#you think the best of the people you love and all that. you brush your anxieties aside and shake your head “no / thats impossible”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (7)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“You were right about the mac and cheese,” you say as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. 

S glances over with a smile. “You liked it?” 

“Sure do,” you tap the side of the plate. “But it’s too much for me. I could save the rest.” 

“Sure,” he gets up and crosses the room. He moves the cover back over your dish. 

“Oh, thank,” you say as you set the used napkin on the tray. You quickly catch a yawn in your hands. “Oof, I’m sorry. Woke up early for the doctor.” You rub your eyes and blink at him. “I’m not very fun company, am I?” 

“You’re... calming,” he says. “All the people I deal with... they’re always performing.” He tilts his head and gives a sardonic look. “It’s been nice to get away.” 

“Must be. Even to somewhere like here,” you swallow another yawn, blinking big until your eyes water. You flick away the moisture. 

“You made it worth it,” he lingers close. “If you’re tired, lay down. I don’t mind.” 

“That’s not fair,” you try not to show how tempting the offer is. “Coming over just to knock out.” 

“Go ahead. I’ve barely used the bed,” he points to the open French doors that lead to the bedroom. “I tend to sleep in intervals.” He clucks. “Buddy calls it strategic napping.” 

“Can’t be very restful,” you say. 

“Guess not but sometimes I don’t have eight hours to spare,” he taps his toe. “Please, go lay down. You look beat.” 

You give a sheepish smile. Why does he care so much? Another thorn digs in. 

“S?” 

“You been caring for your mom. Let me care for you,” he puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He slowly draws away. 

You look down, “twist my arm.” You stand up slowly. “Don’t let me sleep too long. Just an hour or two.” 

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll get some work done.” 

You hesitantly move around him. It’s awkward. It’s just another thing you’re taking from him. His bed, his time... Won’t he get tired of that sooner than later? 

You stop and turn back to him. 

“S?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he glances at his phone, his eyes crinkling at what he reads. 

“Can I... give you a hug?” 

He puts his phone on the table and faces you. “You don’t gotta ask.” 

He opens his arms. You slowly unfold yours and step closer. It felt like a good idea but now it’s a bit... tense. You wrap your arms around him and he closes you in his. You shiver at the warmth seeping from him into you. 

“Thank you,” you press your cheek to his chest. “Really, I can’t say it enough.” 

He keeps one arm firmly hooked around you as his other hand rubs your back. The soothing motion makes your skin prickle. He squeezes. 

“No problem, sweetie.” He rocks you slightly. 

You stay like that, too embarrassed and too afraid to break too soon. 

“Alright, I think... I might fall asleep on my feet,” you ease from his hold and his hands brush along the robe as he pulls back. 

“Yeah, go, sleep,” he pivots away. “I gotta answer this before he sends another damn email.” 

He snatches up his phone and turns away. He mutters under his breath. You back up and watch how his shirt tautens across his shoulders. You spin and tiptoe into the bedroom. 

You can worry when you wake up. Right now, you’re just too tired to keep track of all your doubts. 

🦋

You wake with a start. You’re on your stomach, arm beneath the pillow you have your face buried in. Your head is cloudy as you lift it and your lashes stick together before you can pry them apart. You roll over and the sight of the dark window sends you into a panic. 

You kick away the blankets and scramble out of bed. You hurry to the doors, the left one left open just a crack, and you pull it open. S sits at the table, a pair of glasses on as he has a laptop open. You have no time to process the seen as you scurry out. 

“S, it’s late,” you cheep. “Why did you let me sleep so long?” 

He calmly looks up and smooths the creases from his forehead. He pushes his shoulders wide and takes of his glasses. He puts them beside the keyboard of the table. 

“I tried to wake you up,” he says. “You were so tired. I could get you to do more than roll over...” 

His voice trails off as his eyes fall down. You follow his gaze. Shoot. The robe hangs open, exposing your naked legs. You quickly pull it around you, hot from your accusation and accidental flash. 

“Um, I’m sorry to... I didn’t... I...” You sputter. 

“You slept heavy. Probably a bit disorienting waking up here. You’re not used to it,” he shrugs. “I really did try but... seems like you needed the sleep.” 

“Right, I... it was nice but...” 

“You can call your mom. Let her know maybe you got backed up at your new job?” He suggests coolly. He’s a fast thinker. You’re a terrible liar. The type that adds too much detail when a simple explanation will do. 

“Sure, I can let her know I’m gonna be home soon.” You agree and look around. 

You find your phone on the arm of the sofa. You don’t remember leaving it there but you can’t really remember when you last had it. You take it and head for the bedroom. 

“You can always stay. It’s pretty late.” 

“What would I tell her? I’m working overnight?” 

“You’re an adult, aren’t you?” He challenges. 

You flinch. 

“Sure, but... no, I should go home. She needs me.” 

“Uh huh,” he picks his glasses back up and exhales. “Well, now she’s not the only one that does.” 

You blink as your brow crinkles. You turn away before he can catch you chagrined expression. You go into the bedroom and lean on the bed as you dial out. 

Your mom doesn’t pick up. You sniff as the tone for the voicemail beeps. “Hey mom, sorry I didn’t message sooner. I got tied up. Anyway, I’ll be home soon...love you.” 

You hang up and drop your arm. You stare at the window. You don’t remember anything, not even your dreams. Not even him trying to get you up. You’re embarrassed to hink about that. 

You go back out. 

“Um, I’ll need my pants,” you say sheepishly. 

“Hung them up in the bathroom,” he says without looking away from the computer. His posture is tense. 

“Look, I’m sorry if... i wasn’t meaning to accuse you--” 

“I’ve been really honest with you,” he says. “I’d say extremely. Not a lot of people would be so transparent. You know, a guy like me, he’s supposed to have an easy life. Well, it’s not.” 

“I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry, I just wish you would trust me.” 

You stand in static silence. The guilt ripples over you. Not only has he been honest, he’s been so generous. You think of today and how he so easily promised all of that money. Even after when you showed him the pamphlet, showed him how tedious it would all be. He said yes. 

“I will. I do,” you say at last. “Um, one sec.” 

You cross the room to the bathroom and dip inside. You open the robe and hang it and pull on your pants. You can still feel the residue of rain in them. Oh well. 

You come back out. “I can call a cab. You seem busy.” 

“I’ll drive,” he assures you as he closes the laptop. “Told you, I’m taking care of you. Of everything.” 

“I know. Thank you so much.” You clasp your hands together. “Really, S, I can’t say it enough.” 

He slides his glasses off again and stands up. He puts them in the case behind the computer and snaps it shut. He stretches his arms over him. 

“Come back tomorrow,” he says. “I made us some reservations.” 

“Reservations?” You repeat. “Well, S, I... I’ve been calling in and... if I keep doing that--” 

“Quit.” He looks agitated. “You don’t need those jobs. That’s the deal. I’m gonna cover everything.” 

You nod as your stomach stirs. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” His mouth slants. “It’s what we’ve been talking about. You working all the time, well, I got a lot going on. We’d never get to see each other and I mean, I’ve already missed a lot too.” 

You chew your lip. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” 

“It’s new. For both of us. I get it,” he softens his tone and comes closer. “You’re so used to working and doing everything, it’s hard to let go. I’m the same way.” 

“Yeah...” you murmur. “I’m really sorry if I upset you, S."

“You didn’t,” he assures you as he reaches to caress your arm. “You can’t. I just... I get in work mode and the boss face comes out.” He chuckles and slips his hand across your back and angles you toward the door, “let’s get you home. I promise, I’ll try to get more than just a few hours before tomorrow.” 

🦋

You watch the streetlights pass, the glare tinging your eyes, tweaking the fatigue still nestled behind them. You yawn as the car whirs softly. It’s almost peaceful in the empty streets. 

S drives smoothly through the town. He knows it better now. He keeps to the speed limit, taking his time. Or maybe he’s just tired. 

He rolls up to your building and shifts into park. He sighs. “I’ll miss you.” 

You look at him, “really? I feel like I kind of overstayed my welcome.” 

“Trust me, you can’t,” he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he twists in his. “You not having fun?” 

“No, of course, it’s just new and... I guess I’m not used to it yet. The... trying not to worry part.  My mom is still...” you shake your head. “I’m going to stop that.” You look at him. “S, thank you. Really. I did have a good day even if I slept for most of it.” 

“You needed that,” he says as his hand slips onto your shoulder. “You, more than anyone, has every right to be tired.” His thumb rubs you. “Sweetheart, we’re just adjusting to each other and that’s fine.” 

“Sure,” you flutter your fingers in your lap. “Right, just... gotta be patient.” 

“Yeah, patient,” his hand inches closer to your neck. “Sweetheart... can I ask you something?” 

“Okay,” you try not to focus on his touch but your skin is all speckly from it. 

“Can I have a kiss?” 

Your lips part slightly. You close them quickly. You’re surprised but you shouldn’t be. Deep down, you know it’s inevitable. Despite what he says, you have that gnawing certainty in your head. You can’t just keep taking. And it’s going to be more than just a kiss, isn’t it? 

Right now, you can do a kiss. 

“Um,” your cheeks tauten and burn. “S-sure. I can--” 

“Only if you really want to,” he pets your neck with his knuckles. “But I can tell you I really, really want to.” 

You take a breath and undo your seat belt. You’re slow and deliberate in your movement as you angle around in the chair. His hand opens and cradles your jaw, fingers framing your ear. He leans in and you meet him across the space between your sets. 

Your lips meat and his heat floods into you. His fingers curl against your head and he hums. His tongue pokes out gently and you resist. Your chest is somersaulting. 

You part and sit back in the chair. You put your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—been a while.” You look down and cover your mouth. You drop your hand. “Was that... okay?” 

“It was... great,” he rasps. “And uh, been a while for me too.” 

“Really?” You glance at him, face alight with self-consciousness. 

“Oh, sure. Like I said... haven’t been out on the dating scene much. When I’ve tried, well, It’s just not... genuine, you know?” He clucks and pokes his tongue into his cheek. He smiles and looks you in the eye. “That was perfect. I’ll be thinking about it all night.” 

“You will?” 

“Of course,” he winks. “What about you?” 

Your cheeks pinch and you smile. It’s been a long time since you felt anything but anxiety and doom. That was something else. You can’t quite explain what. It just wasn’t as scary as you thought. You need one thing that isn’t utterly terrifying. 

“Yeah, I think...” you look away. “It’s... it was nice.” 

“Good,” he drags his hand down your arm. “Well, have a good night.” 

“You too,” you grab your purse and pull on the door handle. “Oh, what time tomorrow?” 

“Let me know, sweetie, I don’t need you til noon,” he answers. 

“Cool, um, bye.” 

You get out and walk towards the yellow light above the building entrance. You stop to look back. He’s still there. You’re glad. You hate being out this late. 

You enter the apartment quietly. The front room light is on. You put your stuff down and sanitize your hands. You find your mother on the couch, sleeping as she hugs a pillow. 

You hope she wasn’t waiting up for you. All that fuzziness fades. The dull weight settles back into your chest. 

You tiptoe around, careful not to wake her. You know she doesn’t get as much sleep as she should. You retreat to your room and flick on the light. 

You plug in your phone as the battery flashes. As you pull off your shirt, you hear something. A soft whisper. You go to the hamper and peer through the mesh. The butterflies. Two of them have hatches and they’re happily fluttering around inside. 

You smile. A real smile. They’re so beautiful. Black, red, and white. And they’re alive. It was taking so long, you thought they wouldn’t break free. 

You’ll have to find some fruit in the fridge to leave in there for them until you can release them. First, you’re going to take a photo. Everyone will be so excited to see. 

You get a good shot through the top before they try to escape. You’ll have to go down to the cafe to post in the morning. You really can’t wait to show S. 

You sit on your bed and watch the butterflies. It’s a sign, isn’t it? Not everything is dead. It’s not over. Maybe, things are just beginning. 

[understrangeforbiddenskies]

+ .✦ i need your love so bad

abby anderson x fem reader

↣ took a little scroll through the abby tag and noticed almost no fluff so i'm filling that void with girlfriend!abby headcanons hehe

*+:｡.｡ warnings / kissing, established relationship, very self indulgent oops, ow*n

𝄞 need your love so bad - fleetwood mac

author's note: this is my first tlou fic pls dont kill me if it sucks

+ you were definitely the first girl abby ever dated. the only other experience with dating she had was ow*n... so you obviously had to swoop in and show her what she was missing out on.

+ i know deep in my heart and soul that abby would hold your face when she kissed you. not your waist, or your neck, or your back. no. she would genty cradle your face, studying your features before leaning in and pressing her soft lips against yours.

+ she gives the BEST bear hugs ever, especially after a long patrol. she'll sneak into your room and just collapse against you, one arm wrapped tightly around your middle while the other cradled your head.

+ it's literally canon that abby smells of pine and every time i remember that all i can think of is cuddling with her after she showers while you both ramble to each other about anything and everything.

+ you read to each other!!! as a huge bookworm, i love the idea of just cozying up with abby in the library as she reads to you and vice versa. sometimes you'll both end up falling asleep halfway through a chapter only for manny to find you both way later.

+ adding onto that, you'd find literally any excuse to listen to her voice. whether that would be asking her questions about patrol, books, working out, etc. she's too oblivious to realise you aren't even paying attention half the time.

+ she would remember even the littlest of things about you. it can range from your favourite book to the colour of your socks on monday. she has an insanely good memory but only when it comes to you.

+ unpopular opinion but i don't think abby would work out with you. hear me out on this; i think she would prefer to have some alone time and what other place to do that than the gym! it's nothing against you, it's just that she likes to focus on working out.

+ if you offered to braid her hair when you just started dating, i think she would say no but at least let you brush it. however, once you two were together for a good while, it felt like second nature to come up to you, hairbrush in hand, with a knowing smile on her face.

+ you would play with her hair any chance you could. sometimes she would fall asleep with her head in your lap and you'd slowly untangle the braid she had in, raking your fingers through her hair as a way to soothe yourself.

+ the way abby looks at you makes you swoon every. damn. time. it could be during patrol, when you read to her, or even when you're eating. she looks at you with so much love. every time you catch her eyes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

+ i think abby would be very comfortable saying 'i love you'. she would prefer say how she feels rather than show you. it's important you hear the words so they can be engraved in your mind.

+ abby is scary. she has huge muscles, she's one of the best soldiers, and people who go on patrol with her know what she is capable of. it's only natural that people started treating you with more respect when you two got together.

+ if she heard anyone talking badly about or gossipping she would shut it down immediately. there's literally a part of the game where she goes around humbling the fuck out of people for talking about ow*n. so yes, best believe she's doing that for you too.

bonus:

+ i LUV the wlf!nurse x abby anderson fics so here's something about that; she would spot the smallest cut on her arm after patrol and her first instinct would be to see you. you'd laugh at how silly it was while you cleaned the wound, not realising abby was only here to see you.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ one of me is cute, but two, though?

chapter summary: Now that you are finally pregnant, you and Logan embark on the 9 month journey.

word count: 10.9k+ (23.9k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this spans 9 months of reader's pregnancy. i didn't write every single week; i tried to hit the main milestones. i researched every stage of pregnancy, so if anything's wrong... idk man, i'm 20, i'm not gonna get pregnant just for a fic

also apparently 24k words is too much for tumblr, so this is split in 2 parts

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, a few mentions of puking, protective!logan, protective!laura, hormones, pregnancy, giving birth

series masterlist - chapter 14 → chapter 15.5

6 Weeks

You should’ve expected it, especially since it happened the past three days at the exact same time, but as soon as you finished getting dressed in the morning and right before you put your shoes on, you ran to the bathroom, kneeling down by the toilet just in time.

The nausea hit hard, a wave that left you gripping the rim of the toilet bowl like it was your lifeline. Your stomach churned, and before you knew it, you were emptying what little breakfast you’d managed to get down. The experience was far from new at this point, but it wasn’t getting any easier.

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps approaching until Logan’s voice cut through the haze. “Y/N?” His tone was cautious, concerned, and so unmistakably him that it was enough to keep you grounded.

You groaned in response, resting your forehead against your arm as you waited for the nausea to subside. A moment later, Logan was crouched beside you, his large hand resting gently on your back.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, brushing your hair out of your face. “That’s the third day in a row. You alright?”

You glanced up at him, feeling pale and a little miserable. “Not really,” you admitted. “I think I hate mornings now.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “You been keepin’ anything down?”

“Not much,” you murmured. “I managed half a piece of toast before…” You gestured vaguely at the toilet.

Logan sighed, his hand moving in soothing circles on your back. “Jean say this was normal?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning back slightly. “She said morning sickness can be bad for some people, and apparently, I’m one of them. Lucky me.”

“Did she say there’s anything you can do about it?” he pressed, his brows knitting together.

“Small meals, ginger tea, crackers… all the stuff I’ve already been trying. She said it’ll probably ease up in a few weeks, though.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his worry evident despite his best efforts to mask it. He didn’t say anything right away, just reached over to grab a washcloth from the sink, running it under cool water before handing it to you.

“Here,” he said, his voice softer now. “For your face.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, pressing the cloth to your forehead. The coolness helped a little, enough that you finally managed to push yourself into a sitting position. “I’m sorry,” you added after a moment, avoiding his gaze.

Logan frowned. “What’re you apologizin’ for?”

You shrugged weakly. “Being a mess? Throwing up every morning? I don’t know… take your pick.”

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’re growin’ a whole damn human in there. If throwin’ up comes with the territory, then so be it.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that. “A whole human, huh?”

“That’s right,” Logan said, his lips twitching into a smirk. “And that’s no small thing, darlin’. You’re doin’ great.”

“Even when I’m hugging a toilet?” you teased lightly, though there was a flicker of gratitude in your voice.

“Especially then,” Logan shot back, his smirk softening into something gentler. He stood, offering you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to bed. You need rest.”

“Laura’s going to barge in the second I lie down,” you pointed out, taking his hand and letting him help you up.

“I’ll handle Laura,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You just focus on feelin’ better.”

You let him guide you back to the bed, where he tucked you in with surprising tenderness for someone as rough around the edges as Logan. He brushed a kiss against your temple before heading for the door.

“Logan,” you called softly, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned, his expression warm. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was rare but always genuine. “Always, sweetheart.” And with that, he slipped out of the room, leaving you with the faintest sense of comfort despite the nausea still lingering in your stomach.

---

7 Weeks

The mansion was quiet, a rarity given the number of kids running around, but late afternoons often brought a lull. You sat at the desk in the bedroom you shared with Logan, grading papers from the physics summer course you were teaching. A warm cup of tea sat beside you, untouched and long since gone cold.

Your hand paused over the last problem on a student’s worksheet, your mind wandering for the hundredth time that day.

Logan had been right—taking it one day at a time helped. But now, in the stillness of the room, the weight of the unknown crept back in. You set down your pen and rested a hand on your stomach, the gesture automatic. There wasn’t much to feel yet, just a faint heaviness, but the knowledge of what was growing there made your chest tighten in equal parts wonder and fear.

The door creaked open, and Logan stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He carried a small tray with what looked like a sandwich and some sliced fruit.

“Brought you something,” he said, setting it down on the desk. His gaze lingered on the untouched tea. “Figured you’d need it since you forgot about that.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, Logan. I got caught up with grading.”

He nodded, leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossing over his chest. His sharp eyes scanned the stack of papers. “You overworkin’ again?”

“No,” you replied, a bit too quickly, earning a skeptical raise of his eyebrow. “I’m just… distracted.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he crouched down so he was eye level with you. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the desk. “It’s nothing, really. Just… I hit seven weeks today. I guess I’m having a hard time relaxing.”

His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “I get it, darlin’. I do.” He reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the desk. “But you’re doin’ good. Everything’s good so far. And whatever happens, I’m here.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, his words grounding you. “I know. I just… I keep waiting for something to go wrong. Like if I let myself be happy about this, it’ll get taken away again.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Listen to me. You deserve to feel happy about this. You deserve to be excited. And I’ll be damned if I let anything make you think otherwise.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “How do you always know what to say?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Years of practice.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his steady presence washing over you. When you finally pulled back, Logan nudged the plate closer.

“Now, eat somethin’, will ya? You’re not just feedin’ yourself anymore.”

You rolled your eyes but picked up a slice of apple anyway. “Yes, sir.”

Logan chuckled, his rough voice warm and teasing. “If that’s what it takes to get you to listen.”

For the first time all day, you felt lighter, the knot in your chest loosening. One day at a time. Logan was right—you could do this.

---

Week 8

You closed your eyes as Jean pressed the cold, slick ultrasound wand against your stomach. The gel was cold, but it barely registered over the anxiety clawing at your chest. You had to remind yourself to breathe, to focus on the sound of Jean’s calm voice explaining the process.

“It’s not going to be much yet,” she said gently, her tone laced with understanding. “At eight weeks, we’re mostly just checking to make sure everything looks as it should.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes shut tightly. You weren’t sure if you were more afraid of opening them and seeing something wrong—or seeing something right and letting yourself hope too much. It was easier to stay in the limbo of uncertainty.

“You don’t have to look yet,” Jean added, her voice soothing. “I’ll tell you when I’ve got a good image.”

Logan’s hand found yours, his grip solid and grounding. He hadn’t said much since you’d come into the medical bay, but his presence was enough. He stood beside the exam table, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, even through your nerves.

“You’re okay, darlin’,” Logan murmured, his rough voice low and steady. “Jean’s got this. And I’m right here.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, and you squeezed his in return, drawing strength from the simple gesture. You wanted to believe him, to trust that everything was fine, but the memory of your first pregnancy lingered like a shadow—constant, inescapable.

Jean’s voice pulled you back. “Alright,” she said softly. “I’ve got a clear image now. Do you want to see?”

You hesitated, your hand tightening around Logan’s. For a moment, you thought about saying no. Maybe it would be safer to keep your eyes closed, to protect yourself from the possibility of another heartbreak. But Logan’s hand squeezed yours again, his presence anchoring you.

“Go on, darlin’,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You can do this.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes and turned your head toward the screen. The black-and-white image was blurry, abstract, and nothing like the clear, perfect pictures you’d seen in movies. Still, it was there—a tiny shape nestled in the center of it all.

“That’s…” Your voice faltered, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “That’s it?”

Jean smiled, her expression warm. “That’s it. Everything looks perfect so far. The sac is measuring exactly where it should be, and the embryo looks healthy.”

You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your chest. There was a faint flicker of movement, too small to register as anything significant but enough to spark something in you—hope, tentative and fragile but real.

“You won’t hear a heartbeat yet,” Jean added, her voice soft but matter-of-fact. “That usually starts closer to ten or twelve weeks. But this…” She gestured to the screen, her smile widening. “This is a really good sign.”

Logan leaned closer, his gaze fixed on the screen. He didn’t say anything, but his hand stayed wrapped around yours, his thumb still stroking gently over your skin.

“You seein’ this?” he asked after a moment, his voice unusually quiet.

You nodded, barely able to tear your eyes away from the screen. “I see it.”

For the first time in weeks—maybe years—you felt the tight knot in your chest begin to loosen. The fear didn’t vanish entirely, but it faded enough for something else to take its place.

Hope.

---

Later that evening, you sat curled up on the couch in the living room, a blanket draped over your legs. Laura was perched on the armrest beside you, her small frame leaning against your shoulder. She’d been unusually quiet since you came back from the medical bay, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Logan as if trying to read something in your expressions.

“Is it okay?” she asked finally, her voice soft but direct.

You glanced at Logan, who was sitting in the armchair across from you, his arms resting on the sides. He gave you a small nod, leaving it to you to answer.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling down at Laura. “Everything looks good so far.”

Her face didn’t change much, but she nodded once, her small hand brushing against yours. “Good,” she said simply. Then, as if the moment had passed, she hopped down from the armrest and grabbed the TV remote. “Can we watch cartoons now?”

You laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in a long time. “Sure, kiddo. Cartoons it is.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as Laura flipped through channels with the intensity of someone searching for buried treasure. His gaze shifted back to you, warm and steady.

“You feelin’ better?” he asked, his voice low enough that Laura wouldn’t overhear.

You nodded, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I think I am.”

---

Week 9

You heard the pop before you felt it.

“What the—” Your bra fell down your arms, the clasps in the back undone. You froze for a moment, your face heating up as you struggled to process what just happened. With a groan, you grabbed the fabric and clutched it to your chest, muttering under your breath.

From the doorway of your shared bedroom, Logan’s voice rumbled. “Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?”

You whipped your head toward him, your cheeks flaming. “Uh, yeah. My bra just… it just broke.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the offending garment in your hands. His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Broke? You sure it didn’t just give up?”

“Logan!” you hissed, though your voice cracked with laughter despite yourself. “Not helping.”

He stepped further into the room, his expression softening as he took in your flustered state. “Alright, alright. Let me see.”

You held the ruined bra up for inspection, the snapped clasps dangling uselessly. Logan leaned in, squinting at it like it was some kind of malfunctioning machinery. “Guess it couldn’t handle all the changes, huh?”

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him with your free hand. “I’m already hormonal. Don’t make me cry over a bra.”

Logan chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, sweetheart. No jokes. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Your body’s goin’ through a lot. It’s probably time to pick up some new stuff.”

You sighed, tossing the broken bra onto the bed. “I know. Jean mentioned this might happen, but I didn’t think I’d outgrow my clothes this fast.”

Logan moved closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you gently into his chest. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “How ‘bout we take a trip into town tomorrow? Pick up whatever you need.”

You leaned into him, letting his warmth calm the frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “You’re gonna come with me? To shop for bras?”

“Why not?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Ain’t like I haven’t seen you in ‘em before.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softening again. “But I’m yours. And you need new stuff, so we’ll get it.”

You let out a small laugh, looking up at him. “Thanks, Logan.”

He brushed a kiss against your temple. “Always, darlin’. Now, why don’t you grab somethin’ else to wear, and I’ll meet you downstairs for dinner? Laura’s already pokin’ around the kitchen lookin’ for snacks.”

You smiled at the mention of Laura, the protective little girl who had taken to shadowing you more and more since your pregnancy was revealed. “Alright. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Logan gave your waist a gentle squeeze before releasing you and heading for the door. “Don’t keep her waitin’,” he said over his shoulder. “Kid’s got no patience.”

---

Later that evening, you were curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing one of Logan’s oversized flannels over your tank top. Laura was nestled beside you, her small hands busy with a coloring book while Logan sat in his usual chair, a beer in hand.

Laura glanced up from her work, her sharp eyes narrowing on you. “You still look tired,” she said bluntly.

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her observation. “Well, thanks for pointing that out, Laura.”

Logan snorted, hiding a smirk behind his beer. “Kid’s got a point,” he muttered.

Laura ignored him, her focus still on you. “Are you sick again?”

“No,” you assured her quickly, not wanting her to worry. “I’m just tired from growing the baby. It takes a lot of energy.”

She nodded, her expression serious. “So you have to eat more. And sleep more. That’s what Jean said.”

You exchanged a glance with Logan, who was clearly trying not to laugh. “Jean’s right,” you said, reaching out to ruffle Laura’s hair. “I’ll try to rest more, okay?”

Laura seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to her coloring, but not before scooting just a little closer to you. Logan caught the movement and raised an eyebrow, his gaze softening as he looked between the two of you.

“You’re doin’ fine, darlin’,” he said quietly, his voice meant just for you. “Better than fine.”

You smiled at him, the familiar warmth of his presence chasing away any lingering worries. One day at a time, you reminded yourself. And with Logan and Laura by your side, you felt like you could handle anything.

---

The next day, you and Logan made it into town to look for new bras, specifically in the maternity section. The store wasn’t too busy, which was a relief. It meant fewer awkward stares as Logan stood beside you, thoroughly inspecting every single rack like a man on a mission. At one point, he grabbed a maternity shirt and held it up by the hanger, studying it with an almost comical intensity.

"This thing’s big enough to camp in," he muttered, stretching the fabric experimentally.

You stifled a laugh, tugging the shirt from his hands. "That’s the point, Logan. They’re supposed to be loose and comfy."

"Still," he replied, raising an eyebrow, "how much bigger are these clothes gonna get? You gonna need a damn tarp by the end of this?"

You playfully smacked his arm with the hanger you were holding. "Don’t tempt fate."

Logan smirked but didn’t push further, letting his hand rest lightly on your lower back as you moved toward the bras. It wasn’t lost on you how protective he was, his touch constant but unobtrusive. The two of you had waited so long for this—he wasn’t about to take any chances.

The maternity bras sat in neat rows, a variety of soft fabrics and bland colors. You bit your lip, feeling oddly embarrassed even though you were literally shopping for a necessity. Logan, of course, noticed your hesitation.

"Y’need help pickin’ one out?" he asked, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between the two of you.

"No," you said quickly, your cheeks heating. Then you softened. "Maybe."

Logan nodded, reaching over to examine a plain beige bra, holding it like it was some kind of alien artifact. "This one looks soft," he said.

"That’s a nursing bra," you informed him with a tiny laugh. "It’s for after the baby comes."

"Oh." He shrugged and put it back, unbothered. "So what kinda bra are we lookin’ for here, then?"

You covered your face with both hands, overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. "I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in public."

"Darlin'," Logan said, amused but patient, "you’ve been throwin’ up in front of me for weeks, and we’re havin’ a baby together. You think I care if people overhear us talkin’ about bras?"

He had a point, damn him. Lowering your hands, you gave him a sheepish smile and started thumbing through the racks. He stood there silently, just a steady presence beside you, only stepping in to lift something off a higher rack when you needed it.

"How about this one?" he asked, holding up a pale blue option with some lace detail at the top.

You gave it a quick look and nodded. "That works."

He raised an eyebrow. "Just ‘works’? That ain’t much enthusiasm."

"Logan," you whispered, giving him a sharp look, "I don’t need it to spark joy. I just need it to fit."

That earned a chuckle from him. "Fair enough."

With a small pile of options in hand, you made your way to the fitting room. Logan stood just outside, arms crossed, looking as intimidating as ever and thoroughly discouraging anyone from approaching. You tried a couple on before stepping out to show him one that actually felt comfortable.

"How’s this?" you asked, feeling weirdly self-conscious.

Logan’s eyes moved briefly to the bra before meeting your gaze. "Looks good," he said simply, his tone free of teasing this time. "Fits alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"Then we’re good," he said. "Grab a couple of those."

"Just one or two," you corrected him. "I’ll probably need different ones as I get bigger."

Logan raised a brow but didn’t argue. "Fine, but if it gets too tight, you tell me, and we’ll come back. No arguments."

"Deal," you agreed, retreating into the fitting room to finish up.

---

Back at the mansion that evening, you walked into the kitchen to find Laura perched on a stool at the counter, munching on a slice of apple. She looked up as you entered, her sharp gaze immediately landing on the shopping bag in your hand.

"What's that?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Clothes," you said, setting the bag down. "I needed a couple of new things."

Laura frowned slightly, as though processing this information. "Because the baby’s making you bigger?"

"Exactly," you said, impressed by how quickly she’d pieced it together.

Laura chewed her apple thoughtfully. "Jean said you might not feel good sometimes. Do you feel better now?"

"I do," you said, smiling at her. "Thanks for asking, Laura."

"Good," she said firmly, hopping off the stool. Then she grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the living room. "You should sit down. Jean says that helps."

Logan, already in the room flipping through the TV channels, looked up and smirked. "You got a bossy little nurse there, darlin’."

"I’m looking after her," Laura said matter-of-factly, settling beside you on the couch and leaning into your side.

"I can see that," Logan said with a chuckle, settling into his armchair.

You glanced down at Laura, your heart warming at her seriousness. It might’ve taken a long time to get here, but this—Logan’s quiet love, Laura’s fierce protectiveness—was more than worth the wait.

---

Week 10

You could feel tears coming on at the predicament right in front of you. Your jeans weren’t fitting. And all you could think about was how you should’ve gotten them when you went last week.

Logan found you standing in the closet, glaring down at the waistband of your jeans as though sheer force of will could make them zip.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You huffed, tossing your hands up in defeat. “No! I’m not alright. My jeans won’t zip, and now I’m realizing I should’ve bought maternity ones last week, but noooo, I had to be stubborn and say, ‘Oh, I’ll be fine for another month.’” Your voice wavered, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Logan stepped into the room, his brows furrowing as he took in the situation. “Hey, it’s no big deal. We’ll go back into town and get you some new ones.”

“That’s not the point!” you said, your voice cracking. “I didn’t want to need them yet. I wanted to be able to wear my regular clothes for a little longer. I just—I feel ridiculous for crying over jeans.”

“C’mere,” Logan said softly, pulling you into his arms. You melted into his chest, letting out a shaky breath as his steady heartbeat anchored you. “It’s not ridiculous. Your body’s changin’ a lot, and it’s a lot to take in. You’re allowed to feel however you need to.”

You sniffled, your face pressed against his flannel. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been all over the place lately.”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his hand gently rubbing your back. “You’re growin’ a whole person, Y/N. You think I don’t get that’s a big deal? You’ve been strong for years, darlin’. Let me take some of that weight for a while.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, his rugged face soft with affection. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

Logan smirked, his thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, feeling a little lighter. “Okay, fine. Let’s go back to town. But you’re carrying the bags this time.”

“Deal,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Now, how about you wear somethin’ comfortable, and we’ll head out?”

You nodded, grabbing one of his oversized flannels to throw on over a stretchy pair of leggings.

---

At the store, Logan fell into his usual rhythm of standing nearby with his arms crossed, a quiet force of nature who somehow made the maternity section feel safer. He didn’t rush you or make any comments about the overwhelming selection, but he was there every time you needed help reaching something or an opinion on the fit.

As you held up a pair of maternity jeans to inspect them, Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Those look like they could stretch to fit the Hulk.”

“They’re supposed to,” you said, half-laughing. “They have a stretchy waistband so they grow with you.”

“Smart,” he muttered, then glanced down the aisle where a couple of women were watching him. “Why do I feel like I’m the main attraction here?”

“Because you’re a grumpy-looking man in the maternity section,” you teased, smirking as you added the jeans to your cart. “They’re probably wondering if you got lost.”

Logan gave you a dry look. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” you said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

---

Back at the mansion, you were folding your new clothes in the bedroom when Laura appeared in the doorway.

“What’s in the bag?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Clothes,” you replied, holding up the new jeans. “For when the baby keeps growing.”

Laura frowned thoughtfully. “Your old ones didn’t fit anymore?”

“Not really,” you said. “But that’s okay. These will be a lot more comfortable.”

Laura climbed onto the bed and picked up one of your shirts, running her small fingers over the fabric. “Jean said your body is working hard because of the baby. Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” you said, sitting beside her. “Sometimes it’s uncomfortable, but it’s worth it. You’ll get to meet them soon enough.”

Laura’s lips twitched into a small smile, and she placed the shirt back into the pile. “Jean said I should look after you. So if you need help, you have to tell me.”

Your heart swelled at her earnestness. “Deal. Thanks, Laura.”

She nodded seriously, then hopped off the bed. “Logan’s downstairs. He said you should eat something.”

You chuckled. “Of course he did. I’ll be down in a minute.”

As Laura scampered off, you shook your head, a fond smile on your face. Between Logan’s unwavering support and Laura’s fierce determination to take care of you, you knew you were in good hands.

---

Week 11

“I’m just a little worried about my age, Jean. I’ve been reading up on women getting pregnant at 40 and—”

Jean looked up from her clipboard, “you’re 40?”

You blinked, “…yeah? Why do you sound so surprised? You’ve known me for like 15 years.”

Jean froze, her pen hovering over the clipboard. “Hold on a second.” She spun her chair to face the desk, typing something into the computer at lightning speed. Her expression shifted from surprise to something closer to intrigue as she clicked through files.

“Jean?” You raised an eyebrow, clutching your sweater a little tighter around yourself. “What are you looking for?”

“Give me a second,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen. “This is… interesting.”

You folded your arms, equal parts curious and impatient. “Interesting how?”

Jean finally turned back to you, her lips quirking into a small smile. “I don’t think your body knows how to age properly.”

“What?” you asked, laughing nervously. “What does that even mean?”

Jean gestured toward the computer. “Your time manipulation powers—they’re doing more than you think. From what I can tell, they’ve essentially slowed your aging process to a crawl. Biologically, you’re probably closer to 25 or 30.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. “Wait… what?”

Jean chuckled softly. “I’m serious, Y/N. It explains why you don’t have the typical markers we’d expect in someone your age. Your body’s holding on in a way that’s… well, almost like Logan’s.”

You blinked, struggling to process. “You’re saying I’m… not 40?”

“You’re 40 chronologically,” Jean clarified. “But physically? Not so much.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That’s… wild. But it does explain why I don’t have as many gray hairs as I should.”

Jean smirked. “Exactly. And hey, this is good news for the pregnancy. Your body’s in its prime for this. Strong, healthy, ready to handle anything.”

“Even another shopping trip?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Jean laughed. “Especially that. Though, if Logan’s involved, I’d call it survival training.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Jean. For, you know, all of this.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “And hey, you’ve got this, Y/N. I’m here if you need anything.”

You nodded, letting her words sink in. It was a lot to process, but in some strange way, it was comforting. Another piece of the puzzle that was your life—and another reason Logan always seemed to look at you like you were timeless.

---

That evening, you found yourself curled up on the couch, glasses slipping down your nose as you read a book. Logan walked into the living room, holding two mugs of tea. He set one on the side table next to you and sank into the armchair across from you.

“Jean say anything interesting today?” he asked, watching you over the rim of his mug.

You hesitated, glancing at him. “She said my powers are keeping me young.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “Apparently, my body’s been stuck in time this whole… time.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his mug down. “Guess that explains why you never change. You’ve looked the same since the day I met you.”

You smiled, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Just makes sense. You’re always gonna be you, darlin’. Powers or not.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his tone hitting you square in the heart. “You really mean that?”

Logan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he held your gaze. “Y/N, I’ve known you through lifetimes. You’ve always been you—smart, stubborn, and the strongest person I know. This doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

He smirked, his eyes softening. “Someone’s gotta be.”

---

Week 12

Jean pressed the wand to your stomach, the ultrasound screen lighting up in grayscale. The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the machine. You held your breath, your fingers tightly gripping Logan's hand as you lay back on the examination table. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over your knuckles, a small, grounding gesture that helped calm your nerves.

Jean’s brow furrowed in concentration as she moved the wand around. Then, her face softened, a small smile spreading across her lips.

“There it is,” she murmured, pointing to a small flicker on the screen. “See that? That’s the heartbeat.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes welling with tears as you stared at the screen. That tiny, fluttering motion felt like the most miraculous thing you’d ever seen.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “That’s… that’s them?”

Logan’s hand tightened around yours as he leaned closer to the screen, his gaze fixed on the tiny image. “That’s them,” he echoed, his voice low and full of wonder.

Jean nodded, her smile widening. “Twelve weeks along, and everything looks perfect. Strong heartbeat, healthy growth—your baby’s doing great.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes with your free hand. “I can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real, sweetheart,” Logan said softly, his eyes never leaving the screen. There was a quiet reverence in his tone, as if he was afraid to break the spell.

Jean glanced between the two of you, her expression warm and affectionate. “Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak. Jean adjusted the settings, and a steady, rhythmic sound filled the room. It was the most beautiful noise you’d ever heard—a strong, rapid thrum that seemed to echo in your chest.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes glistening as he listened. “That’s incredible,” he murmured.

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling at the raw emotion on his face. “Logan…”

He met your gaze, his expression softening. “You did this, darlin’. You’re amazing.”

“We did this,” you corrected, your voice thick with emotion.

Jean gave you both a moment before breaking the silence. “I’ll print some pictures for you to take home. And if you’re ready, we can start talking about the next steps—appointments, tests, all that fun stuff.”

You nodded, still a little dazed. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

As Jean moved to print the images, Logan helped you sit up, his hand resting protectively on your back. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You smiled up at him, your tears returning. “Better than okay. I’m happy. Really, really happy.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Good. You deserve that.”

Jean returned with the printed images, handing them to you with a grin. “Here you go. Something to stick on the fridge.”

You held the pictures carefully, your fingers trembling. “Thank you, Jean. For everything.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice gentle. “You know I’m always here for you.”

As you left the medical wing, Logan kept a steady hand on your lower back, his touch firm and reassuring. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the ultrasound pictures held tightly in your hands.

When you reached the living room, Laura was perched on the couch, a coloring book spread out in front of her. She looked up as you entered, her sharp eyes immediately zeroing in on the pictures.

“What’s that?” she asked, tilting her head.

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He crouched down to her level, his tone gentle. “It’s pictures of the baby.”

Laura’s eyes widened, and she slid off the couch, padding over to you. “The baby?”

You knelt down, holding the pictures out for her to see. “Yeah, look. That little spot right there? That’s your baby brother or sister.”

Laura studied the images closely, her expression unreadable. Then, she looked up at you, her brows furrowing. “They’re really small.”

“They’re growing,” Logan said with a small smile. “They’ll get bigger.”

Laura nodded slowly, then surprised you by leaning forward and wrapping her arms around your neck. “I’m gonna help take care of them,” she said firmly, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

Your throat tightened, and you hugged her back. “I know you will, sweetie. You’re going to be an amazing big sister.”

From behind you, Logan’s voice was quiet but filled with pride. “We’re all pretty lucky, huh?”

Laura pulled back, nodding solemnly. “Yeah. We are.”

---

Week 13

The sun filtered through the windows of the mansion’s common area, casting warm streaks of light across the hardwood floor. You sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, reviewing the lesson plans for your upcoming physics class. Laura sat across from you, her coloring book open, crayons scattered around like little explosions of color. She was quiet, her tongue peeking out in concentration as she worked on her masterpiece.

Logan’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, his familiar silhouette appearing in the doorway. He held a grocery bag in one hand and a small bouquet of wildflowers in the other. His eyes met yours, and he gave you that small, crooked smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Brought somethin’ for you,” he said, holding up the flowers.

You blinked, surprised, as he walked over to you. “Flowers? Logan, what’s the occasion?”

He set them on the table in front of you, then leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Do I need a reason?”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over the soft petals. “No, but it’s sweet. Thank you.”

Laura glanced up from her coloring, eyeing the flowers critically. “Why flowers? She doesn’t eat flowers.”

Logan snorted, ruffling her hair as he sat down at the table. “Not everything’s about food, kid.”

Laura frowned, clearly unconvinced, but went back to her coloring.

Logan leaned back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking. “How you feelin’ today?”

You shrugged, setting your lesson plans aside. “Tired, but not as bad as last week. Jean said the second trimester is supposed to be easier.”

He nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Good. You need to take it easy.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I’m pregnant, Logan. Not fragile.”

He smirked. “You’re both. Humor me.”

Before you could respond, Laura spoke up, her head still bent over her coloring. “Are you gonna get fat now?”

You choked on a laugh, while Logan let out a bark of amusement. “Laura!” you said, half-laughing, half-scolding.

“What?” she asked innocently, looking up at you. “Jean said the baby makes your belly big.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Logan said, his grin widening. “You’re gonna be waddlin’ around here in no time.”

You glared at him, though your lips twitched with amusement. “Don’t you start.”

“Not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, darlin’,” he teased, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hand. “Kinda lookin’ forward to it.”

Laura tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Why?”

Logan’s expression softened as he looked at you, his voice quieter now. “’Cause it means the baby’s growin’. Means we’re gettin’ closer to meetin’ ‘em.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot all your fatigue, all your worries. You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “Me too.”

Laura made a face. “You’re being mushy again.”

Logan ruffled her hair. “Get used to it, kid.”

---

Week 14

You opened up the freezer, looking for your carton of strawberry ice cream—something you didn’t particularly like before getting pregnant. You moved around some of the food in the freezer, looking for the familiar carton.

As you were looking, Scott and Hank came into the kitchen, putting two small bowls in the sink.

You peeked your head around the freezer door, eyes narrowing in disbelief. The carton of strawberry ice cream you had been craving for days was nowhere to be found. Instead, there were two small bowls in the sink, both with remnants of what looked like your ice cream.

Scott and Hank were standing nearby, chatting like nothing was amiss. Your hand gripped the edge of the freezer door tighter, your jaw clenching. You had specifically labeled that carton. In big bold letters. Y/N ONLY.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice a little sharper than usual as you stepped into the kitchen. You weren’t about to let this slide. “It was labeled.”

Scott turned around, his face a picture of innocence—though you knew better. He adjusted his glasses, a little nervous. “Oh, uh… sorry, Y/N. We just figured… you know, you weren’t around and—”

You didn’t let him finish. Before you could even stop yourself, you were across the counter, right in his space. Your fingers shot out, grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging him toward you. “You figured? You figured?”

Scott's eyes widened, clearly startled. “Y/N—"

"Don't Y/N me. That was my ice cream. My craving,” you snapped, glaring at him. “This wasn’t up for negotiation. You don’t just take something that’s clearly not yours.”

Hank froze, eyes darting between you and Scott, unsure whether to intervene.

Scott, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat, his face turning a shade of red you rarely saw. “Look, I—"

“Don’t make excuses. You—” You gave his shirt one more yank, your voice lower but heated, “—you knew it was mine. And yet here we are with two empty bowls. What part of ‘Y/N ONLY’ do you not understand?”

You were so worked up, you didn’t even hear Logan's heavy footsteps approaching from down the hall. He had been coming back from the garage, his usual silent presence somehow more imposing when you were mad.

"Hey." Logan's voice cut through the tension in the room, his tone low but firm. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes narrowing when he saw the situation. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, trying to keep you calm. “What’s going on here?”

Your hands were still gripping Scott’s shirt, and you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears. You didn’t want to seem ridiculous, but the irritation was bubbling over. “They took my ice cream, Logan. And not just a scoop. The whole carton.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at Scott and Hank before settling his gaze on you. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it didn’t stop him from stepping closer, his presence radiating a calm that made the air in the room feel a little less thick.

“Is that so?” he said, his voice smooth, but you could hear the slight edge of a smile in his words. He placed a hand on your back, gently guiding you away from Scott. You released the collar of Scott’s shirt, but only because Logan was there, giving you that quiet, steady presence you couldn’t resist.

Scott coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well, it was,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring at the now-empty freezer.

Logan gave Scott a pointed look. “How many times have I told you, Scott? Don’t touch things that aren’t yours.” He turned to Hank, who was still silently observing the situation. “And you, too.”

Hank held up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t even know it was labeled. It wasn’t my fault. I was just—”

“—Just being an idiot?” Logan finished for him, eyes flickering over the pair of them.

Scott didn’t respond right away, clearly not prepared for Logan’s intensity. Hank, on the other hand, was nervously shifting, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal,” Hank said, his voice apologetic but unsure.

Logan's gaze flickered to Hank, then back to Scott. “You don’t get to decide that, not when it’s someone else’s. You’ve got a whole damn kitchen to raid, and you choose her craving?” He turned back to you, his hand briefly squeezing your shoulder. “You good?”

You let out a slow breath, the irritation still bubbling but mostly contained now. “I’m fine. Just… seriously. The one thing I’ve been craving for weeks, and they—”

Logan’s hand on your shoulder tightened just enough to ground you. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” He turned back to Scott and Hank, his expression hardening. “And just for the record, I’m not going to let this slide.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Scott said, though it was clear he didn’t know how to salvage the situation. He seemed genuinely remorseful, but that didn’t change what had happened.

You stared at them, your pulse still a little elevated. “You’re both lucky I’m pregnant right now and not about to throttle you.”

Logan let out a soft laugh, his anger melting into a small, more familiar smirk. He placed his hand on your back, guiding you toward the kitchen table. “I’ll handle it, darlin’.” He turned toward the two men, who were looking somewhat sheepish. “You two better make this right.”

Before either of them could respond, you shot them a pointed look. “Yeah, you can start by getting me another carton of ice cream. And this time, don’t touch it.”

Scott and Hank exchanged uneasy glances, clearly defeated. “Got it,” Scott muttered.

With a final, almost resigned sigh, you pulled out the chair and sank into it. Logan slid into the seat next to you, his hand sliding over your back in a slow, reassuring motion. He shot Scott and Hank one more look before they silently left the kitchen, no doubt off to “make things right.”

“I swear,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I’ve got enough on my plate without having to deal with this.”

Logan chuckled quietly, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. “You’re doing fine. You’ve got a lot to handle. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and affection. “Though, next time they touch your stuff, I’ll make sure they know what a mistake they made.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “I’m starting to think you enjoy this a little too much.”

He grinned. “Maybe a little. But only when it’s deserved.”

Just then, Laura appeared in the doorway, her small figure looking up at the two of you with a serious expression. “What happened to your ice cream?” she asked innocently, her eyes already darting between you and Logan.

You glanced at Logan, sharing a look. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’re working on it, kid.”

Laura tilted her head, looking confused but not asking any more questions. Instead, she padded over to you, climbing into your lap with surprising ease for a five-year-old. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her little hands resting on your stomach.

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling at the gesture. “Yeah, sweetie, I’m okay. Just a little… frustrated.”

Laura nodded solemnly, her brow furrowing. “I’ll protect your ice cream next time.”

Logan’s laugh was low, but it felt good to hear. “I’m sure you will, kiddo.” He ruffled her hair lightly, then turned back to you. “Guess we’re all looking out for each other.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

---

Week 15

You walked out of the bathroom after finishing your shower, seeing both Logan and Laura on the bed with a book in his hands.

“Hey, you two. What’re you readin’?”

Laura, who had an apple she’d barely taken a bite of, crawled to the end of the bed with all the solemnity of a child on a very important mission. She held the fruit out, lining it up with your stomach like she was conducting a scientific study. Her small face was scrunched up in concentration, her dark eyes flickering between the apple and your belly.

“It says the baby’s the size of this now,” she announced matter-of-factly, her voice a mix of curiosity and pride at having learned something new.

You blinked at her, then at Logan, who was lounging against the headboard with a well-worn pregnancy book open in his hands. His eyes met yours, the corners crinkling as a grin tugged at his lips. “She’s been real focused on this chapter,” he said, his tone warm, amused.

Laura turned back to you, still holding the apple in front of your stomach like it was a critical experiment. “Is it true? Is it really this big?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Yep, that’s about right,” you said, adjusting the towel around your shoulders as you sat on the edge of the bed. “Fifteen weeks, so it’s about the size of an apple.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked at the fruit like she didn’t quite trust it. “That doesn’t seem very big.”

“Well, it’s gotta start small,” Logan interjected, flipping a page in the book. “Baby’s got a lotta growin’ left to do.”

Laura nodded slowly, seeming to accept that logic. She finally took a proper bite of the apple, chewing thoughtfully before climbing back up the bed to settle between the two of you. “What happens next?” she asked, craning her neck to look at the book in Logan’s hands.

Logan raised an eyebrow at you, silently asking if you were okay with the impromptu lesson. When you nodded, he shifted the book so Laura could see the page. “Next couple weeks, baby gets bigger, starts growin’ stronger. Might even start hearin’ things soon,” he explained, his voice patient in a way you’d only ever seen him use with her.

Laura’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

“Like voices. Yours, mine…” Logan paused, his gaze flickering to yours, softening. “Y/N’s.”

Her head snapped to you, her expression alight with wonder. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, your heart squeezing at the way she called you that so naturally now. “The baby will hear you too, though. So you’ll have to be careful what you say, okay?”

Laura’s face turned serious again, and she nodded like she was accepting an important mission. “I won’t say anything bad.”

Logan chuckled, setting the book aside and ruffling her hair. “Good. Don’t want the kid comin’ out with your attitude.”

Laura scowled, swatting at his hand. “I don’t have an attitude.”

“Sure you don’t, kid,” Logan teased, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help smiling at the exchange. “Alright, that’s enough,” you said, reaching over to tug Laura into your lap. She settled there easily, curling against you like she’d been doing it her whole life.

For a moment, the three of you sat there in comfortable silence, the soft hum of the mansion in the background. It was a rare, quiet moment, and you let yourself sink into it, your hand resting lightly over your stomach.

“You think the baby will like apples?” Laura asked suddenly, her head resting against your chest.

“Probably,” you said, running your fingers through her dark hair. “Especially since you’re already setting the example.”

Logan smirked, leaning back against the headboard with his arms crossed. “Yeah, but I bet they’ll like burgers better.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Not everything has to be about burgers, Logan.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “Just sayin’. It’s in their blood.”

Laura giggled, and you couldn’t help laughing too, the sound lightening the air around you. For all the chaos and uncertainty that life at the mansion brought, moments like this—small, quiet, filled with love—were what made it all worth it.

---

Week 17

After sitting on the couch for 30 minutes, enjoying a movie with Logan and Laura—though you had been drifting off since it started—you realized, once again, you had to go to the bathroom. Pregnancy had brought on all kinds of changes, but the constant bathroom trips were quickly climbing your personal list of “most inconvenient side effects.”

You stretched as you stood, steadying yourself by placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He glanced up at you, concern flickering in his eyes the moment he noticed the hesitation in your movement.

“You alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, the same roughness that usually made your heart flutter, now laced with worry.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a faint smile, adjusting your glasses. You hated when your body betrayed your independence, even in these little ways. “Just the baby crowding everything.”

As you stepped away, a faint dizziness made your vision swim. You instinctively reached out for support, clutching the side of the couch as the world wavered for a moment.

Logan was on his feet before you could take another breath, his hands steadying you with the kind of ease that came from years of knowing exactly how to support you. “Whoa there, take it easy,” he murmured, his strong arm curling around your waist.

Laura, who had been leaning against Logan moments before, looked over with wide, concerned eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, exhaling slowly as the dizziness passed. “Yeah, just stood up too fast.” You looked at Logan, who wasn’t quite convinced, his hand still resting on the small of your back. “I’m fine, really. It’s nothing Jean didn’t warn me about.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop worryin’,” Logan said, his voice firm but tender. “You’ve gotta be more careful.”

Laura jumped off the couch and padded over to you, her small hand slipping into yours. “Do you need me to get Jean?” she asked seriously, her forehead creased with concern.

Your heart melted a little at her earnestness. “I don’t think Jean needs to know about every time I get dizzy,” you said gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t mean it ain’t somethin’ to keep an eye on,” Logan interjected. “You want me to go with you?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “To the bathroom? I think I can handle that, Logan.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully relax. “Alright, but if it happens again, you’re tellin’ Jean.”

“Deal,” you said, though you knew he’d end up telling her himself if it came to that.

Laura tugged your hand gently, looking up at you with determination. “I’ll stay here, but if you need anything, yell. I’ll come running.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

As you shuffled off to the bathroom, Logan’s voice floated after you. “Take it slow, darlin’. No rush.”

You could hear Laura whispering something to Logan as you made your way down the hall. She was probably asking if you were going to be okay or demanding to know how she could help. Her protective streak, much like Logan’s, was something you’d grown to love more than you ever thought possible.

When you returned, Logan had coaxed Laura back onto the couch, but both their eyes snapped to you the moment you stepped into the room.

“Back in one piece,” you announced, trying to lighten the mood.

Laura crawled into your lap the moment you sat down, her tiny frame settling against your growing belly like it was the most natural thing in the world. She laid her head against your chest and muttered, “You scared me.”

You kissed the top of her head softly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll be more careful.”

Logan pulled the blanket up around the both of you, his arm draping along the back of the couch. The flickering light of the TV reflected in his warm eyes as he tilted his head to look at you. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m sure,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “But thanks for looking out for me. Both of you.”

“Always,” he said simply, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before resting back against the couch.

Laura’s tiny hand curled over your bump as if guarding the baby herself. “No more dizzy,” she mumbled sleepily.

“I’ll try my best,” you whispered, your heart swelling. Moments like this—wrapped in warmth, family close—reminded you just how much you had to look forward to.

---

Week 18

Jean glanced up from the monitor, her expression warm as she held the ultrasound wand steady. “Do you want to know the gender?” she asked, her voice gentle but curious. Her gaze flicked between you and Logan, her best attempt at gauging your reaction.

You glanced over at Logan, who was standing beside you with his arms crossed, his usual tough exterior softened by the faintest of smiles as he watched the monitor. The rhythmic whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, and for a moment, it was the only sound.

Logan’s eyes shifted to you, his brow quirking slightly. “Your call, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and steady.

You bit your lip, considering it for a moment, but the decision had already been made in your heart. “I think… I’d like to be surprised,” you said, looking back at Jean with a small, shy smile. “We’ve waited this long. What’s a few more months?”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Yeah, I’m with her. Let’s keep it a surprise.”

Jean grinned, clearly amused. “A surprise it is, then,” she said, setting the wand aside. “You’re officially stronger-willed than most.”

You smirked, adjusting your glasses as you shifted slightly on the exam table. “Well, we’re used to waiting. What’s another milestone?”

Jean’s expression softened at that, the unspoken weight of your journey hanging in the air. “The baby looks perfect,” she assured you, her tone quiet but firm. “Healthy, strong heartbeat, and measuring right on track. You’re doing great.”

Logan rested a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. “Told you,” he murmured, his voice warm and proud.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was genuine. “I never said I wasn’t doing great.”

Jean laughed softly, leaning back against the counter as she made a few notes in your chart. “You’re both doing great,” she said, glancing at Logan. “Even if one of you is a little overprotective.”

Logan shrugged, unbothered by the comment. “Can’t help it. She’s carrying my kid.”

“Your kid and her kid,” Jean teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. He turned his attention back to you, his hand lingering on your shoulder as if grounding himself in the moment. “You ready to head back?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as you adjusted your shirt. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Anytime,” she said, her tone warm and sincere. “And remember, Y/N—if you need anything, you’ve got me on speed dial. Don’t hesitate to call.”

You nodded, sliding off the table with Logan’s steadying hand at your elbow. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised.

As you made your way back to the mansion’s main hall, Logan’s hand remained at the small of your back, a protective presence that you’d grown to cherish. The sound of children’s laughter echoed down the hall, a reminder of how much life the mansion now held.

Laura was the first to spot you as you stepped into the living room, her dark eyes lighting up as she ran over to meet you. “Did you find out?” she asked eagerly, her small hands tugging at yours.

You crouched down, meeting her gaze with a smile. “We decided to wait,” you said softly. “It’ll be a surprise when the baby’s born.”

Laura’s face scrunched up in thought before she nodded firmly. “Okay. But I still think it’s a girl.”

Logan ruffled her hair as he passed by, his grin widening. “We’ll see, kiddo.”

One of the other children peeked out from behind the couch, their curiosity evident. “When’s the baby gonna be here?” they asked.

You smiled, settling onto the couch with Laura climbing into your lap. “Not for a while yet,” you said. “But I promise, you’ll all be the first to know when it’s time.”

As the children gathered around, peppering you with questions and theories about the baby, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of the moment settle over you. Logan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and a rare softness in his expression as he watched the scene unfold.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

---

Week 20

You were in the kitchen, eating some mango slices when Ororo came in, holding a few grocery bags. “Here ya go. You’re really going through them, huh?”

You grabbed the four-pack of tissue boxes, sighing as you placed them on the counter. “Yeah, they’ll all be gone in less than a week though.” You opened one of the boxes, pulling out a tissue to dab at your nose. “Pregnancy perk number… what are we on now? Five hundred? Congestion, my old friend.”

Ororo laughed softly as she began unpacking groceries. “I read that happens to a lot of pregnant women. Something about hormones making your nasal passages swell?”

You nodded, tossing the used tissue into the nearby trash can. “Exactly. It’s called pregnancy rhinitis. Apparently, it’s totally normal, but nobody warned me I’d feel like I had a permanent cold for nine months.”

“Well,” Ororo said, placing a carton of eggs in the fridge, “at least it’s not one of the really awful side effects. And hey, your sense of humor’s still intact.”

You smirked, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, but Logan’s probably going to start buying tissues in bulk soon. He caught me trying to steal one of his bandanas the other day.”

Ororo shook her head with a smile. “He’d let you use every bandana he owns if it made you feel better.”

“True,” you admitted, warmth spreading through your chest. Logan’s overprotectiveness could be exhausting at times, but it came from such a genuine place that it was hard not to appreciate it.

As Ororo started chatting about the latest drama among the students—something involving Bobby accidentally freezing the pool—you were reaching for another tissue when it happened. A sudden, fluttery sensation deep in your belly, like the faint brush of butterfly wings. You froze, your hand resting on your abdomen as a quiet gasp escaped your lips.

“What’s wrong?” Ororo asked immediately, her brow furrowing in concern.

Before you could answer, Logan appeared in the doorway, his expression tense and alert. “What happened?” His eyes darted to you, then to Ororo, searching for any sign of trouble.

You blinked up at him, your heart racing—not from fear, but from the realization of what you’d just felt. “I think… the baby just kicked.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, and he was at your side in an instant. “You sure?” His hand moved hesitantly toward your stomach, stopping just short as if waiting for permission.

You nodded, taking his hand and guiding it to the spot where you’d felt the movement. “Right here,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion.

For a moment, the three of you stood in silence, the anticipation almost tangible. Then, faint but unmistakable, the flutter came again. Logan’s fingers twitched slightly against your belly, his eyes softening as a rare, unguarded smile spread across his face.

“There it is,” he said quietly, awe evident in his voice. “That’s our kid.”

Ororo’s expression melted into one of pure joy as she stepped closer. “That’s amazing, Y/N. And so early—you’re what, twenty weeks?”

You nodded, your hand still resting over Logan’s. “Yeah, twenty weeks today. Jean said it could happen anytime now, but I wasn’t expecting it to feel… like this.”

Logan chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly over your stomach. “What’d you think it’d feel like? A punch?”

“Honestly? Kind of,” you admitted with a laugh. “But this is… wow.”

Ororo grinned, picking up her empty grocery bags. “I’ll leave you two to enjoy the moment. But let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Ororo,” you said, your voice warm with gratitude.

As she left, Logan leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“More than alright,” you said, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m… I can’t even put it into words.”

Logan’s hand lingered on your belly, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and tenderness. “Our kid’s got some timing, huh? Knew I’d be right here when it happened.”

You chuckled softly. “They’re already showing off, just like their dad.”

He smirked at that, but the teasing look in his eyes gave way to something deeper as he met your gaze. “I still can’t believe this is real sometimes,” he said, his voice low and rough. “After everything…”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “It’s real, Logan. We’re here. We’re doing this.”

He covered your hand with his, leaning into your touch. “Yeah. We are.”

The baby kicked again, and Logan’s grin widened as he gave your stomach a playful, protective pat. “Already makin’ sure we don’t forget they’re here.”

“As if we ever could,” you said with a laugh, your heart full. Moments like this made every struggle, every tear, worth it. This was the life you’d fought for, and you weren’t taking a single second of it for granted.

go read part 2 for the complete chapter!!

also, i know i kinda brushed over reader not really aging because of her time powers, but i found those two scenes really hard to write for some reason so just go with it, lol

[bratreligion]

LOOK WHAT YOU DID FEATURING CONNIE SPRINGER | CHAPTER TWO

"it's all about you, whatever i do. i could be a player but it's not my truth."

SYNOPSIS a spontaneous night out leads to a mix of emotions and new relations.

CHAPTER ONE hiiii chapter two is HERE! i tried to do my best to get my plan as clear and constructed as i could this time. okay so this has a 6k wc, mentions of drinking and smoking, and the word lust.

���so, [♡], do you have somebody?” a tone woven with genuine innocence let the words flow in a way that wouldn’t annoy you, differing heavily from the sensual curiosity of the men who usually asked. stroking your left thumb over the soft wooden material of a makeup brush, a heavy weight rested with the faint beating in your chest, the air growing thicker as you took a hesitant breath. pondering, you mindlessly blended the coral-toned blush into the apple of your client sasha’s rosy cheeks, the soft bristles aligning with the sheer freckles that adorned her face. it wasn’t a difficult question to answer because you had no one special in your life, and that story didn’t require much. the hard part was knowing that had been your answer for three years now, as if cupid had shot you with an anti-love arrow. “i know you’ve got a few people blowing up your line.”

you panted, shyly shrugging as you shook your head. “nah, nobody’s on my line these days.” sasha scoffed as her golden eyes bunched up, looking at you in disbelief. 

“i don’t believe that. you must be tellin’ them all no.” sasha giggled, the natural tint of her cheeks intensifying the color of the blush you had applied. 

you let out a low mutter of amusement as you lightly patted loose powder into her dewy skin, eyeing your work carefully. “something like that… maybe it just isn’t my time.”

in all honesty, it had long been your time. throughout your life, dating was never something you purposely engaged in. most of the time, love found its way to you. the last time you had been in a relationship was three years ago, the last time you truly cared about someone. your relationship was the kind of fairy tale that most people only fantasized about at your age. it was passionate–the kind of relationship that made you feel like a dumb teenager, head over heels, experiencing a summer fling for the first time. every morning, you’d wake up with your cheeks as high as your brows, exhilarated as if the sun shone brighter each day you were with him. picnics in the park with home-cooked meals, joint wash days, spontaneous road trips in the middle of the night, and handpicked flowers at your door every two weeks. there was never a dull moment with him, whether you were coming home to his tattooed arms providing you with a warm embrace, or if he was wiping salty tears from your puffy cheeks after a long day of working. it was sensual, some of the deepest intimacy you had ever experienced in your life, and that wasn’t even including the mind-blowing sex that got your body pressed into the bed anytime you wanted. sometimes, you couldn’t even think about how bittersweet that part of your life was. you were long over him, but, truthfully, some nights you got lonely and thought about why it was over.

the love didn’t stop coming out of the blue or on one random tuesday; he was never that kind of man, so you never woke up and wondered if he would stop loving you. he never cheated. you trusted him enough, so you knew that. and you weren’t tired of each other. it was simply a matter of life taking its course on two people who loved each other, putting things like school, careers, and work in the way of providing time for one another. football had been his passion for most of his life, and the moment he felt like he could be something, once he felt the way the bright overhead lights shone upon him as a kid, he knew he wanted to go pro. he was nothing like the others in his age group, who were mere stars in the making. he was already a star. he knew it, you knew it, the football scouts knew it, and everyone knew it. but with everyone knowing that fact came the more time his talent demanded from him, unfortunately leaving your relationship at the bottom of his list of priorities. you never blamed him for chasing his dreams, as you were doing the same thing, attending the best cosmetology school in the state and getting your license to one day open your own salon. things happened, and people changed. it had been around a year since you’d heard from him, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him, aside from when he was on live television, praised for leading his team to another victory. you were proud to see him achieve what he had worked so hard for during your relationship. still, you were hurt that you had to part from the man you hoped to marry and grow old with. breakups hurt.

a thick lump had formed in the back of your throat, shy of your tongue. you swallowed, taking a deep breath, and batting your lashes a few times to rid yourself of the tears that had crept amidst your reminiscing. pushing aside old feelings, you focused intently on sasha as you spewed setting spray onto the canvas of her face. you hadn’t heard a word of what she was blabbing about, doing the best you could to smile and look as if you had an understanding of her words. “mhm.” you mumbled. 

“and these men are getting worse and worse by the generation, i mean, since when is a simple date too much–oh my god,” she gasped, her jaw falling slack mid-sentence as she finally realized you had spun the chair around for her to look in the mirror. while lost in a daydream, ‘listening’ to her endless chatter, you had completed her makeup without even noticing the amount of time that had passed. sasha’s cherry red acrylics hovered over her cheeks as her once fiery expression softened into admiration, the gentle flecks of gold in her eyes sparking under the vanity lights. the glitter in the gloss on her lips danced as her mouth formed an oval shape as she tilted forward, her lips quirked up. “you’re amazing, do you know that?”

giggling, you couldn’t help but grin as you shifted on one foot. “thanks, sash. i’m glad you like it.”

“like it?” she gasped, moving her false lashes up and down in the mirror before turning around dramatically. “i love it. no wonder you’re so high in demand.”

you coyly bit back your smile as you gathered the products you had used on her face, neatly tucking each into its designated slot in your suitcase kit. sasha rummaged through her purse like a mad woman for a few seconds until she pulled out a stout wad of cash neatly bound by a hot pink rubber band. as always, you pretended not to see the payment out of the corner of your eye until she set it on the table next to you, her elated mood stamped on her face. you didn’t bother counting the cash before tucking it in your wallet; sasha always had your money and a more than generous tip, you weren’t worried about that. instead, you examined the two white slips of stock paper tucked under the rubber band. curiously, you adjusted your eyes until you could read the tiny, gold-printed letters on the cards.

ENTRANCE PASS FOR ONE PARTY, COURTESY OF PLUTO RECORDS. 2934 KAZINO AVE, ATLANTA, GEORGIA.

“sash,” you sucked your teeth as your eyes creased but you couldn’t help the low giggle that left your mouth. waving the small pieces of paper, you sighed, “what are these for?”

sasha squeezed her lips into a thin line, cheeks almost bursting with air as she blew into them. “a party?”

“what kind of party?” you pressed.

sasha pretended to be distracted, glancing around the dressing room as she gently tapped the tips of her nails on the plastic of her phone case. “it’s an event downtown, and a few artists are hosting.” she spat out.

“and why are you giving me these tickets, exactly?” crossing your arms, you raised a brow. “you know i don’t exactly fit in at those types of things.”

“i know, you say it whenever i invite you out. i just think you need to allow yourself a little more time to have fun! you need to let loose, drink a white claw or somethin’, meet a guy–or a girl. just think about it,” you hated to admit it, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. it had been two weeks since you went out, when you’d met connie, whose name mocked you at every job you took. ymir and eren, being their usual selves, had bugged you about joining them at whatever function they could find, to which you declined. after your encounter with connie, ymir was in your ear for days, rambling about how you ‘fumbled the bag’ and that the two of you could’ve been ‘drinking with rich people’ by now. you didn’t think you’d hear the end of her reaction to you rejecting connie.

a slight grin curled your lips upwards. you hadn’t seen ymir in about four days, and according to her, the two of you were long overdue for a hangout, even if it meant spending the night watching disney classics in your condo. a night out didn’t sound terrible, the longer you thought about it. you placed a hand on your hip as you rolled your neck. ymir was going to love this. “fine. what time does it start?”

“man, we should’ve gotten more shots from the liquor store. i’m not drinking lemon drops and pink whitney all night.” ymir dragged her words as she poured a second shot of hennessy into the icy blue liquid in her styrofoam cup. you shook your head, laughing as you watched her frantically mix the alcohol with the juice. she was going to be fucked up in a few hours, likely off the concotion she was mixing and the lemon drops she was complaining about. “i’m tryna get white girl wasted.”

“aren't you half white?” her piercing gaze locked onto you, glimmers of annoyance flickering in her eyes as you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

the air coming in through the windows of ymir’s jeep cut at the skin on your cheeks like daggers as you rested your head against the top of the seat, inhaling and exhaling at the refreshing feeling. despite the bass-boosted music that blared from her speakers and her somewhat reckless take on driving, the passenger seat of her car was one of your favorite places to be. ymir had picked you up around ten minutes after the clock read ten, after much relentless arguing over the phone about what to wear until the two of you were satisfied with your outfits. dressing up had always been a struggle for you, making it hard to step out of your comfort zone. thankfully, ymir was there to push you out of it. she had a job in tailoring for models who walked runways, a fact that shocked most people, so she thought of herself as a fashion guru or whatever. to be frank, you thought she just liked bossing you and her girlfriend around, but you’d never tell her that.

you adjusted the white, black lettered low-cut top that exposed some of your cleavage, the glitter from your body oil dazzling under the moonlight. it was ymir’s choice, alongside the laced-up jeans, snug on your thighs, and the open-toed black heels in the back of your closet. you’d taken down the braids in your head around a week ago, opting for straight, black bundles and a middle part. ymir had one up on you when it came to dressing, but accessorizing was your jam, judging from the blacked out watch on your left wrist, hoop earrings, the dainty chain around your neck, and the chrome clutch you brought, which ymir had no choice but to carry when you got tired of holding it.

the ride to the venue, which was a penthouse, was supposed to be a thirty-minute drive, but ymir made it more like twenty minutes, some unknown rapper's music blasting from her speakers and announcing your arrival. if you hadn’t known why you were there, you would’ve naturally assumed the scene was some gathering for celebrities. bentleys, bugattis, ferraris, and porsches parked alongside the designated parking garage that the security had guided ymir to. once the two of you entered the garage and got out of the car, you noticed hundreds of people hustling to reach the penthouse entrance. some had bulky men in black flanking them on both sides. sparkling chains and rolexes passed your wandering eyes in quick flashes as you ran your eyes over the familiar, but not closely known, faces. faces you’d worked with, faces you’d seen on tv, faces you had vinyls of in your place. it wasn’t like the block party, where maybe one or two famous people appeared. this was the real deal.

“come on, we’ve gotta get in there. i think i just saw rubi rose.” ymir smirked as she scrunched up the coils around her face, cockily peering at her reflection through her phone camera. 

"girl, bye, rubi is the last girl here checking for you." you scoffed and rolled your eyes, slapping your clutch against ymir’s chest. “i’m telling historia, by the way.”

the penthouse was simply the epitome of rich. the ceilings were as high as the sky, with dim lights and camera flashes illuminating the bustling setting. the pulsating beats of heavy rap music resonated through the sleek black marble floors as you and ymir stepped out of the penthouse elevator. one dollar bills and confetti practically covered your path as she naturally took the lead, gradually wandering into the deepening sea of bodies with you close behind her. eyes enlarging as you found yourself further into the depths of the crowd, the pungent aroma of sativa and liquor grew more powerful, thick swirls of white smoke floating beyond your height. you couldn’t begin to count the number of voices conversing and singing along to the music around you. there were sections reserved for specific people of importance, some containing a few social media influencers, while others housed those subject to the benefits of nepotism. frankly, you didn’t even know where ymir was taking the two of you. all sasha said was to ‘have fun’ and to ‘get out there’ regardless of her absence. 

a lengthy bar-sized counter was against one of the tall sides of the area, alcohol, blunts, pills, and half-drunk glasses crowding the space. the bar was abuzz with a lively crowd, intoxicated laughter and chatter filling the air as people jostled for drinks. you muttered a few ‘excuse us' as you moved through the bodies, eventually finding yourself and ymir a small area to situate yourselves in. you hopped on a plush bar stool, ymir using a hand to hoist you up as you almost stumbled. she stood close by you, watching for any eyes that lurked. it was the typical front she put up to scare off any men plotting against you. “‘mir, we should’ve stayed home. what the hell are we going to do here?” you shouted over the music.

“i don’t know, but we aren’t going home. i’m not letting you back in the house that easily,” her braces twinkled under the lighting. “i’m about to order us some drinks. you want a margarita or somethin’?”

you cocked your head to the side, shrugging. “strawberry with a lemon sugar rim.”

due to your introverted nature, you were sure you’d be dragging ymir out of the party thirty minutes in, usually not enticed by settings like the one you were in. well, that's what you thought.

you swayed your hips to the music surrounding you, the song now more melodic and sensual to accompany the way your body moved under the now fluorescent colors. little did you know, a multitude of eyes were drawn to you, enchanted by you like moths fluttering around a flickering flame. ymir was beside you, a glass of d'usse threatening to spill with her every movement as she inhaled the rolled-up plant between her fingertips, her presence no longer doing much to intimidate those around you two. you’d seen a couple of clients here and there, most asking about your next availability as ymir kept her composure on the outside, fangirling in her head. a few even flirted with her, boosting her large ego. as much as you couldn’t believe it, you were having fun. not one but two margaritas have coursed through your bloodstream in an hour, providing you with the liquid courage you didn’t know you needed. the sweet shade of your brown skin glistened under the lights as your sobriety taunted you through slightly blurred visions. you looked good-you felt good.

ymir wanted yet another drink, but you didn’t complain because, as much as you exaggerated her actions when she was off that liquor, you knew she could handle her alcohol. you strutted towards the bar with a bit more pep in your step compared to earlier, unknown pairs of eyes watching the way your ass swam in your tight pants. ignoring the murmurs about how sexy you were from shameless partygoers, you patiently waited with ymir at the bar. however, the service wasn’t as quick as it was earlier.

“do you think they’d get us out of here if i jumped over the counter and made my drink?” ymir huffed as her eyebrows twitched in annoyance. “because this is some bullshit, bro.”

you giggled. “hell fuckin’ yeah. these people don’t play that shit.”

it was as if a heavy weight sat on your chest as your breathing became irregular, slowing then speeding up, tightening the muscles in your chest. it was hot. people swarmed the room like bees, and it wasn’t exactly the warmest month of the year, judging by the way heat blasted through the overhead vents. not exactly the best environment to get ‘fucked up’ in. you shifted your stance, feet uncomfortably squealing in the soles of your heels as you looked around for a spot, something colder perhaps.

“hey, ‘mir?” a set of glass-panelled windows caught your eye, and a set of open doors at the top of the staircase in the corner of the room. it wasn’t occupied like the bottom floor. it was practically empty up there. lerfect, you thought. “i’m gonna go outside for a second. you see that balcony upstairs? i’ll be up there.”

ymir squinted suspiciously. “why, are you okay? what’s wrong? i’ll come with you–”

“‘mir, i’m fine, i promise. i just need some air, it’s hot as hell in here. i’ll be quick.” you reassured her, but that look of worry never faded from her freckled face despite your words.

“if you say so. i’ll come up there when i get my drink. you know the drill if anyone bothers you.”

it was as if you commanded the attention of everyone you passed as your heels clicked against the floor while strutting through the crowd. the noise faded as if you were underwater as you reached the top of the steps, a wave of relief washing over you as the chilly breeze bleeding through the doors brushed over you. you exhaled as you stepped onto the concrete leading outside. you assumed the strong smell of weed, heavier than before, was just the original scent of the city. practically everyone was out, and everyone was smoking weed.

outside, you leaned against one of the glass panels, smiling as your chest loosened, bathing in the little moonlight that could reach under the balcony overhead. it was a party, so you knew you wouldn’t be the only person outside looking for a getaway. a man, taller and lean, stood further to your right, raising a blunt to his lips every few seconds as he slouched against the brick wall placed along the walls of the space. it was dark, with only the flashing lights from downstairs peeking over the second floor to provide illumination. still, you could make out a few details, like how the diamonds on his shoes shone, how his well-coordinated outfit complemented his relaxed posture. it may have been the alcohol delaying the speed of your thinking or the secondhand smoke, but you hadn’t noticed how familiar the tattoos that mapped his skin were, red and black dancing over his muscles as they flexed with the softest of movements. he didn’t seem to be paying any mind to his surroundings either, mindlessly gazing off into the night as the live activity of the city reflected off his hazel orbs. 

but it was when he finally turned his head, looking down at his shoes for a few seconds before lifting it for good, now looking at you. it had clicked when you stared at the vibrant burgundy of his overgrown, buzzed hair. at that point, you didn’t care that you were staring, even when his low eyes met your own. your body tightened, the tension from two weeks ago settling into you like an old house as you watched his eyes flicker over you. your face, your body, your outfit, your lips. his mouth twitched, once, twice, before turning upward, iced-out canines putting the stars in the sky to shame.

a thousand nerves ran up and down your back as your lips parted, words failing to fall off your tongue. but there it was, that raspiness laced between curiosity all over again, doing all the talking for you. “is that you, mami?” you swallowed the wad of saliva threatening to drip from your bottom lip as you shakily took a deep breath. it was him. connie fucking springer, again.

“hi, mr. springer.” you shyly spoke, turning your head so he didn't see how you smiled upon hearing the name.

connie freed a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, waving the scent away with his hands as he raised his chin, taking just a few steps closer to where your antsy body rested against the window. “i told you about that shit, girl. what you doin’ here? you came to see me?”

a light scoff blew from your mouth as you moved in your position. “boy, you wish. i needed some air, i’m not one of those fangirls in your section.”

“yeah, i do wish. i thought about yo ass for the rest of the day after we met.” you tried to busy yourself by focusing on the ground, but you could smell him moving towards you, his raw, husky scent oddly masking the weed that was all too powerful to ignore. the tips of his shoes lined up with yours. connie was close. he watched you shift below him, satisfaction soaking over him. “that’s not what i meant, though. what are you doin’ here with all these people? i thought this wasn’t your crowd, princesa. i would’ve found you again if it was.”

“princesa? that’s a new one.” you gazed up at him through faux purity, somewhat intrigued by the curiosity embedded in his tongue. connie was as handsome as you recalled, all confident and stoic in his way as he studied you all over again. liquid courage was a real thing, judging by the way you gradually swiped your tongue over the pink of your lips, lip gloss long gone. you lifted your chin, wanting to seem as tall and indestructible as he did. “i got an invite from a friend. she said I needed to let loose or whatever. this isn’t my scene, but i haven’t been having a terrible time.”

“yeah?” connie’s eyes were magnetized to yours as he reached above your head and drove the joint into the glass, putting the fire out before tucking it behind his ear. a bold smirk laid across his face as he towered over you, a shiver racing down your spine. his earlobes were adorned with an array of piercings, a striking detail you hadn't caught the first time you met him. 

you nodded as you crossed your arms. “yeah.”

“that’s wassup. i like that you tryin’ something new, especially if it means i get to see you again.” rolling your eyes, you shook your head as if his words weren’t meant to pry at the smile on your face. “you look real nice too. i almost forgot how fine you were, ‘s been a minute, eh?”

connie moved like he didn’t know what he looked like, and in the moment, it drove you crazy. he was the walking definition of charming with his inquisitive tone and decorated teeth, his presence alone being a problem of its own. but you knew he knew. he couldn’t help himself. “it’s been two weeks, con. you ain’t miss me that bad.” it was the liquor making you regret rejecting him two weeks ago, right? 

“shit, i gotta know you to miss you but we already had that conversation, ain’t we?” 

“why didn’t you ask eren for my number or even my instagram if i made such a big impression on you?” you were teasing, honestly. you didn’t think your small interaction with connie meant anything, but you were stalling for time, whether you wanted to admit it or not. you might’ve liked talking to him, as brief as the conversations were.

“because,” connie leaned down by your ear, the warmth of his words hitting your neck, melting your hard exterior like fire on ice. “i don’t wanna get it the easy way, i wanna work for that shit. i meant what i said, you a pretty ass fuckin’ girl and i’m tryna know you, but i have to earn it. no es cierto?”

his lips were close enough to hit your neck, positioned just below your sweet spot on your neck if he were to fall, and it had you trembling to say the least. you could hear how his teeth ground together as he stressed his words, voice deepening but still sounding as enticing as it did minutes ago. his accent was thicker than you remembered, the words you knew sounding foreign as they rang in your ear. lips parting, your tongue twitched helplessly inside your mouth as the words in your head failed to form. 

“what? cat got your tongue?

a series of vibrations abruptly drew your gaze to your phone in your hand, grasping your attention like a sudden jolt of electricity. your eyes widened as you gaped at connie before looking at your screen. three anxious coded messages from ymir lit up your screen, dancing in your notification center as an indication that she had managed to break through your do-not-disturb feature. connie didn’t have a care in the world as he looked down at the messages, laughing softly upon reading them. “cinderella’s gotta go?”

“oh, hush, boy. i told her i’d be a couple of minutes. i didn’t think i’d see you, of all people, out here. you were distracting me.” for the first time during your talk with connie, you were smiling with all your teeth, fueling his ego like gasoline to a fire.

“is that so? If i ain’t know any better, i’d think you were enjoying talkin’ to me, mami.” he had backed up a few steps, taking in your appearance from the ‘far’ distance.

“something like that.”

connie bit down on his bottom lip, hands cusping together as he twisted his rings up and down his slender digits, watching as you leaned against the door frame. your fingers grazed the cool glass of the open patio door while one foot rested inside the sleek penthouse, the other lingering on the balcony with him. eyes raking up and down the curves that entailed your figure, he let out a laugh that resembled something of yearning, throwing his head back. “is this goodbye, princesa?”

your gaze darted to the staircase just a few feet away, then back to connie, where you batted your lashes playfully. grasping the door frame, you let your hips sway enticingly as you glided toward him, embodying a sense of newfound confidence as you shook your head. connie arched an eyebrow, his arms crossed tightly as a look of interest spread across his face. you were closer than he was before, the mischievous fog of your intentions radiating from you as you locked your gaze with his. what he didn’t know was that you had tracked every move he had made during your time together, specifically when he moved his phone from his back pocket to the one in the front. a grin nothing short of wicked took over your features as you lazily glided the tips of your acrylics against the metal and jewels embedded in his belt. he never once broke eye contact, but he could feel what you were doing in more places than one. you brushed your thumb over the detailing, your touch masked with innocence, yet lust was all around the two of you. hooking one finger into the depths of his pocket, you pulled out his phone and turned the screen towards him, waving it in his face until the device unlocked, and connie didn’t move an inch, intoxicated by the sheer sight of you.

you opened the phone, not paying attention to how his apps were childishly sprawled across his home screen as you clicked the green phone icon. the bright numbers on the keypad reflected off your eyes as you typed in your phone number, sending yourself a simple exclamation point so he’d later see you in his recent messages. you’d leave it up to him to decide what to save you as.

“i gotta go, okay?” with a playful laugh, you tucked the device back into his pocket, looking up at him with eyes filled with amusement. “bye, connie.”

connie stood frozen for a moment, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched you effortlessly spin on your heel, gliding away from him with effortless grace. the air crackled with an undeniable tension, thick and electric from the words left unspoken and the lingering glances. he felt a mix of shock and delight wash over him as he took in the sight of you, your demeanor carefree and confident, as if the moment weighed as much as a feather. as you walked away, his heart raced, and a foolish smile settled on his lips, knowing that somehow, something had shifted. “bye, [♡].”

“you’re not giving me enough details, [♡]. what did he say? did he ask you out? hello, i need more information–” ymir’s eyes practically popped out of her head when you informed her about your second meeting with connie, her nails digging into your skin as she held onto you for shock relief in the car. by now, you’d told her the story at least six times, yet she insisted that you had left out a detail or two, asking a question for every bit of the tale you told.

“ymir, i’ve told you everything from what weed it smelled like he was smoking to the tones he said everything in. what more do you need to know?” you yawned, rolling your eyes. the two of you left the event about twenty minutes ago, with ymir arriving at your condo faster than expected. you’d left about twenty minutes after your run-in with connie, who, strangely enough, was nowhere to be found for the rest of the night. you’d even started to wonder if you had imagined seeing him because connie was hard to miss. 

ymir put the car in park in front of the building you lived in, close enough to the door so that she’d be able to watch you get inside. she huffed and looked at you with a raised brow. “everything. you’re gonna be dating connie springer in a minute, i think this shit is important. think about the couple's interviews, oh my god–”

“that’s my sign to get my ass in the house. goodnight, ‘mir.” you opened the door of her jeep, ignoring all her protests but the one reminding you to text her when you were inside.

much to your surprise, you enjoyed your night out. You hadn’t expected to. It may have been cliche, but you were a homebody, unlike most people your age, who lived for a night out. any other time, you would’ve taken a night in watching glee or something over being surrounded by drunk celebrities, but you weren’t a party pooper. as early as three sips into your margarita, you were on the dance floor, dancing around the wealthiest people in the world with no care in the world, even though all that hopping around in four-inch heels cost you the ability to comfortably walk on your feet.

as you stepped through your front door, the enchanting scent of peony enveloped you like a warm, comforting hug, a sense of familiarity you had missed during your night. the heels had been off your feet the second you stepped into the carpeted elevator, allowing you to glide across the hardwood floors from your living room to the plush carpeting of your bedroom. you flung yourself onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, the fabric of your clothes clung uncomfortably as you sank into the soft mattress, closing your eyes for a second. your arms flailed across the soft silk comforter as you nuzzled your head into the mattress, eyelids getting heavier the longer you spent in the position, dozing off like a newborn.

a deep, lingering groan escaped your lips as your phone buzzed insistently against your chest, pulling you reluctantly from your sleep. one jerk, then two, indicating someone had texted you twice. your eyelids fluttered open slowly, a nasty scowl spreading on your lips as you snatched your phone from your bra. rubbing your eyes, not caring too much about messing up your extensions, as you squinted at the blue lights glaring at your retinas. not two, but four messages sat in your notification center.

the first two were from ymir, who cursed you for not telling her you made it inside and told you a passive-aggressive goodnight. sometimes you forgot to tell her you were in the house, it was just one of those nights. you huffed as you worked your thumbs to text her back a swift apology, telling her goodnight too before responding to the other messengers that had woken you from your sleep. an unsaved number sat at the top of your messages from around ten minutes ago, the area code and sender unknown.

(347) xxx-xxx

mami is it really u ?

a bit of your irritation faded as you realized who the message was from, smiling to yourself as you typed a quick response.

i don’t know, mr springer, is it?

it was late, one in the morning to be exact, so you didn’t expect an immediate response. he was likely still out clubbing, anyway. you exited the messages, looking for the last one you’d respond to before heading to bed for the night. you adjusted your eyes as you read the message, not paying too close attention to the sender before clicking the text. a line of inconsistent text messages was displayed across the screen, the last from over a year ago. your heart suddenly began thumping against your chest erratically, as if it were going to burst from your chest and onto your bed. lips parting, you sat up, your eyebrow supporting your body weight as your head nearly hung from your neck, jaw falling lower and lower.

it had been over a year since he last checked on you amidst his frantic football career. he was the last person you expected to hear from that night, as you anticipated a million messages from clients you met while out before receiving a text from him. aside from catching up, you figured there was nothing more to say as time passed. 

a ball of nerves threatened to burst from your throat as your breath hitched, rereading the text he’d sent you over and over again, as if you were convinced you’d imagined it.

ony. 

you looked good tonight, ian think i would see you there

exhaling deeply, your fingers shook, the phone wobbling as you typed.

you saw me?

one, two, three, four, five seconds.

ony.

hy i saw you.

you hard to miss mama

[jes3icasriley]

Tangled Threads - Spiderwoman au

Chapter 2: The girl in the red and blue suit

Synopsis: When Abby finds herself cornered by a villain in an empty lot, she’s saved by a mysterious, powerful figure in red and blue—Spider-Woman. Confident, strong, and painfully attractive, the masked hero leaves Abby breathless… and obsessed. The next day, Abby can’t stop talking about her, completely unaware that the girl behind the mask is not just Spider-Woman, but her very own best friend.

Parings: Abby Anderson x fem!reader/ nerdy Abby Anderson x Spiderwoman!reader

Warnings: slow-burn, childhood best friends falling in love, small sexual comments.

The city never truly slept. It murmured.

Even now, near midnight, the streets below were alive with the dull hum of traffic, flickering neon lights, and the occasional distant blare of a siren. You crouched on the edge of a rooftop, legs bent, fingers pressed to the cool concrete, listening.

You’d grown used to this life—nights spent in a suit, swinging between shadows, answering calls for help like they were second issued. It had started with the bite. The headaches. The crawling under your skin. Then the strength—the power.

Now, this was your world: red and blue stitched into fabric, fists that hit harder than they should, and a heart that beat too loud every time danger struck.

But nothing made it beat faster than her.

You felt it before you saw it—the tingling warmth at the base of your neck, the way your senses sharpened like a camera lens. Something was wrong.

You leapt from the rooftop without hesitation.

The wind rushed past your ears as you flipped through the night sky, heart thudding in your chest. You followed the tug in your ribs, the magnetic pull toward chaos. A side street. A blown-out ATM. Cracks splintered in the sidewalk like spiderwebs. People screaming.

Then you saw her.

Abby.

She was cornered between a dented mailbox and a brick wall, palms raised defensively. Her hoodie was streaked with dirt, one of her combat boots untied, and her sketchbook lay torn at her feet.

The man facing her wore a cybernetic gauntlet that sparked with unstable energy, the red glow dancing across his arm like fire. He shouted something about betrayal, about Brooklyn’s lies—but all you heard was Abby’s breathing, fast and shallow.

Your heart stopped.

Then you dropped.

Your feet hit the pavement with a crack, the force rippling outward as you landed in a low crouch—classic superhero landing, one knee bent, hand splayed on the asphalt. The man stumbled back in surprise.

Abby gasped.

You rose slowly, breath even. “Cmon big guy.”

The villain snarled and raised his arm—but he was too slow. You flipped forward, springing from the ground in one clean arc. Your heel slammed into his shoulder, sending him spinning into the alley wall with a grunt.

Another blast shot from his gauntlet, but you ducked low, slid beneath it, and fired a web to pin his arm to the wall.

“Not tonight,” you muttered, vaulting upward and landing a solid punch across his jaw. He slumped, groaning.

You exhaled.

Then turned.

Abby hadn’t moved. She was still frozen, her wide blue eyes locked on you like you were something pulled from a dream.

Your pulse stuttered.

You took a slow step toward her, body still buzzing from the fight. She stared—not at your mask, but at you. The full shape of you. The curve of your arms, the rise of your chest under the suit, the muscles in your thighs tense from motion.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, voice distorted slightly through the mask.

She nodded, lips parted. “Y-Yeah. I think so.”

You bent down, picking up her sketchbook. The cover was scuffed, a few pages bent, but it was mostly intact. You held it out to her.

Her fingers brushed yours.

The contact burned through the gloves like wildfire.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You tilted your head. “Stay safe. Don’t walk home alone if you can help it.”

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something—ask a question, maybe—but you turned away before she could.

Your web snapped upward.

With one last glance at her stunned face, you swung into the night.

But not before you heard her say, under her breath, “She’s… beautiful.”

—

You barely made it home before your phone buzzed.

Abby [10:58 PM]: DUDE

Abby [10:59 PM]: I just got saved by SPIDER-WOMAN

Abby [10:59 PM]: THE Spider-Woman

Abby [11:00 PM]: red and blue suit. toned as hell. literal superhero landing.

Abby [11:01 PM]: I think I blacked out for a second. she’s so hot I forgot how to speak.

You stared at the screen, flushed and dazed, your mask peeled halfway off and still clutched in one hand.

Abby [11:02 PM]: she picked up my sketchbook

Abby [11:02 PM]: and said “stay safe”

Abby [11:02 PM]: she TOUCHED my shoulder

Abby [11:03 PM]: I’m in love.

You choked on air.

—

The next day at school was surreal.

Abby wouldn’t stop talking about Spider-Woman.

“She was just… so calm,” she gushed at your locker, hugging her sketchbook to her chest like it was holy scripture. “Like, she handled everything like it was no big deal. And her voice? Kind of low? A little husky. Very hot.”

You fumbled with your books. “I mean, yeah, she sounds cool.”

Abby arched a brow. “Cool? She’s a walking statue of Greek perfection. She has, like, thigh muscles. Real ones. Her arms could carry me like a sack of flour and I would thank her.”

You coughed.

“She even made sure I was okay afterward. Like, looked me right in the eyes and handed me my sketchbook like a total gentleman—well, gentlelady. Gentlehero?”

You gave her a tight smile. “Gentle-superhero?”

“That!” Abby lit up. “Exactly! I felt so safe. Like… totally protected.”

You looked away.

That was all you ever wanted.

All this time spent protecting her from the shadows, keeping your identity secret, not out of shame—but fear. Fear that she’d look at you differently. That the girl she trusted would become something else. That you’d lose her.

But hearing her now—her voice light and dreamy—made your heart ache in a whole new way.

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Abby said as the final bell rang. “And the way she moved. And her back muscles. Do you think it’s weird if I try to draw her from memory tonight?”

You didn’t answer.

You just nodded, cheeks burning, and walked with her out into the fading afternoon light.

—

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, your limbs sore from patrol, your heart aching from restraint.

There was a time you thought keeping your secret safe meant keeping Abby safe. But lately, it felt like it was only hurting both of you.

You touched the spot on your shoulder where she’d looked at you with such quiet wonder.

You’d felt invincible in that moment.

Seen.

Wanted.

You closed your eyes, replaying the sound of her voice on a loop.

“She’s beautiful.”

And for the first time in weeks, you smiled.

[jamesdeanbby]

Can you please do Steve and Soda both dating Fem reader headcannons?? algs if you can't!! I just think it'd b cute 😚

────۶ৎ double trouble

just two best friends and their girl!

warnings : canon typical classism & violence, and a bit of nsfw!

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: STEVEPOP MENTIONED I LIVE FOR THIS!!!! I love poly relationships, viva el poliamor.

⮞ You're like sunshine and perfume and pretty pink nail polish bottled into a girl, and you’ve somehow got two wild greasers wrapped around your finger.

⮞ You call them “baby,” “darlin’,” “honeybun,” and “sugar” with such sincerity they melt like butter on a summer day.

⮞ You bring the soft, the gentle, the tender. They're rough edges and engine grease and cigarette smoke.

⮞ They're not used to this kind of love. Not this patient, not this kind. So at first? They're dumbfounded. Shellshocked. Like puppies rescued from a war zone(iykyk).

⮞ People stare when the three of you walk into places. You’re so clean and dreamy-looking and they’re so...not.

⮞ Soda's the golden retriever boyfriend. Steve’s the growly, possessive boyfriend. You’re the one feeding them cookies, smoothing down their collars and buying them matching sweaters “just because.”

⮞ Soda’s always touching you—arm around your waist, chin on your shoulder, fingers twined in your hair.

⮞ Steve acts like he doesn’t care about PDA but will kiss your hand like some dramatic 1800s gentleman in public just to watch you get all giggly and red.

⮞ You carry lip balm specifically for them—Soda likes cherry, Steve likes mint—and you reapply it on them whenever they’re dry.

⮞ Soda gets all mushy when you call him your "baby" in front of people.

⮞ Steve gets cocky—but his ears turn red every time.

⮞ You pack their lunches for work with handwritten notes and heart-shaped sandwiches and those fancy little desserts from the Soc bakery you like.

⮞ You buy them little things: cheap sunglasses you saw at the gas station, combs engraved with their initials, silver rings that match yours.

⮞ Soda’s obsessed with you brushing his hair. He lays in your lap while you do it, sighing like a pampered housecat.

⮞ Steve pretends to hate being spoiled, but you once massaged his scalp with coconut oil and now he sulks if you don’t do it weekly.

⮞ You hang around the DX sometimes just to bring them lemonade or sit on the hood of a car looking pretty and proud like a trophy wife.

⮞ Soda flirts with you even when he's drenched in sweat and elbow-deep in an engine. “Y'come to see me, gorgeous?”

⮞ Steve pretends to be annoyed. “She’s not gonna kiss you lookin’ like that, greaseball.” But he's secretly jealous and leans over just so you’ll wipe the sweat off his brow, too.

⮞ You once brought an umbrella and held it over them while they worked in the heat. The entire gang teased them mercilessly but you didn’t care. “They’ll get heatstroke if I don’t take care of them!”

⮞ Soda doesn’t get jealous often, but when he does, it hits like a storm. He gets all clingy and pouty and follows you around like a puppy that thinks it’s getting replaced.

⮞ Steve gets real quiet. He doesn’t say he’s jealous. He just starts making comments like, “That guy you were talkin’ to got a little too close, huh?”

⮞ You squash that nonsense with cuddles and “You're the only ones I want, darlings. Don’t be silly.”

⮞ You kiss Soda until he’s grinning like an idiot again.

⮞ You sit on Steve’s lap and hold his face in your hands until he softens like melted chocolate.

⮞ You're constantly reminding them: "You're my boys. Mine. No one else's." And they always answer with a "yes ma'am" in sync.

⮞ Soda sometimes feels like you’ll leave for someone more “stable,” more “put together,” someone from your world.

⮞ Steve thinks he’s too rough, too angry, too much of a screw-up to deserve a girl like you.

⮞ You crush that insecurity under your heel like a cigarette stub. “You boys ever think I want anyone else, I’ll knock your heads together,”

⮞ You’re the emotional anchor in this little poly triad. Soda talks too much, Steve doesn’t talk enough. You bridge the gap.

⮞ You encourage them to talk about their feelings, even if it takes coaxing. With you and with each other.

⮞ If they ever fight with each other, you make them sit in front of you like guilty schoolboys and talk it out.

⮞ Soda talks about marrying you and Steve. He’s serious, even if he laughs afterward. “Think the preacher’d do a two-for-one special?”

⮞ They worship you in the bedroom. Like, absolutely treat you like a godess.

⮞ There's so much praise.

⮞ You’re very giving during the day-to-day in the relationship so they make it a mission to return the favor when in the sheets;)

⮞ Sodapop is a service top with big subby energy. He loves to please, thrives on praise, and gets whiny if you tell him he's being good.

⮞ Steve is a stone switch—dominant, rough, confident, but sometimes gets so ruined by love and attention that he folds under it.

⮞ Soda is eager, enthusiastic, and completely obsessed with your pleasure. He gets off on making you feel good—like, literally, he could finish just from hearing you moan his name.

⮞ Loves when you ride him. His hands will grip your hips like a lifeline. He talks through every second, too “You feel so good, baby,” “M’not gonna last,” “Please keep goin’... please...”

⮞ Pillow princess boyfriend when he’s overwhelmed. You and Steve love taking turns teasing him. He’ll whimper, buck his hips, try to grab at you like a needy pup.

⮞ He has the hugest praise kink ever.

⮞ Neck kisses make him whimper. Ear nibbles make him moan. He’s sensitive and he loves it.

⮞ Will go down on you for hours. Literally hours. Lives between your thighs like it’s his second home.

⮞ Wears your bite marks and hickeys like badges of honor. He wants people to see them.

⮞ He lowkey has a secret breeding kink. It hits him during slow, emotional intimacy. “You’d be such a pretty mama… I’d take care of you…”

⮞ Steve’s a stone top most of the time: he likes to stay in control. He’ll grip your throat, whisper dirty things in your ear, and hold your hips just right.

⮞ But get him worked up just enough, and he’ll get subby. Especially when you and Soda team up on him.

⮞ Possessive. Will literally growl when you wear short skirts around the house.

⮞ He loves watching Soda touch you just to yank you back and say, “She’s mine too, remember that.”

⮞ Absolutely loves marking you. Bites your inner thighs. Leaves hickeys on your chest. Wants the whole world to know who you belong to.

⮞ You and Soda like to get Steve worked up. Slow. Teasing. You straddle his lap while Soda kisses down his chest, fingers playing at his belt.

⮞ You murmur sweet things in his ear while Soda sucks hickeys into his collarbone. “You look so pretty like this, baby.” Steve tries to stay stoic. Tries.

⮞ You ride his face while Soda rides his lap. Both of you whispering sweet filth. He’s losing his mind.

⮞ Soda loves being tag-teamed. He begs for it in that soft, whiny voice of his.

⮞ Steve pins him down, hands tight in his hair, whispering, “You gonna take what your girl gives you, huh?”

⮞ You ride his face while Steve holds him in place. He’s so desperate to please that he moans against you, hips bucking into nothing.

⮞ “Can we do that again tomorrow?” he mumbles into your neck. “Or now. I’m good now too.”

⮞ They get real serious when it’s about you. They work together like a team—hands, mouths, dirty words.

⮞ Steve starts slow. He kisses you deep, unbuttons your clothes like they’re a gift he’s unwrapping, calls you “his girl”.

⮞ Soda takes his time on your thighs, belly, breasts—kissing and praising. “So soft… so perfect... our little lady...”

⮞ You can’t breathe with how much attention they’re giving you. You’re crying from the intensity and they’re glowing with pride.

⮞ “You wanna be ours forever, mama?” Steve asks, deep voice rough in your ear.

⮞ “We’ll take care of you,” Soda whispers, “Give you a baby, a ring, a house. Everything.”

⮞ Afterwards, they clean you up like you’re glass—gentle touches, warm towels and soft words.

[greenxgloss]

I love you and your blog, but I also want drama! What do you think of fuckboy!yoongi and some very ordinary, modest OC. Maybe he bet on it, or any other situation from basic teen movies.

Thank you.... (*´∀｀*)ﾉ

A/n: so so sorry this took so long wow life's been unexpectedly busy for the last few months. i hope you loved this! sorry about any inconsistencies or repetitions I tried my best. i liked this concept a lot so if anyone wants a part two lmk!

Color-Coded Chaos (MYG)

Summary: You never believed in people like Min Yoongi—beautiful, dangerous, and born to break hearts—until he swaggered into your life pretending to need tutoring, only to crack your carefully ordered world wide open. What started as a dare slowly unraveled into something real, and after betrayal, heartbreak, and a quiet apology in a lecture hall, you both found your way back to each other—hand in hand, maybe even starting over.

Word Count: 3.1k Themes: Angst, fluff, slight Emotional manipulation / betrayal, slight Toxic masculinity / objectification, Smoking references, Opposites attract, Power of emotional intimacy over physical

You didn’t believe in people like Min Yoongi.

The kind who strutted through life like it was a runway and everyone else just got in the way. The kind who smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions, who laughed like they’d never been hurt and looked at you like they could ruin you for fun.

And maybe they could.

Everyone on campus knew Yoongi. Not for his grades or attendance, but for the trail of broken hearts he left in his wake. He was charming—too charming—and never stuck around long enough for anyone to call it love. You’d overheard girls whispering about him in the library, their voices equal parts giddy and bitter. Rumor had it, if Yoongi smiled at you in the hallway, you’d fall. And if he kissed you, you’d disappear from his life like you’d never mattered in the first place.

You, on the other hand, folded laundry on Sunday nights and used the same grocery list every week. You didn’t chase chaos—you color-coded it, shelved it, and prayed it didn’t follow you home.

So naturally, Min Yoongi showed up at your door on a Thursday.

“Hey,” he drawled, leaning against your doorframe like it owed him something. His hoodie was half-zipped, revealing just enough inked skin and collarbone to make your mouth dry. “You tutor, right? English?”

You blinked.

“…Yes?”

He smiled. Slow. Crooked. Dangerous.

“Perfect. I’m failing, and apparently, you’re my last hope.”

And just like that, your quiet little world cracked open—one smug smirk at a time.

For the next few weeks, Yoongi started showing up at your place every Friday for tutoring. Which would’ve made more sense if you hadn’t distinctly remembered him being at the top of the class when you last checked the leaderboard. A near-perfect score on the last midterm, too. You weren’t stupid—you knew he didn’t need your help. But he kept showing up, and you kept letting him.

Maybe it was the way he’d sit across from you, half-sprawled in the chair like it personally offended him, eyes heavy-lidded and bored—until you’d ask a question and suddenly he was all attention, staring at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His glances stretched a little too long. His fingers brushed yours a little too often when you passed him notes. And last session, he barely touched the textbook, instead asking you out of nowhere what your favorite color was, then laughed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You didn’t know what his game was, but you didn’t hate it.

Which is why, now—4:00 p.m. on the dot—you were checking the clock again and tapping your pen against your notebook with increasing impatience.

He was late.

Not fashionably late, not “I’ll be there in five” late. Just… nothing. No text, no call. It was unlike him. For all his flirtatious nonsense and fake academic helplessness, Yoongi was weirdly punctual. Always five minutes early, actually. Always with that smug little smirk and some sarcastic comment about your doorbell. But today? Silence.

Your stomach twisted with something you didn’t want to name. Not worry, exactly. Not disappointment, either. But it lingered in your chest anyway, tightening every time you refreshed your messages and saw nothing new.

And maybe the worst part was that you actually missed him. Missed his stupid smirks. Missed the way he tapped his pen against his bottom lip while pretending to struggle with a problem you both knew he could solve in his sleep. Missed the way his energy changed last session—more distant, weirdly quiet, eyes darting around like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. It stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

So when the knock finally came—4:22, not that you were counting—you jumped.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him for making you wait…

Or ask what the hell was going on with him.

“You’re late,” you said, the second you opened the door. No greeting, no smile. Just those two clipped words, sharp as the little sting in your chest.

Yoongi breezed past you like he owned the place—like he hadn’t just kept you waiting for almost half an hour with no explanation and no message. He smelled like cigarettes and something faintly minty, like he’d just popped a gum in, maybe to cover the former.

“Something came up, sorry,” he muttered, barely looking at you as he settled into the usual spot across from your desk, dropping his bag down with a heavy thud. He cleared his throat and leaned back like nothing was wrong.

“You could’ve texted me.” The words came out more anxious than angry, and you immediately regretted how fragile they sounded. You hated that it exposed how much you cared. You hated it even more when Yoongi finally looked at you and smirked.

His tongue flicked across his cupid’s bow as his eyes roamed up and down, slow and unreadable. “I’m sorry, doll,” he said, voice low, almost teasing. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I promise I’ll let you know next time.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming under his messy fringe. “Did you miss me?”

You tried not to physically recoil from the impact of those three words, but your throat tightened like it didn’t want you to answer. You crossed your arms instead, feigning composure, even as your pulse betrayed you. “What’s up with you lately?” you asked, and it came out breathier than you’d intended. “You’ve been… weird.”

Yoongi grinned, cocky and unbothered. “Weird?” he repeated. “Or charming in a way that’s finally working?”

You scoffed, but he was already pulling the textbook toward him with one hand while opening his laptop with the other, eyes never really leaving you. “Playing coy this far in?” he asked. “Cute.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming down your spine when he said it. The way he looked at you right now, like he saw straight through your defenses, like he was daring you to keep pretending you didn’t like the attention—it was dangerous.

He pushed the laptop aside without even logging in, fingers drumming against the table as he leaned forward again, closing the space between you by a few inches. His knee brushed against yours, and neither of you moved away.

“I think we both know why I’m really here,” he murmured, voice all syrup and suggestion. “And it’s not for help with English.”

You swallowed hard. “I already know you’re at the top of your class. You’re not exactly subtle, Yoongi. ”

“Don’t need to be. Not with you.”

It hung in the air between you like a held breath, thick and slow and inevitable. His eyes dropped to your lips just as yours did the same, and the tension coiled so tightly in your chest you could barely hold it together.

You were leaning forward before you even realized. So was he.

Then buzz.

Your eyes dropped to his phone, lighting up just beside the edge of the textbook.

A name flashed across the screen you didn’t recognize.

“Have you fucked her yet? Time’s ticking on that bet, Yoongi.”

Your heart dropped—fast and brutal—like a trapdoor opening beneath your chest.

Yoongi noticed the shift in your expression right away. The way your shoulders pulled back, the blood draining from your face, the stiff way you leaned back like you were suddenly too close to something dirty.

His smirk faltered. “Shit,” he muttered, snatching the phone off the table and flipping it screen-down, like that could erase the message you very clearly read. Like you didn’t just catch him red-handed.

But it was too late.

You sat back slowly, pulse roaring in your ears, your stomach knotted so tight it ached.

“Guess English is the least complicated thing about you,” you said flatly, the words sharper than you expected. But you couldn’t stop the way they cut through the air. Couldn’t stop the crack forming in your chest from widening.

Yoongi blinked, stunned quiet. And for once, he didn’t have a comeback ready on his tongue. No cocky remark. No lazy grin.

He swallowed thickly, sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Wait—wait, it’s not what it looks like.”

You laughed bitterly, eyes narrowing. “Really? Because it looks exactly like some asshole making a bet with his friends about a girl stupid enough to let him into her space.”

“No,” he said quickly, voice firmer now, desperate. “That’s not what it was about. That was—fuck—it was a joke that got out of hand. It wasn’t like that, not really.”

You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms so tight you nearly folded in on yourself. “You’re seriously going to try to explain that message away?”

Yoongi leaned forward, his tone more raw than you’d ever heard it. “It was a dare. Weeks ago. It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

“Oh, great,” you scoffed. “So you meant to use me casually, but accidentally started showing up too much and now what—guilt?”

“No,” he said again, louder this time, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to feel like—like anything. But then I actually started enjoying coming here. I liked talking to you. I do.”

Your silence weighed heavy between you.

You didn’t trust your voice, not when your throat was tight and your heartbeat was pressing against your ribs like it wanted out. The words hit harder than you expected, like they were scraping past the parts of you that had hoped he cared—even after everything. Even after the message. After the humiliation.

And still… you wanted to believe him.

You looked at him—really looked. There was no smirk on his face, no playful deflection. Just a slight flush in his cheeks and the tiniest tremble in his fingers as they curled around the edge of the desk.

He meant it.

And that was the worst part. Because it would’ve been easier if he didn’t.

You pressed your palms to your thighs, grounding yourself. You hated how warm your chest felt, how much your body wanted to move toward him even though your brain screamed don’t be stupid.

Still, your voice came out quieter than you'd intended. “You hurt me.”

Yoongi’s shoulders dropped, and for the first time since you met him, he looked small.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll keep showing you that I didn’t want to.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t forgive him—not yet—but something in you softened. The part that had spent weeks laughing with him, catching his glances when he thought you weren’t looking. The part that felt like falling every time he said your name like it meant something.

So you said nothing. Just breathed slowly, still trying to figure out if your heart was breaking again or trying to start over.

Either way, you didn’t move away when he leaned just slightly closer. And he didn’t push. The silence between you stayed, but it wasn’t heavy anymore.

It was waiting.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, his confidence completely gone now—replaced with something messy, anxious. Real.

“I know I’m not the guy you’re into,” he continued quietly. “I know I’m... not the type who deserves the kind of attention you give when you’re reading. Like the world could fall apart and you wouldn’t notice.” He looked up at you then, his eyes darker now, softer. “But I noticed you. Way before the dare. I was just too much of a coward to talk to you without something stupid pushing me. We both know you’d never go for a guy like me on a regular day. And im sure your reservations are completely valid.”

You looked at him, jaw tight, throat tight, everything tight. And despite the words—despite the pleading in his voice—you still didn’t know what was worse. That you had let your guard down for someone like him… or that part of you still wanted to believe him.

“Then prove it,” you said finally, voice quiet but sharp. “Tell your friends whatever game you were playing is over. And don’t come back unless you mean it.”

Yoongi stared at you for a long second. Then nodded once—slowly. “I will,” he said. “I swear. Just… don’t write me off yet.” He stood, stuffing his phone in his pocket without looking at it again. You didn’t watch him walk to the door. You just listened to it shut behind him, and finally let yourself exhale.

But the ache in your chest didn’t go anywhere.

Not yet.

-

The lecture hall was colder than usual, or maybe it was just you.

You sat in your usual seat near the middle, notebook open but untouched, pen resting between your fingers while Professor Han droned on about the symbolism of decay in The Picture of Dorian Gray. It should’ve been interesting—Oscar Wilde always was—but your mind was elsewhere.

On the boy who hadn’t texted.

On the boy who almost kissed you.

On the boy who made you feel like a fool, and then like maybe—maybe—you weren’t.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn, but you didn’t need to.

A quiet shuffle. A familiar cologne. A light exhale before the weight of someone sat beside you. Yoongi.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat close—closer than usual—and let the silence stretch until it nearly broke.

Then softly, “Hey.”

You didn’t respond, eyes still on your notebook. But you didn’t move away either.

“I told them,” he said next, voice barely above a whisper. “Group chat’s gone. I told them it was over. That it was a shitty thing to do. That I wasn’t going through with it. I should’ve done it way earlier.”

You finally glanced at him.

His eyes were already on you. No smirk. No lazy confidence. Just Yoongi, with his heart in his throat and something real in his gaze.

“And?” you said, barely audible, but he heard you.

“And I meant what I said yesterday. I liked coming over. I liked being around you. It wasn’t just for a joke.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “I think I just used it as an excuse to get close. And that was a coward move.”

You swallowed, turning back to the front of the room for a second.

Professor Han was still talking. Pages were turning. The world kept spinning.

But when Yoongi’s pinky brushed yours on the shared desk, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” you murmured.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re still annoying.”

“Totally fair.” He leaned in, a little too smug now. “But you missed me.”

You rolled your eyes—but your smile gave you away.

When the lecture ended, neither of you moved at first. Just sat there while the room emptied around you. Then Yoongi stood and held out his hand.

You looked at it. Hesitated for just a beat.

Then slid your hand into his.

Warm. Steady. No games.

And the second your fingers laced together, something in your chest settled.

As you walked out of the lecture hall hand in hand, Yoongi glanced sideways at you.

“So… tutoring tonight? Just tutoring,” he added quickly, though his grin said maybe not just.

You snorted, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. “We’ll see. You don’t even need a tutor.”

A small smirk tugged at his mouth. He tilted his head, eyes shining with amusement. “Which means?” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe. Or maybe I just really like being around you.”

Your steps slowed.

He glanced away, then back at you through thick lashes, still grinning—but there was something softer underneath it now, something almost nervous. “And if I said that, like... this whole tutoring thing was just an excuse to get close to you?”

You blinked. “Oh… OH—oh my god.”

He laughed at your expression, tugging gently at your hand to keep you walking. “Took you long enough to catch on.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning, but you didn’t pull away from him. You couldn’t. Not when his thumb was brushing softly over the back of your hand, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he wanted to memorize the feel of you.

And you both kept walking, sunlight catching on your joined hands like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it had always been meant to happen this way.

“Wait,” you said after a beat, stopping at the edge of the path beneath a tree just before the student lot.

Yoongi turned, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

You looked at him—really looked at him. Not just at the way his hair curled slightly at the ends from the humidity, or the smudge of sleep still lingering in the corners of his eyes. You looked at the boy who had bulldozed his way into your carefully constructed, quiet little life. The one who had barged in with crooked smirks and infuriating charm, who sent late-night texts that made your heart stutter and your stomach flip even when you told yourself they didn’t mean anything.

You remembered how it all started—how something as stupid as a bet turned into study sessions, pretending and silences that said more than words ever could. An accidental bet, he’d called it. A joke. But here you were, standing still in the gravity of him, and nothing about this felt like a joke anymore.

Your chest tightened.

And before you could think twice, before logic or fear or self-preservation could kick in, you leaned in and kissed him.

He froze, just for a second. Just long enough for doubt to flicker across your thoughts like a match ready to burn. But then—then his lips curved softly against yours, like he’d been waiting for this, hoping for it, maybe even needing it as much as you did.

His hand came up, cupping your jaw with a gentleness that made your breath catch, and he kissed you back—slow and warm and sure. The kind of kiss that felt like it unraveled something inside you. Like he was pulling you closer without tugging, like the universe had shifted half an inch and you were finally where you were supposed to be.

And when he deepened the kiss, just a little, just enough to make your head spin, your knees went loose beneath you. Not from surprise. Not from nerves. But from the undeniable truth that this—whatever this was—had already started to mean something a long time ago.

You just hadn’t let yourself see it. Until now.

When you pulled away, you were breathless. So was he.

“…So, tutoring?” you whispered, voice unsteady.

Yoongi grinned, lips still brushing yours. “Definitely not just.”

➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[pankowcrumbs]

The Perfect Height X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

If one more person pointed out our height difference, I was going to hex them with my shoe.

“Blimey, you two look like father and daughter walking around together,” someone had said just yesterday, followed by a snort of laughter and a slap on the back for Will like he was meant to find it hilarious.

He didn’t laugh.

I, on the other hand, did my best not to shrivel up on the spot.

It was one thing to be short I’d accepted that a long time ago. At five foot nothing, I couldn’t even reach the top shelf in my own kitchen without standing on a chair. But dating Will Poulter? At six foot bloody three?

It was like starring in a comedy sketch I hadn’t signed up for.

People stared. People commented. People joked.

And Will? Will just smiled and reached down for my hand like it didn’t matter at all.

Today, we were at his flat. Cosy, warm, and filled with the smell of coffee and fresh laundry. He’d made us a late breakfast and we’d spent the better part of the morning curled up on his massive sofa him with his legs half off the end, me basically curled in a ball beside him.

Still, it niggled at me.

Always did.

I was quiet, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, curled into the corner of the sofa with my feet tucked under a blanket.

Will was lounging, long limbs everywhere, with a mug in hand and a faint crease between his brows as he read something on his Ipad.

He noticed my silence after a while he always did.

“Alright, shortcake?” he asked, glancing over.

I scrunched my nose. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, shortcake? It’s affectionate.”

“It’s cheeky.”

“It’s accurate,” he replied with a grin. “Besides, it’s either that or ‘pocket-sized menace.’”

I huffed. “You’re not helping.”

Will frowned and set the tablet down. “Hey,” he said gently, shifting to face me, “you’ve been quiet all morning. What’s going on in that tiny, adorable brain of yours?”

I stared at the edge of the blanket, fingers twisting the fabric. “D’you ever think… we look silly together?”

He blinked. “What?”

“I mean, I look like I’m dating a lamppost.”

He laughed a quick burst of surprised sound but stopped immediately when he saw my face.

“You’re serious?”

I shrugged. “People talk.”

“People always talk,” he said, voice softening. “Let me guess… someone made a joke again?”

I nodded.

Will reached out, brushing his fingers over mine.

“Y/N… do you honestly think I give a fuck what anyone says about our height difference?”

“No, but… I do.”

There. I said it.

I looked away, embarrassed. “It just makes me feel… like a child next to you. And I’m always looking up and you’re always bending down and it’s like I have to take three steps to your one”

“Alright, alright,” he said, laughing, “you’ve made your point.”

“I just don’t want people to think you’re dating down like, not just physically, but like…” I trailed off, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“Y/N.”

I finally looked at him.

He set his mug down and shifted closer. His eyes warm, soft, and impossibly kind locked onto mine.

“I love that you’re small.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“For starters,” he said, holding up a finger, “you fit perfectly against me when we cuddle.”

He moved closer, sliding an arm around my waist and pulling me gently toward him.

“You’re the ideal height for head kisses,” he continued, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. “Which, by the way, are my favourite.”

I felt my cheeks warm.

“You make me feel like a proper protector,” he added, fingers drawing slow, soothing patterns on my arm. “Every time you ask me to get something off a shelf, I get to feel like your knight in shining armour.”

I let out a reluctant laugh.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“And, let’s be honest,” he added with a mischievous grin, “you’re the perfect height for...”

“Don’t even say it,” I warned, already blushing.

He smirked. “...hugs.”

I swatted his arm. “You were not going to say hugs.”

“Was too.”

“Liar.”

“Alright,” he admitted, chuckling. “Maybe not just hugs.”

I smacked his shoulder again, laughing despite myself.

But he could tell I wasn’t quite convinced. Not really. Not deep down.

He sighed softly and shifted, reaching for me.

“Come here,” he said gently, tugging me fully into his lap.

I resisted for about half a second before letting him pull me in. His arms wrapped around me securely, like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

I tucked my legs to the side and rested one hand on his chest.

His heart was steady beneath my palm.

“You’re the perfect size for me,” he said quietly, his voice all warmth and sincerity. “Not just physically. You fit into my life like you were meant to be there. You balance me out. You challenge me. You make me laugh.”

He looked down at me, his gaze steady and certain.

“I don’t care if people think we look mismatched. I don’t care if we get stopped in the street or asked stupid questions or stared at like we’re a novelty. All I care about is you. You, sitting here, in my arms, where you belong.”

I felt a lump rise in my throat.

“You’re not too short. And I love you exactly as you are.”

My eyes welled slightly, but I blinked quickly, not wanting to cry on his shirt.

“You mean that?” I asked softly.

“Every word.”

I buried my face in his neck for a moment, inhaling the comforting scent of his skin warm, familiar, safe.

“I love you,” I whispered.

He smiled against my hair. “I love you too"

“Also,” he added with a teasing glint in his eye, “think of how great our future kids will be.”

I blinked. “Kids?”

“Hypothetically,” he said quickly. “Just saying. You and me? One of us is fun-sized, the other’s basically a tree. We’d have perfectly average-sized offspring. Statistically speaking.”

I laughed. “Perfectly average-sized offspring? That’s your pitch?”

“Think of the balance,” he said earnestly. “They’ll fit on rollercoasters and in overhead lockers.”

“Oh my God.”

“They’ll have my reach and your sass. My eyebrows, your eyes. My patience, your charm.”

I looked at him, completely and utterly undone.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Make me forget to hate myself for five bloody minutes.”

He cupped my face in both hands. “Because you’ve got nothing to hate. And one day, I’ll help you believe that for good.”

I closed my eyes, leaned into his touch, and breathed.

Maybe people would always talk.

Maybe strangers would keep pointing and commenting and acting like our love had to be balanced by inches and not hearts.

But I had Will.

Will, with his ridiculous height and even more ridiculous kindness. Will, who kissed my forehead and reached for shelves and pulled me into his lap like I was made for him.

And maybe I was.

[duchessbird]

Love your writing style

Tf 141 x reader whos footsteps dont make sounds. Scaring the fuck out of everyone, needing to wear a bell on their boots when at the base and being sneakily deadly in the battlefield

This is so cute!! Toothrotting fluff, angels!

I made this into pranks and hijinks, and some Price x Fem!Reader towards the end, luvvie, I hope that’s okay! <3

If this isn’t what you wanted, feel free to send me another ask and be like “Hey, Mrs. Beth! That was cute and all… but not really what I asked for!” While I love to write for myself, I open up my ask box so you lovely people can experience my writing as well.

Forever tailored to you,

Mrs. Beth.

Truth be told, you were Price’s favorite. His prized girl. Among the TF141, everybody knew it. Even if nobody said anything. Lingering glances from Price as you swayed around in your civvies, a dress brushing along your thighs and barely reaching your knees. A firm fist planted along his leg while he held back from proposing.

Everybody loved you. Maybe not the recruits, so much, when you tore them a new one for their lack of respect and discipline, but the boys loved you. Simon loved how you cuddled to his side when you were just too cold to be in your room. And Johnny loved how you constantly matched his energy and would always bounce off the walls with him. And Kyle loved the brightness. The constant pep in your step even after all you had seen on the battlefield. Your immense ability to separate work and life.

But, what these four loved even more? How you would let your guard down with them. Silly little lamb, thinking she was safe from the hijinks of her best-friends. And how sneaky they were about to be. Making no noise with their boots.

Simon, his moniker indicative of his love for stealth, loved to piss you off by scaring you. Knowing you didn’t expect anything to be happening, you would just stop listening. Stop asininely surveying your surroundings and just let your brain turn off. It didn’t help that Simon was trained to make no noise when he walked. No noise when he did anything at all. So, a few times a day, the entire base would hear a scream like someone had been murdered. And honestly? I think the victim was your ego.

Johnny scared the piss out of you too, unfortunately in a literate sense at one point, but he would go about it differently. Hiding under blankets and throw pillows and waiting for you to sit on the couch before grabbing onto your arm or leg and causing you to flail off the couch like a fish out of water. Giggling until he tears a stitch in his side.

Kyle pranks you with food, making you coffee or tea with an extra scoop or an extra bag and acting clueless when you ask why it’s so strong. Or making you Oreo’s with toothpaste in the middle. And subsequently being confused when you enjoy it more than a regular Oreo… or swapping all the food in the fridge for plastic baby food, thinking it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever done.

And Price pranks you too, but you’re his favorite. So while he does enjoy the occasional sneak attack, and the occasional toothpaste Oreo, he enjoys his gifting pranks even more. Saying he got you something extravagant for your year anniversary of working with the TF141, only for you to open up the box and find a little racecar, something akin to a Hot Wheels. He watches you play it off, say you’ll cherish it and set it up somewhere but he knows his girl better than that. He hands you another box, and inside? A meticulously laid diamond necklace, heavier than a damn paperweight and shinier than the sun.

“Now, you’ll be wearin’ diamonds when Simon scares the piss outta ya,” he winks.

[viviansturns]

𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆

╰┈➤ 𝒃𝒔𝒇!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒃𝒔𝒇!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒄

relevant fics so you understand the context, however you can still enjoy this without the background information: graduation, facetime calls

You’re scanning the airplane arrivals, heart hammering, when you hear it—

“y/n!”

His voice.

You turn just in time to see Chris sprinting toward you, duffel flailing behind him, curls bouncing, grin stretched so wide it looks like it hurts. And then—bam—arms around your waist, your feet off the ground, the world spinning in a blur of terminal lights and pure laughter.

“Chris!” you squeal, clutching at his shoulders like he might fly away again if you let go.

He spins you once, twice, before finally setting you down—but he doesn’t let go. Not even a little. He’s still grinning like a golden retriever on espresso, then leans in closer, nose brushing your hair. He inhales dramatically.

“You smell different.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, soft and honest. “I don’t know. Not like shampoo. Just… different. Like home.”

Your heart flips. “You look different.”

His face lights up. “Hotter?”

You snort. “You’re delusional.”

He gasps. “Excuse you, I’ve been eating healthy and doing, like, five pushups a day.”

You laugh, loud and unfiltered, and he stares at you like it’s the best sound he’s heard in nine months.

And then, just like that, his grin fades into something quieter. Something real.

“Nine months,” he says softly. “And now you’re actually here.”

You look up at him. Really look. “Yeah. You’re actually here.”

Just as you and Chris are catching your breath, you hear footsteps behind him.

“Don’t you idiots forget about me.” Matt’s voice cuts through the crowd, and Nick’s right behind, grinning.

Chris lets go of you reluctantly but gives Matt a mock glare.

You turn and pull Matt into a tight hug, laughing at the way he tries to play it cool but clearly missed you.

“Hey, stranger,” you say, ruffling his hair.

Then Nick sweeps you into a bear hug, lifting you right off the ground. “God, y/n, we missed you so much. Chris wouldn’t shut up about seeing you.”

“Liar,” Chris mutters.

You pull him in too, happy and a little overwhelmed. “Damn right. Can’t believe you guys are really here.”

The four of you stand there for a beat—messy, loud, happy—like no time has passed at all.

“Let's go get some food, am I right?” yells Chris, giving you a hard pat on the back.

“I’m fuckin’ starving,” you add.

_________

You end up at some diner ten minutes from the airport—mostly because it was the only thing left open at 1:00AM

Now you’re all squeezed into a booth, fries in the middle, menus barely glanced at, because no one’s actually focused on food.

“So then I’m walking across campus,” you’re saying, animated, “and this squirrel just launches itself at my iced coffee. Squirrels here are so tame it’s fuckin’ insane! I think it’s because there's a nursing home with grannies who love feeding them..”

Chris chokes on his water. “You’ve been in LA for a semester and you’re already beefing with wildlife?”

“Campus squirrels are insane,” you say solemnly. “Jacob saw one chase a dog around.”

“Jacob?” Matt raises an eyebrow.

“My roommate,” you explain.

Chris’s expression twitches for a split second, but he covers it with a smirk. “He better not be funnier than me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “He is.”

Chris puts a hand, actually offended. “Wow.”

Nick’s laughing. “Can’t even give you ten minutes without the jealousy kicking in.”

“I’m not jealous,” Chris says immediately, which is the most jealous thing he could possibly say.

You ignore it, kicking him under the table just a little. “Anyway. Tell me about you guys. What’s it like being the internet’s favorite triplets now?”

Matt leans back with a smug grin. “I mean, it’s no squirrel attack story, but we are kind of killing it.”

“No big deal,” Nick adds, clearly trying to play it cool, but his eyes are sparkling. “Just a couple million people watching our videos every day.”

Chris is spinning a straw wrapper between his fingers. “It’s been insane. We’re getting emails about brand deals, travel, and some dude recognized me in the bathroom at a gas station. We were literally both pissing while he talked about how he was our biggest fan.”

“That’s how you know you’ve made it,” you tease.

“It’s weird though,” Nick says, a little softer now. “Like, none of this felt real— or I mean, it still doesn’t feel real.”

Your chest aches—in the good way.

Chris nudges your knee under the table. “It’s different now. In the best way.”

You meet his eyes. Warm. Familiar. Glowing, a little.

“I’m proud of you guys,” you say, and you mean it with your whole heart. “I always knew you’d make it. You didn’t make me laugh until I threw up for years just to not blow up.”

Matt raises his water glass like it’s champagne. “To a new start.”

___________

By the time you pull up to the hotel, everyone’s full of fries and minimal adrenaline that's just barely holding off the exhaustion that’s been creeping in since the triplets landed in LA.

The boys are crashing here for the night—just until their new place is ready. And you, despite having your own apartment waiting, didn’t even hesitate when Chris asked if you wanted to come hang out one more night.

“Just want some company, y'know?” he’d said in the car, voice a little soft over the music. “Like… it’s night one, I need you there.”

So you’re here. One room over from Matt and Nick, brushing your teeth in matt’s borrowed oversized tee and fuzzy socks, Chris already sprawled across the bed like he owns it.

“I call the right side,” he declares, face muffled in the bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “And what if I wanted the right side?”

He stares, unblinking. “Too late Im here.”

You roll your eyes but crawl in anyway, tugging the comforter over both of you as the city hums outside the window. The lights are dim. The air’s a little cold. Chris shifts closer.

And then he wraps an arm around your waist like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

“Comfy?” he asks, voice low now.

You nod. “Warm.”

He hums. “I missed this.”

You glance over, and his face is inches from yours—eyes fluttering half-shut, lips tugging up in a sleepy smile.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he adds, quieter now, like he doesn’t want to wake the moment. “Feels more like home with you here.”

You don’t say anything for a second. 

“I’m glad too.”

Then, he adds: “You’re getting soft on me. You’d usually tell me I’m gross or some shit.”

“Whatever. I’m nice tonight because I feel like you deserve it,” you mumble, already practically fading into unconsciousness.

With a sigh, he lays on his back and just pulls you in until your head is resting on his arm and chest, one of your arms draped around his body, and his wrapped around your shoulder.

And slowly, gently, like you’ve both been waiting for it for nine months straight, you drift off—wrapped up in the kind of quiet that only comes from finally being right where you belong.

And when your breathing is deep and slow, and he’s sure you’re fully asleep, he whispers into the dark.

“I love you, bug.”

YALL IM EDGING MYSELF ATP I CANT DO IT I CANT DO IT

chris is SO SWEET IN THIS JEsUSSSSS I CANT TAKE IT

i need to get a life.

more little sweet blurbs coming soon! ill make them kiss soon i promiseeeee

@sturniolosrtewsexy @sturnbrooke @emely9274 @babytomatoes21 @arianna1342 @gemzyy @namelesssav @chestersturn @ellieluvssturniolos @tits4matt @vanteguccir @luke8989 @matt-sturnioloo @glee2skkii @riggysworld @sturnslux3 @cass-sturn @auttysturnz @oopsiedaisydeer @chrismakesmewet @whore4chris @sturns-mermaid @eeyoresturnz @httpssturns @chrxsprettygirl @bernardsbendystraws @chrisbratt333 @aurorasturnz @iluvchr1s @sturniolosymphony @joanakaulitz @sturn-ath3na @chrispycremedonut @matts-hersheys-kisses

[sleepingdeath-light]

yandere hcs ; golden cheese cookie

requested by ; anonymous (17/07/24)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; golden cheese cookie

outline ; “May I ask for… Golden Cheese Cookie Yandere HC’s… please!”

warning(s) ; yandere!golden cheese cookie, mildly ooc!golden cheese cookie, obsessive behaviour, paranoid behaviour, possessive behaviour, kidnapping, isolation

golden cheese cookie, as a yandere, is someone that spirals so hard and fast into her obsession with keeping you safe and by her side that you barely have any time to process what’s happened before you’ve been taken away from your old life and forced into the role of her beloved consort and treasure

after losing her kingdom — her people, her treasures — she refuses to take any chances with you and, thus, is extremely quick to act on her feelings for you… even if you don’t know what’s happening until you wake up plugged into her kingdom… and aren’t even courting her at the time you’re taken

she spoils you rotten: the finest clothes, the rarest jewels, the richest foods, the best entertainment, and so on — she’d empty her treasury entirely if that’s what it took to make you happy, just say the word and it’ll be done within the hour

she ensures you’re never lonely or bored, either hanging around you and entertaining you herself (i.e. asking about you because she wants to know everything about her treasure) or sending some of her servants to keep you company while she attends to her subjects — allowing you to interact with others but never giving you the chance to get too close, or attached, to anyone who isn’t her

she makes sure you never want for anything be that the fluffiest pillows for your bed, a library of tomes for you to leaf through so you never grow bored, a whole army of chefs to prepare your favourite snacks and meals at the drop of the hat, an array of attendants to tend to your ever need, or whatever else. after all, anything that doesn’t involve you leaving her kingdom is yours if only you ask

she treats you like you’re the most precious thing in the world: staring at you like you single-handedly painted the constellations onto the night sky when you do as little as laugh or smile or breathe in her presence, holding you with such gentleness that one would think you were made of porcelain or glass whenever you’re too tired to move on your own, tenderly brushing dust or crumbs from your skin with a smile that borders on unsettling infatuation as she refuses to let you dirty your hands in even the smallest of ways, etc.

but she’s also extremely paranoid, her unyielding fear over the thought of losing you so overpowering that she refuses to truly ever leave you alone nor trust anyone else with you: hovering near you constantly and refusing to let anyone close, having her most trusted subjects watch over you in her place when she herself is unable to be there for one reason or another, listing your loved ones as threats to the kingdom so they’ll be attacked and refused entry if ever they try to retrieve you, imprisoning anyone who gets too close to you, etc.

and possessive, to the point of belittling and embarrassing and attacking anyone who she deems to be a potential rival for your love and attention

and clingy, so clingy that you feel completely suffocated more often than not — barely able to take the time to rest or eat or breathe without her staring you down and invading your personal space as if it were a mere extension of her own. always leering, always touching, always showing off that you’re hers and never giving you the chance to dodge or flee or do anything other than be a good consort and let your queen hold you as she desires

because she’s too greedy to bother respecting or even acknowledging your boundaries

and not afraid to use her power and status as an ancient, a queen, and a goddess to keep you and everyone else in line — as described in previous points

because you are the one thing she cannot lose and she will do whatever it takes to keep you right by her side

for the rest of eternity

[adoreasellie]

hey!! can we please have something about brother’s best friend!ellie🙏🏻

Hi my love. I absolutely ADORE brother’s best friend!ellie. I hope you like it as much I did when I wrote. Xx

—————————————————————————

Title: What We Never Said

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Resume: Back in her hometown after three years, she comes face to face with the girl she never really left behind.

Tags: unresolved sexual tension, small town nostalgia, secret relationship, soft angst, emotional smut, Ellie is brother’s bff, returning home, aching intimacy, slow burn.

You hadn’t been home in three years.

Not because you didn’t want to see your family — you did. You loved them. You missed the quiet hum of the house, your mother’s lemon tea, the way your brother still left his shoes in the middle of the hallway like it was a war crime to put them away.

But going home meant facing her.

And that was something you weren’t sure you could survive.

Ellie.

Your brother's best friend since kindergarten.

The girl who practically lived at your house growing up — always on the couch with a controller in her hand, challenging your brother to another round of some zombie game, legs sprawled, biting the cap of her soda bottle, cursing softly when she lost.

She was a part of the family before she was anything to you.

Before the looks lingered a little too long.

Before her hand brushed yours under the dinner table and didn’t move away.

Before the first night she slipped into your bed and held you like a secret.

You were seventeen when it started.

It was slow at first — small things. Lingering glances in the kitchen when no one was looking. Her hand resting on your thigh under the shared blanket while your family watched movies just a few feet away. The soft knock on your bedroom door at midnight that became a routine neither of you ever questioned.

There were no labels.

No declarations.

Just skin, breath and fingertips on collarbones, and the unspoken understanding that something about her was yours.

And then you left.

You got the job offer of your dreams — editorial assistant at a fashion magazine in Manhattan. The kind of offer you’d been working toward since you were sixteen, clipping pages from Vogue, sketching ideas in your notebooks.

You wanted to make something of yourself. To be someone.

So you told her.

And she looked at you like you'd betrayed her.

She didn’t yell. Ellie never yelled. But she shut down. Eyes cold. Arms crossed. Voice low.

“I guess that’s it then.”

And just like that — it was.

You left the next month.

She didn’t call.

You didn’t either.

You threw yourself into your new life — fast-paced, dizzying, exhausting. Workdays that bled into nights. Coffee-fueled meetings. Deadlines. Parties you didn’t want to be at. People who didn’t really see you.

You dated a few women, briefly. None of them lasted. None of them knew you like she did.

You tried not to think about her.

Mostly, you failed.

So when your mom begged you to come home this summer, you said yes — hesitantly, reluctantly, stupidly.

And now you were here. Back in your childhood bedroom with the peeling The Killers poster and the rain tapping against the window like it had been waiting for you.

You hadn’t left the house much.

In fact, for the first couple weeks, you barely stepped outside at all.

You told your brother you were tired, jetlagged, that you needed to catch up on rest. He didn’t push. But you knew he knew.

He always knew.

He was your brother, after all. He had seen the way you used to look at Ellie — like she was the gravity that held you in place.

And now?

Now you spent your days curled under a blanket, watching the Oregon rain blur the edges of the pine trees, tracing droplets as they slid down the glass like tiny constellations.

It was oddly comforting.

Like the past hadn’t moved on without you. Like Ellie might still be out there somewhere, pulling her hoodie over her head and cursing the storm under her breath.

You kept imagining it — running into her. At the store. The gas station. Some café.

You pictured her with shorter hair. Maybe new tattoos. Still wearing those goddamn flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up just enough to see her forearms.

You’d thought about it so much you started dreaming about her again. The kind of dreams that stayed with you all day.

The kind that made your chest ache.

And yet, every time you thought about going out — actually going out — your stomach turned.

Because what if she didn’t care?

What if she did?

So you waited.

And waited.

And let the rain fill the silence.

Your brother mentioned Ellie once or twice. Said she worked at the town’s museum now. That she was “busy.”

You didn’t ask more.

But every time he said her name, your pulse stuttered.

She still existed.

Still breathed the same air as you.

After three weeks, you cracked.

You told your brother you were going to run errands. He offered to come. You said no.

Your fingers trembled on the steering wheel as you made your way downtown. You told yourself you were just browsing. Just curious.

But you knew where you were going the moment you got in the car.

The museum was small. Familiar. The same creaky floors and dusty exhibits from when you were a kid.

You stepped inside, heart hammering.

And there she was.

Leaning against the front desk, eyes glued to a thick book, pen tucked behind her ear.

She looked older. Her hair was shorter. Her arms stronger. Her flannel sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing the familiar tattoos winding up her forearms.

Same rings on her fingers. Same messy handwriting on the clipboard beside her.

She didn’t look up. Just said, distractedly, “Hello, welcome to the town’s museum.”

Your voice caught in your throat.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She looked up then — and froze.

Her eyes locked on yours.

Time stopped.

“…Hey,” she said after a long beat. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Liar.

You both knew your brother had told her.

But you nodded, playing along.

“Yeah. A few weeks. Been catching up with everyone,” you said, voice steadier than you felt.

She gave a small smile. Nodded.

And then: “How are you, city girl?”

The nickname sent a bolt of something sharp through your ribs.

You shrugged. “Busy. But… good.”

The air between you was thick. Electric.

She gestured to the exhibit behind her. “Want a tour?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Sure.”

She led you through the aisles, her voice calm, explaining artifacts like nothing had happened. Like your hands hadn’t once memorized every inch of her. Like she hadn’t once whispered your name into your skin.

You answered her questions. Asked a few of your own. But all you could focus on was her presence. The way her shoulder brushed yours when you stopped too close. The smell of her — cedar and something earthy. Familiar.

Then, visitors arrived.

“I should get back,” she said quietly. “Duty calls.”

You nodded, heart sinking.

She looked at you for a moment longer. “It’s… good to see you.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you just whispered, “You too.”

Then you left.

And the ache in your chest felt sharper than ever.

The rain had started again by the time you left the museum. Light, steady. The kind that blurred the edges of the town and made everything feel like a memory.

You drove back in silence. Hands clenched on the steering wheel. Heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out.

You couldn’t get her out of your head. The way she’d said “How are you, city girl?” like it didn’t mean anything. Like she hadn’t been everything.

You walked through the door still half-soaked, and before you could escape upstairs, your brother called out from the kitchen.

“Where are the groceries?”

You froze.

You hadn’t even pretended to stop anywhere else. Hadn’t even bothered with a plastic bag to fake it.

“I— I didn’t go,” you stammered, kicking off your shoes.

He walked into the hallway. Eyed you carefully.

“You went to see her, didn’t you?”

Silence.

“Do you think I’m dumb?” he said, gentler now, his voice dipping. “Come on. It’s Ellie.”

At her name, your chest tightened. Your lips trembled before you could stop them.

And then— you broke.

You collapsed into his arms with a sob so deep it startled even you. Legs shaking. Body giving out. Your brother barely had time to catch you before you hit the floor, cradling you against him like he hadn’t done since you were a kid.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, “I don’t— I didn’t expect to feel like this.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just let you cry.

Then, when your breathing finally steadied, he murmured:

“You know she had a hard time, after you left. I mean— you think no one noticed what was going on between you two? Please. It was obvious.”

You pulled away, red-eyed. “We never said anything. Not even to each other.”

“Yeah. That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

You didn’t reply.

Because he was right.

That evening, the doorbell rang just as you were finishing setting the table.

You didn’t have to ask who it was.

Ellie stepped into the house like she’d never left. Same easy grin for your parents. Same shoulder bump for your brother. Only difference — her eyes kept flicking to you.

You tried not to look at her, and failed miserably.

During dinner, you barely touched your food. Ellie sat across from you, and every now and then your knees would brush under the table. Every brush sent a jolt through your spine.

She laughed at something your dad said. You couldn’t focus on the conversation, too aware of the tension coiling tight under your skin. Too aware of her.

She looked good. Unfairly good.

Rolled-up sleeves, calloused fingers, hair slightly damp from the rain. A little older, a little more tired, but still very much her.

Still the only thing you’d ever regretted leaving behind.

Halfway through dessert, you excused yourself.

You made it to the bathroom, shut the door, and gripped the sink with both hands. Your reflection stared back at you — flushed, wide-eyed, breath shallow.

You didn’t lock the door.

You couldn’t say why. Maybe you didn’t need to.

Because two minutes later, the handle turned.

And she walked in.

Ellie didn’t say anything when she stepped in.

She just looked at you — closed the door behind her with a soft click, and leaned her back against it like she wasn’t entirely sure she could move forward without combusting.

You didn’t speak either.

But your eyes said everything.

Three years of silence. Of words unsaid. Of nights awake, wondering if she’d forgotten what your skin felt like under her hands.

She took one step forward. Then another.

And then— she was on you.

Mouth crashing into yours like she’d been holding her breath since the last time you touched. Her hands found your hips, fingers curling in tight. Your body hit the wall, and you gasped against her lips, your nails digging into the sleeves of her flannel.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. Hungry. Full of everything neither of you had dared to say.

She kissed like she hated herself for it. Like she’d spent three years pretending she didn’t need this. You whimpered into her mouth, your hands moving to her hair, tugging at the ends, grounding yourself.

Her tongue brushed against yours and you felt your knees almost give out.

Ellie groaned. One of her hands slid down to your thigh, lifting it up to wrap around her waist, pressing you harder into the wall.

“You’re mine,” she whispered into your neck, biting down lightly before kissing the skin. “You’ve always been.”

You gasped — her lips, her voice, her hands, all of it so painfully familiar it burned.

She kissed her way down your collarbone. Your fingers trembled against her shoulders.

Your breath hitched when she sucked a mark into your skin — not out of spite, but need. Proof that you were here. That you were still hers. That time hadn’t stolen everything.

She pulled back just enough to press her forehead against yours.

Both of you panting.

Both of you shattered.

Ellie closed her eyes.

“Please don’t leave again,” she whispered, barely audible.

The weight of it hit you like a wave.

She wasn’t demanding. She wasn’t accusing. She was begging.

Like she already knew she couldn’t take it a second time.

You swallowed hard. Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them.

Because you couldn’t promise that. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

But you also couldn’t lie to her.

So you didn’t say a word.

You just held her tighter.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT part fourteen, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, collection of imagines!!, ie. reader moving into victor’s village, mom, snows suggestion to have rafe and reader move in together, y/ns first nightmare also

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous

moving into victor’s village

it’s been days since snow laid out his plan, days since you reluctantly agreed, if you could even call it that. there was no real choice. not when he already had eyes on your family, already had the victors village homes cleaned and decorated in anticipation.

definitely when he leaned in and said, “it's for the story, dear. for the people. you’re a symbol now. how lucky you are to be loved.”

lucky.

you stand with your arms crossed as the movers shuffle around behind you. they carry boxes into the house as if you can’t do it yourself, your name already engraved on a brass plaque by the front door.

you didn’t bring much, just a few old books, a sweater your dad gave you once, your mother's handkerchief, among other things. you didn’t need to pack furniture or silverware or curtains. everything’s already here, curated and designed for you. a victors package. you didn’t pick any of it.

the floors shine. there’s a decently sized living room with pale gold couches and a fireplace you know you’ll never light. everything smells like lavender and money.

but all you can think about is how your parents didn’t come. they can’t, anyway.

your mother cried the night you told her over the phone that you were moving. she didn’t say much. she just said ‘okay’.

she didn’t come to help you pack. she didn’t say goodbye at the station. she said she needed to stay back, to keep working, but you know it’s more than that.

so now you’re here.

alone.

you don’t cry. you don’t feel much of anything, really. just cold.

you step forward into the entrance hall and catch a glimpse out the window, the one that faces the house across the way. it’s identical to your own.

rafe is outside of it. he’s trying to help one of the movers unload another, but the man brushes him off with a grunt and keeps walking.

rafe pauses, steps back. his face is unreadable. but there’s something about the way he just stands there, arms loose at his sides, not doing anything, not trying again. like he’s used to being dismissed now.

his head lifts. you’re still inside, framed by the doorway and glass, but his eyes find yours. you don’t smile. neither does he.

getting visited by mom!!

the house is too quiet. sometimes, it feels like it’s not really yours. too many corners, too many expensive things placed just so.

you don’t touch most of it. you use one mug, one plate. you sleep in a bed far from the window. you keep the lights off in rooms you never go into. and still, it feels like someone’s watching.

you’ve started to recognize the habits of the victors around you. brutus takes his morning runs before the sun even comes up, always back before you’re dressed. enobaria shows up at your door with no warning sometimes, just arms crossed, inspecting you like she’s still your mentor, like she still has to make sure you haven’t cracked yet.

you’ve met the others, like leonidas, the guy with the sharp jaw and even sharper words. he usually nods politely but rarely ever sticks around. met ryfle too, but he’s quieter, always watching. you’ve seen both of their games. most of the victors here keep to themselves. you get it.

still, everything about the village feels . . . hushed. it’s weird.

you hadn’t even realized how used to being alone you were becoming until you see her. well, you see the suv before you see her.

the harvester engine grumbles like it’s being dragged across gravel. the door creaks when it opens. she steps out slowly, like she’s not sure this is real, or like she forgot how to move for a second.

your stomach drops.

her hair is tied back, but it’s uneven like she did it blind or in a rush without really caring. strands fall into her face. she doesn’t brush them away. she’s wearing a sweater that you think used to be your dad’s, though it hangs off her now like some curtain on a frail frame.

she used to dress neatly. nothing fancy, just deliberate. her collar would always be pressed, lipstick soft. she smelled like lavender detergent and the faintest floral perfume she kept hidden in her drawer, something she wore only on good days.

today, she smells like coffee. but the old, stale kind.

you don’t wait for her to notice you standing at the end of the walk. your feet crunch down over the crushed white stones that border your driveway.

“mom.”

you expect her arms to open, but they don’t. at least not right away.

she stiffens when you hug her, like she forgot how this is supposed to go. it takes a second before her arms slide around you, too loose, too cautious. she holds you like she’s afraid she’ll break you, like you’re made of ash and one deep breath will literally blow you away.

you pull her closer anyway. your eyes sting.

“you look—” she pulls back and fumbles for words. “they’ve been feeding you, right? you look like you’ve . . . grown.”

grown.

“it’s only been two months, mom.”

you search her face for something familiar. but even her smile looks like a draft version of the real thing. it never touches her eyes.

“you okay?” you ask.

“yes. of course,” she says quickly. “just a long trip. district six cars are . . . unreliable.”

you nod, but you're already studying her. the circles under her eyes are deeper than before. her mouth is chapped, skin dry. her movements are all wrong. she’s trying not to take up too much space.

she used to command a room with nothing more than a look. now she seems like she’s trying to disappear inside herself.

you don’t point it out. you just say, “i missed you.”

“i missed you, too.” her voice cracks a little, just there. just enough to make you believe her.

you start walking back toward your house.

“your place is beautiful,” she says. “i mean—wow. victors get the real treatment, don’t they? i can’t imagine what your room must look like. remember when you wanted one with skylights? i bet they gave you one.”

you don’t answer right away.

“it’s nice,” you say after a moment. “just empty.”

she nods like she understands. then chirps, “well, it’s just the beginning. maybe you can decorate. get some flowers. plants help a house feel alive, don’t they?”

you look at her sideways.

she used to hate plants. called them depressing. “they always die,” she said once, “and i never notice until it’s too late.”

“maybe,” you reply quietly.

her hands are wrapped tightly around the strap of her bag. her knuckles are pale from the grip. she keeps adjusting the strap like it’s too heavy, even though the bag itself barely looks full.

“dad still away?” you ask.

she nods. “they’ve got him on border duty. nothing serious. just . . . protocol. something stupid if you ask me. but they’ll rotate him back home soon, i think.”

you want to believe that, but you don’t.

enobaria told you she thinks it was punishment, or like a warning. snow didn’t want your father anywhere near you after your victory. didn’t want the man who loved you most reminding you of anything good. his punishment was absence.

neither of you say that out loud though.

“you know,” she says suddenly, too brightly, “if you ever want to come back home—i mean, to visit—you just have to ask. your room’s exactly the same. i haven’t touched a thing. not a single thing.”

you stop walking. the front gate is only a few feet away now, freshly oiled and painted black.

her eyes flick to yours and away again. she wraps her arms around herself now.

“i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to go back,” you admit softly.

she nods again, too fast, like she rehearsed it. “that’s okay. i mean— of course. i just— i like knowing you could, that’s all.”

you hold the door open for her.

she steps in, her eyes darting around the foyer, taking in the polished floors, the ceilings, the gold trim around the crown molding.

“this place is really something.”

you nod once. “it’s too much,” you say.

“well,” she laughs faintly, “i always said you were meant for more than our little apartment, didn’t i?”

you shake your head, “you used to say all we needed was each other.”

that silences her.

she looks down, then at the far wall. then, quietly: “do you have tea?”

you go into the kitchen without answering. she follows behind like a shadow.

the electric kettle clicks on with a hum. you open the cabinet, your hand brushing against boxes of tea imported from the capitol. lavender, rose, citrus mint, some are just blends you’d never even heard of before.

you grab the most plain one, chamomile, and let her sit at your table. you pour her tea. the mug trembles slightly in her hand as she takes it but she doesn’t say much after that.

you sit across from her in silence.

she looks around like she’s searching for something to comment on.

“do you get lonely?” she finally asks.

it takes you aback but you shrug. “it’s quiet.”

“well, it’s not like you were raised for quiet.” she tries to smile again, but it wobbles at the corners. “our building never gave you that. remember the neighbors upstairs with the dog that barked through every thunderstorm?”

“yeah,” you murmur. “and the one downstairs who cooked at 4am every night.”

“those onions?” she snorts softly. “god, i can still smell it.”

“me too.” you laugh, just once. a little breath of a memory. “every time i walk past someone frying anything.”

it’s a weird relief, how just the mention of something normal makes her a little more herself. her spine is less tense. her face is softer.

you stand suddenly, reaching up to the top shelf above the stove.

“i, um . . . i got you something.”

she blinks. “what?”

“after i got out of the hospital,” you say, pulling down a small paper-wrapped parcel, “i walked around a bit. just the shops near the village. i didn’t really know what to do with myself, but i saw this, and . . . i thought of you.”

you hand her the parcel. she hesitates before taking it, then she starts unwrapping it slowly, carefully peeling back the paper. inside is the small tin box, rounded at the edges and hand-painted with a soft blue floral pattern.

she gasps. “oh.”

“you used to keep your sewing needles in something just like it,” you say.

“i did,” she breathes. “when you were little. you used to steal them, make me guess which of your pockets you hid them in.”

“i thought i was being clever.”

“you were.” her voice gets soft. “you were always clever.”

she runs a thumb over the painted lid. “the shops on this side of town must be something else though. more selection, i bet.”

you shake your head immediately. “no. they’re really not.”

“oh, come on.” her tone brightens. “look at this. you’d never find something this delicate near the railyards.”

“they just price it higher here,” you say. “it’s the same stuff, mom. i promise.”

she gives you a look, half disbelieving, half proud.

“it’s okay,” she murmurs. “you don’t have to pretend like things aren’t different now.”

“i’m not,” you mumble with a shake of your head, almost like you just want her to drop it. she goes quiet. but it’s the kind of quiet that makes you feel like you said something wrong, even though you didn’t. “sorry,” you murmur. “i just . . . i don’t want you to think i’m not still me.”

she nods, slowly. “i know. it’s just hard to imagine it all. you, here. it feels like a dream. like they scooped you up and dropped you in some capitol fairy tale. i keep waiting to wake up and find you in bed, sprawled out sideways, hogging all the blankets.”

“i still sleep sideways,” you say. that gets her to laugh, and for a second, you see her. the real her. the one who knew all your hiding spots, who could braid your hair without looking, who once stayed up all night with you because you were scared of a nightmare you couldn’t remember.

then the moment fades. her smile dims again, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the tin box.

you reach across the table and put your hand over hers. her skin is cold.

“it’s gonna be okay,” you whisper. she nods and you notice her lower lip trembles just once, then goes still. but your hand stays over hers. she doesn’t pull away.

“you’re still my girl,” she says quietly, like she needs to say it out loud to make it real again.

“always,” you whisper back.

snow proposes that you and rafe move in together.

“what?”

you blink, stunned. his words echo in your head as you stare at snow, who unsurprisingly looks entirely unaffected as if he just commented on the weather or the way your shoes don’t match.

you sit in the velvet chair across from his desk, flanked by tall windows and gilded molding and that awful lingering smell of roses. rafe is beside you. you can feel the tension in his posture even though he hasn’t said a word yet. his arms are folded across his chest, jaw tight. you don’t look at him.

“you heard me, my dear,” snow says calmly, fingers tented together like a steeple. “i believe it would be mutually beneficial for the two of you to consider cohabitation.”

he lets the word sink in, like he thinks you’re too stupid to know what it means.

you furrow your brows. “cohabitation. as in—”

“living together,” snow says, too pleasantly. “yes.”

is he serious?

“it’s a natural next step,” he continues. “given the narrative we’ve all worked so hard to establish. and the capitol is quite enamored with you both, which—” he gestures vaguely with a gloved hand, “—is no small feat, i might add. especially considering how volatile some of your moments were in the arena.”

your stomach twists. you want to argue, but instead you sit there, teeth clenched, listening to the president of panem talk about your trauma like it’s a television subplot.

“we’ll be announcing your joint victory officially during caesar’s post-games special. i’m sure you’ve heard the buzz around it. it’s a tradition, of course. something sweet to close the season. and what better way to begin your new lives than appearing as victors, and lovers, entirely united?”

you hate the way he says lovers. you don’t know what the future actually holds between you and rafe, but this all feels so scripted, like it’s owned.

he turns his eyes to rafe. “don’t you agree?”

rafe doesn’t answer right away. when he does, it’s low. “if that’s what you want.”

you finally glance over at him. his face is unreadable.

snow smiles, it’s not kind.

“excellent. we’ll have the relocation paperwork drafted immediately. it won’t be difficult, since you’re already neighbors in victor’s village. it’s just a matter of consolidating space. we’ll allow you time to decorate, of course. appearances matter.”

you look back at him slowly. “and if we don’t?”

snow blinks like he doesn’t understand the question. “i’m sorry?”

“if we don’t live together,” you repeat, carefully.

he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “my dear, it’s not about what you want. it’s about what your district needs. what the capitol wants. what we’ve promised.”

he leans forward slightly. his voice lowers, “your lives belong to panem now. i thought you understood that.”

you don’t say anything. there’s nothing left to say that he hasn’t already taken.

“there’ll be a prep team sent to assist with the transition,” he adds, as if you’ve agreed. “and a stylist. your image needs to be curated properly for the upcoming interview. nothing too formal, but charming. something that says: we survived, we’re in love, we’re still worth watching.”

you feel sick.

snow sits back in his chair, hands folding neatly in his lap. “you’ll be notified of the exact date for caesar’s interview shortly. i trust you’ll both be ready.”

you nod anyway, so he waves a hand toward the door like he’s done with you.

you stand without thinking. you and rafe don’t speak as you exit the office, not until the door shuts behind you, the guards standing at attention like statues on either side.

you exhale shakily. rafe walks a few steps ahead, then stops in the hallway and turns to look at you.

“i’ll take the couch,” he says.

reader has their first nightmare.

you’re tossing again. the sheets twist around your legs, damp from sweat. your pillow’s on the floor, and you don’t remember when it got there. your breath is uneven. it’s starting again. the clicks, the scratches, the dark.

in the dream, they’re all there.

the mutt. the clicking one with several eyes and those serrated fingers, its silhouette jerking in that unnerving, glitching way. it lunges for you, and you’re too slow, too tired, too human. its teeth are around your throat before you even see it move.

you can’t scream. nothing comes out.

then come the others. the coyote-things that wore faces. too many, too fast. you stabbed one and it screamed in someone’s voice. kie’s voice, jj’s, topper’s. then snow is there, smiling, talking over the carnage, telling you it’s all part of the game, telling you they were never real to begin with. you try to run but your feet won’t move.

when you finally wake, you’re already screaming.

you shoot up in bed, tangled in the sheets, gasping so loud it shatters the silence. your fingers claw at the comforter like it’s the thing trying to eat you alive. your nails catch on the seams. you rip one of them open.

your chest is heaving. it feels like something’s still in the room with you. your heart is beating so loud it hurts.

it takes you too long to realize you’re not in the arena anymore. you’re in your room. you’re in victor’s village in the bed they gave you after they crowned you winner. but it doesn’t feel like a victory. it feels like hell with better pillows.

you press a hand hard against your chest, trying to ground yourself, feel something real.

you don’t even register the footsteps until the door bursts open. your whole body jerks.

it’s rafe.

he’s out of breath, barefoot, standing in the doorway like he didn’t even bother knocking. his chest rises and falls beneath a long-sleeved shirt. his hair’s all messy like he was deep in sleep when he heard you scream.

his eyes find you immediately.

“i heard—” he starts, but stops short at the sight of you hunched and trembling, half-sunk in the sheets, gasping like you just clawed your way out of the grave.

you stare at him like he’s something dangerous, just for a second. your eyes are wide, wild, like you don’t recognize him. like you’re not sure if he’s real or just another part of the nightmare. it takes a moment for your brain to catch up.

then you blink it out. you breathe again. it’s him. just him.

your mouth opens like you’re about to explain, but all that comes out is a soft sound, somewhere between a sob and a broken breath. your hand is still clutching your chest. your hair’s plastered to the side of your face in cold, sticky strands, and suddenly you’re aware of how you must look.

you reach up and tug your hair to the side, out of instinct more than anything. like if you can just fix that one thing, maybe the rest won’t feel so loud.

“i didn’t mean to wake you,” you say quietly.

he doesn’t say anything right away. he just stares, jaw tight. you know that look. like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

he shakes his head, “you didn’t.” but it’s a lie. and you both know it.

you sit there for a while. he does too, just standing still in the doorway. neither of you say anything at first.

then softly, just above a whisper, rafe says, “i still see them too. every night.”

your eyes find him again.

he doesn’t mean for it to sound like a confession, but it is. it’s the first time you’ve heard him admit anything about it. about what’s still haunting him.

and he’s been sleeping on the couch this whole time, keeping his distance, doing exactly what he said he would: giving you space. but he looks like he hasn’t slept at all. at least not really.

you think about how cold that couch must be, how he tosses and turns in silence, how he might be doing it just to stay awake so he doesn’t have to see them again.

you don’t mean to say it. it just leaves your mouth in a soft breath, barely there.

“i don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

there’s a pause. not long, but long enough that you can see the shift in his face as he processes it. his jaw tightens. he rolls it forward slightly, the way he does when he’s fighting something internal. his mouth opens like he might say something else, but doesn’t.

his eyes drop to the floor. “then i’m not leaving.” and when he looks back up at you, he means it.

you don’t say anything. you don’t have to. he sees it in your face, the small flicker of relief, the silent thank-you tucked behind your eyes. something soft loosens in your expression.

he closes the door behind him quietly. it clicks shut before he scratches the back of his neck, awkward all of a sudden. he just stands there for a second like he’s waiting for a signal or something. like he’s not quite sure what the rules are now.

you shift over just a little to give him enough space. that’s all he needs. rafe crosses the room with slow steps, then lifts the blanket and slides in beside you.

it’s quiet. the kind of quiet that makes your heart feel too big for your chest.

you both lay down at the same time, careful not to touch. he’s on his back. staring straight up at the ceiling like it might give him answers. you turn onto your side, facing the wall.

the mattress dips slightly under his weight, and you can feel the space between your bodies like a live wire. you’re not touching, but you’re aware of each other, breathing the same air, hearts still recovering.

you close your eyes. rafe doesn’t. his hands are folded across his chest now, but his eyes are wide open. he’s just staring up at the ceiling.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. he’s still trying to outrun his dream.

and for once, you’re not running alone.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[plan-3-tmars]

I'm not a big fan of the interpretation that hinako had no idea about what was going on behind the scenes of kazui's stage, or atleast the feeling I get from how some people talk about her like she was completely naive or in the dark

I mean, half shows their relationship straining quite clearly. they're shown on opposite sides of the room, not even facing each other. I feel like any partner would start to wonder and have doubts about why things aren't the same as they used to be, why their love isn't spending as much time with them anymore and starting to pick up habits associated with Drowning One's Sorrows in (drinking and smoking)

No, I think she most definitely had her doubts. I think she brushed these aside, justifying them with the whole "he would never" shebang, I mean kazui was the one who asked her out in the first place so surely not? Right?

I think it makes her reaction contextualised a lot more, and it makes more sense to me.

This isn't the face of just someone realising their partner has never romantically loved them, it's also the face of someone whose deepest worries, that they brushed away because they trusted their partner, being proven right.

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation (M and f) back shots, threesomes on set w/ Suguru and Sukuna, cum drinking, weed smoking, drinking, lots of longing, reader is innocent DON'T read if you don't like that, pining, obsessive, he can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru because that's how I NEED HIM, a lot of mentions of sex, cum, etc- it's about porn so lol. A lil bit of angsttt, a lil bit of cuteness, demisexual reader, hoe Satoru what a pair.

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC 10k!

Based on Pornstar Satoru- Playlist- Chapter Two>>>

Chapter One

Satoru Gojo was one of the most famous pornstars there are, and the baddie arched right in front of him, sucking on one of the other most famous stars’ cock - Satoru’s best friend Suguru Geto - shows exactly why he is. When he slams his latex covered cock so deep inside her she screams, squirting all down his cock while she chokes down Suguru…

That’s not just for the camera.

Satoru knows every spot on his co-stars, shouldn’t it be fun for them too? He never would let a single one of them not cum several times, hence the long, long line and insane demand he has. The amount of onlyfans collab requests he gets, along with shoot after shoot, he has to be extremely picky, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t eat up how desired he was.

Even now, he winks right into the camera, knowing how many people were watching this livestream, gripping his costar’s hips and slamming his cock so deep, while Suguru is gripping her face delicately, moaning. Blue eyes and violet eyes meet the camera, dual smirks while they make this girl shatter for them, until they know it’s time for the money shot.

She’s eagerly on her knees, at the most perfect angle in the room they use as a stage, fully lit with pro lighting, and the comments and tips from this livestream are going insane, all while she looks up at both of them. Satoru takes off his condom, while she strokes him, sucking his cock and then Suguru’s, so huge and heavy, though Satoru loves to brag that he’s just a little longer, and Suguru brags he’s thicker.

They love competing, including who cums more, both of them moaning, though Satoru is a little more occupied with how good his abs look in the camera, fuck they’re glistening really, as she starts jerking them off now with practiced hands. Suguru looks at Satoru then, brushing back dark locks.

“I’m gonna cum way more than you this time.” He murmurs, so that the camera’s couldn’t hear, but the girl stroking them giggles a bit, clearly fucked out.

Satoru stretches his arms up, folding them behind his head, as the strokes get faster, as she laps up his milky precum from his perfect pink tip. “Nah, no way, I will this time.”

“So competitive, hmm?” She says, drawing their attention, then she hits that twist just right, and Satoru and Suguru are cumming all over her eager face, her hands, her open mouth, shooting milky ropes and groaning out.

Satoru gets paid to cum on pretty girls faces, and he gets paid a lot, with his best fucking friend - just how do you beat that? He grins as the livestream is popping off, and Suguru is delicate in swiping their cum all over her for one more money shot, Satoru leans over, stroking himself right on camera once more, to the many happy tips and replies of all his fans.

“And that’s a wrap.” Satoru’s cocky voice follows a click, as he takes in just how much they made, whistling. “Goddamn, we should celebrate.”

“Um… guys…” Satoru turns then, as his co-star is covered, and he laughs a bit, rushing to grab soft wet wipes for her.

“I’m sorry, shit!” Him and Suguru carefully clean her up, and now her manager walks in, along with Satoru’s and Suguru’s, a freshly cleaned costar hugs the two of them.

“Thank you for letting me join, my OF is gonna blow up!” Satoru smiles then, while their managers all spread out the cut.

“Of course, you did great.” She beams, hugging Suguru now.

“Amazing, love.”

“You all are the best!” Soon it’s just Satoru and Suguru with their managers, and Satoru is yawning, bored, still not dressed, cock just swinging and still huge on semi hard, much to his manager’s annoyance.

“We have a big shoot tomorrow, don’t be out partying.” He says, avoiding Satoru’s cock in his vision so much Satoru laughs.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Satoru and Suguru absolutely listen…

Not.

They’re smoking a blunt right in the middle of a Hollywood party, lit off their asses, perhaps they partook in a little coke to celebrate, but who’s to say, just a residue of white in their nostrils to really know. They’re surrounded by women, free drinks all over of the highest quality, to celebrate breaking the bank with the star they shot with, why should they turn it down?

Satoru Gojo loves his life, really.

It feels good, it’s always busy, full of pretty women and an insane amount of money and fame, shit he loves to read comments on himself, but he wouldn’t admit it, about how badly everyone wants him. And why wouldn’t they? Satoru finds himself attractive as fuck, first and foremost. But at times, alone in that penthouse when Suguru would leave for days at a time…

Sometimes he got a little lonely, if he was being honest. Hollywood was full of fake and fleeting friends, and even costars wanted his fame, his cock, his money, not really him. But that was something Satoru shoves far, far back, instead returning his mind to the party at hand, a sea of bodies in a huge mansion right on the coast, littered with entangled and dancing bodies.

It all seems perfect, until Satoru sees someone walk in, a pretty girl who just doesn’t fit in, she just sticks out, nervously clutching a teddy bear cased phone, pushing up her tortoiseshell glasses. As Satoru leans forward, and Suguru hands him a blunt, he can’t get his fucking gaze of the girl, her baggie tan sweater, white pleated skirt and converse.

She stands out completely from the half naked women, many blondes with fake bodies, fake asses, fake tits… not that Satoru minded, he loves all tits and asses, silicon or not. But you look natural, your lips don’t have all that filler, the lips you’re biting, but when your teeth release them, they’re still full and fucking gorgeous, just a bit glossy, the low soft lights glinting off them.

The music of the party fades, everything fades, it’s like some stupid nineties rom com where the room parts, and it’s just this girl. A sweet girl with her hair falling over one shoulder, the other bare, and if Satoru could pick a body part that’s oddly turning him on, it’s your bare shoulder, your collarbones, with a pretty necklace that looks like it must be your zodiac sign.

Someone comes up to you then, handing you a glass of champagne, and he watches you shift a bit, looking down shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes traveling up and down your body, dying to know what your outfit is hiding. Your eyes catch his suddenly, a sweet, shy smile that just fucks him up, it’s like you’ve punched him in the fucking chest.

“Satoru… Satoru… earth to fucking Satoru… M’gonna smoke all this blunt myself, then-” Satoru finally realizes Suguru is calling for him, when he waves a hand in front of Satoru’s face, ruining his field of vision. 

“Who is she?” Satoru and Suguru know most of the industry, sex workers and actors alike, and he sure the fuck has never seen you. Suguru eyes you then, his lips quirking up as you look down shyly once more, poking at your phone.

“I don’t know, she’s pretty though.” Satoru scowls, and Suguru leans back on the crushed velvet couch, purple as his eyes, handing Satoru the much smaller blunt than he previously saw.

How long had he been staring?

“Looks like a good girl, don’t corrupt her.” Satoru glares deeper, blue eyes glinting as he snatches up the blunt, wrapping his lips around the tip and inhaling that smoke deep in his lungs, leaning back and blowing the smoke up in a puffy cloud.

“Just curious, looks like she doesn’t belong here.” Suguru shrugs, taking the brown paper tube back, ashing it in a tray along a dark black table, humming a bit to himself.

“We don’t date.”

“And?”

“She doesn’t… she looks like… she dates.”

“Huh, you can tell that?” Satoru raises a thin brow, and Suguru sighs, smirking a bit.

“I know lots of things.”

“Yeah, whatever… I’m talking to her.” Satoru stands up now, brushing his hands down his white dress shirt a bit, taking a breath.

Fuck is he nervous!?

Satoru Gojo, who strokes his dick on the camera, who grins as people comment that they want it in their mouths, their cunts, fuck- their asses, all their holes - filled up with his white cum. Satoru Gojo who is the top .01% of anyone on his OF, who has pro roles in the highest quality porn there was, was not a shy or nervous man, especially with women.

Why are his hands sweating then? His blood rushing through his ears every step he takes closer to you, your eyes lower a bit, so shy and cute and fucking precious, he has to smile a bit at you, drink in his hand, his other in the pocket of his dark armani slacks. He casually leans over a bit, as your eyes meet his, behind dark shades, his grin bright and enigmatic.

“Hey sweetheart, Satoru Gojo.” He expects you to notice maybe, but you just smile, oblivious, holding out your hand, small in his huge grip, and Satoru has some insane urge to kiss it, that he gulps down.

The fuck is this.

This feeling just touching your skin, inhaling your scent, fuck you smell sweet like some cupcake, you have him intoxicated as his eyes dart to those lips, teeth indentations he feels an urge to run his thumb across. Your eyes look up from behind your own glasses, as the two of you just hold hands for a moment, just a moment, and Satoru can hardly describe just what it is drawing him like a magnet.

You give him your name, and he repeats it, making your own heart race just a bit at the tall stranger, when his blue eyes glint as he slides off his shades, snowy lashes lowering over beautiful blue irises, your breath is caught in your chest. Swirling blue storms unlike anything you’ve ever seen, so intense and beautiful it’s almost difficult to look right at.

“Are you new to the area? Or…” You giggle a bit, sipping on the bubbly champagne that tickles your nose just a bit.

“I look that out of place huh?”

“No, you’re cute. Very cute. Pretty.” He’s stuttering damn near, Satoru fucking Gojo, watching the flush that decorates your cheeks, as your lips touch the rim of the glass, and he can’t stop thinking how much he’d like to kiss those little bite marks away.

“Thank you, that’s sweet.”

“Sweet is not what I’m usually called.”

“Oh really? What are you usually called?”

“Daddy.” You nearly snort out your champagne then, covering your face in a fit of laughter, and he pouts now, swirling those shades casually.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah. They all do, they can’t help it, you know.”

“Mmhmm.” You’re giggling so much you snort, so cute Satoru can’t help but laugh with you, the first genuine one he’s done in a minute, not so forced to always appear so carefree. “I snorted, oh no!”

“It’s cute.” He brushes your hair between two of his fingers, and the both of you pause now, taking a breath, your lids lower just a bit, stepping closer, like Satoru himself is pulling you with his gravity. “What brings you here?”

“My friend invited me! She said seven, so I came a little early… but she’s not even on her way.” You sigh then, and he smirks just a bit.

“LA time is different. Twenty minutes late is on time, and forty minutes late is ‘fashionable’. No one comes early.”

“Shit!” You smack yourself in the forehead, and he takes your hand once more, enveloping your little one in his own.

“I can keep you company, want another drink?”

“Um… sure.”

Soon the two of you are sitting on one of the many couches in the taupe and white decorated mansion, the splashing and screeching of people in the pool mixing in a cacophony with the people dancing and the music inside. Satoru’s enraptured as you begin to talk, soft and thoughtful, while sipping on another glass, his arm just a bit across from you, behind your neck, fingers brushing your soft cashmere.

Every time he does you heat up that much more, you haven’t been with someone you felt this comfortable with in… maybe, ever. The instant feeling that he’s a sweet guy, natural, funny, and you almost wonder why he’s wasting time on you, with all the elegant women in various states of undress. But his eyes don’t even leave yours, his beautiful azure depths.

You can’t be so interesting or beautiful, sure you are very pretty, but more soft and sweet and not the Hollywood babes that were all over. But he’s laughing right with you, he soon starts busting out purple and white fuzzy weed, breaking it up and starting to roll a blunt, and you’ve never thought about being a paper until you watch a wicked pink tongue dart across it, long fingers sealing it.

“What’s wrong, don’t smoke, sweets?” The nicknames make you shift nervously, he’s too charming, too handsome, fuck not even handsome…

Pretty.

He’s too pretty to be real.

“Are you an actor, or model?” You blurt out, you don’t have much… thought before your words. He blinks a bit in surprise, flipping that blunt to smoke it now, lighting it up, you watch the orange and red of the cherry as he inhales.

“Hmm, a bit of both.” He exhales the puff of smoke, leaning closer to you, so close his thigh brushes yours, just that alone has your tummy fluttering.

“What are you in? I’d love to see your work.” Satoru starts coughing now, uncontrollably, eyes wide, as you stare in concern, coming to tap on his back. “Are you okay!?”

“Shit… yeah…” He’s coughing more, covering his mouth before looking away a moment, taking a breath.

Satoru was not ashamed of what he does for a living, and he never fucking will be either, but suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, am I being nosy?”

“No, no… want a hit?” Clearly trying to avoid the question, you wonder… was he in some flop of a movie or something?

“I’ve never smoked.” You’re looking down again, those converse pointing in as you shift once more, so adorable he really can’t stand it.

“Never?” You shake your head, and he grins, teeth glinting as he leans even closer, holding the blunt up high, the smoke swirling around the two of you, creating an even headier atmosphere, like you could get high off him.

“No…”

“Let me be your first.”

“What now!? You’re teasing me!” You cross your arms as he bursts into laughter, taking another hit.

“You’re too adorable not to.” You can’t help how good that makes you feel, he makes you feel… reckless, this stranger. “I can blow it in your mouth?”

“Blow it in my…” You bite your lip again, Satoru leans forward, thumb releasing it from your row of teeth, and the action makes you both pause.

“You bite it too much.” He murmurs softly, and just touching your soft lips, thumb touching the plush of it, is hotter than cumming on a girl’s face this morning, in fact he’s not done something so sensual.

The man who last night was banging a co-star in a mating press, the night before he had two women, one on his face, one riding his cock. The other day, him and Suguru shared another girl, this time dual penetrating her, fuck they were both in her pussy- she clearly was miraculous to take it. This week alone he’d done six shoots, with the best Hollywood had to offer.

But this girl blushing, who’s never smoked a blunt, is so fucking sexy he barely holds back.

He’s leaking precum from your proximity.

“Will blowing in my mouth get me… um, high?” Your words shake him from his revelry, where he’s still touching your pretty little chin, making him clear his throat, plastering on a cocky smile like your scent alone doesn’t have him throbbing.

“A little, but not as intense as a hit yourself. Call it shotgun, you’ve really never heard of it?”

You shake your head, scooting closer and leaning forward, that tan and brown sweater falling just a little more over your shoulder, as your lips are too close. Any other girl by now Satoru would have on his OF, or have in a bedroom, a bathroom, maybe just here on this couch for everyone. He’d have his fingers on them, have them sucking him off.

But he’s just enjoying barely touching you.

Satoru shakes his head, wondering if he’s so high he’s imagining how intense this must be, but looking back down into your pretty eyes behind your glasses, he can’t shove it down. “Trust me?”

“Should I?” He wiggles his brows, grinning.

“Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe it’s a ploy to kiss you.” You’re giggling again, sighing now, and tilting your chin up, your hand resting on his thigh, while he cups your face.

“I doubt you need to ploy anyone into kissing them.”

“Never have before, no.”

“Then… I trust you.” You lean forward again, eyes fluttering shut, your lashes just barely brushing the glasses, and he pauses, before inhaling the blunt deep into his lungs, tilting your chin up and opening your lips.

“Suck in.” His words carry far too much intent, when he blows his smoke directly into your mouth, and you do just that, sucking in all the smoke you can, as he sighs into your sweet mouth, lips full and plush on your own.

Fuck.

Satoru blows all the smoke, and you’re sucking it in. “Good girl.”

Fuck.

You almost die then, coughing a bit, embarrassingly wet for him, and this is not normal. You’re a girl who has to have a relationship to have sex, you’re a girl who has to really know someone, feel so comfortable, but Satoru Gojo was completely wrecking you now. You let the smoke go, the fog rising, when he leans low once more, one hand pulling you closer.

“Another?” He asks in a whisper, you can’t stop but nodding, watching his plump lips circle that blunt again, and he’s blowing it back in your mouth, pulling you closer, while you inhale it deep. He pulls back a bit now, as you’re holding it, sighing. “Blow it back in my mouth.”

You do as he asks, and soon your tongues touch, sloppy and drippy wet, making you whine out from the back of your throat, the sound making Satoru fucking feral. You kiss fully, your hand slipping up his shirt now, lightheaded from the smoke and his ardent kiss, how he possesses your fucking mouth, and the blood rushes to your ears, your head so light and fuzzy.

“Fuck…” His words come out in a low growl, pulling you even closer, until one of your thighs is over his, and he’s pressing a kiss across your jaw, up to your ear, you’re gripping his soft, expensive shirt like your life depends on it, whimpering so softly only he can hear. “Taste so sweet, do you everywhere?”

“I… huh… I… mmm…” You’re dizzy when he nips your ear, a big hand brushing your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he pulls back, eyes so bright, his pupils shrunk to little pinpoints now. “Gojo…”

“Satoru.”

You’re blushing furiously, eyeing your surroundings, when you’re soaked now, it feels so… naughty but exciting, fuck. You have to gather yourself, taking several shaky breaths, as he’s leaning down further, your heat against one of his thighs now. “Satoru um… I need a moment. That was intense.”

“Shit, of course.” He pulls back, taking his own breath, putting out the blunt now, eyeing the glossy redness of your now swollen lips.

He can picture them so perfectly wrapped around the tip of his cock. So innocent, did you do that? Would he have to show you, direct you? The perfect angle of your eyes, the way to open your mouth, how to take him deep down that little throat, one he can imagine seeing his cock bulge out of. All the thoughts are running insane while you lean back a bit, hands loosening their grip on his shirt finally.

“Want a drink, sweets?” You nod now, your eyes are so dilated they look black, glasses just a little fogged from his breath and the smoke.

“Yes, please. You didn’t tell me um, what movies can I find you in?”

“Like looking at me?” He’s cocky, conceited, but you just nod a bit, making him falter now. “Indie films, low budget, obscure.”

“Oh? I love indie flicks!” He grimaces now, a girl who’s never smoked weed and screams inexperienced may not like him if she knew he cums on girls' tits and their faces for money.

He wants to just say it.

But…

“You’ve not heard of ‘em. Let’s get you a drink, hmm pretty?” You nod shyly, standing with his help, and soon the two of you have made it in the center of one of the main party rooms, there are women getting lines done off them, men with several women on them at once, all kissing, grinding, along with those dancing. And now Satoru has your hips in his grip, showing you how to roll them.

You’re not a dancer, a little awkward and off beat, but you’re laughing, a pretty peal of a sound that melts him, and he can’t remember the last time he has had so much fun, as he does working you in a figure eight, kissing your neck teasingly. You’re ticklish, he really notices when his fingertips graze your hips under your sweater, earning your little gasp and look up at him.

“Cute.”

“You keep saying that, like I’m a little kitten!”

“Maybe you are. Or a little bunny.”

“Oh!” You’re giggling though, when you turn and get just a little dizzy, but he captures you, and you finally say it. “Um… why talk to me?”

Satoru frowns now, thin brows together, as the song is slower, and you’re damn near grinding against his thigh, with how he holds you. “What do you mean why?”

“You’re so… there’s so many…”

“Shh.” He puts a fingertip to glossy lips, taking a breath. “I’m enjoying myself, are you sweetheart?”

“Yes but…”

“Want a secret?” You nod and he leans down, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You’re the prettiest girl here.”

“No way!”

“Mmhmm, and I’d know. Expert.” You tuck your face against his chest, giggling again, as your arms wrap his torso tighter.

“You’re being too nice.”

“No, just saying what I think. But your cheeks turn a really pretty color, don’t they?”

“Shh.” You look back up, eyes glittering, and it takes everything for Satoru not to take you then and there, lap up that heat he can feel emanating from your surely pretty little cunt. You peck a kiss on his neck, earning a little exhale, when Satoru pulls your little body even closer against his, so huge, tall, hard, everywhere. “Satoru…”

Suddenly your friend hits your field of vision, pausing and widening her pretty eyes as she takes in the sight of you two. You clear your throat, tapping Satoru then, whose hands are dangerously close to gripping your ass, your scent overtaking him, the feel of you in his arms driving him insane with need. He blinks a bit, as he then turns where you’re pointing.

“My friend!” You’re grinning then, and Satoru’s heart drops just a bit, when he recognizes her, since he’d been inside her just last week.

Shit.

“Come meet Satoru!” You’re bouncing practically as you drag Satoru by his hand, and your friend smiles just a bit, as Satoru clears his throat, and you’re adorable and oblivious.

“We’ve met.” You blink a bit in surprise at her words, looking at Satoru, who’s put back on his shades, hand that was on the small of your back falling.

“Oh, where? A movie set? She does some acting too!” Your best friend takes your hand then, as Satoru looks away.

“Yeah, a set. Um, can I steal you baby?” She asks, brushing your hair back, you nod with a pretty smile.

“I’ll be back!” Satoru smiles a bit, cursing softly, when Suguru comes walking up to him, sipping on a whiskey, eyeing the two girls.

“Didn’t you…”

“Fuck her friend? Yep.” He answers with a pop of his lips, hand brushing his hair back then, sighing. “Shit I really like her.”

“Like her or want her?”

“Both. More. Shit.” Suguru contemplates his friend, then eyes you and your friend together.

“Her friend is Jenna Juggs?”

Satoru’s lips quirk up a bit. “She is indeed. Fuck I need a drink, I am sure she won’t want to talk to me now.”

“Since when do you care?”

“Shut up.” Satoru’s all pouty, and you frown now, looking up at Jenna, who is tugging you far away.

“What’s going on? You always say I need to try to meet someone!”

“Yes, but…” She sighs now, looking over at him, then back down at you. “You really don’t recognize him?”

“He said he’s in like… indie films?” She snorts just a bit then, shaking her head and sighing.

“Indie films huh. Babe aren’t you on my OF?”

“To support you! I’ve never looked, oh god.” Jenna giggles, sighing.

“I thought you peeked a bit huh?”

“No. I read my porn.”

“So classy.” You both giggle, and you feel blue eyes boring across the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you look over your shoulder.

“I’m not any better than you because you like to watch or… participate. But anyway, what’s OF have to do with it?”

“We… collabed last week.” You watch her shift a bit, eyelashes lowering as she now giggles at the memory, and you feel your tummy clench just a bit, eyes catching Satoru’s again, he’s leaning against a counter, ignoring everyone that comes his way with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Collabed as in…” She nods a little, and you exhale. “Oh.”

“He’s a huge name, like the top porn star there is, him and his friend over there.” You see him now, long dark hair, as tall as Satoru, leaning against the counter right with him, but Satoru still hasn’t peeled his eyes off you. “It was a big deal to get him to join, and he’s really sweet but…”

“But?” You raise a brow now, and your friend brushes her hair back, looking in their direction again.

“He’s amazing in bed, like the best I’ve had.”

“Ah… that good?” You’re clearing your throat nervously, drinking your glass slowly, trying to ignore the odd feelings in your tummy.

Were you really envious right now?

You shouldn’t feel this way, she’s your best friend and you don’t even know him, but also you could never just…

Could you?

“He hasn’t dated a single girl in the eight years he’s done porn, him or his friend, notoriously single even for the industry.”

“Shit are they together?” She laughs a bit then.

“People certainly ship them but…”

“Ship, like characters, are they that famous?”

“Mmhmm. Now if you just want to have fun, he’s amazing but I know you.” She puts one of her hands on your shoulders now, cool thumb running little circles on your bare shoulder. “You’re sweet, innocent and you want love.”

“I’ve done things!”

“With how many people?”

You sigh now, drinking the rest of your drink in a gulp. “Just my ex.”

“That’s what I figured, and that’s fine baby, if you need a connection, or something deep? He’s not it. That’s all, I see how much fun you were having, and I don’t want you hurt if he gets… what he wants and goes. In this industry how you see sex is very different.”

“Ah. I get it, you think he just wants to…” You can’t even say it, fuck you’d been wet, ready, and you were never like that with a stranger, your experience as a demisexual just is limited, where you crave connection, comfort, and meaning behind sex, you can’t just ‘have fun’.

But he’d had you questioning it all, because you felt something in that kiss- was it just his experience?

“He’s walking sex, I can’t blame you one bit. And I support anything you do- shit I highly recommend it. But you…”

“Yeah no, I am not into hooking up. I’m glad you told me but… something about him…” You trail off then, swallowing nervously, as her hands come to your sides, and she hugs you closely.

“I know, it doesn’t mean you can’t talk to him, but you had to know.” She nibbles on a nail then, lashes lowering. “He gives mean backshots, if you go that route.”

“Jenna!” You’re both giggling, and the party goes on then, the two of you smiling and waving as you keep finding each other around the room, soon Jenna is good and sauced, and you know you need to make sure you both get home okay. But you can’t help but stop by Satoru before you go, nervously fidgeting with your hands in front of you.

“Hey sweets, heading out?” He asks softly, a hand coming to grip your wrist, swallowing it with his long fingers, you eye the connection, feeling yourself heat up at it, trying to remind yourself, it’s him ‘dripping sex’ it’s his job. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty enough not to fuck for a shoot, maybe he’d actually like to know you a bit, but her words hit hard.

“Satoru, do you date?” Your words make him pause. “Not me, just in general.”

“Do I date?” He blinks a bit, lips opening, then shutting. “She told you.”

“I would never judge, my best friend does it, if anything I’m envious that you all can just do that.” Your eyes are glimmering just a bit, now his hand slips up your wrist, thumb brushing the delicate veins there, sighing. “I just wanted to clarify that part.”

“I haven’t dated since like college, no.”

“And you’re…”

“Twenty eight.” You nod a bit now, calculating, a good eight years since he’s dated- since he’s been in the industry. “I was enjoying our time.”

“I was too, very much. Got me high you know.” He grins then, and you can’t help but smile back, heart racing in your chest - and you realize it, Jenna is right. What you’re feeling from one meeting could hurt you. “I’d still like to be friends?”

“Friends, hmm?” You nod as he leans down, his other hand pressing against the nip of your waist, pulling you against him, watching the catch of your breath, the dilation of your pupils. You’re biting that lower lip again, a little soft whine in the back of your throat escaping.

“I’d love to be. I really like you, Satoru.” He melts for you then, at your cute little smile, your hand slipping up his chest. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“So did I. Friends, then, I could use some.” He kisses your lips softly, a mere brush, that’s not what friends should feel from a little kiss, right? That ache between your thighs, your pulse racing, as he can’t stop thinking how good you feel in his arms, thinking he’d like you to stay.

“Me too, maybe you’ll make me a stoner, hmm?”

He laughs then, genuine and charming. It’s hard to think of him ‘giving Jenna backshots’ a mix of sweet and charming, you try to remember just that. “So she didn’t have a bad review for me?”

“Quite the opposite, you’re apparently the best in the industry.” The softness and break in your voice makes him pause, usually he’d be cocky about hearing that, but he doesn’t know just how that makes him feel. “I haven’t watched your kind of work, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t think so. Too obscure.”

“Clearly.” You both laugh softly again, you are leaning back now, taking a breath, trying to remember yourself, but it’s hard when all you can think of is his lips.

“Can I have your number?” Satoru Gojo has never asked for a girl’s number, but he damn near gets giddy when you nod, slipping out your phone, giving it to him then, which he saves under your name.

“I don’t do casual, I’ve never even kissed someone I’m not serious about. Um… but I really had fun.”

That innocent?

He figured close to it but…

“Did I corrupt you so much in one night?”

“Maybe so. I have to get my friend home safe, so I will talk to you sometime?”

“Any time.” He brushes your hair back again, kissing your cheek once more, your eyes shut at how good it feels, sighing.

When you’re gone, Satoru does not like the feeling left.

The rest of the party is dimmed now, he can’t stop thinking about you, about watching you inhale that smoke, about watching your cute, shy little fucking smile, but why would you like him, he fucked your best friend last week. And you’re clearly a good girl, a sweet girl, and that’s what he would do - corrupt you.

But the thoughts of corrupting you start taking over, so intense he can hardly stand it, imagining teaching you everything. How to arch your ass up just right for him, have you cum so hard you’d squirt and drip down his cock, fuck he’d love to watch your eyes roll back in your head, as he hits spots he’s sure no one ever has, cumming so hard you cry pretty tears.

It’s so ridiculous he’s throbbing, and as some of his co-stars come and flirt with him, he can barely give them a little smile, a playful wink, turning down the endless opportunities tonight with one excuse- ‘he’s tired’ - is about all he can come up with. Because what is this!?

What’s the feeling that night when you’re laying in your bed, scrolling through your friend’s OF for the first time, heating up as you scroll, you’ve seen her naked a ton, you’ve taken her pictures, but when you see her bent over, and that sexy white haired man wrapping an arm around her waist? His other hand, wrapped around her throat, and her eyes rolled back?

The scene alone without clicking play is too much, you’re trembling, imagining pressing play, hesitating. You barely know him, but something clicked tonight, you had fun for the first time in forever, but to know that you maybe already developed a crush on someone unattainable seems a cruel joke.

Hopelessly single because you’re so picky, because a lot of time your interests don’t align - how could you like someone who doesn’t think Lord of the Rings is a classic, for example - or if you’re not feeling something. Your friends think you put too much into it, they think you should let go and have fun, and maybe you did, tonight, but that was because of him.

You keep furiously flushing as you go back and forth, thumb hovering over the screen, Jenna wouldn’t care if you saw, and maybe Satoru wouldn’t, but something feels so different to you, so naughty, like inhaling smoke from his mouth tonight. You keep shutting the phone off, then turning it back on, when suddenly you get a text from him.

Satoru - Hope you got home safe, sweets.

He’s sweet, he’s thoughtful, he’s fucking gorgeous and…

He would never date.

It’s a really mean joke someone’s playing on you.

You - Thank you, I did! I hope you did too.

You can’t look at the video! Can you?

Satoru’s laid up in his bed, picturing you, god he can taste your lips on his still, swiping a hand over his face as you send some little emoji, far, far too cute, so cute you make him ache. He wonders then just what is it about you, surely you’re beautiful, but it can’t just be that.

He can’t get you off his mind.

You can’t stop yourself from pressing play.

Your breath catches when you finally do, and you see it, him fucking Jenna, looking right at the fucking camera, a smirk and blue eyes, as he thrusts up inside of her. You don’t enjoy porn, it’s not intimate enough for you- but looking at him makes your cunt throb, you touch it to find it hopelessly drenched, watching him manhandle and flip her like she’s nothing, right on her back.

You watch him put your best fucking friend in a mating press, watch him smack his cock against her tummy, pulling his condom off, cumming on her then. When you get a good look at his pretty pink tip, veiny long cock and ropes of fucking cum, you mindlessly touch your cunt, soaking your sleep shorts, crying out before you catch yourself, cursing.

You shut it off, huffing and yanking the blankets over your face.

It must be… the drinks, the smoke, him, making you act this way. A good book with meaning, a perfect man in your head, that’s what you want, what you need, right? Not whatever he was doing to your mentality, fuck it’s your friend too, how could you ever get wet to that?

“Fuck this.” You grumble, swiping away from your friend’s OF, but the image is firmly burned into your mind, of Satoru moaning with his lips parted, jerking his cock along her in pretty patterns. You pull up your book instead, filling your mind with anything and everything else, when another text pops up.

Satoru - Good night, sweetheart.

You just watched him cum, now you feel horrible, ugh! What is up with you tonight!? He’s probably being friendly and you’re over here touching your sensitive little clit watching him. You struggle to compose yourself, finally having to go wipe up, splashing yourself with cold water in your little bathroom, you dry your hands on a towel, looking at yourself in the mirror for a moment.

You look fucked up.

You finally text him back.

You - Good night, Satoru, sweet dreams.

Satoru can’t stop the dopey smile on his face, cock annoying and throbbing, and instead of letting it get taken care of, he’d just focused on how badly he wanted you, how much he can’t get you off his mind. Fuck just your shampoo and whatever heavenly fucking body spray spritzed on you made him harder to remember, how pretty you’d look in his bed, under him.

‘Friends’, you’d like to be ‘friends’.

Satoru doesn’t think anything in his mind was friend appropriate currently, not when he’s stroking himself, crying out and picturing just peppering your shoulder and neck with kisses, biting you, marking you. Leaving bruises along a perfect neck while you grip his hair, crying out, head falling back. Having your heat he could still feel on his fingers.

As you’re struggling to calm down, Satoru’s giving up, jerking off for the first time maybe in forever alone, sure he does for videos, but he doesn’t have to make himself cum often when everyone was lining up to suck him. But instead he’s stroking a famous cock thinking of a sweet girl with a brown sweater that falls just so, hiding a body he’s dying to know.

As you’re finally asleep, mind racing, he’s cumming ropes into his palm, picturing much better places for this cum- like inside your sweet little cunt - and that’s one thing Satoru Gojo does not do. Trying to come down himself, cleaning up, he looks in the mirror, seeing the pink of his own cheeks, shaking his head then.

He looks fucked up off you.

*****

While you are at work that next monday, sitting at your desk typing away, Satoru Gojo has an entirely different sort of work to accomplish, this time with his costar Sukuna, who he frequently worked with, and the two of them either popped off on each other or competed for who could make the girl squirt the most. Sukuna was currently lapping at the co-star’s cunt with his pierced tongue.

She’s she’s bent over sucking Satoru’s cock with expert suction, and he should be loving it, he’s worked with her before and she is a sweetheart and highly fucking skilled, and this shoot pays extremely well. A win win, even with Sukuna running it, currently at least his mouth was occupied. The director zooms right in, maybe that’s what’s bothering him, the cameras, the bright lighting.

Satoru’s cock is not staying hard, even as she’s choking back moans with the pink haired munch of a man going so intense, her nails gripping Satoru’s thighs so tightly, pressing in. He tries to focus on how it feels, shutting his eyes, but all he can think of is you.

Your lips.

Your eyes.

Those glasses on the bridge of your nose.

How you shift your fucking thighs, heated from desire.

God, he can’t stop thinking of you, what if you saw him on a video? Would it make your surely pretty pussy wet? He’s suddenly hard fully once more, grabbing his co-star’s hair and shoving his cock so deep she’s choking, gasping, but he can’t manage to open those eyes until the director says something then.

“Gojo, the eyes- look at the camera.” He sighs now, they were part of his money, the eyes that no one had, the ones that entranced so many, he manages to open them, eyeing the camera, but instead of his usual smirk there is a pout, and his co-star pulls back, frowning just a bit, as Sukuna pulls away from her cunt, tattooed face glistening.

Amongst the most famous pornstars, Sukuna rivaled Satoru- the alternative, rougher version perhaps to the pretty boy, he slips two fingers in her cunt, and she moans, as he eyes Satoru. “Who’s fucking her first?”

“Me, of course.” Sukuna chuckles, her cunt is so loud it’s squishing and clicking, much to the delight of the director, and Satoru has her on top of him then, as Sukuna guides her onto his cock, slapping her ass loudly. Satoru struggles, gulping as she sinks on him over his condom.

It feels warm and good but…

He can’t even look at her.

She’s bouncing up and down him while Sukuna plays with her from the back, and Satoru forgets he’s even on a set, lips parted in a sigh as he looks away, and realizes he’s gone soft again. “Is something wrong?” She asks softly, he shakes his head now, gripping her hips.

“No, no it’s fine, wanna ride him for me?” She nods, and Satoru then helps her ride Sukuna’s cock, as he kisses down her shoulder, shutting his eyes once more, trying to hide how soft he is and failing.

“Cut.” The director calls, Satoru sighs, as Sukuna moans, yanking her down his length, and her head falls back. “I said cut.”

“We can fuck while we’re waiting for him to get on board.” Sukuna grins up at her as she giggles, and Satoru glares. “Go get a viagra.”

“I don’t need one, fuck it’s just… the lights.”

“Need a break Gojo?” His director asks, and he manages a nod. “Go ahead to the dressing room, we’ll… make sure they are ready to go when you come back.”

“She’ll be fucked out before you get it up.”

“Whatever Sukuna, fuck you.” Sukuna snorts in laughter, Satoru stomps over to the dressing room, cursing then and resting his head against that door, taking several breaths and scowling at his cock. “Work, shit…”

What is this!?

A pretty girl at a party shouldn’t ruin his whole cock, ruin his enjoyment, cloud his goddamn mind, a girl who’s a - friend - what’s his problem!? He’s sitting down on the couch then over a towel, still literally naked, stroking it, once, twice, three times. Nothing helps, the condom hanging just so off his cock, when he grimaces, pulling it off and tossing it in the trash, pulling out his phone, and he pauses at your name.

Satoru - Hey sweets, I don’t have a pic for your caller ID, could you send one?

He tenses as he sees you immediately typing, cock twitching right back to life from three stupid dots wiggling. He bets you’re biting that lip.

You are.

You’re nervous as you look around your quiet workplace, you’re a graphic designer and it’s a little late, so you’re nearly alone, finishing a project, when you see he wrote to you. The man you have not looked back up, but it’s taken every bit of self control not to watch his content, and boy does he have so much, up to and including his own asmr.

That’s dangerous.

He’s dangerous.

Because you could never just enjoy him for who he is, you would want more, fuck you already feel it, the odd sensation knowing he’s likely fucking someone constantly, picturing yourself wildly for a moment with him behind you. Surely you couldn’t be a co-star, you’d flip on camera, too shy, but you keep envisioning it regardless, him choking you as he sinks deep.

Stop that.

You turn in your big black chair, spinning it just a bit, seeing the beautiful soft lighting of the upcoming evening pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, deciding it’s good lighting. Your chest rises and falls with your nerves, you didn’t know how to be sexy in photos, but do you want to?

You do.

Fuck you do.

You’re leaning back and angling the phone just so, glasses off for a moment on your desk, since they’d been giving you a bit of a headache, throwing a peace sign and parting your lips, you don’t know exactly how to pose. You knew what art was, what beauty was, but a little clueless how to angle yourself like your friend Jenna has always been able to.

After peering through a few photos, brows drawn together in concentration, you send one his way, he’s viewed it and he instantly hearts it, making you exhale, relieved that maybe he thinks it’s cute enough. But little do you know, you have him full hard now, thumb brushing his leaky tip, making him whimper, picturing rubbing his cock right on those pretty lips of yours.

God you’re just in a blouse but he can see your nipples pressing from the material, begging for him to pluck them, suck them, and he can’t stand the longing, the need making his body ache. He curses softly, wiping a sticky thumb on his towel, trying to compose himself, he’s acting like some stupid lovesick boy, not the entire star he knows he is.

And your eyes, eyes he didn’t get a good enough look at, so fucking gorgeous, it’s hard to look away, but as he does, he notices more, your bitten lips, the gentle slope of your neck, the way you have little marks from the pads of your glasses on the sides of your pretty nose. God, all of you is delectable.

Satoru - Gorgeous, thank you. Saved.

You - Thank you, Satoru um, can I have one too?

He smirks now, because if he was good at anything - aside from making women cum - it was taking the perfect selfie. He’s lifting the camera high, showing far too much of his strong chest, his rippled, cut abdomen, down to those v cuts and his veins running just above his snowy white pubic hair. Not his cock, of course, but enough for you to get the idea.

He sends it with a smirk, and you open it with a gasp, eyeing a body you saw somewhat in the shoot, but nothing looks quite like what’s in front of you right now on your screen. He’s got his brilliant eyes bright and lidded, tousled white hair, lips parted just so, making your lips tingle at the memory. You touch them longingly as you study his body, glistening with sweat.

Fuck he’s sexy.

You shift in your office chair, sighing, putting back on your glasses for an even deeper inspection- and since when are you so turned on by looks? You’re into who someone is, of course looks are great, but to have your pussy clenching over a picture is insanity.

And for Satoru to have a raging hard cock over a selfie is batshit insane, but here the two of you are, you saving an obscenely sexual photo, and him saving a demure little picture, both smiling at them. But then you frown a bit, taking in the couch, the lighting, realizing it then.

You - Are you on a shoot?

Satoru - Yes.

Why does that make you feel just a little envious of whoever gets to kiss and touch on him?

Why does it make you a little jealous of who gets him on them, his plump lips on their skin?

You shake it off, smiling tremulously as your hands shake, typing a 

I know you’ll kill it, have fun! Got the pic saved thanks. <3

Satoru leans his head back again, before looking at your photo once more, rushing out before his cock decides not to work again, slipping on another condom. When he’s gripping her hips and smiling at the camera as he does, however, he doesn’t know if he can keep it up, luckily he’s so huge she barely notices, while she’s gushing down his latex covered cock.

He’s encouraging her, pressing his thumb against her clit, while she’s sucking on Sukuna, and he tries to remember how amazing his life is, and focus, surely this is something that will pass. Some infatuation, and he’ll get back to normal in no time, he’s sure of it.

Right?

******

Wrong.

After a string of highly unsuccessful shoots that Satoru’s had to push off on Suguru and Sukuna, he’s decided the only hope for it is to give in and jerk his cock to your pictures. That week you’ve sent others, all cute and innocent, but how do you manage to make him so obsessed? Every pretty inch of skin you show he’d litter with bruises.

Not that there was much skin shown, the plush of your thighs over cute knitted knee high socks, and god you’re as hot with your glasses as you were without, he couldn’t figure out what he liked more. Your shoulders are just a little bare, begging for his teeth to sink into them, since when he is so turned on by hints of skin than soaking wet costars?

The first time he jerks it, he cums so much he knows the best solution, to focus on his solo career, at least until whatever the fuck this is - this obsession - could pass. He’s making bank as he does them, actually, and he can’t help but grin as he’s become the top onlyfans creator, stroking his cock for so many of his fans, all while he can prop his phone up and look at what new selfie you’ve sent.

“Hah- I know, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” He’s winking right at that camera, stroking faster and faster, spitting down on his tip, spreading it with a lewd squishing sound as the comments go insane.

Satoru cum for us!

It’s so pretty

Want a taste

Want it in me

What a win-win, making bank for stroking it to you, all while getting his ego filled by all the comments, he’s stroking his ego with his length, smirking as his free hand uses the mouse to scroll down. “Ah, I know, it’s huge, is it sensitive, mmm… a little bit if I do this.”

He’s twisting just so, eliciting a little cry, when he sees a name pop up, pausing his movements- and you’re staring right at Satoru Gojo’s live stream, heart hammering, worried he’d notice you. His little look of shock confirms it, as his hand finally slides back down his shaft, and your eyes follow the movement, so hungry for him you can’t stand it.

When Jenna teased Satoru had a live stream - she clearly knows now that you are infatuated with him, god he’s all you can think about, daydreaming at work, in your sleep he’s kissing you everywhere with those plump lips. You couldn’t help but talk to Jenna about him again, and she sighed, smiling at you.

“You never know, people change, maybe you two should at least hang out?” You’d repeated it softly, shaking your head. “No?”

“Why would he want to?”

“Well, I heard he’s had no shoots for a bit, and is doing solo things, maybe you could peek?”

You can’t believe you’re on Satoru Gojo’s onlyfans live.

You can’t believe you fucking subscribed to him, too.

And now it’s like he’s looking right fucking at you.

Shit.

He begins stroking his cock once more, murmuring - “I see a new subscriber here, like what you see?”

He’s so pretentious.

But…

You do love it, his veiny cock, which leaks precum on his flat belly button over tense abs, pale thighs spread, muscled and perfect, god all of him was. But something was a little more than just his looks, which sounds insane, but it wasn’t those looks that made you - fuck, lowkey obsessed!?- with him, it was so much more. His eyes elicit far, far too many feelings.

You take a breath for courage, before leaving a comment.

Do you taste sweet everywhere?

Your comment sends him as he reads it, blinking snowy lashes and pausing, while on the other side you’re covering your mouth, panicking- did you really just say that, shit!? You’re taking several breaths, hand on your mouse, ready to leave the chat, as the comments pop off, going insane, asking the question over and over, but Satoru strokes his pretty cock ever so slowly, leaning forward.

He cums when he starts picturing your cute little embarrassed face, he can’t stop himself, knowing you’re watching has him so sensitive, he’s cumming so much it feels so fucking good. His moans are low and gutteral as his cum starts pouring over his slick fist, and you’re watching avidly, breath caught in your chest, heart fucking hammering, so wet it’s dripping through your panties.

You’re on the edge of your seat when he finally opens those blue eyes, to the endless tips pouring in for him, but he’s thinking of just one viewer-

You.

“Do I taste sweet everywhere?” He’s murmuring your name- you’re so dumb to have it as your real name, shit- but the way he chuckles, his eyes going insane as he lifts his hand off his cock then? “Let’s see.”

He’s bringing a white, sticky coated finger to his mouth now, sucking his own milky seed off them, cheeks hollowing as he does, and you can’t help the soft whine that escapes, grinding against your seat, desperate for some fucking friction. He’s insane, surely, you’ve never even thought of it, a man sucking his cum up, it’s so sexy and just obscene it fucks you mentally.

Just who is this freaky ass porn star!?

He’s chuckling now, like he can somehow see your damn reaction from behind the screen, it’s like it’s just you and him, and not a fucking stream full of people, as the tips go insane. The comments are going so quickly he can’t keep up with them, grinning as he sucks more of his cum off another thick, long finger you’d love buried inside of you.

“Hmm, I do taste sweet.” He watches as you tip hundreds, smirking before you log completely off.

He pauses now, you’d had him so fucked up he went full out, he wonders if he’s scared your innocent ass off, sighing now, ending the stream with a laugh and a friendly little good bye, as he always does. He has made so much money it’s stupid, and surely you encouraging his little stunt helped, but now he can’t help but call you after he’s cleaned up the mess you’ve made of him.

You watch the phone vibrate and ring, jumping damn near, covering your hands with your mouth as you see his name, with his half naked fucking picture. Shit, shit, shit…

You slowly pick it up, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what- did you like the show?” His voice is so arrogant and cocky, but you hear it then, the vulnerability under his layers. “I liked that you joined.”

“You did?” Your voice is practically a squeak, he chuckles a bit, laying back on his bed now, phone against his face.

“I did. Now, what did you think?”

“You’re… really… this is embarrassing!”

“It’s not, I promise. I’m flattered.” You sigh now, leaning back in your seat, wishing the air overhead would cool your overheated skin. “Answer me, be a good girl.”

“Satoru, god.” He’s chuckling, but your nipples are pressing out, taut and needy, cunt gushing so much it’s embarrassing. “I liked it but I never do these things.”

“Then I’m more flattered. I’m taking all your firsts.”

“Stop it, you're so ridiculous.” You’re laughing with him then, softly, shaking your head. “How’d you notice me with all those fans?”

“You certainly stand out.” His husky admittal makes you feel far too much, and the next thing out of your mouth makes you question everything.

“Satoru this is stupid and reckless-”

“Perfect, sounds fun!”

“Hush.” You sigh as he grows quiet, words stuck in his throat, how he’d do anything just to see how you taste. “I watched some of you with Jenna.”

He pauses, heart hammering. “Shit, yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re really good at it, um, pleasing.”

“I love to have a pussy drooling on my fingers,” he’s murmuring so fucking soft now, you’re struggling to compose yourself. “My mouth, my cock, fuck my whole face soaked, I love it.”

“Oh?”

He’s chuckling again. “Oh. Cute.”

“Shh. Give me a moment, what if you showed me some things? Off camera, please, I could never-”

“Huh!? What!?” You’re panicking again, embarrassed as he can’t believe his fucking ears.

A chance with you?

Fuck.

“Sorry it’s so rude- that’s your job, and I know you don’t date, but I thought maybe since I feel so comfortable-”

“You feel comfortable with me?” His words are softer now, your eyes shut, sucking in a breath.

“Very. Oddly comfortable, and well I’ve only been with one person, I am sitting here waiting for some romance book love I guess? It’s stupid.”

“Why’s it stupid?” He frowns as he leans his head against his mirror now, standing and trying to pull himself together, cock leaking already thinking of you in his bed.

“I don’t know if it’ll happen but, you’re so sweet and gorgeous and… I’m going on too much.”

“Just say what you want, sweetheart.”

“You to show me things.” You’re shutting your eyes again, waiting for the rejection, but he shocks you once more.

“Then I’ll send a car to get you.”

“Now!?”

“It’s LA, it’ll be thirty minutes at least, if you live where you said, over by that coffee shop on Main right?”

“You remember?”

Of course he does.

“You wanna learn, sweetheart? I’ll teach you anything.”

“Like, free?” He’s chuckling again, the sound so genuine it just makes the ache grow, you’re crazy for this, right?

“Yes free, you’re adorable. Okay then send your address and get ready. Eat something, drink something with electrolytes.”

“Wha-!?” He’s smirking as he eyes his shower, surely he has enough time to wash up for you first.

“Gonna need energy, sweetheart. Lots of it.”

When you’re standing there at the door of Satoru Gojo’s penthouse, and he leans down, his hand on the doorway, veins bulging from his bare arm, hair tousled and still damp, you know it then. When he brushes fingers across your damp hair, bringing it to his nostrils and inhaling your scent, you know it more. But especially when he tilts your chin up, and murmurs - come in.

He’s going to hurt you, but you’ll enjoy the pain.

Ahhh I can't believe all the love the hcs got, like that blew me away, I SO hope you love this, and will enjoy where these two go! I always say - oh this will be four parts- but they always go longer so lol. I hope you all enjoyy I'm so excited to hear what you think! Taglist is closed bc it's so long I'm sorryyy

Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay

[yujisdreamgirl]

gojo satoru had experienced hell before, that one time he lined up to get his favorite manga signed by the author but kept letting people cut in front of him because he was too scared to say something and he’s just nice like that. that was until geto told him off for doing it because he ended up not getting his book signed. he’s so dumb.

but this—this was a different kind of hell. he’s sat on the couch at a house party with.. yeah, you guessed it. the squad: suguru geto, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna… a whole bunch of hotties

it’s not really a pleasant sight to see. 2 girls clinging onto sukuna, fushiguro making out with one and geto talking to a girl who is clearly interested in him..

and then there’s gojo.

sitting there awkwardly, clutching a cup in his hand while sipping on nothing.

sure, he loves his best friend suguru. he just hates how popular he is. at every function, all the girls seem to be magnetised to his mysterious and brooding aura. and gojo’s just there, i guess. he huffs at the thought. he thinks knows that he could treat a girl soooo right if they just gave him a chance!

geto excuses himself to go upstairs with the girl. satoru already knows where this is going, so he brushes it off. he then eyes the group of girls from afar giggling and whispering to each other while looking at the guys on the couch. actually.. it looks like they’re looking towards his direction.

“come on y/n! just ask him!” your friends keep nudging and shoving you towards his direction, and gojo couldn’t help but scowl.

after finally mustering up the courage to come up to him, you fiddle with your fingers before stuttering out a quiet “hi,”

gojo sighs, “if you’re here to ask for suguru’s number, i’m not interested.”

your eyes widen in confusion which makes him confused too.

“oh, uh.. i was actually going to ask for yours..?”

what.

there’s no way.

“it’s fine if you’re not interested, i’m sorry—”

“NO, NO, I AM!” he internally cringes at his response. “sorry, i just.. thought you were gonna ask about suguru.” he puts his palm out, silently asking you to give him the sharpie. you shrug and give it to him, rolling your sleeve up.

you smile after he writes down his number on your forearm, giving you back your pen. “thanks,” he nods at you. “and for the record.. i think you’re way cuter than geto.” gojo’s face heats up as you walk away, burying his face into his hoodie.

you tuck the pen into your pocket, suppressing a grin as you walk away. behind you, gojo groans, burying his face deeper into his hoodie, his muffled voice barely audible.

“way cuter than geto,” he mutters to himself, kicking at the ground. “way cuter. oh my god.”

͙͘͡★ divider by @zerowhy & @cafekitsune 🩵