#'baby you know an hour’s not enough for what I want to do with you' SCREAMINGGGG

[muwapsturniolo]

Raw Dawg 𐂯 M. Sturniolo

"We uhh...W-we could go raw?"

⟢ NSFW CONTENT AHEAD, smut, fingering, condoms/raw sex, snowballing (or some version of it?), that's it me thinks. let me know if i missed something please!!!!

part 1 here (you don't have to read part one because it's chris. this is just the matt version!!)

Dividers are made by @bernardsbendystraws (as usual)

Needy.

That's what you and Matt were both feeling.

It had to have been something in the air. The two of you woke up that morning with an anxious feeling in the pit of your stomachs. However, it wasn't anxious in a way that made you feel sick, no, it was something good.

As the two of you went about your day, the touches lingered, and the glances lasted longer than they should have. There were a few times his words seemed to have a double meaning, and there were also a few times when you shot him your famous bedroom eyes.

The day was filled with strong sexual tension - neither of you could handle it anymore.

The door shoots open as both of you tumble into his bedroom, teeth clashing, tongues tangled, and clothes falling - you couldn't get enough of each other.

As soon as you both land on the bed, his fingers find their way to your excessively wet cunt. It's not an exaggeration, you were dripping. You could feel it all day, the slimy liquid seeping out of you, squelching softly between your folds.

"Shit-" he hisses as he pulls away from the feverish kiss, looking down between your bodies. Your inner thighs were drenched with your own mess, his middle and ring finger looking the exact same. His mind was going crazy trying to figure out if he wanted to taste you, or simply fuck you. Both seemed like wonderful options, but with the way you're looking at him, he knew which option to go with.

He shoves his soaked fingers in your mouth, letting you taste your own juices as he haphazardly reaches into the nightstand for a condom. He tears it open with ease, having done it many times before. It was second nature to him, the two of you deciding it was the best contraceptive.

He rolls the condom on quickly, your hands holding the back of your knees as he lines himself up. In one swift motion, he was inside of you, both of you moaning at the first sense of relief. He grasps your thighs, starting to give you the pleasure you both so desperately crave, however, an issue occurs.

You whimper as he slips out of you, his tip prodding at the lower entrance you two don't indulge in. "Shit- I'm sorry sweetheart!" He grabs his dick once more and slides it inside of you, but it happens again,

and again

and again

and again

"Matt," you whine, tears of frustration already building in your eyes. He was frustrated too, all he wanted to do was fuck his girlfriend for hours on end - and he couldn't.

"Fuck sweetheart, I know I know. You're too fuckin' wet, I-I can't stay in!" He rakes his brain trying to think of a way to make this work.

"Get on top."

He catches the glare you give him and he groans, "Dawg, I don't know - Did you just call me dawg?" You stare at him in disbelief, there was no way he just called you, his girlfriend, dawg.

"First you tell me to get on top, and now you're calling me dawg?"

"Ok ok I'm sorry! I don't know what you want me to do! You're too fuckin' wet for me to actually fuck you and you being on top is the best thing I can think of!"

The two of you stare at each other, breathing harshly and frustrated. Both of your minds are buzzing with ways to make this work. The tension has been building all day, and you both were determined to make this work. It was only a few seconds later when Matt got an idea, his body language becoming shy.

"We uhh...W-we could go raw?"

"Matt- I know! We never go raw, we agreed on that, but baby I don't know what else to do. I really need you." His hands rub over the back of your thighs needily. You look over his face with an unsure look. Of course you wanted to have sex with him, you've been waiting all day, but would you risk going raw?

"...Fine, we can go raw. Just make sure you pull-" You're cut off with his lips slamming against yours, your body already melting into the kiss.

"Pull out, I know."

In one swift movement, he takes the soaked condom off, throwing it to the floor with no care. He was eager, he finally gets to experience sex with you raw.

Just like the previous times, he lines himself up, slowly pushing in.

It was shocking how much of a difference condoms made. You could feel everything, his warmth, the vein running up the side of his dick. He could finally feel the real warmth of your velvety walls, the sponge-like texture.

You two felt close - Connected.

He starts off with a few slow thrusts, trials if you will. When he realized that he was finally staying inside, something in him changed.

He pushes your legs to your chest, his grip harsh as he begins slamming into you vigorously. Your eyes roll back, your jaw dropping at the new and incredible feeling. The headboard was slamming into the wall, surely leaving dents and scratches into the plaster.

His moans combine with yours, creating a pitch-perfect harmony. Your bodies are covered in a thin layer of sweat, the heat between you too making the room smell like a mixture of lust and love.

You felt good, so good to the point where you no longer cared.

You manage to push his hands away from your thighs, your legs collapsing on the bed as you pull him closer. Your eyes are half-lidded, glossy as you give him those puppy dog eyes.

"P-Please, need you to c-cum in me!" You urge, pleading for him to give you something you usually would never want - but it was a craving, you were feigning for it.

You needed it.

You miss the way his pupils dilate due to him slamming into you with newfound vigor, your eyes rolling all the way back as your body lurches with each thrust. You could feel the tip of his dick reaching your cervix, nudging the sensitive spot and making you see stars.

"Fuck- god m'so close!" He grunts, his jaw clenched as he tries to get you closer to the edge.

He doesn't have to work that hard, all it took was him moaning in your ear and you were releasing all over him. You let out a small scream as your juices splash between you both, wetting the sheets beneath you as well as both your bodies.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving deep scratch marks on his milky skin as he continues to rut into you. It was becoming too much and he knew it. He whispers sweet words into your ear as he pumps into you relentlessly

"Gonna cum soon. You want me t'fill you up? Give you my babies?"

"Gonna look so pretty preg- oh fuck!"

The idea of you being filled to the brim with his seed, and being pregnant, was enough to send him over, his body shaking as he moans and groans into your ear.

The two of you lay there, fucked out and sweaty as you try to catch your breath. He sits up and pulls out of you, pushing your legs back to watch himself drip out of you.

You were a sight for sore eyes, you looked so pretty like this.

He couldn't help himself.

Despite knowing you're sensitive, he lowers his body and attaches his mouth to your cunt. You jerk and grab at his hair, yanking harshly as you feel his fingers dipping into you. Thankfully it wasn't long, but you still had no chance to catch your breath.

It was something so new and erotic, the way his lips met yours and his tongue pushed the warm salty liquid in your mouth. You moan at the taste, swallowing each drop eagerly.

He pulls back from the sloppy and lustful kiss, staring at you with hungry eyes.

"No condoms for the rest of the night. Hands and knees, now."

[zvdvdlvr]

tw: suicide, mourning, skipping meals, heavy topic

The day after you killed yourself, he couldn’t get up from your bed. He had gone to your apartment the moment he heard and fell asleep- wrapped around your scent- sobbing into your pillow. Your cat, George Washington, had curled himself into a ball about into the little indent in your designated untouched sleeping pillow- not purring. He only purred if you were around.

The day after you killed yourself, he didn’t get up from the bed until noon. His limbs were so heavy he didn’t really mind going to sleep and not waking up again. In fact, it was your precious baby (George Washington) that had finally got him up. Meowing and whipping his tail at the crying man’s face had succeeded in bringing him to his feet. And when he got up, he saw the sun shine on all the photographs tucked in the side of your vanity mirror- pictures of you smiling back at him with your dimple showing and your eyes squinting the way they did when you were smiling genuinely.

The day after you killed yourself, he went on a drive with George Washington because he didn’t know what else to do and going through your stuff felt like confirmation that you really… weren’t coming back. And he just wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe that if he closed his eyes long enough, he’d see the shape of you refracted by his cornea. He wanted to believe that if he played the playlist you had carefully curated for date night, he would hear you singing along with the tracks just like you always do did. He wanted to believe that, just for a minute, that he was your husband (not just your boyfriend) and he was coming home to you.

When he finally parked in the lot near your apartment, George Washington climbed into his lap. Your songs were still playing on the radio but he couldn’t turn them off.

That night he didn’t eat. Instead he got George’s food and water bowl fixed up before melting onto the couch in front of your TV. He didn’t feel hunger, no, despite the fact he hadn’t eaten anything since the day you…

It was another hour before he brought himself to look at his phone: the incessant, unending buzzing of his phone had finally cut through the murky emotion of grief and numbness and pain and anger. When he scrolled through the notifications, he could only work his thumbs to type out ‘Will call you tomorrow. I love you all.’ to your family groupchat before his vision blurred and he let his eyes close so he could dream of a future he would never have with you.

[cuteandhughesy]

Oh Boy! | Jeremy Swayman

summary: going into labour during a hockey game was definitely not in your and jeremy’s itinerary—but you aren’t about to let that stop you from having this damn baby with your boyfriend at your side.

2.0k

warnings: SFW! pre-established relationship | pregnancy | mentions of labour and childbirth | suggestive dialogue and scenes | read at your own discretion

a/n: based loosely off this request! I changed it a little bit for the story to flow the way I seemed fit—so I hope you love it ✨ the valentines fic will be a one night stand (sorta ;) moment with vince dunn…so get ready.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

you shouldn't of acted so naive. at 37 and a half weeks pregnant, you were in the early stages of labour—and you have been since 2 a.m. it started as the dullest pain, one that was easily brushed off as an awkward sleeping position and a little bit of gas, but as the early morning came, it progressed into a proper pull—like the sensation of a period cramp.

you ignored it, hiding the sensation that came in waves every hour or two with a smile on your face, letting your boyfriend cook you breakfast (pancakes because for your entire pregnancy the thought of anything else made you queasy), and make your favourite decaf ice coffee.

as the evening came closer, jeremey waking from his pre-game nap to begin getting ready—a part of you knew that you were in labour. but another part of your brain was in denial. you're not due yet, the baby clothes haven't even been put away, your parents are still a state over. that's the part of your brain that had you pushing everything away. you were just a little uncomfortable. everything is fine—you're not in labour yet.

your boyfriend stumbles down the hallway, tie hung loose around his neck as he rubs sleep from his eye. your eyes shift to clock above the tv, it's almost 5 p.m. meaning he’s just getting ready to head out to TD garden.

jeremy leans over the back of the couch, hands on either side of your shoulders as he kisses your head. "hey baby."

you hum just as a sharp pain shoots across your impossibly large belly, and you wince. jeremy pauses, rounding the couch until he standing in front of you. "what's wrong?"

you smile, although it's not as wide or bright as your usual one. "nothing." you don't give jermey a chance to question you further, holding out your hands so he can help you off the couch. "just sitting on my foot funny is all."

he doesn't look all too convinced, but thankfully he doesn't interrogate you like he's desperate to do—pulling you off the couch like the 20 pounds on your belly is nothing to him, like you're still only 10 pounds or something. which is nice, because your boyfriend can still make you feel dainty. you love him so much.

at this stage in your pregnancy, jeremy knows better than to question you, especially when you're insisting that everything is fine. so he stays as quiet as he can manage—unless he wants his balls ripped clean off.

once you're standing, jeremy sends you a soft smile. "okay baby, if you're sure." he says quietly, hands resting on the sides of your belly as he leans down and gives you a gentle, sincere kiss. it has your belly swooping pleasantly for the first time today, making you sigh against your boyfriends mouth like it's the first time you’ve been kissed. your heart rate increases even more than usual as jeremy’s thumbs swipe alone your squished ribs, and you feel like you’re on cloud 9.

it seems that the baby agrees, tiny body rolling around in your belly like it's a ride—but soon enough there's a hard kick against your side, followed by another wave of pinching pain. you pull away from the kiss, brows pulling in discomfort.

you don’t want jeremy to ask again, or worry. so you mask the pain by fiddling with jeremy's tie, looping it around itself. "you look handsome in this colour."

jeremy's brows pull questionably, analyzing your seemingly calm face. he sighs gently, just as your nimble fingers finish with his now perfectly knotted tie. "thanks."

another sharp pain shoots across your lower belly, wrapping around your back and shooting down to your pelvis. now you're getting worried—what if something is wrong? what if you're actually in labour? but once again, you're doubting yourself. maybe you're just overreacting. the last thing you want is to pull jeremy from a game because of braxton hicks contractions.

you already feel guilty about having being pregnant during the height of the nhl season—never mind when the baby actually gets here and jeremy is up with you all hours of the night. the least you can do right now is let him play in peace.

it's a few more minutes before your boyfriend is slipping into his dress shoes, kissing your lips once more by the front door before heading to the rink—leaving you and your reeling mind behind.

anxiously, you pace around the house in any attempt to be busy and distract yourself. you put away these few dishes left in the drying rack from breakfast, set jeremy's laundry going, and you even double check the hospital bag—just in case.

your pain is getting increasingly worse, and the contractions you've been experiencing since the early morning are now only 7 minutes apart. it was undeniable now, you're most definitely in labour.

before you totally panic, you send a rather frantic text to danielle coyle, listing your symptoms and contractions times. her response was simple: get to the damn hospital baby mama.

you're going to have a baby. today. suddenly you don’t feel prepared, or ready to have a baby in the house. you’re scared. immediately you start crying, hands shaking and tears blurring your vision as you attempt to look down at your phone screen—danielle’s message starting back at you…taunting you.

your knees feel weak, and it has you pushing yourself to walk over to your exercise ball, sitting down to relive some of the pressure on not only your knees, but pelvis and back as well. you wipe your tear filled eyes, pulling up jermey's contact and hitting the call button before you pass out from anxiety.

unfortunately you're not one of those wags who wants their boyfriend to stay blissfully unaware of labour—as much as you wish you were. you are scared, and in pain, and you need him. now. it could be game 7 of the playoffs and you’d still want jeremy with you.

he picks up on the first ring—he must have his phone connected to his bluetooth today. "what's wrong?" jeremy questions, and you can practically hear the way his face is scrunched in concern. the sound of his car can be heard in the background of the call, meaning he hasn't gotten to the arena yet. thank god.

"jer..." you sniffle, a loud sob wracking through your body. "I-I think-the baby's coming."

despite your wobbly words and borderline hyperventilating, jeremy knows exactly what you’re saying. his breath hitches, and immediately he’s pulling off the road and into some bank parking lot. "I knew something was wrong, honey. are you okay?" jeremy flicks his turn signal on before pulling back out onto the road, back in the direction of home—of you.

"I just want you home." you admit timidly, voice laced with emotion and fear. "i'm sorry that i'm only just telling you...I didn't know what to do."

jeremy sighs, naturally picking up speed until he's borderline breaking the law. "don't apologize, okay. i'll be there soon."

"wait," you cry, hips swivelling on the ball as your pelvis tightens uncomfortably. "please don't hang up."

jeremy's lips pull down at the sheer panic in your voice. he almost feels guilty for biting his tongue today, especially when he saw how much pain you’ve been in since you brushed your teeth together this morning. regardless, he’s happy you’re calling him now rather than after you’re already starting to push. "baby, i've gotta call work. but I promise i'll be home very soon, and if i'm done the call before I get there, i'll call you back."

after a a tiny and sad okay from you, he hangs up, instantly dialing his coach's number. thankfully, joe sacco picks up on the second ring, "jeremy? everything okay?"

"actually joe," he starts, an inevitable smile growing on his face. "y/n is in labour."

much to your relief, jeremy is walking back through the front door only 8 minutes after your phone call ended—slightly breathless and eyes wide—but he’s here. jeremy’s eyes land upon you, still rolling your hips on the hot pink exercise ball, breathing deeply through contractions.

you had just stopped crying, but as soon as jeremy looks at you, the tears start up again. he rushes towards you, holding your face delicately. "hey....hey what's wrong? why are you crying?"

you look like a wreck. hair still not brushed, snot running out of your nose like a faucet while tears stream down your cheeks—not yet out of your pyjamas because for the past month, just getting out of bed was a chore, never mind having to dress the huge stomach attached to you. stupid athletes and their giant babies.

"i'm scared." you tell him, your own hands wrapping around jeremy's wrists to keep him close to you. "ugh! having a baby is scary, jer!"

"it's going to be okay." he chuckles quietly, bringing you into his chest for a hug. and you go easily, falling into the comfort of jeremy's hug while your muscles contract tightly, making your face pull inward, forming a scowl. "you're doing so good already." he praises, words tickling your hairline.

you whine in discomfort, and like he learned in labour&delivery classes, jeremy starts pushing against your hips, reliving some of the pain and pressure on your pelvis. you exhale shakily, eyes flickering up to your boyfriends warm gaze.

there's a small smile on his face despite the nerves he feels in his stomach, because despite all the anxiety and unknown thoughts about having a baby, there’s the upmost excitement about becoming parents that jeremy just can’t not smile about. your eyes say what your mouth can't, a conversation shared just between your and jeremy's locked gazes. it's time.

"you ready to have our baby?"

soon enough your both in the car, hospital bags packed in the back seat and jeremy's hand on your thigh, stroking your skin over your sleep wear as you breathe through intense contractions and pressure.

you're pretty sure the hockey channel is playing through the radio—you can take the man out of the game. the broadcasters begin taking about the absence of the usual bruins goaltender, speculating about his sudden absence, and that's when you reach over and turn it off. the last thing you need is to feel more guilt about having a hockey season baby.

and as if jeremy can sense that, he squeezes your leg and shoots you a look. "there's nowhere i'd rather be right now, baby. okay? we're almost there."

"okay." you breathe, your hand finding his and interlocking your fingers together. "love you."

"love you."

you're quickly ushered into a private room once you check in at the hospital, nurses fussing and checking you over—hooking you up to various machines and getting the room ready for a delivery.

you're 8 centimetres dilated, which isn't surprising considering how long you've been labouring—almost 16 hours now. jeremy is truly your rock through the entire thing, and when it's time to start pushing, he's in full support mode. kissing your head, whispering words of encouragement and holding your leg up while you cry and scream, delivering your baby like it's second nature—which technically, it is.

after exactly 42 minutes of pushing, you give birth to your and jeremy's baby boy. you'll never forgot the way having your new baby placed on your chest feels, and the love that consumed you looking into his brown eyes…the same eyes as jeremy. it was other worldy.

jeremy's eyes watered at the sight, kissing both you and his son in the softest, most precious way. he’s never felt more complete—more hole—than looking at the sight of your baby in your arms. shaky arms covered in various patches and IVs.

you know the next little while will be a great learning curve. between adding a baby into the mix, the hockey schedule and the half painted nursery back at home, adjusting to your new life will surely be a little difficult to get used to.

but you're so damn excited to learn, and even more so that jeremy will be learning with you.

yourusername is with jeremyswayman1

liked by daniellegcoyle, bmarch63 and others

yourusername he’s here 🩵

[bblairxe]

— ୨ৎ lawyer ! abby x reader . mdni

abby’s been typing at her laptop for hours, literal hours. every once in a while you’d ask her how much longer or if she’s done. but she’ll still give you that same response: “5 more minutes.”

    you were fed up at this point. storming over to her desk and planting your hands in front of her. she looks up at you with a confused expression, but her eyes soften when she realizes why you’re here.

    an abundance of complaints were about to leave your lips until your eyes started focusing on something else. you noticed how her face framing pieces sit perfectly on her glasses, her muscles being shown off through her white button up, and the way she leans back, man spreading in her chair. 

    it’s dizzying, intoxicating even. it makes your annoyance falter for a slight second until you remember her white lies. you clear your throat, preparing for a tone to set her straight, but it comes out more pathetic than demanding. 

    “abs, can you take a break? i miss you, need you, please?” 

    she lets out a long sigh. she would give the world just to be with you right now but her mind won’t stop drilling her about a case. 

    “i know baby, come here.” her arms open wide, inviting you into her lap. they wrap around your waist like instinct, holding and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. 

    a few moments pass, the two of you so engulfed in each other that abby forgets she even needed to work. her hand smooths over your back, planting kisses on your cheek. she wants this moment to last, and it does, until a message from her client pops up on her laptop screen.

    “shit, i-i gotta do this love, i’m sorry.” 

    her words make you groan, you didn’t want this moment to end so soon. of course you were thankful for these few minutes of peace but you wanted more. 

    you lean further into her, nuzzling your head into her shoulder. you stay like that for a while, happy with the warmth of her arms around you, but the longer she types, the more impatient you get. on top of that, your back starts to hurt from the curled up position. 

    she notices almost immediately, stopping her work to make sure you’re alright, “what’s up? you keep moving.” she whispers in a soft tone, her voice laced with concern.

    you shuffle again, trying to find a comfortable angle but nothing works, “back hurts.”

    her lips form into a pout at your troubles, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “i’m sorry baby, i’ll be done soon.” her attention focuses back onto the bright screen in front of her, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist. 

    you mentally roll your eyes at her words she was ‘almost done’ two hours ago. your eyes flicker to the floor then turning your head to see the gap between the desk and her legs. it’s just enough space for you to slip down, so you do — scooting off her lap and settling between her legs. 

    abby hums in acknowledgment, barely glancing away from her screen. her fingers don’t stop typing, but her free hand drops down to your cheek, cradling your face in her hand. 

    your pupils dilate, mind going blank at the feeling. it’s not until now you realize you’re at her feet, craving for attention and the need to please her intensifies.

    you start slow, not wanting to distract her from her work that’s ‘oh so important.’ your head rests on her thigh while your hand runs up and down her inner. it’s close to her core but never exactly there. 

    your gaze flickers back to her face, checking to see if she’s noticed but nothing’s changed. her expression remains focused, jaw tight, glasses sitting at the bridge of her nose. you didn’t notice but her white buttoned up is slightly unbuttoned and her sleeves are rolled up just to her elbows, showing off her veiny forearms. 

    the sight makes your thighs press together, searching for relief. you need her, but you continue playing slow, needing her to feel the same amount of desperation you feel now. your hand moves further up, just to her belt buckle, and that’s when she notices. 

    abby tenses, her fingers pausing on the keys. “what are you doing?” her tone is steady but her voice is filled with hesitation. 

    “helping you relax,” you murmur, holding eye contact as your hand tugs at her waistband.

    “baby, i—“

    “just keep working abs.” 

    her eyes dart between you and her screen, but the look you give her makes her fingers fumble against the keys. you nudge her legs further apart, palms pressing against the inside of her thighs. you relish in how pliant she becomes, letting you play with her however you want. 

    your hands move up to her belt buckle, undoing it and letting her pants pool at her feet. her body sinks into chair, her bottom half completely in your face. “impatient are we?” you tease, smoothing your thumb along her clothed slit. 

    a low groan escapes her throat, her eyes rolling in the process. “love, as much as you— i want this, i have to work. it’s very important and i need to work,” her words became nothing but background noise to you. you’ve grown tired of waiting for her to finish, and you were determined to get what you want. 

    your tongue presses against her clit, lingering for a moment before teasing with soft, deliberate kitten licks. her words falter, cutting off as her fingers tighten around the armrests, grasping for stability. she knows she should stop, should focus, but her body betrays her—every flick of your tongue erases any train of thought. hell, if it feels this good with her boxers still on, she can only imagine how it’ll feel without them.

    you let up and you could melt from the view. her glasses all foggy and her lips are full and pouty. “see what i mean? let me help you relieve all of this stress.”

    she huffs through her nose, clearly upset that you proved her wrong. a big part of wants to be stubborn and insists on working but she knows she won’t be able to resist you for long. “fine, but only one round.” 

    “that’s all i need, sweetheart.”

🏷️ : @ellieslosttwofingers @polarhues @pornoangelz @sapphichounded @macabremilieu

[celuere]

For our dear girl Mavuika.. Fucking pregnant!Fem!Reader, or with a breeding of kink? Story is up to you, you have great imagination, you'll do a perfect job, so I trust you :3

you have no idea what a soft spot i have for tender pregnant sex anon… and with mavuika wokeksnekwnewi I KNOW SHE‘D BE SO GENTLE WITH YOU, HOLDING AND CARESSING YOUR BABY BELLY AND ALL DAT OH IM SO SICK. also this turned out shorter than expected but i still hope you like it wkrbnwnrdnke

cw: pregnant sex, mavuika is SO soft for her wife ngh, mavuika has a dick here because anon and i said so!

„shhhh… relax…“, mavuika cooed as she slowly slid you drenched panties down your legs before putting them away besides her. as if she was carefully unwrapping a birthday present. a pillow placed underneath your waist to prevent you from lying flat on your back, when you happened to be six months into your pregnancy, some things have to be handled differently after all. but the tenderness she handled you with caused your heart to race nonetheless.

„is it really okay for you…?“

„of course it is… my wife has needs that have to be fulfilled… what kind of spouse were i if i just ignored these?“, she gently squeezed the plush of your thighs before pushing them apart and you didn‘t miss out on glimmer of lust blitzing up in her eyes which she quickly blinked away.

your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as your swollen belly hindered your view on her boner when she started shedding out of her clothes.

„y-you know you don‘t have to for my sake…“

„but i want to, darling. my pregnant wife wishes for some relief, then that‘s exactly what i‘m gonna do.“, her tone was firm, she wanted this just as much as you did. keeping your legs gently parted for as she leaned forward until you felt the tip of her pressing against your needy pussy and you more or less swallowed her first two inches up accident. pregnancy did some wonders to you. but maybe it was just the fact that you watched her working out for a good three hours in front of your shared house, pretending to be awfully invested in a pregnancy guide.

the sudden intrusion caused your hand to find its way into her neck, a soft whimper escaping your lips. goodness, you almost forgot what it felt like and for the first time in months mavuika felt like she was loosing control over herself. hand coming up to get a gentle hold of your baby bulge, „my star… y-you feel so unbelievably amazing… c-can i-“

„mhm- p-please…“, urging her to push deeper into you by trying to scoot closer to her. she almost melted at the sight of her pregnant wife begging for her. immediately making sure to add inch by inch and you were so incredibly welcoming to her, so wet and ready for her and yet you were clenching around her so tightly. she might as well got accepted into heaven itself.

„atta girl… i‘m not going anywhere…“, goodness you‘re gonna come alone from her sultry tone if she continued talking to you like this.

no words needed to be spoken, your wife knew exactly what needed to be done.

she started moving slowly at first, dragging her cock out before pushing her hips back forward. your moans were practically all over the place. she was soft, so incredibly tender with you as she watched you melt over her gentle pace.

„look at you, sweetie… does it feel good enough for you…? you seem to enjoy it a lot…“, your wife reached a hand over to gently cup your cheek, stroking with her thumb over your cheekbone as she stared down at her whole world.

she never knew that she‘d one day be granted with a family of her own. that the 500 years of waiting will be paying her back in the form of a… baby. but mavuika was never one to complain. ever.

„f-feels amazing…“, you grabbed onto her other hand resting on your belly almost instinctively, interlacing your fingers, giving her a tight squeeze as if she were to slip out of your touch at any given moment. you couldn‘t handle it. her dick gently pumping in and out of you, the love in her eyes, the feeling of your wedding ring against her own. the fact that she is the mother of your child.

your orgasm was soft, so incredibly intense but you didn’t start shaking when you creamed over her in a soft moan. eyes squeezing shut before she bottomed out in a low moan and then her cum painted your insides.

it felt different than before, not in a bad way. a bit more… heavy, if that makes any sense.

„o-oh archons…. y-you’re perfect… you are so perfect, sweetheart…“, praises over praises spilling over her lips as she made sure to let you both calm down first. bending down to pepper soft kithes over your face, a strong hand running over the lower side of your swollen belly, she couldn’t keep them to herself nowadays. her hands always find their way to your baby bump, no matter where or when.

„e-exaggerating as always… n-now let me get on top…“, you patted her toned shoulders in order to signal her to get off of you.

„darling… don‘t you think you are getting a bit ahead of yourself…? you shouldn’t overdo it-”

„mavuika, let me get on top.“

and you always had the last word.

[notlongtolove]

petals and frost

hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. an agent liaison from the nyc office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. a brief attachment, hotch had said. too bad spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst w no happy ending (sowie)

content: avoidant bau reader, non descriptive mentions of sex

word count: 2.8k words

note: written for @mggslover 1k event, congrats once again my love!!! yall can blame @esote-rika for that sadistic ending, i idea dumped that on her and said i didnt know if it wld be too angsty and she begged me to use it so... fuck yalls valentines ig (anyways spencer reid, just know that i, user notlongtolove, would neverrrr do that to you)

a line: You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again.

And some part of me came alive, the first time that you called me ‘baby’ The perfect genius of our hands and mouths. - Hozier, First Time

Hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. An agent liaison from the NYC office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. You were easy to like, easy to talk to, definitely easy on the eyes. A brief attachment, Hotch had said. The phrase seemed almost oxymoronic—Spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind. 

As it turns out, there are a lot of other things Spencer forgets around you. When you twist your hair into a haphazard ponytail mid briefing, he forgets the third personality trait of a classified sociopath. You don’t. Interpersonal offensiveness, Reid. That’s criminology 101. Emily makes a comment under her breath about his IQ being slashed in half. If you do hear her, you pretend not to. 

When you slide a beer across the table after your first case, he forgets that he doesn’t drink, masking a grimace as he takes a sip. You’re trying. He doesn’t want you to feel bad. By the time he’s on his second, his face is warm. Too fast, he tells himself. From the alcohol, definitely not from the way your thigh is pressed against his in the booth.

Later, when you’ve got him pinned against the wall under a dim lamppost kissing him breathless, he tries to forget the bureau’s policy on interoffice relationships. It’s after hours. You’re not really part of the team. You’re here contractually. A technicality. He can make an exception. 

You run your hands through his hair tugging faintly and he decides he will make an exception. 

The only thing Spencer doesn’t forget that night is the route from O’Keefe’s to his apartment though it’s a blur all the way from the cab to his apartment to his bed. He pulls you through his front door, fingers curled tight around your wrist. A tangle of limbs and lips pressed against lips feverishly, desperately—He’s certain he’s got that memorised. 

“I’m not…” you start, voice faltering between kisses, searching for the right words that just aren’t coming when you’re straddling him and he’s looking at you the way that he is, “not looking for anything… serious.”

Alarm bells go off in his head blaring amidst the euphoric haze he’s in. It’s a warning he registers but doesn’t heed. Caution. Danger ahead. He tells himself that if he squints hard enough, that if he really really tries—It’s a challenge. And Spencer Reid has never backed down from a challenge.

So he bites. Takes the bait. Plays along.

“What makes you think I am?”

You smirk like you don’t believe him but your fingers move to make quick work of the buttons on hhis shirt anyways. He tries to laugh when you joke about how you should definitely apply for a permanent spot on the team now, but it sticks in his throat. He distracts himself by closing his eyes.

“Spencer,” you say breathlessly, “you sure about this, baby?” 

His eyes snap open so fast it startles you, leaving you flustered, halfway to pulling back before his grip tightens at your waist, keeping you right where you are. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“W-what’d you just say?”

You blink back at him. “I asked if you’re sure about—”

“No, the—the other part. The last part.”

A pause. Then, deliberately, “Baby?”

Oh fuck. 

“Y-yeah. That.” He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s bracing for impact. “Say it again. Please.”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back a laugh as you lean down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down his bare chest, whispering against his skin, “whatever you want baby.” Spencer has to force his eyes shut again.

You mark him up in the shades of purple wildflowers. Spencer shivers at the sight of them. Theres not much talking when skin finally meets skin. Spencer’s starved, insatiable, burning hot and ice cold all at once. This okay, baby? Yes, yes, god, yes. Can I? Yes, please, please do. Sweat pools around your bodies and Spencer tries to forget how much he wants to remember this moment. The purple wildflowers bloom across his skin—deadnettle, henbit, african violets. 

Oh, he thinks, this one’s gonna hurt, isn’t it? 

When Spencer wakes the next morning, he’s only mildly afraid to open his eyes.

He’s never done this before—doesn’t know what to expect. But he knows enough to predict the possibilities. Regret. Yours, not his. Shame, embarrassment, maybe even anger. You’ll be gone. Nothing left behind but the imprint of your body on his sheets, marks of purple left in your wake. 

Spencer Reid does not like not knowing. 

So he braces himself, steels his nerves, and opens his eyes—only to be met with something far worse.

You. 

Still here.

Curled up beside him, peaceful, angel deep in sleep, gut wrenchingly soft. In sleep, you’re nothing like how you are on the field. Out there, you’re a good shot, a great one, you think quick on your feet, you’re confident, never stuttering or stumbling like he does. You’re heaven on earth, right in his bed—He’s utterly ruined for it. He doesn’t know what possesses him to move closer, to let newfound confidence guide his arm around your waist. But he does. You stir, just barely, waking to the feeling of his lips pressed into your hair.

The morning melts into something else entirely. An abandoned attempt at breakfast in bed, clothes forgotten in a scattered trail from the kitchen counter to the couch. Unsanitary, he’d think, if he weren’t already too far gone to care. The boy’s insatiable once again, chasing a thirst only you seem to have awakened in him. It’s fiery and passionate as drinks you in, icy cold hisses when you nip at his neck. But you’re neither summer nor winter. You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again. The way your nails claw at his back, marks of sinful desire turning into ivy that grows to cover you both. It’s entirely all encompassing.

God, you have him in the palm of your hand and you don’t even know it. 

Dancing around the team is its own kind of purgatory. Turtlenecks in sweltering Texas heat which you make up for with a fleeting kiss to his cheek in the break room when everyone else has their back turned. Spencer tells himself to keep his feelings in check, to keep his adoration at bay. But it’s hard to when you exist so seamlessly within the liminal spaces of the team. Always in Hotch’s good books. Cracking jokes just dirty enough to make Morgan laugh and Rossi raise a brow. Even JJ loves you.

Silently, Spencer thanks the BAU’s abysmal budget for the run-down motel they’ve stuck you in. It makes it that much easier to convince you to stay at his place—only for a night or two, maybe three, maybe four, eventually a Baby, Hotch is gonna call us in soon anyway, and the freeway near yours is a nightmare in the mornings. You might as well stay one more night. He seals with a look, a soft plea, and you cave every time.

5 months and a week is what you’ve built together. Your days are disgustingly domestic and Spencer just can’t seem to get enough. It’s not like the two of you go out much. Long days (and longer nights) in the field leave you both drained, running on fumes. Just enough energy left to call in takeout accompanied with something strong for you, water for him. Just enough left to trade lazy kisses between bites and fall into bed tangled together. This is it, isn’t it?

Waking to rushed mornings, shared showers, half-hearted protests when you insist on shampooing his hair for him. Bare feet on hardwood floors and the bumping of hips in the kitchen as he makes coffee for two. Rendezvous on a crappy motel mattress that creaks beneath the weight of both of you when you run out of clothes for the week. Baby, we shouldn’t really—swallowed by the press of lips.

Your laughter comes to him in little bursts of light. You’re his absolute heart in human form. 

The purple wildflowers haven’t made an appearance in awhile but spring blooms in his chest all the same. When you inevitably drift off to the sound of his voice reading Spencer makes a mental note to bring The Iliad when he comes to visit. You’ll probably be done with Dante’s inferno by then. The weak fistful you have of his shirt tightens ever so slightly in your sleep and he knows what you want. He turns to shut off the light and fits himself against you, tucking you closer to his chest. Spencer tries to distract himself from the fact that you’re set to leave in a month. He’d drink dry the River Lethe to forget it if he could. Instead, in the quiet, he allows himself to think about what the weather will be when he gets the chance to visit you. 

He’s always wanted to go to New York. He’s never been the best flyer and he doesn’t know how he’ll fare on a flight without the comfort of his team and the jet’s coffeemachine. It’ll have to make do, he thinks. It’s only a little over an hour’s flight. He tells himself it’s basically nothing. He can handle it. Besides, he can always make the eight hour drive, or the six hour train. The options are endless, much like his devotion to you—He’ll walk to you if he has to. 

“Do you think you’ll have time for a trip when I come visit?” Spencer asks one night, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. You’re too busy fumbling with the buttons of his pants to catch the lovelorn grin tugging at his lips. “I know there’s probably a lot to see in New York, but I’ve been saving my days off. And if I catch Hotch on a good day, I think I could carve out a few more.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know,” you murmur, distractedly, “I usually don’t get much time off when I’m back. Let me know if you are planning to come, though—I’d love to show you around for a day or two.”

The fuck? 

Show him around? A day or two?

It’s frosty. Ice cold. A slow caress of his cheek at arms length. Cruel in the way that kindness can be. He tenses beneath you, shifting upright so suddenly that you blink up at him, confused.

“Everything okay, baby?”

The frown on his face indicates he’s anything but okay. “Yeah,” Spencer lies. “I just… I just thought—I mean, you knew I was planning to come visit, right?”

You hesitate. “Spence, we didn’t really discuss that, I—”

“I know we didn’t.” He tries to keep his frustration subtle, but it slips through when he runs a hand through his hair sharply. “But this? Us? How could I not?”

You try again, gentler this time. “Oh, baby, you don’t have to. I know you’re really busy, and—”

“I want to.”

The realisation settles slowly into your features. And then, quietly—naively—he lets himself ask, “Don’t you want me to?” 

Silence.

Oh. 

Somewhere deep inside him the ivy shrivels and the purple wildflowers wither. It appears that spring has come to a close. 

“Spencer,” you say gravely, “I thought we talked about this—” He doesn’t hear the rest. It all dissolves into static, white noise humming in his skull. He hates that tone on you—the way it sounds so careful, so deliberate. Its how you talk to Hotch, to unsubs, to people that need to be managed. Never how you talk to him. Not how you talk to him when you share sly jokes and interlock pinkies at the back of the van, thighs touching when you share a blanket in the jet. Not how you talk when you whisper baby, stop, someones gonna see us when he insists on a chaste kiss to your nose and another to your forehead—Because how could he ever stop at one?

He blinks back into focus when you reach for his hand, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He should brace for the inevitable. He knows what’s coming, but he’s too far gone for it to matter, too far off the deep end for it to hurt now. What’s a stab to the heart when you make up for it with cotton-soft kisses and a feather light touch? I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t be sad. I wish I could stay too. Don’t be mad, okay? I don’t want you to be mad at me. As if he ever could be. Not when you’re kissing him the way that you are. Still, Spencer tries to tell himself that the wildflowers that bloom into rosettes beneath your touch are fragile things. He tries to carve it into his bones to remind himself that they won’t survive the winter of your absence.

It starts with the smallest frost, like soft snowflakes clinging to his lashes, signs he might have missed if he wasn’t already looking out for them. “Baby, you shouldn’t have,” you say when he comes home with a restock of your makeup remover. Spencer only shrugs, wordless. He knows you mean it. Not out of politeness, not out of gratitude, but because there won’t be any use for it soon.

Winter calls for shorter days, for less sunlight. It brings more cases, more exhaustion, more time spent apart. Nights where Spencer wakes up to an empty bed because you’d insisted on packing your suitcase, and insisted on doing it alone. As it turns out, the cold really does bite. 

It all couldn’t happen fast enough.

Nobody bats an eye when Spencer insists on tagging along to drop you off at the airport. It’s practical, really—an extra set of hands. Even Morgan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t call him lover boy with that knowing smirk. Maybe he would’ve if Spencer didn’t already look like he was on the brink of death. Hotch keeps his goodbye brief, a quiet nod, a quick squeeze of your shoulder after he helps unload your suitcase from the van. He mumbles something about keeping in touch, about how the door’s always open. 

Spencer is the one who walks you to your terminal. You walk briskly ahead of him, fingers curled loosely around the handle of your suitcase. You’d brushed off his offer to help—All the better because he has to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat just to keep them steady. He tries to count the steps between the check-in counter and security. All in all, both literally and ironically, too little too late. 

This is finality, signed, sealed, delivered. The clock has run out. Spencer Reid is out of time. And, for once, Spencer Reid is out of words. 

So, it’s you who takes his hand, pulling him closer. Drop me a call if you ever come visit okay? I will, I will. You’ll love it there. Take care. Call me whenever. This was amazing. You’re amazing. You’re so good. Too good. It’s you who tilts his chin and kisses him with such force he wants call it love. He would call it love. If you asked, he’d rip the wildflowers from his ribs and place them at your feet as proof disguised as an offering. You’re kissing like you’re trying to make him forget—where you both are, where you’re going, where he’s staying. You pull away, breathless, fingertips ghosting along his jaw when the intercom blares above you. He lets the last shreds of sunlight slip from his grasp when you walk through the gate. Spencer doesn’t stay to see if you turn back or not. He’s felt like an afterthought enough. 

The van is quiet when he climbs in.

Spencer ignores Hotch’s glances, keeps his head down, busies himself with the air conditioning. Granted, he rarely sits shotgun, but still, today, it feels colder than usual.

“She’s a great agent.”

“She is. She… worked great in the team.” Spencer’s fingers tighten around the vent. He nods, swallows around the lump in his throat. “You should’ve offered her a spot.”

Hotch’s eyes stay set on the road. “I did. JJ and I drafted a two-year contract for her.”

Spencer scoffs bitterly, “yeah? I’m sure Strauss took that well.” 

“Strauss had no issue with it.” 

That makes Spencer pause. His head turns, brows pulling together. “Then?”

A beat of silence before Hotch exhales, “she rejected it.”

The world stops. His stomach drops first, then his chest. Fragile stems and violet petals turn brittle, cracking as the frost works its way through him. Tiny pieces of petals and frost splinter his being. A brief attachment, no doubt. He should’ve known better. He should’ve noticed the subtlest change in the winds, distractions cloaked in tender touches as wandering hands made their way beneath clothes, apologies in a baby, I wish I could stay too. He really should’ve remembered to forget you. 

He feels the wildflowers inside him freeze over and with the gentlest shift of breath—They shatter.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

[hukelughes]

your writing of frat luke made me think about frat quinn (which we don't see a lot i feel like)

can you maybe write something about a situationship with him

You nod along to what he’s saying, an easy smile on your face. You like him, he’s easy to talk to, knows exactly what to say at the right time, and wants to know you. He’s exactly the person who you should want.

“So, I just eat shit down this hill as like ten scouts are looking straight at me, I’ve never been so embarrassed.” He laughs, putting his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as he recalls the moment. 

Your smile slowly fades as you give him a fake laugh, something you’ve perfected these last few dates.

“This guy puts his stick in front of my legs, and I fall down, y’know, like eat complete shit down to the ice as everyone’s watching me. My coaches, the scouts, my parents, my brothers. I swear if anyone ever finds that clip, I’m retiring and moving to the Galapagos to become a fucking biologist.”

You burst out laughing, head falling back as he watches you with a soft look in his eye. “Oh my God, do you even have a biology degree?”

“Nope, I quit college in my second year and was a Sports Management major. I would be fired on my first day, I think.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. The other one was gently holding your waist, with your bodies facing each other and your faces closer than ever. 

“Aw, well it’s a good thing you’re making it big now, huh?” You mumble, looking down at his lips. You’re not being subtle, giving him hints about what you want for about an hour now. “Quinn, can we go back to your place?”

“Yeah? You wanna go back to mine?”

Nodding, you lean forward enough that your breathing lands directly on his lips. “Yeah.”

He breaks the distance, hands now going to cradle each side of your face. Your lips meet for the first time, immediately tasting the beer he’d been drinking. Putting your fingers in his belt loops, you pull him even closer, if that was even possible. Your tongues brush against each other as you both fight to lead. It’s messy, passionate, euphoric, and you don’t know if any other man could kiss you like Quinn Hughes.

“Are you listening? Hello?” He snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of the memory. 

“Yeah, sorry, your story just reminded me of something someone told me.” You grimaced, looking down to fiddle with your rings. 

“How about we cut this date short and just go right to the good stuff, huh?” 

His words send a cold chill through you, instantly waking you up from whatever trance you were in. “Sorry?”

“What, you don’t want to fuck me, baby?”

“Not really, no. I’m just going to go now, if that’s okay?” Without waiting for his answer, you grab your jacket and your bag. You can hear him calling after you as you walk towards the exit. Once you’re out in the cold Vancouver weather, you finally breathe out a sigh of relief. 

Fumbling with your bag, you take your phone out and open up your contact list. You stop at ‘H’, thumb moving around in circles before you just click on it.

It rings three times before you finally hear his voice.

“Hello?” Quinn asks, his voice voicing his confusion as to why you were calling him during your date. “Y/N?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to gather your thoughts, before you close your eyes and let it out. “Can you pick me up?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re still sharing your location with me right?” 

“Yeah, you should see me right away,” you hear him shuffling around, presumably getting up and grabbing his keys. “He really sucked.” 

“Did he?” Quinn hums, something about his tone tells you that he knew it all along. “Baby, I told you that you’re better off with me.” 

“I know, I know.” You absentmindedly kick a rock into the road. “I just thought our… arrangement wasn’t working anymore. Didn’t wanna get too emotionally involved with you.”

He chuckles under his breath, “yeah, well, it’s already too late for that. Here you are calling me to rescue you from your date.”

“Shut up. I was wrong.” You concede, rolling your eyes in the process. “What’s your ETA?”

“Hm, 5 minutes I think. Should be there soon, traffic isn't bad.” He estimates it's quiet for a second before he speaks again. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours, definitely yours.”

You aren’t talking about who’s place you’re staying at tonight. 

[starshideurfics]

A Mother’s Love - Part 3

part 1, part 2

omegaverse, pre-steddie, hints of WaynexBenny, steve with powers

Benny spends the next 37 hours in Wayne’s nest, holding his pup the whole time. It doesn’t make up for the nearly 14 years of holding Steve that he lost out on, but it’s a start.

In the wee hours of the morning, Steve is breathing deeply against Benny’s shoulder, sleeping hard.

Sure they can’t be overheard, Benny turns to Marsha and asks, “What do we tell him?”

“What do you want to tell him?” she returns, just as softly.

“That I did not want to give him up. That it wasn’t my choice.” He breathes deep, peaches and cream flood his senses, and Benny kisses his hair.

“Richard and I haven’t told him he’s adopted yet. But I don’t think he has any memories from before we moved to Hawkins.” She smiles over at Benny and her boy. “I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want him to have to deal with… Any of it. Not knowing will keep him safer.”

“I agree on all that.”

Benny pets down Steve’s back, purrs to comfort him. “But what do we tell him?” His voice breaks as he asks again.

“He deserves to know as much of the truth as we can tell him. You were young, couldn’t keep him-”

“I wasn’t given a choice!”

“Shh, I know, honey. I know. You’d never choose it.”

She stands, pulls her chair closer so she can touch him, caresses Benny’s cheek. “But it’s also the truth. You didn’t want to give him up, you had to, you knew me from work, asked for help.” She pauses, hand moving to Steve’s hair. “I didn’t realize we’d moved to the same town. All true.”

“Yes.” His heart hurts, so much of his pain is being peeled back and discarded. The horrors of his life cast to the wayside.

“Steve’s always been a sensitive boy. I think he’ll *feel* the connection. I really do.”

“I know. I feel it, too. Could feel it the second I saw him.”

“Mama?” Steve mumbles in his sleep, fingers tightening their grip on Benny’s shirt.

“It’s okay, baby,” Benny murmurs, rubbing his back. “You’re okay.”

That’s all it takes. Steve settles, body going lax again as he nuzzles against Benny’s neck.

When his heat finally breaks, Steve is confused. Disoriented more than anything. But he listens as his mother speaks, still breathing the comforting apple scent on Benny’s shirt. Her words are easy to accept, burrowing deep inside him, finding a home in his heart.

Suddenly, Steve finds himself in possession of a Dad, Mom, and now a Mama.

❤️❤️❤️

Steve gets the weekend after his presentation heat to sleep off the remaining exhaustion and give himself time to absorb everything that’s changed about his life.

And it really does feel like everything has changed.

It’s confusing, but good. He just… He doesn’t want to be different.

Barely anyone brings it up, but Steve knows he doesn’t fit in with most of his classmates simply because his family isn’t from Hawkins. He’s known everyone since Kindergarten, but his mom hasn’t known their moms since 1st grade, so it’s different.

He doesn’t want to give anyone a reason to talk.

His mom and Benny think it’s a good idea to be quiet about it too. So, he decides he won’t tell anyone. There will be enough commotion with him presenting omega.

Tommy still hasn’t presented yet, but he’ll be gross about it. Ask Steve if he wants to play doctor like they’re four.

Steve has no intention of showing anyone else his pussy right now. Especially not Tommy Hagen. It was bad enough that his mom had to check it, and she’s a nurse! But she said it looked perfectly healthy, and Steve fully intends to ignore his new vulva for a while…

But Monday comes, and he can’t ignore school. He rides his bike, like he always does, wanting to feel normal, even if his bicycle seat feels weird now. Because, you know…

But he gets to school, says he doesn’t feel all that different anytime someone asks, but he feels things—stabs of jealousy, confusion, anger and desire wrapped up in one. It’s worst around Tommy, like a buzzing beneath his skin, and Steve is happy to retreat to first period, to sit quietly as Mr. Clarke takes roll.

But the buzzing gets worse, and his head starts to ache. 20 minutes in, it’s like pressure is building inside his skull, sharp pain with every movement, and dull pain if he holds still.

Steve nearly makes it to the end of the hour when the nausea strikes, and he makes it to the trash can by the door just in time to puke up his breakfast.

Mr. Clarke sends him to the nurse’s office. She has him lie down, puts a cold compress over his eyes. That helps, and the buzzing is gone.

Steve cries, a little from relief, but more from anguish. A grief that isn’t his. He looks at Nurse Baker, remembers his mom saying something about a drunk running a red light and hitting a pedestrian.

Sees the bags beneath her eyes, like she doesn’t sleep. “Are you okay?” he asks.

It’s like a switch flips on her face, but the sadness still radiates out from her chest. “I’m fine, Steven,” she says, smiling. “How are you feeling? I called your mother, but she can’t get away from work.” She strokes his hair, replaces the cold compress on Steve’s forehead. “She said your uncle will pick you up. Take you home.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers, confused and hurting.

Ten minutes later Benny arrives in the office, dropping into a crouch at Steve’s side. “Hey, Pup,” he says softly. “You think you can walk, or are you gonna hurl again?”

“I can walk,” Steve insists, sitting up. Benny rubs his back, helps him stand. They make it to the parking lot without issue, but alone, in Benny’s truck, Steve starts crying again. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Baby. You’re perfect. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” Benny holds him close, pushes out his scent.

Steve can smell his fear. His worry. He’s always been sensitive like that.

💔💔💔

Benny still has nightmares about the day he gave birth. About the day his baby was stolen away.

They gave him enough drugs that he doesn’t remember the pain so clearly, but he remembers hearing his pup cry. Remembers how desperate he was to hold him.

He never got the chance.

The nurses whisked him from the room, Brenner saying he needed tests and shots, that the hard part was over and Benny should rest.

He didn’t want to rest. He wanted his pup. Cried out for him. But the nurses didn’t bring him back. Said he went into respiratory arrest. That his heart stopped.

That’s when the pain started. Pain in his heart. Pain between his legs from being cut, from the stitches. Pain in his breasts as his milk comes in.

Marsha spent days with him after, holding his hand, helping him pump, then helping his milk dry up.

But in his dreams, he’s alone.

He can hear his pup crying, but he cannot move. His legs feel heavy, so heavy he can’t lift them. He hurts, and there’s blood everywhere. His nipples are leaking, and that’s blood too.

Everything is red.

The crying stops suddenly, and it’s too quiet. He screams himself hoarse. Begs for his pup. He wakes screaming.

The dreams are worse near the anniversary… His pup’s birthday.

Steve’s birthday.

He thinks that’s why they’ve hit him again, even now that he’s found his boy again.

It’s why he has bags under his eyes when he picks Steve up from the nurse’s office.

Steve turns 14 next week.

Nearly 14 years his baby was gone. And having him back isn’t enough to stop the dreams.

At least now he has a scent token in his nest that smells of sweet peaches that he can sniff to calm his fears.

Even better, he has Steve in his arms in the cab of his truck.

Steve whines against his shoulder, moaning, “But I feel broken. Like everyone is pushing into my head.”

“Everything?”

“*Everyone.* It hurts.”

Benny rubs his back, and feels just as helpless as his baby. “We’ll talk to Mom about it when she gets home. But you need to lay down, let’s get you home.”

“No.”

“Baby, it’ll be okay. We’ll get you in your nest-”

“No. Don’t leave me.” Steve grabs hard at his shoulder, fingers locked in place.

“I need to go to work.”

“I’ll come with you. Please.” His nose nuzzles forward, finds Benny’s neck. “Please, Mama.”

Benny feels tears against his skin. He can’t say no to that, not when his boy is hurting. When he needs him.

Benny drives back to his burger shop, still having about an hour before he opens for lunch. He brings Steve in, smiles to see him relax, and has him get settled at a booth in the corner.

“If you start feeling it again, the pushing into your head, let me know right away,” Benny orders gently. He forces a smile. “But if your stomach is settled, I’d guess you’re hungry. Think you could eat a couple eggs and some toast?” The eggs are tor the Sunrise Burger, the toast for the patty melt. There’s no breakfast on his menu, but it feels like the best option right now, quick and simple.

Steve nods, mumbles his thanks as he puts his head down on the table and closes his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll let your mom know you’re here, and I’ll be right back with those eggs. It’ll be okay, Baby.”

“It’ll be okay,” Benny repeats to himself as he heads in the back, to the phone. It has to be.

He just got his baby back.

❤️❤️❤️

“What’s that mean, ‘he’s empathic,’ like, I get that he’s gentle, sensitive, but what’s it mean?” Wayne asks when Benny comes over after closing.

Marsha picked Steve after work, just before the dinner rush, explained as best she could in whispers. Benny spent the rest of the evening turning it over in his head. He thinks he understands it now. “In the program… We were trying to tap into the deeper powers of the human mind. I… dabbled with LSD when I was younger, it’s how I found MKUltra. Brenner. His goal was telekinesis. Reading minds. Science fiction stuff.”

He pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Martha said most of the children showed signs of some power, but Steve struggled. He cried all the time, was inconsolable most days. She doesn’t think Brenner figured it out, that he was picking up on big feelings, anything harsh like fear or pain. She helped him build walls in his mind—when he started school—and I don’t fully understand it, but I guess presenting broke through them.”

“So he can feel what other people are feeling…”

“And teenagers feel things so strongly…”

Wayne reaches out, grabs Benny’s hand. “And it made him throw up?”

“How would you feel if a couple dozen horny, angry, moody teens’ emotions flooded your head?” Benny returns, still gentle, but Wayne knows him so well, can read the worry and anger in his scent.

“I’d probably puke, too,” Wayne answers, pumping out his own calming scent, sweet cinnamon fills the air and Benny breathes deeply. His shoulders unhunch a little.

“Marsha is gonna work with him in rebuilding the walls, but she’s worried he’s too comfortable with her, that he’s too attuned to her emotions already…”

“Does she think you can-”

“No, after his presentation… I guess I’m too safe.”

“Too safe?”

“Yeah… And she thinks it would help to have him working with someone closer to his age. With big, teenage emotions…”

Wayne shakes his head. “Ben, no. You can’t mean-”

“He didn’t say anything when he got Steve over here. I trust him, and Marsha doesn’t trust any of Steve’s friends.”

“Eddie’s got a big mouth, I love the boy, but what if he says anything to Al?”

“We’re not worried about Al. This is about keeping it from Brenner, in case he’s still keeping tabs on Marsha at all.”

“I’ll talk to him about needing help tomorrow,” Wayne agrees softly. He stands up. “How are you doing? This is a lot to deal with, even when your kid doesn’t have some kind of special powers.”

Benny covers his eyes, whines when Wayne touches his shoulder. “It’s my fault. This is what we were trying to do. And now my baby’s hurting.”

“You’re helping him feel better. And you didn’t know it would be like this. You didn’t.” Wayne rubs his back as Benny hides his face against the other omega’s shirt. “You love your boy so much, you’re being so strong for him.”

Benny lets himself cry in Wayne’s arms.

He loves his boy so much.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Thirty Two)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Thirty Two: Cillian is keen to ensure Y/N takes it easy, wanting her to be as calm as possible. They agree that his sons need to hear the news from them - and soon. But Y/Ns suggestion for doing that surprises Cillian a little when both of them find it difficult to sleep. Y/N tries to ease the tension, but she voices a feeling Cillian had always known she feels. [Angst/Anxiety & Fluff/Sexually suggestive]

@cherry-cilly @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @lavender-haze-01

----------

“You need to relax. I'm annoyed about it, and we need to talk to Mal and Aran sooner than later, but what's more important to me right now is that you calm yourself down.” Cillian says, his hands on your biceps in the middle of the kitchen. He's been home an hour. Cuddles and welcomes have long since passed, and the obligatory cup of tea has been drained. It took you twenty minutes before you raised the article, and a further five minutes before you cried. “We've time enough to talk to them, and sure now I'm at home there'll be no more, but I think we should talk to them before the scan. I know you're iffy on that, but I think they're going to need the time to process it too. And Yvonne. I mean we're only after telling them we're not having a baby, and we've to go back on that now.” He moves his hands and wraps them around you, pulling you in against his chest. “I know it's scary. But we've got to do it.” 

“It isn't just that.” You sigh, sniffling your sobs down. “They printed things about us, Cillian.” 

“Yeah,” he inhales as he mutters the word. “And didn't I tell you they would?” You can hear in his tone he's not fishing for points to score, but you feel it anyway. “It's a shitty article, by a shitty group of so-called journalists. And there'll be more, about whatever the fuck they want to write. But we're having a fucking baby!” You can hear his small laugh through his ribcage. “And they're scumbags, and it'll be fucking shit, and it's exactly what I didn't fucking want - but we're having a fucking baby, Y/N. I'm happy. I'm shit scared to tell me own kids, but I'm happy.” 

“I don't want to hurt your boys, Cill. They're going to be…,” you sigh and push up against his chest. “They're going to be so mad, hurt, they're going to think we lied to them.” 

Cillian takes a deep breath, “Maybe they'll be all of those things.” He nods, “But they're going to have a brother or sister in a while, and that's not going to change because they feel whatever they do. I don't want to hurt them either, ever. But this is my family too. You and that baby.” You're aware it might sound cold to others, but to you it's what you need to hear. This is his home, his life, his family. It's not erasing his sons at all, but this is the immediate life he lives now. 

“And telling Yvonne?” You raise your eyebrows, and your heart flutters as you say her name. 

“Yeah,” he drags his mouth to the side and frowns, “That's going to be a fucking mission too.” he sighs and shakes his head. “But it's nothing to do with her. It's the boys that matter. She deserves to know, of course, and hear it from me, but that's as far as that loyalty goes.” It's an amazing string of words to hear him say, soothing so many of your anxieties if just for a while. “What she thinks doesn't matter. Like I said, it's the lads I'm worried about. But this is happening regardless. There'll be a cot, and a pram, and fucking…pumps and nappies and dodies.” He smirks. 

“Dodies?” You repeat. 

“Yeah, the wee dummies.” He grins. 

“We called them dadoos when we were small.” You chuckle. 

“Dadoo?” He laughs, “Where the fuck did youse pull that name outta?” 

“Same place you got dodie, you big freak.” you swat your hand against his chest, and sigh to try and feel calmer. “Fuck, Cill, why can't this just be simple, like every other couple, having babies? Why did I find you when I did?” 

He smiles softly, but he looks sad. “Cause that's when I needed ya.” 

You feel an emotional swell at his words, and your chin quivers, “Oh, love.” You bring your hand up to his cheek. “When do you want to do it? Tell them?” You bring your hand down again and rest it back on his chest. 

“After Christmas?” He says, brows raised. “Or do you want to do it before? I only say after so it's peaceful fucking Christmas.” He scoffs. 

“They're your boys, it's your decision when.” You tell him. “I'll support whatever you decide.” 

Pursing his lips, he nods slowly, then sighs heavily. “I'll think about it.” He whispers, and pulls you in closer again. He rests his cheek on the top of your head and holds you tightly. “Will we get dinner?” He asks, swaying you slightly from side to side. 

You wrinkle your nose, though he can't see it, “Like what?” 

“Spin down to the chipper?” He suggests. 

“You go,” you shake your head and slowly pull yourself from his arms. You would stay there - it's comfortable, and intimate, and you're so glad he's here - but the mere suggestion of food is turning your stomach. “I don't want anything.” 

“I won't get a feed without you,” he raises his eyebrows. “Will you not have anything? Will I cook?” 

“No, love, you're just in the bloody door.” You shake your head. “Go and get your chips, don't eat them near me,” you laugh, “Then we've the whole night.” 

“To sleep, I hope?” He grins. 

“God, yes,” you sigh with a laugh.

You wake up with a sudden jump, and you're not sure why. You can't recall a dream, but suddenly you're awake and you're cold. You turn onto your back and instantly realise that Cillian isn't there. Shifting to retrieve your phone, you check the time - just gone three am. You throw your legs from the bed and sit up, shivering in the chilly room. Cillian's hoodie from the day is thrown over the chair in the corner, and you grab it and instantly snuggle yourself into it. You push your feet into your Ugg slippers and slip from the room, not being too quiet. As you step down the stairs you can hear the TV, and there is the glow of a light from down there, too. You brace your hands as you walk down, and land at the bottom feeling even more cold than upstairs. “Hey, what're you doing?” You ask, catching sight of Cillian on the sofa. He's laid out across it on his front, head against a cushion in the corner and legs stretched down, arms tucked up beneath the small cushion. He's wide awake, glasses on, and watching the TV. He shifts his head slightly and looks at you, pushing his lips into a pout. He looks tired and you're not sure if it's because he hasn't slept and is flagging, or because he hasn't been up long and is still exhausted. 

“Watching Interstellar.” He says and sniffs. He draws his hand from under the cushion, clutching the controls, and pauses the film. “What are you doing?” he asks, and yawns tightly. He doesn't sit up, but he snuggles his head against the cushion a little. His cheek is pushed up and it makes his lips look fuller. 

“Standing here, looking at the teenager laid out on the couch.” You say and smile when he scoffs a small laugh. “You couldn't sleep?” 

“Ah,” he tuts. He shifts around and finally pushes himself up. He sits into the corner of the sofa and bends his left knee up, foot planted into the seat. “Just a bit wired I think, thinking about how to talk to the lads.*

“We just have to tell them, love. Like you said, and you were right, we're going to have a baby regardless.” You reassure him, though you're still so nervous about all of it. “We can't control how they'll think or feel, but at least it'll come from us and not some wank-page report they get sent or find themselves.” 

“Wank-page,” he mutters, smiling a little. He removes his glasses and folds the arms in, then tosses them down onto the sofa beside the TV controls. You watch as he fidgets, filled with an anxious energy. His tongue swipes around his mouth and his fingers flick and tap against his raised leg. 

“Go,” you say, wondering if you'll regret it. 

He frowns at you and his tongue stills. “Where?” 

“In the garden - I admire that you're trying to do what I wanted, but I can see you're struggling. Go and have a bloody cigarette.” You push your hands into the pocket of his hoodie you're wrapped in. 

“I'd the last one at the airport, waiting on the taxi.” He says, then purses his lips. You're almost happy to hear that, but you also know that after weeks back on high doses of nicotine, he's going to be a little grumpy. “C'mere,” he says. He pushes his legs down and holds his arm out to welcome you in for a hug. You smile as you walk over and curl in against his side. His arm immediately wraps around you. “I was thinking,” he says and you want to make a joke about smelling smoke, but you hold off. “Will we give the baby an Irish name?” 

“We don't even know what it is yet,” you smile, but it occurs to you that you've been so wrapped in your anxiety that the thoughts of cute things like that had been pushed far away. 

“I know but, like, I'd want an Irish name.” He says quietly. “A wee Oisín or Ciarán, or a Caoimhe or Róisín.” 

“We could have twins, Róisín and Oisín.” You laugh a little. 

He tuts, but he's smiling. “When I read the article I wanted to ring the boys there and then and just tell them. Say, look lads we're having a baby and that's what's happening. You know? And then I didn't want to hurt them, and I still don't. Like, I know what they're going to think. They're going to think we lied about it. And that's what's fucking eating me, you know? I love ‘em, they're my best friends, and-and I don't want to hurt them or push them away further. Malachy's in such a good place with us now, and after talking with Aran I know he feels better. I don't want to fuck that. But Y/N, having this baby with you feels good. I know what I said before and I know we went through the shit over, but I'm happy it's happening. I am. I promise you. But all the shit - the kids, the press, Yvonne, the reactions from every fucker around us… I'm scared of all that.” 

It scares you a little that he's echoing your fears, but it's good to know you're not alone in them. But you know you're on your own in the fear that somewhere in the midst of this pregnancy, he's going to flip his ideas again. “We should tell the boys before Christmas.” You say. “Let's have a couple of days, you and me here at home, and then we can have them over - the boys and Yvonne. Tell them all together.” 

Cillian turns his head a little and you look up. “You want to do that?” He sounds surprised, happy maybe, and you nod your head. 

“We have to.” You say quietly. “Sooner rather than later, it has to be said and it has to be before any more shit like that article is produced.” You sigh heavily, “And then after the scan, after we know everything is okay… then we tell everyone else that needs to know. Your family first.” 

You can feel the vibrations as he laughs, “Ah, fuck, Páidi's going to have an opinion or two.” 

“He's your little brother, he's supposed to!” You smile. You wrap your arm around his slight waist and snuggle closer. “I am so fucking glad you're home.” 

“Me too,” he hums, pulling you closer. 

“It's been no fun fucking myself.” You laugh, breaking the heaviness in the air. 

“Ah stop,” he throws his head back against the sofa, chuckling lightly. Then he laughs a little more, “I'd the earphones in on the plane, and that song came on, you know the one Afternoon Delight?” He pauses as he giggles again. “Just made me think of you recently.” 

“I googled it,” you say, “Pregnancy and wanting to fuck all the time. Apparently it only happens when your partner is Cillian Murphy.” You tease, and he laughs again. “It's just a good job I'm already pregnant because it's that fucking feeling I like… feeling you just spilling inside me.” You shake your head and know you need to stop, you're only egging yourself on here. “We'd be in serious trouble otherwise.” 

“Stop talking,” he sighs and shifts. “... Jesus.” 

“You're alright,” you laugh, “I'm too tired to ride you like I want to. But I swear, Cill, we're destroying the sofa in the next two days. I need that out of my system before I stand in front of the family I destroyed and tell them we are having a baby.” 

He laughs awkwardly, his whole body shaking as he does, and he tightens his arm around you more. “Y/N, you didn't destroy anything. I've told you this so many times, I know you know. I wanted that marriage over.” 

“Would you have left if we hadn't spent that year sneaking around?” you ask. You've asked before and you know what he'll say, but it never clears your fears for long enough. 

“Yes. We were falling apart, Y/N. The only thing you did was show me it would be okay to do it. You didn't ruin anything.” He reassures you, but you know that he knows that will always be how you feel. “And I'll tell you once more, but I won't remind you again - whatever happens, I love you.” 

[fawnhart]

sugar and rafes first time meeting ! ㅤ⭑๋ ࣭

You remember the moment your whole life started to crumble. It was a Tuesday, you think. Maybe a Wednesday? Doesn’t really matter. The days just blur together when you’re stuck in a house where you’re not allowed to live

You were listening to Jeff Buckley. You had it on repeat for weeks now, hiding it under a loose plank in the floorboards of your room. Your parents would never allow it. Not in a million years. Especially your mom. She’d explode if she ever found out. Everything was so god damn evil to her

But that day you thought you had time. She was supposed to be gone for at least another hour. It was Wednesday. Church group meetings. It was always a Wednesday.

You slipped the CD into your player old and busted up, the kind with the cassette tape thing but with a CD attachment, so it wasn’t completely outdated. You sat on your bed, staring out at the little slice of sky visible through your window, not really thinking about anything in particular just thinking. Then you heard the door downstairs.

“What the hell is that noise?”

You froze. Your heart dropped into your stomach. You thought your mom wouldn’t be home yet. You’d been so sure. You asked Mrs. Maggie to 1000% sure. But she was early. You scrambled to hit stop, but the music kept playing. Her voice, firm and pissed, was coming closer.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your pulse raced. You shoved the player under your pillow just as she stormed into the room, her eyes narrowing. She was already clutching that look the one that meant something bad was about to happen.

“What did I tell you about this?” Her voice was tight and screechy.

“I wasn’t doing nothin’” you said, your voice shaky. You didn’t even believe yourself. You knew exactly why she was upset. But you had to try. You had to try to be normal for once, even if it was just for a few minutes in your own room.

“Nothing?” Her lip curled, disgust in every word. “Baby, you think you can just fill ya’ head with that filth and call it ‘nothin’?’”

You bit your lip, holding back tears. She stepped forward, pointing at the CD player under your pillow.

“This is demonic! I knew it. You’ve been listening to the devil behind my back. It’s not enough that you’re dressing like... like one of those whores at school. But now you want to be dirty on the inside, too?”

Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was racing. What were you supposed to say?

“You’re going to ruin everything I’ve worked for. Everything your father and I have taught you,” she hissed, her eyes wild with something you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t love, not even close.

“it’s just music,” you whispered, too quietly, but she heard you.

She grabbed the player from your bed and yanked the CD out.

“It’s. not. just. music,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s a gateway. It’s corruption to the brain.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell her that all you wanted was to be normal, to have what everyone else had. a life outside of this house, outside of her rules. But the words never came.

She was moving now, pulling open drawers, emptying them onto the floor.

“all that filth you’ve been hiding from me and I’ve been lenient on is done for. I’m taking it all.”

She tossed your music cds, your makeup, your books. Everything you’d spent months gathering, everything you’d used to try to feel like you were an ordinary girl, was being thrown away.

And then, the worst part.

“Your father won’t stand for this. We’ll have you cleansed”

You faltered. Cleansed? It was such a cold, clinical word. But you knew what it meant. The prayers. The rituals. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t live through that.

Your eyes were filling with tears, your chest tightening.

“I’m sorry!, I didn’t mean to. I won’t listen to that again, okay? I swear,” you pleaded, though you knew it didn’t matter.

But it was too late, she was already at the door

“You know honey, my church group has been just how ungodly you’ve been acting, but I didn’t believe them….. I hate that you proved them right”

locking it behind her with that final click that meant you were trapped.

You pressed your back against the door, the tears finally spilling over. You couldn’t think straight. Your whole body was shaking, your mind was screaming. I need to get out of here.

You knew what you had to do.

You waited for what felt like hours, listening to the muffled sounds of your mom in the kitchen. The smell of dinner wafted under the door, and all you could think about was how your entire life had been planned for you. You were supposed to be a good girl. A good Christian girl. But you weren’t. And you were never going to be.

Finally, when you thought your heart couldn’t take any more, you got up. You grabbed the little bag you’d hidden in the closet. Nothing but a few clothes, and the money you’d saved up from waitressing at ‘sticky’s’. Quietly, carefully, you pulled out the plank in the floor, grabbed the rest of your hidden things, and shoved them into your bag. You didn’t think twice.

You climbed out the window, holding your breath, praying that she wouldn’t hear you.

Once you were outside, you took off running.

You didn’t know where you were going, but it didn’t matter. You had to get out.

You ran for what felt like forever. The night was cold, but you didn’t care. It was better than being to the place you once called home.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You glanced around realizing you were for sure not on the cut anymore, the big tall houses made it clear to you were on figure eight now.

then you saw him

Rafe Cameron.

You’d seen him around, of course. He was one of the rich kids, always walking around with that stupid confident smile, like he owned the whole island. You’d never paid him any attention. You had enough of your own problems to deal with. But when you saw him standing at the end of the street, leaning against his car smoking god knows what, you froze.

You’ve heard the stories about Rafe Cameron. He’s the kind of guy everyone talks about but no one truly understands.

He’s always been a mystery, and he still is. But there’s something about him, something that draws you in, even though you know you probably shouldn’t get too close.

You never really expected to see him again, not after the way he disappeared seven years ago.

Rafe left figure eight right after that night, the night he ended up in jail. No one knows exactly what happened, but everyone has their theories.

Some say it was a huge mistake, some say it was just a matter of time, others say ward himself drove his only son out of town. But whatever it was, it was enough to make him walk away from everything. His family, his life there, his whole world.

He packed up and drove five hours away, living on his own, far from the memories and the mess the pouges he hated had caused.

In the time since, he’s built himself up. People talk about how he’s thriving now, working as a firefighter or something like that. Hard work, steady pay, and no one really bothers him anymore.

It’s like he’s trying to rebuild his life, piece by piece. But even though he’s been gone for so long, when he talks about his baby sister wheezie, there’s this soft, almost protective vibe about him

Now, he’s back in town, just for her birthday. It’s strange seeing him like this, but there’s something different about him. He’s older, quieter, and maybe even a little lost in his own way.

He was looking straight at you, his brow furrowed, like he knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice muffled by his blunt but clear in the quiet night air.

You stopped in your tracks.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking a step toward you.

You didn’t know what to say. Of course you weren’t alright!. You were running away from your own life, from your own mother. But you didn’t know how to tell him that.

“I... I’m fine,” you said, but even to your own ears, it sounded like a lie.

He took another step forward, still studying you with those eyes that seemed too kind for someone like him.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “You look rough.”

Your breath hitched. ‘Gee thanks’ Yeah, you looked rough. You had been rough for years. But hearing it from someone else...it hit different.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked.

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know him. But you also didn’t know anyone who would help you, not like this. So you warily followed him

You stared at him, confused, trying to figure out if he was serious or playing some sick joke on you.

Then it hit you. He was talking to you like you weren’t just the religious girl with the crazy parents. He wasn’t weirded. He wasn’t judging you.

The last time someone came up to you, the whole town heard about it. Your parents tried getting them expelled from school for harassing you.

That was the last time anyone ever talked to you

“I know you know Wheezie,” he said, a little chuckle in his voice as he opened the door. “you can’t be all bad, right?”

Wheezie? then it clicked, the girl with glasses who could down 6 cherry milkshakes in a row, nice.

“Come on,” he said, the smile slipping from his face for a second, a real one this time. “Let me help you.”

You didn’t know if you were ready for help, but you were so damn tired. Tired of pretending everything was okay. Tired of running. Tired of fighting your own heart every damn day.

You took a deep breath and took up his offer.

He didn’t even look like the guy everyone made him out to be. Sure, he still had that wild, unpredictable look to him, but he wasn’t hostile. He just… asked if you needed help. Simple as that.

You didn’t know what else to say. You didn’t know where else to go.

He didn’t press you with questions. He just turned on the engine, his eyes flicking over you like he was checking to see if you were really serious about getting in.

"You're Wheezie's friend, right?" he asked as you climbed in.

You nodded, glancing at him, trying to gauge whether or not you were making a huge mistake. "Yeah... kind of, she’s always at the diner" you added, almost too quietly. You didn't want to give him the wrong impression, what 18 year old is freinds with a 13 year old?

He smiled just a little, but it was different from the smirks you’d seen on his face at school or around town. “That sounds like her” It wasn’t mean. It was soft

You can’t help but wonder what really happened in those seven years, what it was that changed him, but for now, you’re stuck here in the passenger seat of his truck, staring at his side profile as he drives.

Something about being around him feels oddly comforting, even though you know there’s so much you’ll never understand.

The ride was awkward, the kind of silence that felt thick enough to choke on. Rafe had the radio low, some song you didn’t recognize playing in the background.

You focused on the streetlights flashing by, the pavement blurring, but all you could think about was the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. You didn't belong in this car, in this moment. You should have been running in the other direction, but... for some reason, you weren’t scared. Not yet.

You had no idea where the hell you were going. That’s when he asked.

“So, do you have anywhere to go?”

You looked at your lap, clutching the bag tighter. You couldn’t tell him the truth, not completely. Not yet. "yeah" you said, your voice barely above a raspy whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first. But then you heard him exhale, like he was thinking it over. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been through but….but you’re safe now,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle, like he’d somehow sensed how scared you really were. “Ok?”

“Ok” You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears. He wasn’t wrong. You were scared, terrified even, but for the first time in forever, someone wasn’t judging you for it.

No one in your family ever told you you were safe, ever told you that everything would be okay. You sniffled, the tears threatening to spill over.

You didn't want to break down in front of him.

The car slowed to a stop, and you realized you were at a diner, the neon lights buzzing softly. Rafe looked over at you, almost like he was waiting for you to protest or make some excuse. You didn’t. You just followed him out of the car, not saying a word.

Inside, the place smelled like burgers, fries, and cigarettes. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and it made you feel a little safer, like you were stepping into something straight out of a movie. Rafe led you to a booth and slid into the seat across from you. For a second, you both just stared at the menu, neither of you speaking. You didn’t know if you were supposed to order, or if he would. But then he broke the silence.

"What do you want?" He didn’t sound like he was expecting an answer right away. Like he was just making sure you were okay.

You looked at the menu, but your mind was elsewhere. You didn’t care what you ate. You just... didn’t want him to feel like he had to do this.

Like he had to take care of you.

“Just fries and a water,” you said, you didn't even know why you said it. It wasn’t like you had much of an appetite.

He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment on it. He called the waitress over and ordered for both of you. A burger, fries, and a milkshake. When she left, he turned to you, his gaze softer than you thought he’d ever let it be.

"How are you holding up?" His voice was quieter now, the edge gone. He wasn’t the Rafe Cameron you’d heard about, the one everyone warned you to stay away from. He seemed... almost normal, it was freaking you out.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I don't know," you muttered. "Just tired, I guess."

He nodded, leaning back in his seat, but you caught him glancing at you every few seconds like he was still trying to figure you out.

“What are you running from” he said bluntly, his stare showing no signs playfulness, just a full serious look

you looked away, your tears sticking with your mascara and glitter eyeshadow “Home”

“Been there” he nodded taking in your appearance in, how could such a pretty girl like you be so alone and lost?

The food came quickly, and Rafe pushed the plate with the burger and fries toward you. "Eat," he said simply. “I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

You picked at the fries, not feeling hungry but not wanting to make him feel like you didn’t appreciate it. The milkshake was so cold and thick, and when you took a sip, you felt a small sense of comfort settle in. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As you ate, Rafe kept glancing at you, almost like he was waiting for you to crack. When you sniffled again, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve, he frowned. "I already told you, you don’t have to be scared," he said, his voice dropping a little. “You’re safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It was a strange thing for him to say, considering who he was. But in that moment, you believed him. You really did.

When you finished the milkshake and most of the burger, you felt a little more alive again, but the weight of everything of your family, of the lies, of everything that had pushed you to this point, was still there.

And you still had nowhere to go.

you just had a sparkly sack and a dream.

Rafe didn’t say much after that, just leaned back in his seat, and let you gather your thoughts. But when the waitress came by to take your plates, you stood up, and swung the creaky glass door open feeling that familiar unease creep back in.

"I’ll just go to the docks, the ferry leaves at 6am," you said, Turing around to see rafe as he followed right behind. You were going to take the ferry to the mainland, with the little money you had left. You weren’t sure where you were going from there, but it was something.

Rafe’s expression turned serious, almost annoyed. “No,” he said flatly.

“what?”

“I’m not letting you go to the docks. It’s dangerous, and I doubt you even have enough money to get anywh-.”

“You can’t fix everything!” you snapped, feeling all the frustration you’d been holding back suddenly spill out. "You can’t. fix. everything"

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I can’t fix everything,” he said, his voice firm. “But I can try to make sure you’re okay. I can’t just let you go off like that.”

You glared at him. “You don’t even know me. Why do you care?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you like he was weighing something in his mind. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his buzzed head. “I know enough.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Your whole world was falling apart, and yet, here was this guy, this person you should’ve never trusted, according to everyone you knew

but then again why does it matter what everyone says? if you’re going by that logic then you would be at the bottom of the barrel.

“You want to runaway right?” he said, voice steady. “I have a place, it’s 5 hours away, that far enough for you?”

“Do you even know how old I am!? Hello, I could turn you in right now for being a weirdo” you asked with sass, anything to get him off of your case

“ ‘sticky’s’ won’t hire under 18.” He said nonchalantly rolling his eyes, “unless you lied or where getting paid under the table? Then I could turn you and your employer in”

You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion in his voice, but something in you cracked. “i didn’t lie, I’m 18” you said your voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go with you. But no funny business, I will jump out of the freaking car” you said crossing your arms

“Whatever you say, sugar”

Was this a good idea? Probably not. You’re parents would ironically raise hell over this town once they found out their precious daughter had run off with Rafe fucking Cameron

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[ynzworld]

~{ENHYPEN REACTION when they come home late}~

Your the 8th member

ℳ𝓎 𝒻𝒾𝓈𝓇𝓉 𝓅ℴ𝓈𝓉!!

HEESEUNG~

The slight sound of the door clicking shut and footsteps is enough to scare you out of your slumber. You sit up scared “this is where I die” u thought to yourself. “Shh baby it’s me” a soothing voice says in the darkness. Right away you knew it was Heeseung, it was usual for him to come home late but usually u would stay up waiting for him but tonight you had fallen asleep. “Baby you scared me” you murmur voice still shaky from the surprise. “I know I’m sorry” he said chuckling. “I’ll join you in a bit sweetheart, imma wash up” he says turning the light on his phone so he can see where he steps. About 10 minutes later he comes back from the bathroom to see you sound asleep. “Goodnight my princess” he says as he cuddles you, half asleep.

JAY~

Jay hesitates as he walks into the dorm. He had stayed later than everyone else at the company and missed your calls and texts. You hadn’t gone with the guys to work since you had a headache and needed rest. “Where have you been?” A stern voice asks “hey babe, sorry I ran late at the company” he says apologetic “the guys came home 3 hours ago, you haven’t picked up my calls text nothing! I was so worried” u say sounding mad but also comforting at the same time. “I had to finish something baby, sorry if I worried you” he steps closer to you and puts his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. “I missed you”

JAKE~

“Hey princess why you still up?” Jake’s voice filled the living room. “I was waiting for you” he walks to you and hugs you. “You smell good y/n” he sniffed your hair. “I swear you’re like a real puppy sometimes” you laugh “I can’t help it when you smell so good” the smell of vanilla and coconut fills his nose as he takes in your sent again. “But hun why aren’t you in bed, I told you not to wait up for me” he frowns “I know jakey but I can’t help it, I’m so used to sleeping next to you that I can barley sleep alone anymore” you sulk “you guys are nasty” niki says as he walks into the kitchen. You both laugh “hey man one day when you find the one you’ll be acting like this to” “not a chance man, this is straight up weird”

SUNGHOON~

“Y/n I thought I told you to go to bed” Sunghoon says as he walks into the dorm. “You did” you say confitent “so why aren’t you?” He sighs walking up to you. “I wanted to wait for you” you’ve taken out ur puppy eyes since you know he can’t resist them. “Y/niee you can’t be staying up late just for me, you need sleep” he says putting his hands on your shoulders “but you need sleep too” you murmur sulky. “Don’t do that, sulking is not going to work go to bed” your about to protest but he cuts you off “now. End of discussion.” His face is dead serious. You slowly stand up and start waking to the bedroom. “I’ll be there in 5” he tells you. “Unfair mr jawline” you whisper just loud enough for him to hear. He chuckles and walks to the bathroom.

SUNOO~

“You scared me” Sunoo says as he walks into the dorm. “You said you’d be home an hour ago, care to explain?” U say trying to sound mad and scary. “You’re cute trynna act all mad” he says smiling. “This is not a laughing matter Kim Sunoo, I bought us matching face masks but were not going to do them anymore since it’s to late” you start walking back into your room when he stops you “noo sweet please my skin is dehydrated I need one, come on bub” you don’t budge and walk past him “your skin can suffer” u say as you walk into your room and close the door. “The disrespect” Jake says walking past Sunoo finding this super funny. “This is not a joke Jake, MY SKIN”

JUNGWON~

As Jungwon walks into your room he knows you’re sleeping. You hadn’t been answering his texts. “Wonie is that you?” You say half sleeping “hey sweet pea sorry to wake you” he says snuggling into your bed and sliding into your arms. “What time is it?” You ask “2am why?” “Woniee why are you back so late, don’t overwork yourself” you say turning yourself around to face him. “Shh baby it’s okay I’m here now, just go back to sleep” his voice is comforting and soft, he knew what he was doing. His voice always got you relaxed and soon enough you were snoring in his chest arms wrapped around him as he drew small circles on your back. “Sleep well my darling”

NIKI~

Usually you’re the one who stays late at the company but tonight was different. You hadn’t gone to work since you had cramps and a slight fever. “Hey how’s my favourite girl” niki’s voice fills the rooms as he walks to the bed and sits in the edge. “Mmh” is the only thing u can muster up from your pain in your lower abdomen “aww not good, want some cuddles to help you relax?” He asks genuinely “no you’ll get sick” he gently slides under the sheets and hugs you “I don’t care, as long as your okay I’ll be fine” he says pulling you close and stroking your hair “you fake emo” he chuckles “only for you baby”

[kevinsdsy]

hi pookie if you have dicking around time i would love for you to drop some nabil hcs i miss that guy

AHHHHH THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVE TALKING MY SHIT ABOUT MY HEADCANONS AND NABIL MAHMOUD IS MY BABY-- this is a few days late tho because #busylife BUT LETS DO THIS!!!!

where to start? hmm. okay like in my mind nabil is really energetic, but in a chill and quiet way? idk if that makes sense. he isn't necessarily loud, but he does always have something to say and there's always a joke ready on his tongue.

this man has such random lore. like he knows basically everyone.

also has a lot to do with the fact he doesn't say no to hanging out like ever. oh you're bored and want to drive around? let's do it! you want to get coffee? just let me grab my shoes. oh you just want to leave the dorms and have no idea what to do? we'll figure something out on our way.

and not just with people on his team. it's also people from his classes. friends of his friends. people from other majors. just basically anyone he has ever met.

this also lead to him staying up for three days straight with derek thompson btw (to me they match each other's freak okay)

this guy doesn't go to most of his classes by the way, but he always passes his exams with flying colors (also has a lot to do with the fact he does not respect a good sleep schedule and just pulls all nighters when he thinks he needs them).

he skips so many classes to hang out with tony <333 and tony loves spending time with him so much he pretends like he doesn't have nabil's schedule memorised and isn't aware that nabil is supposed to be following his classes instead.

both tony and nabil are spider-man obsessed and they have comic dates where they go buy new comics together or hang out to read them. they're losers your honour <333

his brain works in mysterious ways. this guy is always using arabic phrases and words in his sentences and most of the time he doesn't even realize it or just assumes everyone on the team has spent so much time with him that they know what he means.

like if someone fouls him during games or something happens during practices he goes "bro what the fuck was that?! that was haram!" (not allowed in islam). it doesn't even make sense in the context, because of course it isn't even haram he's just a silly guy.

nabil is a MAJOR football (soccer) fan. he actually barely watches exy games meanwhile he catches every barça and PSG game and has crazy ball knowledge.

ever since jean joins the team and he gets to know jean better he always takes a piss at the french language (we gotta do it for our ancestors).

his french isn't the best, but he does know a few phrases here and there and likes showing off in front of jean (jean is not impressed btw)

he also listens a lot to french rap (doesn't every north african guy?) and rai (algerian folk music). i actually need to make him a playlist now that I mention it.

hmm what else? idk. i wanted to go into his ramadan lore since it's almost that of the year, but i don't have that much for him.

just know ramadan nights are CRAZY and he comes back with crazy late night stories.

"oh yeah so i was at the mosque and this guy THREW UP right next to me."

"let's go get smoothies?" he texts around midnight to the groupchat. laila obviously joins him since she's participating too, but that leads to cat joining in and obviously tony is already there. cody never sleeps either, so they're up for the late night food/drink run. shawn joins because #fomo but falls asleep in the car. derek is in the passenger seat next to nabil and is drinking and eating as much as nabil is. everyone (but shawn for once) is energetic and having a blast.

midnight is still the normal hour for him. he also does another run @ 4am. once again cody joins him and this time lucas is there too. laila is responsible enough to just eat and drink something quickly at home before praying and heading back to bed again.

then it's the next day and nabil is #dead since he didn't respect himself enough to get a normal amount of sleep nor can he get any energy drinks (which he normally drinks)

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Can I have max of 🗻 please? Excited to see where this is going!

hell yeah! Here's 1k:

---

Eddie texts, telling him to let him know if he needs Eddie to bring him anything. 

He won’t hear back for a while. 

Before Chim drives Eddie and Chris home later, Maddie approaches Eddie. 

“Are you worried about this?” She asks quietly, so Chris can’t hear. 

“About the baby?” Eddie asks, equally as hushed. 

She nods. 

“Not the baby,” Eddie says. “Everything else about this situation? Yeah.”

Maddie nods. She squeezes Eddie’s shoulder. 

“I’m really glad he has you.”

🗻

The call comes five or six minutes after Eddie and Chris walk through the front door. 

“Buck?” Eddie answers. “How’s it going over there?”

“He’s… He’s born. He’s been born.” 

Buk sounds like he’s crying. And not exactly in the proud new father way. 

“Did you make it in time?” Eddie asks. 

“No,” Buck sniffs. “Because he was born two days ago.” 

Eddie goes cold.

“What?” He asks.

“He was born two days ago. She only thought to tell me today.” 

It sort of feels like time stops. Eddie feels sick. He feels completely sick. Why would she do that? That’s horrible. There has to be a reason why she did it. 

“My son has been alive for two days, and I…” Buck sounds like he’s on the ledge. Like he’s about to completely lose it. “I didn’t… I’m his father.” 

“Were there complications?” Eddie asks. “Like, was she capable of-”

“Completely normal,” Buck says. “She’s going to be discharged tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh my god,” Eddie exhales. “Did she say why she-”

“She said she forgot. Got mad at me for…” 

“For what?” Eddie demands. “What could she possibly be mad at you for?”

“I said she should have texted me sooner, a-and s-she said she just had a-a baby, and I wouldn’t know what that’s like, and I was being selfish, so…”

“No,” Eddie snaps. “No, Buck. No way.” 

“Is… I don’t… I mean I’ve never, so how do I know?” 

“Buck, that’s bullshit. She’s had forty-eight hours and who knows how long she was laboring before then?”

“Right. R-right.”

“Baby, this isn't your fault,” Eddie says. “None of this is your fucking fault.”

“What if he… What if he thinks I don’t care or-or I don’t love him enough?” Buck asks. 

They both know he’s not just talking about right now. He’s talking about all of it. His whole life. Because this is just the beginning.

“He’ll know,” Eddie promises. “We’ll make sure he knows.”

He can hear Buck crying now.

Eddie thinks of the lawyer’s contact information. He thinks about it really hard.

“Did you see him?” Eddie asks. “You’ve met him now?”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “I have. I-I held him.” 

“And?” Eddie asks. “How is he?”

Buck lets out a little anguished sound. 

“He’s perfect, Eddie. He’s so perfect. His eyes, my god. You wouldn’t believe his eyes.”

Eddie grins. “I can’t wait to meet him. Do you… Do you want me to come?”

“No, um… I’m leaving. She wanted to rest… To be alone.” 

Fuck. Told him to come. Told him to leave. Made sure he had, what? Less than two hours? Fuck this whole situation.

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

“You want to hear the craziest part?” Buck asks.

No. He wants there not to be a craziest part. 

“Tell me.”

“She gave him my last name.”

“What?”

“I-I don’t know what to think, Eddie,” Buck says. “She does all this. She keeps me away from him, but then she gives him my name.” 

“What is his name?” Eddie asks. “You didn’t mention.”

“Arthur,” Buck answers, tone flat.

“Uh… You don’t like it?” Eddie asks. 

“Arthur Buckley sounds like my grandfather, not my son,” he cries. 

Well, okay. Yeah. That’s sort of true. 

“Hey, speaking as someone born to a grandpa name myself, it’ll be okay. We’ll find him a nickname,” Eddie promises. 

The name is the least of anyone’s problems right now. 

“What do I do, Eddie?” Buck asks. He sounds so small and helpless. Eddie wants to stomp on buildings like a large monster to get vengeance for him.

“Come home,” Eddie says. “And we’ll come up with a plan, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Buck inhales. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“Just come home. It’ll all work out.”

And Eddie means that. He is not going to let this be Buck’s story. 

v.  

They disagree about how to handle it. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe they agree, but Buck is scared. Scared of making things worse than they already are. 

“Do we really want to bring lawyers into it?” Buck asks. “Now? He’s three days old. He can’t even spend time away from her yet.”

“Right, but maybe the two of you could come to a mediated agreement for when he can,” Eddie says. “One that’s legally enforceable.”

“Eddie, I don’t know.” 

“When are you seeing him again?” Eddie challenges.

Buck grimaces.

It’s a low blow. Eddie knows that. But he doesn’t know how else to get this through to him.

“Because if the answer to that is, I don’t know,” Eddie continues. “Then something needs to change.”

Buck rubs his eyes. He’s tearing up again. He’s been nothing but tears today. Eddie wants to be gentle with him. To be soft. To be the encouraging steady presence he’s been this whole time. But he can’t. Not today. Not after what happened yesterday. 

“Think about it,” Eddie pleads. “For Arthur. He’s going to need you.”

Another sort of low blow, honestly. Eddie knows that. 

“Okay,” Buck promises. “I’ll think about it.”

vi.  

He doesn’t end up needing to think about it. Or so he says. Eddie still thinks he does. But Buck thinks the issue is fixed. Because the next day - Arthur’s fourth day on this planet - Jaylin texts him. She texts him and she asks if he’d like to come see Arthur. To which Buck, of course, agrees. 

“She just asked if I could stop for diapers on the way over,” Buck explains. “Uh, diapers and wipes. Least I could do, I guess.”

[minasw0rld]

Just what I needed

summary: it’s that time of the month and Bille comforts you

warnings: fluff

a/n: a bit short (again) but anyways…enjoy:)

You’re lying in bed, your hands pressed against your stomach. It’s that time of the month again, and if that wasn’t bad enough, your medicine ran out this morning. You chatted with Billie a bit earlier today, but you don’t want to bother her. Still, you really crave something to make you forget the pain, even if just for a moment.

Babyyyy

Heyyy how are you doing sweetheart?

I hate being a girl. I run out of medicine this morning and now I just have to accept the cramps.

Oh my poor baby

Ok I gotta get something done now. Talk to you later

Ok love u

you send, frowning a little. You know she’s busy, but you still want her attention. You probably just feel selfish, you think to yourself, as you turn over on your side. You scroll through your phone for a while until you get bored. It’s been half an hour since you texted Billie, and already you miss her again. You hate how empty the bed feels without her, especially when she has to get up early in the morning. Or how silent it is when her lovely voice isn’t filling the room. You sigh, realizing you’re being dramatic. In a few hours, she’ll probably be home, take a shower, and then join you in bed.

You’re almost asleep when you suddenly hear a knock at the bedroom door. You turn your head, and Billie gently opens the door. You smile immediately when you see her beautiful face, and your smile widens even more when you notice what she’s holding: a pack of medicine, a chocolate bar, and some flowers… your favorite flavors.

"Aww, baby… you didn’t have to do that!" you say.

"I know, I know… but you deserve it," she replies, coming over to your bed with a smile. She places the things she brought you on the nightstand before climbing in beside you. Your arms automatically wrap around her waist, and you rest your head on her chest.

"I missed you," you whisper against her shirt.

"I missed you too," she says, her hand drawing gentle circles over your shoulders as she kisses the top of your head.

You don’t even need the medicine anymore. The fact that she came home from work just to be there for you makes your cramps feel a lot less painful. Billie loves making you feel better, and you’ll always be her first priority. You nuzzle against her and close your eyes. In a few seconds, you’re deeply asleep. She listens to your calm breathing as she gently kisses your forehead. It doesn’t wake you up, but you still smile in your sleep at the feeling.

[kisses4kaia]

nobody does it better by carly simon but it’s the radiohead cover and it’s patrick… cw: DISGUSTING smut with this evil man, no less no more . im shameless.

a/n: so we all know the photo. and what ThePhoto did to me was… this! enjoy. 😌

the room is loud. there’re a million people you could be talking to, looking at. a hundred people you could sit in the corner and people watch, but his eyes are on you. and you cannot look away.

patrick zweig was a reoccurring character in your life. starting off as low-commitment boyfriend freshman year, turning to effervescent fuckbuddy you could never get far enough away from to become detached. you hated him, god, you hated the pull on you he had. the iron grip that steeled you right where you were across the room from him, eyes locked like a guarded palace onto his. good lord.

it truly takes the will of god to keep your feet planted where they are, forcing yourself to divert your eyes from him. but, never fear, he’s already moving towards you.

his towering presence is felt immediately as he stands in front of you, looking down into your eyes as if he can hear your heart pounding regardless of the blaring song around him.

“hey,” he says quietly, tone soft but gravelly, as if there wasn’t a sound barrier around the two of you that might keep you from hearing him. “what do you want, zweig? your voice comes out more pointedly than you intended, but with the way your pulse is thrumming and your hands are shaking, you can hardly blame yourself.

looking at you with that look in his eye, the one that almost mocks you as to say ‘got ya’, he cranes his neck down to whisper in your ear. “what do you want?” and he knows.

patrick turns without another word, and before you can process what you’re doing, your feet are moving with him, as if a collar was wrapped around your neck, choking your senses, and the leash was hanging haphazardly from his hand.

his path leads you into a bathroom, small, no shower, with a buzzing, lagging light. his hands are on your waist as soon as you step through the door, pushing you against it. patrick doesn’t kiss you immediately, unusual for him. “i miss you,” he breathes out, nervously, and it is jarring.

patrick zweig is not nervous, ever. he was self sure and confident and a fucking dickwad who knew it and embraced it as part of his “charm”. “yeah? and how many girls have you said that to, hm? britney posted you on her story yesterday, patrick. last friday, it was ántonia. fuck you,” you spat out, the 3… maybe 4 vodka sours you indulged in half an hour ago making your head pound, or maybe it was his dior sauvage.

he sighs, looking away from you impatiently, but when his eyes lands back on you, his gaze is crazed. “fuck, they don’t matter to me. i don’t know their last names, i don’t know their little siblings, they don’t know my favorite band, and i don’t look them in the eye when i fuck them. shit, baby, it’s you, don’t you realize? always fucking you,”

oscar winning preformance, is what you want to say, but his exasperated exhale after the words come out, paired with the rihanna song dully thrumming behind the door, bass vibrating against the wood, you look between his eyes, down at his lips, and your eyes don’t travel again before you smash your mouth onto his.

never fucking again, you tell yourself as his lips move in desperate, hungry, almost disbelieving tandem with yours. this is the last time.

“do you have a boyfriend?” he breathes out between kisses as he unbuckles your belt and unbuttons your jeans, shimmying them off. “like that’d make you walk out right now,” you kiss him again, biting his lower lip. “fuck. no, fuck no, but if you do, i’m going to make you remember exactly why nobody does it better.”

patrick lifts you effortlessly and places you on the sink, pulling your sticky, lacy panties to the side, smirking that evil damn smirk at the fancy little bow at the top. “did you know i was gonna be here tonight?” he nibbles as your ear, bringing loving bites down your jugular to your shoulder.

“no, but i knew art would be.” your smile is devious as his eyes light up, not with jealousy, but with the same fire he gets when he realizes his opponent on the other side of the net is really playing with him, when they’re really playing fucking tennis.

patrick jerks himself once or twice, languidly, before sliding his cock into you. a hardly contained whine pulls from your voice, and your mouth drops into an ‘o’ at the stretch. he nearly has you in an embrace, the way he’s holding you closely against his chest, and his curls are begging to be pulled. you entwine your finger with the hair at the nape of his neck and tug with every sharp thrust into your leaking pussy.

“more, give me more, patrick, don’t hold back on me, asshole.” he doesn’t even respond, just obediently lifts you up every so slightly off the sink and moves you on and off of his cock, giving him a much wider range of motion. his dick is nearly completely out of you each time his hips snap back, but you’re moaning like a pornstar each time he’s in again.

his ability to hit that spot inside of you with near perfect accuracy every fucking time is expert, a skill that could only be acquired by someone so in tune with your pleasure—and if patrick zweig was nothing else, he was that.

“fuck, gonna, shit! gripping me so fucking tight, leaking all over my shit, baby. she miss me? huh, pretty? you miss me?” he was talking right through you, each word penetrating your deepest desires and fantasies. you hated how he knew you. you hated that you let him. but most of all, you hated how close you were to coming.

he keeps fucking you unforgivingly, whining and moaning like a whore all the while. “you still on that pill?” he asked, voice pitchy and annoying and sexy.

“no, insurance stopped covering it.” you say seriously, and you can’t keep your laughter in when his thrusts slow and he looks at you panicked. “i’m fucking with you, don’t stop,”

“you’re evil, you know that?” he says endearingly, playful as always, and it’s no more than a minute later that he’s coming inside you.

patrick never was a selfish lover, so it came as no surprise that after pulling his softening girth from you, not one, not two, but three of his finger were quickly pumping in and out of you, making him moan sluttishly at the way his own cum coated his fingers. his other hand made busy circling your clit with his thumb, fast and calculatedly.

he knew every button to push because he sewed them onto you, and so it was no surprise that with that special angling of his wrist, you were coming undone on his fingers in minutes.

it’s quiet for the next few minutes, you cleaning yourself up, patrick washing his hands, the both of you redressing in silence.

“so… same time tomorrow?” he smiles at you, pleased with himself and sure your answer will be affirmative.

you walk up to him, smile, kiss him tenderly on his lips, let your heels touch the ground again softly. “go fuck yourself, patrick.” your words are sharp but your tone is sickly sweet, and patrick recovers from his shock quickly, smirking stupidly.

“after that, i most definitely will be.”

[00valentina-writes00]

Greyson who has a wife that calls her mommy while going at it (headcanons)

♡♥︎Callin her Mommy♥︎♡

♥︎ The first time you call her Mommy, she freezes for a second—processing it, rolling the word over in her mind—before a slow, knowing smirk spreads across her lips. “Is that so, darling?”

♥︎ That one little word flips a switch in her. She was already dominant, already in control, but now? Now, she takes full ownership of you.

♥︎ The moment it slips from your lips, she immediately starts treating you differently—firmer, more possessive, more attuned to every little noise and reaction you give her.

♥︎ She leans into the title completely, using it against you in the filthiest ways—“Mommy knows what’s best, doesn’t she?” or “Come on, sweetheart, be a good girl for Mommy.”

♥︎ It absolutely ruins her when you whimper it while you’re right on the edge—gripping onto her for dear life, pleading for her to let you cum.

♥︎ She loves how it makes you more submissive without her even trying—just the way you melt under her touch, the way your voice gets all breathy when you say it.

♥︎ But if you ever try to use it to get out of trouble? That smug little smirk appears as she tilts your chin up, “Oh, you think that’s going to work on me, do you?”

♥︎ She starts using it to establish even more control—“Say it properly, love. What do you call me?”—and she won’t touch you until you do.

♥︎ If you say it in a needy, desperate voice, she might take pity on you… or she might decide to tease you for another hour just because she loves seeing you squirm.

♥︎ She adores the contrast—how strong and commanding she is, how completely she dominates you, but the moment you call her Mommy, you’re nothing but a whimpering mess in her hands.

♥︎ If you try to fight it, acting like it doesn’t make you weak in the knees, she’ll absolutely push you—whispering it in your ear, saying things like “You like when Mommy takes care of you, don’t you?” just to watch you fall apart.

♥︎ If she’s in a particularly soft mood, she leans into the caretaker aspect—stroking your hair, murmuring praise, holding you close while making you feel so small under her touch.

♥︎ But when she’s rough? Oh, it turns into something else. She has you on your hands and knees, gripping your hips tightly as she growls, “Isn’t this what you wanted, baby? To be fucked by Mommy until you can’t think straight?”

♥︎ She uses the title against you outside the bedroom too—resting a hand on your thigh at dinner, murmuring, “What’s wrong, love? Feeling needy for Mommy already?” just to see you squirm.

♥︎ If you ever tease her with it in public—maybe leaning in and whispering “Thank you, Mommy” in her ear just to see her reaction—oh, you’re in trouble. She’ll lean in just as close and murmur, “Just wait until I get you home, sweetheart.”

♥︎ She has a very strict rule: if you call her Mommy, then you have to listen to everything she says. No exceptions.

♥︎ If you slip up and say it in a bratty tone when you’re begging? Her smirk grows, her grip tightens, and suddenly you’re being flipped onto your stomach with a firm “Say it again, baby. Say it properly.”

♥︎ If she’s feeling extra mean, she makes you earn the right to call her Mommy—won’t let you say it until she decides you’ve been good enough for her.

♥︎ On the rare occasion she lets you take control for a moment, she absolutely melts if you cup her face and say, “Mommy looks so pretty like this.” It wrecks her. Completely.

♥︎ But the second she regains her composure? You’re done for. She’s pinning you down, making you repeat yourself as she ruins you.

♥︎ If you ever try to deny that you like calling her Mommy, she’ll get you so deep in pleasure that you say it instinctively—then she’ll smirk down at you, “Told you so, sweetheart.”

♥︎ She adores the contrast between how strong she is and how small she can make you feel—tipping your chin up, making you look her in the eye while she murmurs, “That’s my girl.”

♥︎ She loves holding your wrists above your head while she takes her time with you, whispering, “Mommy knows exactly what you need.”

♥︎ If she catches you staring at her hands while she’s working, she’ll chuckle and say something like, “You keep looking at me like that, and you’re going to have a real problem later, baby.”

♥︎ She has a habit of tugging your hair back when she’s in control, just to hear you gasp out “Mommy” with that breathless little whimper.

♥︎ She’s a very patient tease—if you get needy, she’ll simply stroke your cheek, kiss your forehead, and say, “Good girls wait for Mommy, don’t they?”

♥︎ The way you say it affects her mood—if you say it in a bratty way? She’s pinning you down, making you beg properly. If you say it in a soft, needy voice? Oh, she melts and gives you exactly what you want.

♥︎ She always makes sure you feel taken care of afterward—pulling you into her arms, stroking your hair, murmuring, “Mommy’s got you, baby. You did so well for me.”

♥︎ If you ever try to keep quiet during sex, she’ll grip your jaw, forcing you to look at her as she demands, “Say it for me, sweetheart.”

♥︎ She gets a thrill from hearing you say it when she’s taking you apart—especially when it turns into a desperate, helpless whimper against her skin.

♥︎ She absolutely adores when you bury your face in her neck and moan, “Mommy, please”—it makes her instantly feral.

♥︎ If she catches you daydreaming about it—getting all quiet and flustered—she’ll smirk and say, “Thinking about Mommy again, aren’t you?”