#ethernetyt

Found Family 🔹Fluff & Humor 🔹 GN!Reader 🔹 Chaotic Sibling Energy 🔹 Group Hug Disaster 🔹 Comfort disguised as teasing 🔹 Request 🦋

It starts like any other night—with Soup yelling from the kitchen and Ethan pretending he’s immune to the chaos. “Why is there sauce on the ceiling?” Ethan asks, staring up like the answer might appear in marinara. “I was testing gravity,” Soup says, like that explains everything. You’re on the couch, hugging a throw pillow and laughing so hard you can barely breathe. The smell of slightly burnt garlic bread hangs in the air, and there’s some random movie playing that none of you are actually watching. “You guys are hopeless,” you manage between wheezes. Ethan points at you, deadpan. “You’re part of this now. Legally. You laughed, you’re complicit.”

Soup grins from the doorway, holding a half-broken spatula like a trophy. “Exactly. Welcome to the family, Rookie. We got snacks, bad decisions, and unconditional support—most of the time.” You roll your eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “This is not how family works.” “Sure it is,” Ethan says, dropping onto the couch beside you. “You find us, we feed you burnt pizza rolls, and then we emotionally damage you with affection.” “Speak for yourself,” Soup says, already climbing over the couch back to join you two. “I’d be the favorite sibling.” “You’re the reason the smoke alarm has trauma,” Ethan fires back. Soup gasps like he’s been personally attacked. “You wound me, brother.”

Before you can even blink, Soup pulls you and Ethan into a crushing group hug—loud, warm, and entirely too much. Ethan groans, muffled into Soup’s shoulder. “Let go,” he grumbles. “You smell like regret and tomato sauce.” “Yeah,” you laugh, squished in the middle, “but you love it here.” And honestly… you kinda do.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of you are still there—sprawled out in a ridiculous pile on the couch, half-asleep, half-bickering. The TV’s gone to some late-night infomercial about blenders, and Soup is loudly insisting you all need one. “We already have a blender,” Ethan says flatly. “Yeah, but not the TurboSpin X5000!” Soup counters, waving his phone like he’s ready to place an order. You snort. “You’d use it once and forget it exists.” “Incorrect,” Soup declares, “I’d use it twice. Once for smoothies, once for chaos.” Ethan doesn’t even look up. “That second one’s just you throwing stuff in it to see what explodes, isn’t it?” “…Maybe.”

There’s a pause, and then all three of you start laughing again. That kind of laugh that hurts your stomach but makes your chest feel light. The kind that feels like home. Eventually, Ethan slumps deeper into the couch, voice soft and teasing. “You know, for someone who says they don’t like people, I’ve seen you laugh more tonight than all last week.” You shrug, cheeks warm. “Guess that’s what happens when your family’s made up of idiots.” “Hey,” Soup says, mock-offended, “we prefer the term lovable degenerates.” You grin. “Right. My mistake.” “Good,” Soup says, satisfied. Then, after a beat, quieter: “Still means you love us, though.” Ethan throws a pillow at him. “Don’t make it weird, man.”

Too late. It already was—but in that soft, comfortable way that sneaks up on you when you realize you’ve accidentally found a place where you belong. And when Soup starts humming some off-key tune under his breath and Ethan groans dramatically into the couch cushion, you can’t help but think… yeah. You love it here.

requested by anon 💙

🔹 WLW Breakup🔹 Lesbian Reader🔹 Soup x Reader x Ethan (Platonic Trio)🔹 Comfort Fic🔹 Reader Is Struggling🔹 Favorite Food + Favorite Show🔹 No Judgment, Just Support🔹 Gentle Humor🔹 Quiet Crying🔹 “You Don’t Have to Say Anything” Energy🔹 Request 🦋

You didn’t text them. You didn’t say a word, didn’t drop a hint, didn’t leave some vague “lol i’m fine” post. But somehow—somehow—they knew. There was a knock at your door around 7PM. You ignored it at first, curled up in the blanket you hadn’t left since the night before. Face hot, eyes sore, chest sore-er. Then you heard Ethan’s voice. “We have fries and soup and probably way too many sauces.” Then Soup: “And season one of your comfort show queued up because we knew you weren’t gonna pick anything.” You opened the door without a word. They didn’t ask anything. Just walked in like they lived there. Ethan placed the food down with quiet care. Soup peeled off his hoodie and tossed it onto the couch like it belonged to you (it kind of did). You stood there—silent, shaky, hollow.

“You didn’t have to come,” you mumbled, voice cracking on the edges. “We did though,” Ethan said softly. “You’re our girl,” Soup added, tossing you a bottle of water like it was the most normal thing in the world. “What, you thought we were gonna let you sit here and rot alone? Nah.” You laughed once—small and broken. They sat beside you. Ethan on the floor with the fries. Soup beside you on the couch, arm over the back like he was guarding you from the rest of the world. The show played. No one forced conversation. No one brought her up. And then halfway through episode two, it hit. You didn’t even realize you were crying until your breath stuttered. The tears were quiet, just sliding down your face, soaking into Soup’s sleeve as you leaned against him without thinking.

He didn’t flinch. Ethan turned the volume down a little. No one said anything about the shaking in your hands or the way your hoodie sleeve was damp from wiping your nose. They just… stayed. Eventually, you whispered it—voice barely above a breath. “It was my first.” They already knew. But hearing you say it made it real. Ethan reached up from the floor, grabbing your hand without looking. “She was an idiot.” “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” “Wanna cry louder?” Soup offered gently. “We can crank the TV up to drown it out. Or Ethan can start screaming.” “I can cry with you,” Ethan said, dramatically sniffling. You laughed through your tears.

🔹 Fluff 🔹 Ethan x Autistic Reader 🔹 GN!Reader 🔹 No Masking Needed 🔹 Sensory-Aware Partner 🔹 Stimming is Safe Here 🔹 Blanket Comfort 🔹 “I Get You” Energy 🔹 Request 🦋

Ethan noticed everything.

He noticed the way your voice shifted when you were overwhelmed. The way you rubbed your fingers together when things got too loud. The way you sometimes needed breaks during conversations—not because you weren’t listening, but because your brain was too full. He noticed. And he never made you feel bad for it. Today had been one of those days. You masked through most of it—forced smiles, too much eye contact, brushing off overstimulation until it settled like static under your skin.

By the time you got home, everything felt too much and not enough all at once. Headphones on. Hoodie up. Eyes down. Ethan didn’t say a word when you walked through the door. He just gave you a soft smile from where he sat on the couch and opened his arms without question. You collapsed into him like you were falling into your own bed. He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t try to fix anything. Just held you. Let you stim against his chest. Let your fingers tug at the sleeve of his hoodie, over and over, grounding yourself in the repetition.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, rubbing gentle circles on your back. You didn’t answer at first. Just nodded. Talking felt like trying to climb a hill with no legs. He waited. You clicked your tongue once—reflex. You flapped your hands a little, then tucked them back under the blanket like maybe no one had seen. But of course… Ethan had. And all he did was squeeze your hand gently. “You don’t have to hide that. Not with me.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m trying,” you whispered, eyes stinging. “I know,” he said. “And I love that you try. But you don’t have to do that here.” You leaned against him, breathing in the way he always smelled like something warm and familiar. “I just… I don’t always know how to say things right.” “You don’t have to,” he said immediately. “You say things in your own way, and I get it. I get you.” He reached for your stim toy without asking, handed it to you gently like it was something sacred.

You took it without thinking, running your fingers over the textures while he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “There’s no wrong way to be you,” he said against your skin. You clicked your tongue again, once. Twice. Three times. Still stimmy, still overwhelmed, still quiet. But safe. So safe. And when he tugged the blanket tighter around you and mumbled, “I love you exactly how you are,” you believed it.

🔹 Fluff + Heat 🔹 Ethan x Reader 🔹 GN!Reader 🔹 Makeout Session 🔹 Breathless Energy 🔹 Hoodie Grabs 🔹 “Make Me” Moment 🔹 Request 🦋

Ethan kissed like he meant it.

Not rushed. Not sloppy. Just deep—slow, open-mouthed, pull-you-closer-by-the-hoodie kind of kissing that left your brain fogged and your hands gripping at anything you could reach. You didn’t even remember how it started. One second you were teasing each other on the couch—something dumb about a meme he sent, a snarky comment about his hair—and the next, he was leaning in with that look. That half-lidded, slow-smiling, I’m about to kiss the shit out of you look.

And then he did. One hand on the back of your neck. The other gripping your hoodie like he couldn’t breathe without you either. His lips moved with that perfect balance of cocky and careful. Like he knew exactly what he was doing—but he was doing it for you, not to show off. You barely managed a breath before he tilted his head and kissed you again, deeper this time—pulling you into him like gravity didn’t apply anymore. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, bunching the fabric. He pulled back just enough to whisper, “You good?” You nodded, breathless. “More than good.”

“Mm.” He grinned against your cheek. “You always get quiet when you’re turned on.” You swatted his arm. “Don’t start.” “Oh, I’m starting.” And then his mouth was on your neck—kissing down the side, slow and warm and maddening. He found a spot just below your ear that made your fingers twitch, and he paused, smirking like he filed that away for later. “You’re not fair,” you mumbled, voice shaky. He chuckled against your skin. “What gave me away? The charm? The skill? The fact that you’re clinging to me like I’m oxygen?”

You shoved him again—harder this time—but he grabbed your wrist, caught it mid-swat, and pinned it lightly to the couch cushion beside you.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, brushing his nose against yours. “You started this.” You were about to fire back something sarcastic, something smug, something—but then he kissed you again, and every thought you had just evaporated. It was messier now. Hotter. Still slow, but with a tension that curled deep in your gut. His fingers slid under the hem of your hoodie, not wandering—just resting there, like he wanted to feel the heat of your skin. “Ethan,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. His forehead rested against yours. “Yeah?” he breathed. “I need…” You didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. “More. I think.” He smiled like you’d just said the sweetest thing in the world.

🔹 Fluff 🔹 Ethan x Reader 🔹 GN!Reader 🔹 Domestic Vibes 🔹 Couch Cuddles 🔹 Emotional Whiplash 🔹 Sweet Boy Energy 🔹 Request 🦋

Ethan is warm.

That’s the first thing you notice when he flops onto the couch beside you like a human space heater. He kicks his legs up, drags half the blanket over both of you, and sprawls out like he owns the place. “Comfy now,” he announces proudly. “You’re literally crushing me,” you grumble. “I said—comfy now.” You try to shove him off. He doesn’t move. Just grins that dumb little grin of his, the one that always shows up when he knows he’s being annoying on purpose. “You love me,” he says, smug. You roll your eyes. “Do not.”

He leans in with a dramatic gasp. “Do too.” “Do not.” “Then why’d you smile just now?” You scowl at him through the tiniest smile and he lights up. That full-face, eye-squinting grin that makes him look like he just won a game he wasn’t even playing. “You’re so annoying.” “But cute,” he shoots back. “Debatable.” He laughs—that laugh, the one that sounds like pure sunshine and chaos had a baby. You hate how much you love it.

But then… he goes quiet. Still smiling, but it shifts. Softer. More real. “I really like being around you, y’know,” he says, voice lower now. “You’re kind of my favorite person.” You blink. “…What?” He shrugs, suddenly playing with the corner of the blanket. “I was just thinking about it. You make everything feel easier. Even when nothing’s going on… it still feels better when you’re around.” You’re stunned. He catches you mid-processing and offers a crooked smile, a little bashful now. “Too much?”

You shake your head, swallowing the unexpected wave of butterflies. “No. Just… caught me off guard.” He leans in, nudges your shoulder gently. “I do that sometimes.” And then he presses a kiss to your temple, pulls you in tighter, and buries his face in your neck like he didn’t just wreck you emotionally out of nowhere. Ethan is chaos. And comfort. And apparently—really, really good at making your heart forget how to beat.

Later that night, you’re half-asleep in bed when you hear clattering in the kitchen. At first, you think it’s a raccoon. Or maybe a ghost. But then there’s a muttered “shit shit shit” followed by the very distinct sound of a spatula hitting the floor. You groan and roll out of bed, dragging the blanket with you like a cape. When you shuffle into the kitchen, you find Ethan standing over the stove with a pan in one hand and absolutely no clue in his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask. He turns like a deer caught holding pancake mix. “…Midnight breakfast?” You blink. He blinks back. “…It’s 2:34 a.m.,” you point out. “Exactly. Peak breakfast hours.” You stare at him. He stares at the ceiling like that’ll help. There’s flour on the counter. Batter in his hair. One suspiciously dark pancake on a plate that looks like it’s been through something. You sigh. “Ethan.” “What?”

“You’re not even using a whisk.” He holds up a fork proudly. “Old-fashioned.” You take it from him, set the pan to low, and grab the real whisk from the drawer. He watches you with a small smile as you start fixing the mess—mixing the batter right, flipping the pancakes properly. “You’re gonna do the dishes, right?” you mumble, still half-asleep. “Absolutely not,” he says. You shoot him a glare.

He grins, leans over, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Worth a shot.” Once the pancakes are finally done, the two of you sit on the counter like gremlins, feet swinging, sharing one plate between you like you’re in some weird domestic dream. “You know,” he says around a mouthful of food, “you looked cute coming in here with your little blanket cape.” You groan. “Don’t.”

“You did! Like a sleepy wizard. My sleepy wizard.” You narrow your eyes. “You’re never allowed to cook unsupervised again.” “I love when you boss me around.” You lightly shove him with your foot. He leans in, softer now. “Hey.” You glance over. He looks at you for a second too long before saying, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being my favorite.” Your chest squeezes. You don’t say anything. Just lean your head on his shoulder.

🔹 Fluff 🔹 Chaos 🔹 Sibling Banter 🔹 Protective Ethan 🔹 Soft Soup 🔹 GN!Reader 🔹 Established Relationship 🔹 Request 🦋

“You’re literally the worst,” you deadpanned, arms crossed as Ethan smirked at you from across the kitchen counter. “Actually, no—you’re worse than the worst. You’re, like, the final boss of being a little shit.” “That’s no way to talk to your only brother,” Ethan shot back, feigning offense as he took another bite of his sandwich. “Especially after I graciously let you exist in my world.” You rolled your eyes. “I’d rather get yeeted into another dimension.” From his spot at the kitchen table, Dallas choked on his drink, shaking with laughter. “Jesus, babe,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You do know you just admitted Ethan’s world revolves around you, right?” Ethan gasped dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “Aha! You love me! Mom was right!” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Dallas, why do you let me hang out with him? Why do you let this happen?” “Babe, I don’t let it happen,” Dallas grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. “It just does. Y’all start fighting like little kids every time you’re in the same room.” “Don’t lump me into this,” you grumbled, leaning against the counter. “Ethan is the one who starts shit.” “Excuse me?” Ethan huffed, feigning offense. “I am a perfect brother. I’m just looking out for you.” You narrowed your eyes. “By constantly roasting me?”

“Yes.” He took another smug bite of his sandwich. “It’s called tough love.” Dallas leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he watched the two of you go at it like an audience enjoying a live show. “I mean, it is kinda sweet in its own fucked-up way.” You glared at him. “Don’t encourage him.” Ethan only grinned wider. “Oh, he doesn’t have to. I thrive on annoying you.” “God, why did Mom and Dad even have you?” “To protect you,” Ethan said, suddenly serious as he set his sandwich down. “And speaking of that, Dallas, if you ever do anything to hurt them—” Dallas threw his hands up, cutting him off. “Bro, when have I ever given you a reason to think I’d hurt them?” Ethan paused, eyes narrowing. “…Never. But I am watching you.” Dallas smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Noted.” “Ethan,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Dallas is literally the softest boyfriend ever.” Ethan eyed him skeptically. “Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way. Dallas rolled his eyes before reaching out to pull you onto his lap with ease. “He’s just mad because I actually give you attention now.” Ethan gasped in mock betrayal. “And they let you hold them like that?! I used to be their favorite.” “Used to be is the key phrase,” you smirked, snuggling into Dallas’s chest. Ethan clutched his chest dramatically.

“This is actual sibling betrayal.” Dallas chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Damn, sucks to suck, man.” Ethan pointed at both of you. “I hate you both. But especially you, Y/N. You used to tell me everything. Now I find out about half your life through him.” You snorted. “Okay, boomer. We literally talk all the time.” “Yeah, but it’s not the same,” Ethan argued. “You don’t text me as much because you’re always busy being in love or whatever.” Dallas smirked. “Damn right they are.” Ethan rolled his eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “God, you’re insufferable. But at least you make them happy.” He gave you a softer look, his teasing demeanor dropping for a moment. “And, like… if you’re happy, I guess that’s all that really matters.” Your chest warmed at the rare moment of sincerity. “I am, E,” you murmured, your voice softer now. “And I still love you, even if you are the final boss of being a little shit.” Ethan’s lips twitched into a smirk. “I knew it.” You rolled your eyes, but Dallas chuckled. “See? Deep down, they do love you.” “than grinned. “Of course they do. I am the best brother, after all.” “You are a brother,” you deadpanned. Ethan gasped. “Wow. Disrespect. Mom’s gonna hear about this.” You sighed. “Oh my god.” Dallas just laughed, holding you tighter as Ethan fake-sulked into his sandwich.

🔹 Fluff 🔹 Comfort 🔹 Sick Reader 🔹 Friends to Lovers Vibes 🔹 GN!Reader 🔹 Humor 🔹 Protective Ethan 🔹 Sweet Domestic Moments 🔹 Light Banter 🔹 Request 🦋

The cold medicine commercials made it look easy—tissues, soup, and a day on the couch, and you’d be back to normal. But you felt far from that. Your head pounded, your throat ached, and even the thought of moving was exhausting. The blanket cocoon you’d wrapped yourself in offered little comfort as you curled up on the couch, groaning at every tiny noise. The knock at the door startled you, and you let out a weak, “It’s open.” Ethan peeked his head in, wearing his signature bucket hat and a hoodie that was definitely too big. “Jesus, you look like a raccoon that’s been hit by a car,” he teased lightly, closing the door behind him. “Wow, thanks for that,” you croaked, your voice rough from the sore throat. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” he said, holding up a bag of supplies like it was a trophy. “Soup, meds, ginger ale, and those little cookies you like. And,” he added dramatically, pulling out a bouquet of flowers, “for aesthetic purposes.” You couldn’t help but laugh, though it turned into a cough halfway through. “You’re ridiculous.” “And you’re sick, so sit back, shut up, and let me work my magic.”

He knelt beside you, resting a hand on your forehead. “You’re burning up. When’s the last time you took something for the fever?” “Uh…” You hesitated, trying to remember. “That’s what I thought,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I’m here.” Ethan was a whirlwind of activity—propping you up with extra pillows, making sure you had water, and setting a steaming bowl of soup on the coffee table in front of you. “It’s canned soup,” he admitted. “Don’t get your hopes up.” “It’s perfect,” you murmured, smiling weakly. He flopped onto the couch beside you once you’d eaten, his arm resting on the back of the cushions behind you. “You better be milking this for all it’s worth,” he joked. “I don’t play nurse for just anyone.” Oh, I know,” you teased back, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I’ll pay you back someday.” “Damn right you will,” he said, his voice softer now. “But for now, just… let me take care of you, okay?” The steady rise and fall of Ethan’s chest beneath your cheek was soothing. He’d wrapped an arm around you after you’d leaned against him, and despite his sarcastic comments, his touch was gentle, his warmth the perfect remedy for your feverish chills.

“You comfortable?” he asked, his voice softer than you’d expected. “Mm-hmm,” you mumbled, barely able to keep your eyes open. “You’re really good at this.” “At what? Being a world-class babysitter?” he teased, but the slight hitch in his tone betrayed the way your words had affected him. “Don’t make me blush now. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” You chuckled, though it came out more as a croaky laugh. “Seriously, though. Thanks for this. You didn’t have to come.” “I did,” he replied simply, reaching for the remote. “Can’t have you dying of boredom along with whatever plague you’ve got.” He flipped through the streaming apps until he landed on one of your favorite comfort shows. “This one, right?” he asked, glancing down at you. “Yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “You remembered.” “Of course,” he said with a shrug, as if it was no big deal. But the way he settled in, his hand absently stroking your shoulder, said otherwise. As the episode played, you felt yourself dozing off. Ethan stayed completely still, his arm secure around you. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you stirred awake, finding him still sitting there, the empty bowl of soup on the coffee table and your blanket tucked more securely around you.

“You didn’t leave?” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep. “Nah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You looked too cozy. Plus, I’m not sure you can be trusted to actually rest if I go.” “I’m not that bad,” you protested weakly, though the yawn that escaped you didn’t help your case. “Sure, sure,” he said with a grin. “But just to be safe, I’ll crash here tonight. You know, in case you need anything.” You blinked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to do that.” “Yeah, but I want to,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. “Now quit arguing and lay back down before I make you.” The corner of your mouth twitched into a smile as you let him guide you back against his chest. “You’re bossy.” “And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Good thing we balance each other out.”

The next morning, you woke to the sound of quiet clinking in the kitchen. You shuffled out of bed, still wrapped in your blanket, and found Ethan at the stove, attempting to make breakfast. He turned around when he heard you, his messy hair sticking out from under his bucket hat. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, his grin wide. “Feeling any better?” “A little,” you admitted, leaning against the counter. “What are you doing?” “Burning pancakes, apparently,” he said, holding up a slightly charred one with a sheepish laugh. “But hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?” You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine for the first time in days. “Yeah, it is.” Ethan set the plate down in front of you, plopping into the chair across the table. “So, what’s the verdict? Do I pass as a nurse, or should I stick to streaming?” You took a bite of the pancake, pretending to think. “Definitely stick to streaming.” “Wow,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “The betrayal.” “But,” you added, your smile softening, “you’re a pretty great nurse too.” His grin returned, and for a moment, the room was filled with a quiet warmth that had nothing to do with the pancakes or the coffee brewing on the counter.