel better, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to be around?

Most of your time is spent staring at walls, thumbing through the frail paperbacks you managed to bring from home, and wishing. For what? You’re not sure. A lot of your new family members seem eager to talk to you, but they’re adults. They’re not quite able to coax you out of your shell, evidently lacking the means to.

But Silver Wolf is different. She’s your sister, not your guardian. And not to mention, she has dyed purple ends and she uses… curse words. She’s cool, and maybe, if the last five minutes are anything to go by, she could think of you as cool too.

Well, if you ever learn how to “abuse combos”, that is. You aren’t quite sure what a combo is yet. 

“Um,” you squeak. “I’d like to f-finish it now. I’ll try again.”

She looks surprised—then she grins. “Now that is the spirit I’ve been looking for. The basics will serve you well online, kid. You just gotta get good.” 

Later

“Would you mind explaining why your little sibling is bouncing off the walls?” Kafka asks Silver Wolf, mirth dancing in her gaze. Despite the stern phrasing of her question, she’s very amused, as she often is. 

The ashen-haired girl shrugs, watching you pace laps around the kitchen. “Dunno. That’s crazy.”

Kafka chuckles. “I’m glad you two had fun.”

“Ugh. We didn’t,” Silver Wolf sharply refutes, “I was just doing what you told me to do.” “Whatever you say, Wolfie.”

[antinousletmehit]

AAAAAAAAAAA

The hurt reader is amazing— I loved it sm

THANK YOUUUUU

now (tw : throwing up)

Since I still love the hurt thing a lot (god knows how much my ocs wanna kill me rn)as well as the the fact I’m a sadist when it comes to these things-

What if -and hear me out- reader managed to steal food lets say a batch of fruit or medical supplies or anything they were low upon in storage successfully! :D

Yay reader learned how to steal without getting caught!

Unless…

She did get caught (kinda) and gotten beaten up- like on her stomach so the bruises won’t show that much and a bit of hits on the face (but her stomach got the bad part of the beating)

but she still managed to get way with the things and she is like so happy and beaming at antinous when she gets back like “look brother! I managed to steal without getting caught!!” And he would be suspicious and would notice a few bruises on her face and the he gets a bit angry “yea? What about these bruises on your face?” While crossing his arms she would come up with something like I tripped and what not. He will let her off the hook this time since he was in a hurry and nothing seems that bad. But then that night he has to leave for the ring and leaves her some food (he might not come back until tomorrow’s noon perhaps he spent the night and day with a night lady he found)

So after the reader eats her food goes to bed she is still in pain then ends up throwing up and then she figures out it’s from the beating she took and can only stomach fluids without puking up

Would antinous notice what’s happening immediately or after a few days or what?

This story is my current hyper fixation I’m sorry if this is annoying-

Also on a different topic, do you have any designs on any of the charcters and how they might look like ?

(I kinda wanna see if I can make fanart of them)

Thank you and have a lovely day!🌹

AHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THJS IDEASAAA, IM GONNA HUG YOU. Fixated with my lil old fanfic STOP I’m blushing.

Antinous is a ASS FACE, he wouldn’t notice until a few days later, especially if the fight ring is busy, and he uses random women he finds as “stress relievers” to go about his day. After a few days he WILL find out, and when he does….its not gonna be pleasant 😭

It could go either two ways: one, he finds out while coming back home, then he sees you actively throw up and demands to know what’s wrong, he forces you to show him and explain to him what happened, after that you get a scolding and aren’t let out the house for a few months (brother of the year)

Or two: he notices late at night when he’s back, and he sees you’re sleeping weirdly and the blankets off, so he tucks you in but uh oh he finds out about the bruises, then wakes you up demands you to answer him and where these came from, you tell him the truth and he grounds you again.

———-

The moment Antinous was gone, she sank onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Her breathing was shallow, and sweat dampened her brow. The men who had caught her stealing hadn’t gone easy on her, their punches and kicks had left her battered and bruised, especially around her abdomen. She thought she could handle it, that the pain would fade with time. But as the hours passed, nausea began to churn in her stomach. She stumbled to the corner and retched, her body convulsing painfully.

The next few days were a blur of fever, pain, and vomiting. She tried to hide her condition, staying curled up in bed and pretending to sleep whenever Antinous came back to rest between fights. But she couldn’t hide the sound of her heaving or the way her face flushed with fever. When Antinous finally returned home after a particularly grueling fight, he found his sister hunched over a bucket, her frail frame shaking as she threw up yet again.

“Y/N!” he barked, rushing to her side.

She flinched at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him with tear streaked cheeks and a pale, sweat drenched face. “I’m fine,” she croaked, her voice barely audible. “You’re not fine,” he snapped, kneeling beside her. “What’s wrong with you?” When she didn’t answer, he reached out and gently pushed her hands away from her stomach. His heart stopped when he saw the bruises, dark, angry splotches that marked her skin. His expression darkened, and his jaw tightened as fury bubbled up inside him. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. She shook her head weakly, tears spilling from her eyes. “I didn’t want you to be mad…”

“Mad?” he repeated, his voice rising. “Y/N, you could’ve died! Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

“I just wanted to help,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Help?” Antinous shot to his feet, pacing the small room as his anger boiled over. “You think getting yourself beaten half to death is helping? You think lying to me is helping?” He turned back to her, his eyes blazing. “You’re not leaving this house. Not for months. You’re banned from going anywhere!” Her tears flowed freely now, her sobs wracking her small frame as she stared up at him. “I was just trying to do what you do!” she cried. “What I do?” he snapped, his voice dripping with bitterness. “Y/N, what I do is dangerous, and it’s not for you! You’re not me, and you’re not going to end up like me. Do you understand?” She didn’t respond, her sobs muffled by her trembling hands.

Antinous clenched his fists, his anger simmering as he looked at her small, broken form. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to do this,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “I’ll take care of us. That’s my job, not yours.” She nodded weakly, her tears still streaming down her face. Antinous crouched beside her, his expression softening just slightly. “You scared me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t do that again.”

She nodded again, her sobs quieting as exhaustion overtook her. Antinous stayed by her side, his anger replaced by guilt as he watched her drift off into a fitful sleep. He swore to himself that he would do better—that he would protect her, no matter what it took. Even if it meant keeping her locked up from the dangers of the world.

——————

I love tragic siblings, but anywyas AHHHHHHHH FANART?? YOU FLATTER ME but anywyas.

For Antinous his design is basically just Duvetboxes design (on YouTube) but he has A LOT of of scars on his body everywhere. ( yes including the blind eye) the only thing distinct is that he has a matching earring with his sister his being a sun on one of his upper ear piercings, and hers being a crescent moon.

For reader you can use any design but I always see them with: tan skin like Antinous’s, dark brown curly hair, scars on her upper torso and legs, and gold earrings that match her brother’s (after her and Telemachus finally started to love each other she matches earrings with him so it’s crescent moon on left, and star on right)

Again, I love duvetboxes designs so it’s here again. Only thing I need to add is the star earrings, light brown hair, and he has a little star brooch that smells like lavender (wink wink)

ORRRR

This scrumptious design of Telemachus by Tenoart, your choice.

And if you want Eurymachus, he’s blonde and green idk

[sl-ut]

sweet dreams

ended up having a baby dream during my nap and thought it would be a v cute burb concept for my sweet cliches series

set in this universe!

abby noticed that something was wrong with her girlfriend almost immediately after she returned from her morning run. she had, of course, left quite early and had been very careful not to wake her cranky pants gf up, but started questioning what she might have done to piss her off already when they hadn't even truly spoken a word.

y/n was in the kitchen when she got back, mixing herself an iced coffee and barely even responding to abby as she came over to kiss her good morning. abby shrugged it off, thinking she was still too tired, but when she rejected her invite to join her in the shower????? that's when she knew something was up.

she spent fifteen minutes in the shower, taking the extra time under the piping hot water to think it over. she knew it wasn't about her leaving a mess before she left; abby was the neat freak in the relationship, so it was usually her getting annoyed by clutter, not the other way around. they'd been on good terms last night, they had even found time in both of their busy schedules that allowed them some spare time to get it on...was it not good? abby thought she'd seen the telltale signs- the whimpers, the heaving chest, the swelling nail marks on her back... she'd never seen y/n fake it before, so she wasn't sure what she wasn't picking up on. unless... what if she had only ever seen her fake it???

then abby goes into panic mode. she finishes her routine as quick as she can (under ten minutes, our low maintenance queen!) and rushes out to find her girl curled up on the couch under a fluffy blanket, not even glancing her at abby as she took up the space next to her.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours? and don't say nothing."

the girl frowned before she stubbornly responded, "nothing."

"did i do something wrong?"

"no."

"then what's the matter? i don't like to see you so down."

"it's stupid."

abby scooted closer, pulling her girl onto her lap, "i could never think that anything to do with you is stupid. please tell me."

"fine, but you have to promise you won't laugh."

abby rolled her pretty blue eyes, "on my own life, i promise i won't laugh."

the girl let out a deep sigh before she mumbled something under her breath.

"gonna need you to speak up for me there, baby."

"i had a dream that i was pregnant and then i had our baby, and we lived in a cute little house with a dog and we were so happy..." she sniffled, "and then i woke up and none of it was real."

abby was silent for a moment before a small smile and chuckle began to crack through her forced serious expression.

"abby!" y/n slapped her arm when she finally broke out in full laughter, "you promised!"

"i'm sorry baby," she held her tighter to her chest to keep her from moving away and began to rock her, "i'm sorry. that was just so cute, if i didn't laugh i was gonna cry."

"i miss our baby."

abby was in her last year of med school, and thanks to her big beautiful brain (and her trust fund), she was remotely debt free. the two had already discussed their plans to start looking for a house in a nice neighbourhood as soon as abby graduated and got a permanent placement somewhere, but the discussion of kids had sort of been sidelined up until now.

the blonde shook her head, "i can't wait to meet our baby. just give me a year, and then we'll start making that dream come true."

y/n beamed with happiness, curling into her girlfriend's beefy arms, "i can't wait to carry your baby."

"trust me," abby chuckled, "i can't wait to put a baby in you. i bet i'll get it to stick first try, but i'm all about consistency. i'm thinking five nights a week minimum."

both girls giggled at abby's joke, snuggling closer together in a peaceful silence before y/n finally spoke up once more.

"abs... you know you can't actually get me pregnant, right? i mean, you're in medical school for god's sake."

[radioactivatedspider]

No Matter What

Main Masterlist Mark Meachum Masterlist

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Pairings; Mark Meachum x daughter!reader

Genre; drama, family, emotional hurt/comfort, teen fiction, slice of life

Warnings; Teen pregnancy, mention of underage drinking, angst, father-daughter emotions, protective parent, soft comfort from a hardened man.

Summary: When Mark Meachum’s teenage daughter reveals she’s pregnant, the tough, emotionally guarded single dad must figure out how to support her through the fear, the fallout, and the future — no matter what.

request: Single dad Mark Meachum, supporting his 16 yr old daughter when she comes to him admitting that while he was assigned to a job she snuck out to a house party, got drunk and now she’s a little over 3 months pregnant.

998 words

Mark Meachum had faced warlords, terrorists, double agents, and one particularly nasty ex-fiance with ice in her veins — but nothing could have prepared him for the look on his daughter’s face when she stepped into his office at home, clutching a crumpled hoodie sleeve in her fist.

She stood in the doorway for a long second, not saying anything.

He didn’t even look up from the files in front of him. “Door’s open for a reason, kid.”

“I need to talk to you.”

That made him pause. Slowly, Mark glanced up, eyes narrowing. She never said it like that — not unless something was wrong.

He leaned back in his chair. “Alright. Talk.”

She walked in, shut the door, and sat down across from him, her hands shaking slightly in her lap.

He could tell immediately: this wasn’t some bad grade or fight with a friend. This was something deeper. He sat still, jaw tight.

“You remember back in March,” she began, voice barely above a whisper. “When you got called out for that job in D.C.? The three-day thing?”

His brows lifted, sharp and skeptical. “Yeah. What about it?”

“I… I wasn’t at Maya’s the whole time.”

Mark’s silence was deafening.

“I snuck out. There was a house party.”

A long beat. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t explode. Yet.

“I had too much to drink. I thought I was being careful. I wasn’t.”

Mark stared, expression unreadable now. A quiet dread began to curl in his gut.

She took a breath that sounded like it hurt. “I’m pregnant. Thirteen weeks.”

Silence.

Mark didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on hers, like he was trying to see through the panic and guilt and fear on her face to something he could fix. But it wasn’t fixable. Not in the way he was used to. Not with guns or strategy or brute force.

He finally stood.

Her whole body flinched.

Mark’s jaw twitched at that. That she thought he’d yell or hit or walk out.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough, “look at me.”

She did.

“I’m not gonna throw a chair or go punch some teenage punk. Not right now.”

She blinked, confused by the calm.

He rounded the desk and crouched in front of her, resting his arms on his knees. He looked older suddenly — tired in a way she’d never seen before.

“You’re sixteen,” he said, quiet. “You made a mistake. A big one. And yeah, I’m pissed I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. But I’m not going to leave you alone in this.”

Tears slipped silently down her face.

Mark reached out, hesitated, then gently placed a hand over hers. “You're mine. You understand that? My kid. That means no matter what, I show up. Doesn’t matter if you screw up or if the world goes sideways — you’re not doing this alone.”

Her chest shook with a silent sob. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You did,” he admitted. “But you didn’t lose me.”

He pulled her into a hug — awkward at first, then tight, his hand cradling the back of her head like she was five again, not a teenager about to be a mom.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“Yeah, well… neither did I when I had you.” He exhaled. “But we figured it out. You will too. And I’ll be here — pissed, overprotective, confused — but here.”

The fluorescent lights in the OB clinic waiting room buzzed like a swarm of flies. Mark Meachum sat stiffly in the plastic chair, one arm slung over the back of his daughter’s. His boots were planted wide, military still, eyes scanning the room like there was a threat hiding behind the pamphlets on prenatal vitamins.

His daughter fidgeted next to him, chewing her thumbnail.

“You don’t have to be here,” she muttered.

He raised a brow. “You think I was gonna let you go through this alone?”

She didn’t respond. Her free hand clutched the intake clipboard like it was a grenade.

Mark leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “I can wait outside if you want me to. But you don’t get to do this by yourself unless you want to.”

She blinked fast, shaking her head. “Stay.”

He gave a short nod. “Then I stay.”

The nurse finally called her name. Mark stood too, towering behind his daughter, earning a curious glance from the nurse as they walked into the back.

“She’s my kid,” he said simply.

Inside the exam room, his daughter sat on the edge of the table, draped in a paper sheet, hands folded in her lap. Mark took the small stool by the wall, arms crossed, trying not to look out of place in a room painted with cartoon giraffes.

The doctor was kind — mid-forties, no-nonsense — and after a few questions, she pulled the ultrasound machine closer.

“Let’s take a look,” she said gently. “You’re about thirteen weeks, right?”

His daughter nodded.

Mark watched, silent, as the probe pressed against her stomach and the grainy black-and-white screen lit up. A moment later, the unmistakable, fluttering sound of a heartbeat filled the room.

His daughter gasped. Her eyes filled with tears.

Mark didn’t breathe.

The image flickered and stabilized — a tiny shape, not quite real and yet… it was.

“Strong heartbeat,” the doctor confirmed with a smile.

Mark cleared his throat, voice rough. “That’s… that’s it?”

“That’s your grandchild,” the doctor said softly, glancing at him.

Mark looked at his daughter.

She looked at the screen.

And for the first time since she’d told him, something like hope crossed her face.

He didn’t smile — he rarely did — but his hand found hers on the table.

He squeezed once. Firm. Steady.

She looked down at their joined hands.

“I’m scared, Dad,” she whispered.

Mark exhaled, still watching the screen. “Yeah. Me too.”

And then, after a long beat: “But you’ve got me. That won’t change.”

Taglist: @globetrotter28 @adrienneleclerc @multiversefanfics @smoothdogsgirl @deansbbyx @star-yawnznn

[ale-wosofan]

tired

Ona x R

R is exhausted after a long day at work.

warnings: none

a/n: this took way longer than it should have, but I'm studying for my exams and I've read this so many times that English doesn't feel like a real language anymore. Anyways, enjoy!

-----

If there is something you hate is having to wake up early. Thankfully your work doesn’t require it unless something important comes up. You love waking up slowly, taking your time to admire your girlfriend’s sleeping form and the way she always looks so calm. You usually wake her up by leaving kisses all over her face and, once you’re sure she won’t fall asleep again, you cook a nice breakfast for the two of you while she gets ready for training.

Sadly for you today you haven’t been able to do any of those things. You slipped out of bed as soon as your alarm woke you up, so you wouldn’t disturb Ona. The hours passed slowly as all you have been able to think about is getting back to your bed and your girlfriend.

Having been awake since six in the morning, when you finally get home you’re more than a little exhausted.

Ona is by your side before you can even close the door.

“Hola, mi vida,” she greets you placing a soft kiss on your lips and opening her arms for you “How was your day?”

You can only grunt in response melting into her arms, not really in the mood to talk. Your girlfriend lets out a chuckle and just hugs you tighter.

“You smell nice,” you murmur burrowing your head on her neck to take a deep breath “I missed you.”

Ona laughs again and you can't help but smile at hearing your favourite sound “You saw me this morning.”

“Exactly. Way too long ago.”

Just when your eyes start to close she takes a step back from your embrace.

“What do you want to have for dinner today? Sushi?” your face lights up at the mention of your favourite food “Sushi it is.”

“Thank you, love. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

You take longer than usual in the bathroom since all the exhaustion from the day is starting to catch up to you, but you somehow manage to shower without falling asleep standing up. Once you’ve gotten into more comfortable clothes you walk over to the couch where your girlfriend is sitting playing with her phone.

You drop yourself on her lap and lay your face in her chest.

“Dinner should be here in ten minutes or so,” Ona says setting her phone down and beginning to run her hands up and down your back.

You hum happily and focus on the hard thump of her heart in your ear. With the feeling of her steady breaths underneath you, you feel yourself starting to drift off. You’re about to fall asleep when the sound of the doorbell rudely interrupts you, forcing your girlfriend to get up and you to try to wake up before eating.

-----

Your mood unsurprisingly improves once you’ve gotten some proper food and drink in your stomach. Normally after dinner the two of you sit down to watch TV for a little while, but today you’re too tired to even concentrate.

You are ten minutes into the film when Ona speaks.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired,” you mumble trying to stay awake.

You frown when your girlfriend turns the TV off and gets up offering you a hand. “Let’s go to sleep then.”

Smiling at her, you take her hand and let her lead you to the bedroom. Once you’re both settled in bed she wraps her arms around your waist, bringing you closer to her.

“Te amo,” Ona whispers in your hair.

You lift your head from where you have buried it in her neck and blink a few times, trying to shake off the sleep a little bit so you can properly answer her.

“I love you too. G’night.”

Before resuming your previous position though, you take your girlfriend’s face in your hands and kiss her sweetly. It’s a pretty short kiss, you can barely see Ona’s face in the darkness and you’re already half asleep, but you are in bed after a really long day in the arms of the woman you love; you couldn’t have asked for anything better.

“Buenas noches, cariño.”