#*she pulls out a whole floor lamp*

[summertaters]

Haha I love that face Ochako makes 😂😂 We’ve all logged a brush in some knotted hair, but to loose it entirely 😭 Love this kid, she’s got so much potential

She loves to store things away in her nest(hair).

(ask context)

[hcneymooners]

⋆ down and out, you got me beggin' for thread.

milf!landlord!ambessa x oblivious!f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: in your defense, you just thought she was being an attentive landlord. and then the dinner happened. cw: landlord!ambessa, milf!ambessa, oblivious!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, domination, dom/sub, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, ambessa puts you in your place i fear, sweet!reader, oral sex, cunnilingus (ambessa!receiving), bessa has a clit hood piercing whoops, face riding, vaginal fingering (r!receiving), overstimulation, strength kink, praise kink, rough body play, reader is large-chested, cfnf (clothed female, naked female), crawling, kneeling, hair pulling, dirty talk, flirting, seduction, ambessa clocking your shit, she ain't new to this but she's true to this & she's gonna wear you out. notes: i have nothing to say for myself.

in your defense, you just thought she was committed to being a really lovely landlord.

you’d been somewhat isolated from the rest of your neighbors in the condominium, having moved in late and missed all the arranged social activities. they regarded you as a strange little creature—thick hair in an unruly shock, a mouth so full it seemed perpetually pouting. work kept you coming home late most nights, shoes in hand as you climbed the wooden stairs quietly, mindful of the many elderly residents whose comfort you took care not to disturb.

you lived alone, a choice that often worried your family but one you adored. walking through your door to complete silence, greeted by the heavy coffee-and-baby-powder smoke of your newest candle, made it easier to disassociate from whatever unhappiness followed you in from the world outside.

you’d made no effort to distinguish yourself among the residents. even moving in had been a seamless affair—a blur of efficiency as six absurdly lanky movers wrestled your antique french pieces (all dark wood) through the narrow doorway, your winces punctuating every scrape against the walls.

the flat was small but sweetened undeniably by your touch. the floor plan alone had elicited a stifled gasp of horror from your father when you’d sent it to him during a call—confirmation, if you needed it, that you’d made the right choice. your bedroom, however, was the crown jewel.

it was your favorite indulgence, an unapologetic display of your heart & taste, and just a touch of impracticality. the mirrored wall behind the bed was its most divisive feature, reflecting the soft, amber glow of the lamps into endless repetitions of warmth. your father would have grimaced if he saw it, muttering something about "too much light bouncing around," but to you, it felt decadent.

the bed, wide and heavy, was dressed in pale linens with a subtle fringe that seemed to collect light like dew. it was the kind of bed that swallowed you whole, that made you linger in the mornings even when you couldn’t afford to. you’d agonized over the exact shade when choosing the bedding—anything too dark would have clashed with the mirrored nightstands, which were precariously balanced between timeless and ostentatious.

the carpeting was thick enough to mute every footstep, though the faded champagne hue had long since been out of fashion. still, you loved it, the way it dulled the room’s sharper edges. a chandelier hung overhead, small but undeniably glamorous, its crystals catching the light like a handful of stolen stars.

t wasn’t a large room by any means, but it didn’t need to be. it was yours, unmistakably so, and that was enough.

so, of course, it would be the first thing to fall prey to maintenance.

the first drip was forgivable. pipes groaned in older buildings, after all, and you were nothing if not patient. the second drip came faster, followed by the slow, insidious spread of water along the grout of your ensuite floor. you pressed your palm to your forehead, sighed, and stared at the mirror, still smudged from a half-hearted cleaning spree earlier in the week. the bathroom had charm—aged brass fixtures, a vintage vanity—but that charm was waning fast as the puddle grew.

it was past midnight, but you decided you had no choice. wrapping your robe tighter around your waist, you picked up your phone and dialed the number your landlord’s assistant—did they all have assistants?— had given you at move-in, cringing as it rang.

“do you know what time it is?” ambessa’s voice came through, low and sharp, cutting through your groggy apology before you could finish.

“yes, and i’m so sorry, ms. medarda,” you rushed out, cradling the phone against your ear as you stepped around the puddle. “it’s just—there’s a leak, and it’s spreading. i didn’t want to call maintenance without your permission, but honestly, i think the bathroom could use some updating while we’re at it—”

“where’s the leak?” she interrupted.

“in the ensuite. just off the bedroom.”

a pause, long enough to make you nervous. “i’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

you blinked. “oh, no, that’s not—”

the line clicked dead.

true to her word, ambessa arrived twenty minutes later, sharp knocks echoing through your quiet flat. you’d changed into your cotton pajamas by then—a soft rosy brown set with little embroidered daisies, complete with a matching sleep mask pushed up into your hair. billie holiday crooned softly from your record player as you opened the door, clutching your robe around you and smiling sheepishly.

ambessa was the kind of beautiful that made you forget yourself. she filled your doorway as if she belonged there, her broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly tailored coat that hung just so, framing her with an air of command. the silver threading her tight, thick cornrows caught the dim light, lending her a sharpness that bordered on regal, and her eyes—dark, unyielding—pinned you in place without even trying.

you noticed the subtle tension in her jaw, the way her gloves creaked faintly as she pulled them off with deliberate care, and for a moment, you felt ridiculous in your thin pajamas and mask pushed askew on your forehead.

she was all clean lines and control, the kind of presence that demanded your full attention, and you were too overwhelmed to do anything but offer her a stammered “hello” as if she hadn’t just marched into your space and stolen all the air.

“thank you for coming, ms. medarda,” you said, stepping around her to close the door. “god, you must be freezing. would you like some tea? or something else that’s warm?”

ambessa’s eyes swept over you briefly—taking in the retro pajamas, the faint scent of your cucumber tea steeping on the stove—before she stepped inside, her boots clicking against the hardwood.

“let’s see the damage first. and just ambessa is fine.”

she was taller than you’d thought, filling the space of your small flat with an effortless command. you trailed behind her as she followed the faint sound of dripping into the ensuite.

“it’s outdated,” you offered nervously, watching her crouch to inspect the base of the sink. “i mean, charming, but maybe too charming? i wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with renovations, so i didn’t want to call anyone until i asked you first.”

ambessa straightened, the corners of her mouth tugging upward just slightly.

“that’s sweet of you. do what you'd like.”

you blinked at her. “oh. okay! that’s—so nice of you. i didn’t expect you to be so—” you caught yourself. “i mean, i really appreciate it.” she gave you a long look, something unreadable in her expression, before brushing past you back into the kitchen.

“you don’t have groceries,” she noted, her gaze falling on the empty fridge as you scrambled to tidy up.

“i have emergency pasta,” you said quickly, pulling out a box of whole-wheat spaghetti. “and cucumber tea. if you’re hungry, i can make something—it’s the least i can do.”

ambessa didn’t argue, though the arch of her brow suggested she wasn’t accustomed to being offered emergency pasta at one in the morning. you served her a steaming bowl and poured her tea into your favorite ceramic mug, rambling nervously about how you’d heard through maddie of 44b that her daughter was an artist.

she stayed just long enough to finish the tea, her presence heavy and warm in the quiet of your kitchen, before nodding once and heading out.

“call if it gets worse before the workers get here,” she said gruffly, her hand on the doorknob.

the next evening, you came home to several paper bags of groceries neatly stacked by your door, the scent of fresh pink peonies wafting up as you picked them up. you smiled, setting the flowers on the counter next to the dying ones your mum had sent last week.

this place is so lovely, you thought, unpacking the groceries. the tenants are so well taken care of.

your coworkers didn’t believe a word of it when you told them about ambessa the next day.

“she's sweet on you,” one of them said, shaking their head.

“no, she’s just attentive,” you insisted. “maternal, even. she told me all about her daughter!”

they exchanged knowing looks, and you laughed it off, already planning to send ambessa a thank-you card for the flowers.

❅

you’d gone overboard, but what else were you to do? gratitude came naturally to you, maybe too much so, but how else could you thank someone who had quietly made your life so much easier?

the cookies sat cooling on the counter, golden and soft with just the right crisp at the edges. their sweetness filled the air, blending with the candle you’d chosen—rich sandalwood and rose. it was warm and grounding, just like her. you couldn’t explain why it reminded you of ambessa, only that it did.

maybe it was the way the scent lingered, heavy and grounding. stronger than you. your toes curled as you imagined her voice rumbling low, praising your thoughtfulness.

the basket had become a small labor of love. you’d lined it with a cream linen napkin embroidered with tiny vines, each stitch as deliberate as your careful arrangement of the contents. the cookies rested in one corner, their warm scent still faintly clinging to the fabric, and the candle nestled beside them, a handwritten note tucked just so: “thank you for everything. your kindness means the world.”

you’d agonized over the wording for longer than you cared to admit, erasing, rewriting, and second-guessing every line before deciding it was small enough to be safe, heartfelt enough to feel honest.

your phone buzzed where it leaned precariously against a jar of flour, the screen alight with your sisters’ faces. their voices were lively and full of mischief, the kind that made you want to laugh and groan all at once.

“wait, wait, wait,” one of them said, holding up a dramatic hand to cut through the chatter. “groceries, flowers, a new faucet, and she expedited your laundry machine?”

“and called you sweet,” another chimed in, her eyebrows wiggling in mockery.

“and showed up herself in the middle of the night,” your mother added from the background, folding laundry with a knowing smile.

“again,” your father said dryly, his voice carrying a weight of exaggerated patience.

“it’s not like that,” you protested, though your cheeks flushed. you fiddled with the bow on the basket, unable to meet their eyes. “she’s just… thoughtful. i’m sure she does this for all her tenants.”

your eldest sister laughed, the sound of sharp disbelief that made you want to sink into the floor. “baby, she’s courting you.”

“she is not!” you exclaimed, though the wobble in your voice betrayed you.

“oh, please,” another sister cut in, leaning so close to the camera you could see the shimmer of her eyeshadow. “and you’re wearing that outfit to ‘just thank her’?”

you glanced down, your lips tugging between your teeth. the dress wasn’t exactly subtle. it was black with a scatter of delicate flowers, vintage couture that hugged your waist before flaring just slightly. the neckline dipped low, displaying your cleavage warmed by a healthy amount of body oil, and framed by playful ruffles and slim straps that skimmed your shoulders. it was bolder than you’d usually wear, but you’d told yourself it wasn’t intentional. not really.

your jewelry was simple: a thin gold chain, just enough to catch the light, and small hoops that didn’t overpower the dress. your hair was loose, soft, and shiny in a way you tried not to fuss over, though you’d tucked one side behind your ear so many times it had become a nervous habit.

“god help me,” your father muttered in the background, shaking his head with exaggerated weariness.

you stuck your tongue out at him before signing off, their teasing still echoing in your ears as you slipped out the door.

❅

the basket was warm in your hands, the evening air crisp against your skin as you made your way to ambessa’s flat.

when she opened the door, her expression softened in a way that sent your pulse skittering. she looked… comfortable in a v-neck sweater and soft sweatpants, yet undeniably commanding. her gaze flicked to the basket, then back to you, a smile tugging at her lips.

“i brought this to thank you,” you said, holding out the basket. “for the groceries and the flowers and everything. you’ve been so kind in taking care of me, and i didn’t want to let that go unnoticed.”

ambessa’s lips curved, just barely, and she stepped aside to let you in.

“you didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice low and steady, but there was something in her tone—something soft beneath the steel. almost affectionate. “lord knows this has to be your eighth one.”

her flat was not what you expected.

it was spacious, sleek, and surprisingly modern, yet somehow still warm. the scent of cedar lingered in the air, layered with something citrusy and clean. dark leather furniture anchored the space, and bookshelves lined one wall. there were other hints of personality tucked in the corners: a golden tray brimming with jewelry, a small tray of perfumes that looked antique, and a faint scent of something savory wafting from the kitchen.

“you’ve been keeping them,” you said, surprised, your gaze landing on the basket you’d left earlier in the week.

“i like them,” she replied simply, pouring you a glass of wine. “you have good taste.”

you laughed softly, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“i found it at a farmers’ market. i miss going so much.”

“there’s one in the next town over,” she said, her tone so casual you almost missed the implication. “we could go this weekend.”

your lips parted in surprise, a laugh bubbling up. “it’s three hours away.”

“and?” she countered, one brow arching in amusement.

she motioned toward the dining table, where two plates were already set.

“i hope you’re hungry.”

❅

ambessa had made a hearty stew, rich and flavorful, served with warm bread that you couldn’t stop tearing into. you’d expected something simple and utilitarian, but the care she’d put into the meal surprised you. the food was rich and delicious, her hands moving with practiced ease as she served you.

“this is incredible,” you said, closing your eyes as you took another bite. “i don’t even want to know how long it took you to make this. it’s perfect.”

ambessa watched you, her gaze slightly hungry, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

“i’m glad you like it.”

you talked easily as you ate, though you couldn’t shake the way her attention lingered on you—penetrating but not unwelcome like she was studying you. the conversation drifted into quieter territory as the night went on. you’d almost forgotten what your family had said earlier—almost. but then, as the wine warmed your cheeks, the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“my family,” you said, voice light with embarrassment, “they were saying you were courting me. that you have designs to snatch me up.”

her gaze didn’t waver. “and if i do?”

your heart stumbled, and you choked. the air felt charged, the quiet hum of the flat suddenly deafening. you met her gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt.

“i was…” you swallowed hard, your voice softer now. “i was only joking.”

ambessa’s smile was slow, deliberate, and devastating.

“i don’t think you were. i mean you came here all dressed up for me,” she said, standing with a fluid grace that left you breathless. “tits practically begging for my mouth. so, joking? no. teasing? yes.”

when she crossed the space between you, there was no hesitation. her hand brushed your cheek, and she gripped your jaw tightly.

“all night,” she said lowly, “you’ve been moaning over your food. i wonder, do you make the same noises in bed?”

you flushed, skin warm and tingling.

“i—”

“and,” she cut you off, “do you eat the same way?”

she thumbed over your bottom lip, pinching it and then releasing it to watch the blood pool.

“you seem so hungry.”

your legs squeezed together beneath the table, your neck straining as you looked up at her. her eyes narrowed as she tilted your head back, idly bringing up her other hand to feel you swallow. seemingly satisfied she stepped back, freeing you as she moved back toward where she was sitting.

struggling to calm your breathing, you watched as she dragged the char back to where you sat and arranged it several inches away from you. casually, as if you weren’t dripping across from her, she lowered herself and spread her legs open. your gaze focused on the space between them, imagining yourself fitting perfectly within.

“[name],” she murmured. “look at me.”

you did.

“are you full?” you shook your head, hands clutching at your thighs. “mmm. would you like a taste, sweet girl?”

you shuddered and closed your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to remain composed.

“yes. please.”

“come here.”

you rose, anxious to please, but she stopped you with a raised brow.

“no. crawl.”

you balked, warmth spreading down your neck and into your stomach. she shifted in irritation.

“i’m not going to ask you again.”

carefully, you lowered yourself to your hands and knees making sure to arch your back so that your ass rose behind you like some erotic phase of the moon. ambessa watched as you began to slink forward, two fingers coming together to further push down the band of her sweatpants. by the time you made it to her feet, she’d done away with them altogether.

her cunt sat pretty and fat, lips winking in arousal beneath the soft thicket of black and silver curls. it was veiled by a gorgeous triangle of deep purple lace, the fabric darkened further by her wetness. she was so beautiful, so delicious that your mouth began to water.

you shuffled forward, placing a hand on her calf to steady yourself as you nosed at her inner thigh. she smelled thick and musky here, her clit gleaming at you as if a pearl in an oyster. it was a little large, but you didn’t mind. you found it as perfect as the rest of her.

tucking your legs beneath you, you settled down and laid your head on one of her open legs. silently you asked permission, your eyes wide and pleading—a bit puppyish. she curled a hand underneath your chin and leaned forward, coaxing a kiss from your lips.

you mewled and clung to her, pressing into her hold as you returned the kiss. she laughed meanly into your mouth and pulled back, slouching so that you had more space to conduct your task. you leaned forward, eager, only to be stopped yet again.

“please,” you whispered and she made a noncommittal noise, giving you a considering look.

“just a moment, little one.”

you furrowed your brow as she leaned forward again, this time with lower. with a rough, hard tug she yanked your neckline down so that your tits spilled full and plush into her palm. with a satisfied groan, she groped them, thumbing at your nipples till they strained into the pads of her fingertips. then, she pulled back and reassumed her position.

“leave them out.”

you grew hotter at the command, nodding quickly. finally, she nodded and you let out a little moan of excitement. you should’ve gone slower and taken your time, but god you were starved.

almost immediately, you tugged the fabric of her panties aside and licked a wide stripe up her pussy. she tasted ripe, sweet then slightly bitter, like a grapefruit, and you moaned into her.

“oh, fuck,” ambessa sighed and you nuzzled further into her.

the flat echoed with the wet sounds of your consumption of her, your mouth suctioning around her pussy to apply pressure. to your surprise the hood of her clit was pierced, a small ruby nestled comfortably atop it.

after a moment, you abandoned your initial plan to move further down, tongue gliding between her fat folds where the slick current of her arousal glittered like a jewel. you pointed your tongue and wedged it deep inside her, lifting a hand to drift along her defined stomach.

“mmmhmm,” she said, voice thin as she canted her hips. “just like that. you’re doing so well, sweet girl.”

the praise lit you up from the inside out, and you lapped at her with renewed energy. her hips bucked harder and a strong hand came to root itself in your hair. in response, you lowered both hands to the floor to steady yourself as you allowed her to control your movements.

“such a good girl. so eager to eat this cunt. so eager to please me, hmm?”

“uh huh,” you answered, the words muffled by her sopping pussy.

the vibration made ambessa suck in a breath and she suddenly yanked you forward, rocking into your tongue slowly before speeding up. eventually, she was riding your face as you stuck out your tongue, your tits exposed and bouncing as you met her in eagerness.

you strained to sink further inside her, whimpering as her thighs closed harshly around your head. she could’ve snapped your neck, and you would only have seen it as benediction. an early arrival to paradise.

“oh shit,” she whispered. “fuck. yes. yes. yeaaah.”

both of her hands were on the side of your head as she bent backward, squealing sharply as she began to cum. the sound was high and girlish, and you wanted to hear it again and again. her pleasure broke over her like a rising dawn and you closed your eyes, sucking at her clit until her legs began to tremble with overstimulation. still, you didn’t stop. instead, you swallowed the honey that dribbled from the apex of her cunt and brought two of your fingers up to rub tight circles against yourself.

with a rough moan, ambessa dropped her thighs from your face and tugged you up and into her lap. she huffed in displeasure and struck your hand away from your cunt, slipping two of her thick fingers deep into the cavern of your slick heat.

“no one touches you here except for me. not even you.”

you let out a startled gasp, mouth dropping in a perfect ‘o’ as she stroked and fucked your spongy walls. you began to follow her movements, bouncing faster to chase the syrupy warmth rising into your chest. the world flickered and your eyes caught on hers as she observed the way your body contorted and flexed the more she pushed you.

“that’s it, sweet girl. work for it,” she said, her lips curving cruelly as you gripped her shoulders to better slam yourself down. “come here. let me taste.”

you kissed her, wet and messy, and she licked along your teeth; sucked the remnants of her cunt from inside you. you felt a flash of irrational anger at the action. you wanted her within you forever, staining your tongue.

ambessa slipped a third finger into you and you wailed, spine snapping straight as you felt the stretch spread through your hips. a fourth drifted lazily through your soaked folds, languishing till it was gleaming, but then it soon disappeared. carefully, she nudged you closer to her, tucking your face into her neck as she trailed her other hand down the crack of your ass.

before you could fully process what she meant to do, she inserted the wet tip of her finger into the tight ring of your asshole and pressed.

your orgasm pulsed through you. from where you lay against her neck, you bit down.

for a moment she allowed you to rest, turning her head to press a warm kiss to your temple. her fingers began to re-curl along your walls. then,

“again.”

it was a direction. you followed.

© hcneymooners.

[apiptosis]

Part 2 while I try to figure out tumbler.

The second one to meet Danny was one Cassandra Cain.

Cass ran into the thermos guy about five weeks after the incident with Tim. Unknowing this would Kickstart quite the changes in her life.

It was chaos for a while after Tim's 6 day long coma. For the first time in a very long time her brother was completely awake and refreshed. His completion returned to the healthy shade it's supposed to be and the bags under his eyes disappeared completely for a while.

The cause of Tim's coma was a caffeine overdose well that and an untreated concussion. According to Dr Leslie the last lingering traces of the larzarus pits managed to bring him back from the edge and now everyone in her family was religiously monitoring his caffeine intake. His time at the bat computer. How long he was allowed to be at WE. Etc.

Her brother was a saint for how long he lasted but eventually he got so fed up with everyone that he started a fight with Jason and Damian at the same time and after a brutal fight she, Alfred and Bruce had to break up Tim stormed off to buy the first apartment he could find that was reasonable enough.

So there she was in the early morning hours breaking into the old aparrment, room no. 404 was supposedly haunted, to give him the dented thermos she stole back from Bruce and Alfred as an apology. She even went to the Coffee shop at the corner of her studio that Tim liked and refilled it. No masks needed.

Cass was barely into the unfamiliar room when a frighteningly familiar voice appeared behind her accompanied by the singing of an unsheathed sword. "Truly Daughter, that you have allowed-"

An abnoxiously loud slurp interrupted her mother and in retaliation she stabbed the source. Said source had barely managed to turn one of the desk lamps on before he released a grunt of pain as Shiva stabbed him in the gut and he dropped his coffee mug to shatter on the floor.

A normal sized man would have recieved a mortal wound but the guy was atleast seven feet tall and struck his now vacant meaty paw out to grab Shiva by the forearm hard enough that she had to let the blade go.

The moment she let go he hefted her in the air by her arm uncaring of her kicks and merely chastised her with the barest hints of a Midwestern accent. "That was incredibly rude and since you stabbed me with it this saber is now mine." With a clean motion he tossed her out through the open window.

The whole scenario threw her off kilter and the few seconds it took her to realign herself he had already defenestrated Shiva.

With a grunt he pulled out the blade and set the bloodied thing on his sink with his ruined shirt before pulling out two chairs. 'Why would he do that? Everyone knows you don't just pull out something sticking into you, that was a sure way to bleed out.'

"I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you miss but that was rather unpleasant, you have my sympathies if that was truly your mother. So why dont we start over while I make us a cup of coffee."

"Names Danny and you are welcome to the Astral Apartments room 304." The man, Danny, said as he busied himself with the coffee machine.

"304?" For the first time Cass' rattled mind found it's voice that night. Danny immediately ought onto her confusion and radiating concern asked. "Yep 304. What room were you looking for?"

"404. Brother. My name is... Cass."

"The new guy? Moved in 5 days ago? Yeah, he left about an hour ago. If the pattern repeats he should be back in about four to five hours. It's nice to formally meet you Cass."

That was not good.

"Here," Danny said as he placed the a carton of milk and some sugar cubes down on the table next to the - yeah no that was not a cup of coffee - while it may look like an odd cup that was definitely a rather large steaming mug of coffee.

As Danny moved to take a seat Cass could find no trace of hostility from him. Her skills with spoken and written language might not be the best, it has gotten better though, her skills with the language of the body and emotion however was. Danny gave her no hostility or even dislike. Just pure concern, a lot of warmth, and comfort and a little bit of curiosity and some interest. Definitely a sense of protectiveness.

Her own worries and concern faded to curiosity and interest as she saw the wound much smaller than it was before.

"You can stay here till your brother gets back. He's usually here by the time I have to leave for Gotham U."

Slowly Cass sat down and prepared her coffee the way she liked it. Tradings one basic facts like her being a ballerina and prodding about here and there with the occasional prompt she soon found him rambling.

About his classes, how studying at Gotham U was going and how different they were from his schools in Illinois. He was studying to become an aerospace engineer. Random tidbits of space. It was kind of cute in a way how this behemoth of a man with a smile a little too toothy and bright or ears a bit too sharp rambled about his interests, eyes shining lie stars.

Eventually she had to leave when Tim arrived no matrer her own reluctance. That he was shirtless and easy on the eyes was a bonus and not one of the reasons she stayed.

As she left she concidered her options. This man with stars in his eyes would no doubt attract attention from the rogues. If she patrolled here as Orphan no one would really care all to much. It's just her way of lightening Tim's burden and keeping an eye out for Shiva.

She can come visit as Cass as well, perhaps get him to eat something. His fridge was very empty when she saw him returning the milk.

Grabbing one of the sticky notes she always kept by her she wrote down her number for him alongside a mental note to look at the academy a little but.

A few seconds after Danny closed the door Danny again. "So that's where by thermos was! I could have sworn I looked there."

[edenspoem]

okay PLEASE, so chappell roan performed “the giver” on snl. all I could think about was cowgirl! ellie and abby. it’s literally THEEE stone top anthem! 👅

cowgirl ellie is the ultimate stone top: from sun up, 'till sun down, she is a pleasure-giving machine in all departments. ellie finds her schedule to be the least bit monotonous—rather, it's you who said so. startups at five in the morning, in the mucked-out lands, is a feat she wouldn't trade for the world. she finds it peaceful; the rough hours of sleep and the rough weight of a thousand chores; how sweet of a novelty is it, to be doing it all for you?

she is cruel-loving. she enforces her love. she is the girl that guides you back to bed if you stir from it simply too soon. she, with the good of all her heart, won't let you lift a finger. “shh—what are you doing up, babe? i know you gotta be tired.” the base of the pan—mottled in bits of scrambled eggs—would scrape against the stove as she set it. “go sleep a little longer, you mucked the paddock out all night.” she would then guide you right through the hall, pressing slow creaks in the wooden floor with her palms on your shoulders. the warmth of them is pleasant. humming with the heat of breakfast, pots and handles, the whole assortment of summer mornings in her romance-novel touch. she nudged you with love.

bedtime is a game of roulette—however. either, she is spooning with her obnoxious head filling the space on your shoulder, or she is filling the gap in your legs. once the sun is concealed and the romantic, golden light of lamps is washing over your limbs so delicate—often, to a point of delicateness, that she can't help herself.

“how many fingers baby?” the low thrum inside her rolled into your thigh, where her lips sit, patient and wet. the tone it rolled with made you want to compress your thighs shut; hide the reaction it gave you. but—those hands, illustrated straight from a novel and into your endless whim, press them down.

the room is quiet with the sound of her mouth, without your answer.

ellie props up. “can you say somethin, princess?” fingers brushing relentless circles around, above, but never on your cunt. it's not that she relies on direction; she relies on you being present, obedient, and most of all: confident. hearing you be open and honest about what you need, screams wife material to her; made you a keeper. the calloused pads of her fingers encourage along your stomach, spreading out with her thumb oh-so close to your clit, inching between your folds.

“ellie,” the name slipped from your lips so naturally. a whimper folded in without your trying.

she almost gave in because of it.

“t-three.”

“oh?” she cooed, soft and sweet. “bold choice, babe.” the comment, and the sensation of her thumb coming into light contact, jolted you. a bicep enclosed your thigh before it could shut.

she groans that signature curse when she enters you. so wetly, so easily.

“fuck babe.”

it held it there as long as her fingers were stuffed inside. shameful noises—the ones that escaped either end—spread throughout the room. she watched as she made you listen; dragging her fingers in hard, out slow—as you remember her hips doing. curling up into that spot that creates heaven inside and gets everything all over her fingers, to the base of her knuckles. swallowing her with incurable desperation. it felt like she was inside you, in each part of you; the thickness of three fingers fucking your pussy, as well as your mind, which thought thoughtless thoughts, and said thoughtless words. “f-fuck, ellie, i want fuckin' all of you,” you panted, clenching around the muscles and pumps of her fingers.

her smiling mouth said to you: “yeah?” with dimples that went deeper at the tip of her tone. she roped in a concise kiss, peppering your thigh that trembled against her cheek. she needed nothing more. nothing done, nothing said; your words riled her enough. the sounds of fabric brushed together as she slid up through your open legs, pulling up with her arms—which define with subtle veins and toning—pressing her crotch into you. she inhaled, and let your scent fill her. “you're so goddamn sweet. mhh, okay, i'll fuckin' give it to you.”

an: i haven't listened to the song too much, but i craved cowgirl!ellie either way and the domesticism she brings to the table 💙

[that-one-ostrich-friend]

Maybe that sparks a bit of inspiration: Single dad Sirius Black who is freshly together with reader (I don’t know what else can happen haha)

The Godson

sirius black x reader - the godson

word count: 3.5k

summary: after a month of dating y/n finally meets sirius’s godson (and adopted son)

warnings: kissing, mostly fluffy lol

a/n: this is set in an au where peter was captured before he could fake his death and was sent to azkaban instead of sirius. as godfather sirius gets custody of harry. i’m really glad this was a single dad sirius and not single mom y/n bc i’m lowkey afraid of children and pregnancy lol

     The clock chimed seven as Y/N stood outside the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, her hand hovering just above the door knocker. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. The house before her looked nothing like she had imagined. Its weathered black brickwork and faintly foreboding aura reminded her of something out of a gothic novel. Yet, as imposing as it seemed, she reminded herself that Sirius lived here. That thought brought a small, reassuring smile to her lips.

     She raised her hand and knocked firmly. The sound echoed in the quiet, and she shuffled slightly on the doorstep, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her coat. A moment later, the door creaked open, and there he was—Sirius Black, all sharp features and unruly dark hair, wearing a casual button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His usual confident smirk was replaced with something softer, almost unsure.

     “You made it,” he said, his voice warm but carrying an edge of nervousness.

     “Of course I did,” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

     Sirius chuckled lightly, running a hand through his hair as if he were searching for the right words. “No reason. Just—well, this is a bit new for me, isn’t it?”

     She raised an eyebrow, sensing his nerves. “You alright?”

     He let out a breath and then pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her. “I am now,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. The simple affection melted away some of her tension, and she allowed herself to relax against him.

     When he pulled back, there was a twinkle of humor in his gray eyes, though the slight hesitation remained. “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let her through.

     Y/N stepped over the threshold, her gaze sweeping over the narrow entryway. The house was as dark and mysterious on the inside as it was on the outside. The wallpaper was faded, and the air carried a faint chill, but there were glimpses of warmth—a vase of fresh flowers on a side table.

     “It’s… cozy,” she said carefully, trying not to seem impolite.

     Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “That’s a generous way to put it.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Come on. Harry’s in the sitting room. He’s been playing with his toys all day, so don’t be surprised if he’s a little shy at first.”

     Y/N nodded, her heart skipping slightly at the thought of meeting Sirius’s adopted son for the first time. This wasn’t just any casual introduction—Sirius had made it clear that Harry was his whole world, and meeting him felt like stepping into a new and important part of Sirius’s life.

     They walked down a short hallway and into the sitting room. The space was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a warm lamp in the corner. In the center of the room, a small boy with messy black hair sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by colorful wooden blocks. He was completely focused on the tower he was building, his little face scrunched up in concentration.

     “Harry,” Sirius said gently, his voice softening as he spoke to the boy. “Someone’s here to meet you.”

     Harry looked up briefly, his bright green eyes—the spitting image of his mother’s—glancing at Y/N before darting back to his father. He immediately scrambled to his feet and hid behind Sirius’s legs, clutching the fabric of his trousers tightly.

     Sirius laughed softly, bending down slightly to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Come on, kiddo. You don’t have to be shy. This is Y/N. Remember I told you about her?”

     Harry peeked out cautiously, his small hands still gripping Sirius’s legs.

     Y/N crouched down to his level, her voice gentle. “Hi, Harry. It’s really nice to meet you.” She smiled, trying to make herself as approachable as possible.

     Harry didn’t respond, his face half-hidden behind Sirius.

     Sirius straightened up and gave Y/N an apologetic smile. “He takes a little while to warm up to people. Give him a minute.”

     Instead of pushing Harry further, Sirius reached out and took Y/N’s hand, leading her toward the spot where Harry had been sitting. They knelt on the floor next to the half-built tower of blocks.

     “Alright, kiddo,” Sirius said, his tone light and encouraging. “Why don’t you tell Y/N about your tower? It looks pretty impressive.”

     Harry hesitated for a moment, still clinging to Sirius’s leg, but then his curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He let go and stepped closer, though he stayed partially behind Sirius.

     Y/N leaned forward, examining the tower with a playful seriousness. “Wow, did you build this all by yourself? It’s amazing!”

     Harry’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face. He nodded shyly.

     “It’s the tallest one I’ve made,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

     “Really?” Y/N said, her eyes widening in mock amazement. “You must be an expert builder. I could never make a tower this cool.”

      That seemed to do the trick. Harry stepped out from behind Sirius entirely, moving closer to his blocks. “I made it so it doesn’t fall over,” he said, a little louder this time. “See? If you push it like this—” He gave the side of the tower a gentle nudge, and it wobbled but didn’t topple. “—it stays up!”

     Y/N gasped, clapping her hands. “That’s so clever! How did you figure that out?”

     Harry beamed, the last traces of his shyness melting away as he began to explain the “secrets” of building sturdy towers. His words tumbled out in an excited stream, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

      Sirius watched the two of them, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. He settled himself on the floor beside them, leaning back on his hands as Harry continued to chatter away to Y/N about his blocks and the other toys scattered around the room.

     Y/N glanced at Sirius briefly, her heart swelling at the sight of him so at ease with his son. He caught her gaze and gave her a wink, as if to say, See? Told you he’d come around.

     Sirius cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “I’m going to grab us some drinks. Will you be alright with Harry for a few minutes?”

     Y/N glanced up at him with a smile. “Of course. Take your time.”

     He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, as if double-checking whether she meant it. Then he gave a small nod and pushed himself to his feet. “You behave for Y/N, yeah?” He said as he passed Harry.

     Harry looked up at him and nodded solemnly.

     As Sirius disappeared into the kitchen, Y/N leaned back on her hands, watching as Harry carefully adjusted the top of his tower. The room was quiet for a moment, the soft sound of the blocks clicking together the only noise.

     Then, with a sudden burst of energy, Harry stood up and darted to the end table near the couch. Y/N straightened slightly, curious as to what he was up to.

     “Look!” Harry exclaimed, holding something tightly in his small hand as he ran back toward her.

     “What’s that, Harry?” Y/N asked, sitting upright as he plopped down onto the floor beside her.

     With great care, Harry opened his chubby fist to reveal a small Polaroid photograph. He held it up proudly, his face beaming. “It’s you!” he declared.

      Y/N blinked in surprise and leaned forward to get a closer look. She reached out and gently took the photo from his hands, her eyes widening as she recognized it immediately.

     It was from about two months ago— a couple weeks before they started dating— at one of the small get-togethers Sirius and his friends seemed to have so often. She remembered the evening clearly—the room had been filled with laughter and warmth, she had been next to Sirius almost the entire night. Remus had been in rare form, cracking joke after joke. 

     The photo was taken when Remus had accidentally hit the shutter on his camera. Y/N was mid-laugh, her hand resting on Sirius’s shoulder, clearly reacting to something ridiculous Remus had said. Her head was tilted slightly, her eyes crinkled with amusement. But what caught her attention wasn’t herself—it was Sirius. He was looking at her as if she were the only person in that room. 

     Y/N let out a soft laugh, though her voice wavered slightly. “Where did you find this, Harry?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

     “Uncle Sirius keeps it here,” Harry said matter-of-factly, pointing back toward the end table.

     “He does, does he?” Y/N murmured, her lips curving into a small smile. She turned the photo over in her hand, noticing that the back was blank—no date, no scribbled note. Just the image itself.

     Harry nodded enthusiastically, clearly proud of his discovery. “Do you like it?”

     “I do,” Y/N said, her voice warm. “It’s a great picture.”

     Just as she finished speaking, a sound came from the doorway. She glanced up to see Sirius standing there, two glasses in his hands. He had paused mid-step, his eyes flicking between her and the photo she still held. His cheeks were dusted with the faintest hint of pink, and for a moment, he looked almost sheepish.

     “Ah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I see Harry showed you his favorite picture.”

     Y/N raised an eyebrow, holding the photo up slightly. “His favorite?”

     He let out a short laugh, walking into the room and setting the glasses down on the coffee table. “Our favorite,” he said, the blush on his face deepened.

     Y/N didn’t press him further, but her smile widened. She set the picture on her lap, her fingers lightly brushing its edge as Sirius crouched down beside Harry.

      “Alright, kiddo,” Sirius said, his voice softening as he focused on his son. “It’s time for bed.”

      Harry immediately groaned, flopping onto his back in a dramatic show of protest. “But I’m not tired!”

     “Hmm,” Sirius said, tilting his head. “That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn I saw you rubbing your eyes just five minutes ago.”

     “I wasn’t!” Harry insisted, though his argument was half-hearted at best.

     Sirius chuckled and reached out to scoop the boy into his arms, lifting him effortlessly. “Come on, mate. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

     Harry pouted but didn’t resist, resting his head against Sirius’s shoulder. As they made their way toward the door, Sirius glanced back at Y/N, his expression softening.

     “Won’t be long,” he said.

     “It’s alright,” Y/N replied, her tone light.

     Once they were gone, the room fell quiet again. Y/N let out a small breath, her gaze drifting back to the photo still on her lap. She studied it for a moment longer before carefully placing it back on the end table.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

     Reaching Harry’s room, Sirius nudged the door open with his foot. The room was cozy, filled with all the comforts a child could want—soft blankets, a well-loved stuffed stag that Harry refused to sleep without, and shelves lined with books and toys. The walls were painted a calming blue, and enchanted stars hung above the bed, softly twinkling.

     Sirius lowered Harry onto the bed, careful not to jostle him too much. Harry let out a sleepy little sigh as Sirius tucked him in, pulling the blankets up snugly around him.

     “There we go,” Sirius murmured, brushing a strand of dark hair from Harry’s forehead. “All nice and cozy. You should sleep like a dragon tonight.”

      Harry giggled softly, his eyes fluttering open to look at Sirius. “Dragons don’t sleep,” he said, his voice quiet but insistent.

     “Of course they do,” Sirius replied, settling on the edge of the bed. “How else do you think they get their energy to fly around and breathe fire all day?”

     Harry considered this for a moment before nodding, satisfied with the answer. His tiny hands clutched the stuffed stag tightly, and he wriggled slightly to get comfortable.

     “Uncle?” Harry’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.

     “Hmm?” Sirius replied, leaning back against the headboard, his gaze warm as he watched Harry.

     “Is Y/N gonna be my new mummy?”

     The question hit Sirius like a gust of wind, unexpected but not entirely surprising. He blinked, momentarily unsure of how to respond. Harry’s green eyes—so much like Lily’s—stared up at him, wide and innocent, waiting for an answer.

     Sirius chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, mate,” he said gently. “Y/N’s not your mummy.”

      Harry frowned slightly, hugging the stuffed stag closer. “But… she’s really nice,” he said, his voice laced with the kind of earnestness only a child could muster.

     “She is,” Sirius agreed, his lips curving into a small smile. “She’s very nice.” He reached out to ruffle Harry’s hair, earning a quiet giggle. “But your mummy is Lily, remember? She and your dad loved you so much, and that’s never going to change.”

     Harry nodded slowly, his little face thoughtful. “But you’re my daddy now, right?”

      Sirius felt his chest tighten at the question. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked down at Harry. “I’m your godfather,” he said after a moment. “That means I get to take care of you and keep you safe.”

     Harry nodded sleepily, his eyelids starting to droop.

      Sirius reached out and gently patted Harry’s shoulder. “Now, close those eyes and get some rest.”

     Harry’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he finally let his eyes fall shut. Sirius sat there for a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drifted off.

     Standing, Sirius leaned down to press a light kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he murmured before quietly slipping out of the room. 

     The soft creak of the floorboards signaled Sirius’s return long before Y/N saw him. She glanced up as he stepped into the sitting room, his dark hair slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it a few times. His gaze landed on her, and his lips curved into an easy smile that didn’t quite mask the faint trace of something thoughtful in his expression.

     “Harry’s out like a light,” he said, walking over to the couch and sinking into the cushions beside her.

     “That was fast,” Y/N replied with a small smile, shifting slightly to make room for him.

     “Four-year-olds don’t last long once they’ve decided to give in,” Sirius said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

     He leaned forward, reaching for the glass of whiskey he’d left on the coffee table earlier. But before he could take a sip, Y/N snatched it from his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she did.

     “Hey!” he protested, though his tone was more surprised than annoyed.

     Y/N raised the glass to her lips, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she took a small sip. “I’m thirsty,” she teased, handing it back to him with an innocent shrug.

     Sirius let out a laugh, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. “Stealing from a poor, hardworking man in his own home,” he said, shaking his head as he set the glass back down on the table.

     Before she could reply, he leaned back and looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer until her side was pressed against his. It was an easy, intimate gesture, and Y/N felt her heart give a little flutter at the warmth of his touch.

     For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around them. Then, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Sirius’s profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his dark eyes seemed lost in thought as he stared ahead.

     She reached up, gently brushing her fingers along his cheek to get his attention. When he turned to look at her, she leaned in and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

     But he didn’t kiss her back.

     Y/N pulled away almost immediately, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

    “No,” Sirius interrupted softly, his hand still resting on her shoulder. He sighed, shifting slightly so he could face her fully. His fingers moved to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing idly against her skin in slow, soothing strokes.

     Y/N searched his face, her brow furrowing. “Is everything alright?”

     Sirius hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the floor before meeting hers again. “I’ve just been thinking,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Wondering if… if it was too soon for Harry to meet you.”

     “Oh,” Y/N said, her heart sinking slightly. She sat up straighter, creating a small distance between them. “I—I understand. If you think it was too soon, we can… I don’t know, maybe I could come over when he’s already in bed? Or we could spend time at my flat instead?”

     Her suggestion came quickly, almost too quickly, as if she were trying to fix something that didn’t necessarily need fixing. But Sirius shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

     “Maybe I was wrong,” he said, his voice softening.

     Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

     Sirius’s hand on the back of her neck slid upward, his fingers threading gently into her hair. At the same time, his other hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, resting against her waist. His touch was firm but not forceful, and the warmth of his palm against her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

     “I mean,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky tone, “maybe it’s good for Harry to have a feminine presence around here. Someone kind and patient who can put up with my nonsense.”

     Y/N’s breath hitched as his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her just slightly closer. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

     “Sirius,” she began, her voice wavering, but he didn’t let her finish.

     His other hand slid further into her hair, his fingers curling gently as he pulled her in. When his lips met hers this time, it wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was urgent, almost desperate. Sirius kissed her like he was afraid to stop, like he was trying to convey something through the intensity of it that he couldn’t put into words.

     A soft moan escaped him, and the sound sent a wave of heat rushing through Y/N. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back, matching his fervor.

     The world outside seemed to disappear—there was only him, the warmth of his hands, the rough scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way his lips moved against hers with such precision it left her breathless.

     The warmth of Sirius’s hands against Y/N’s skin was intoxicating, his touch tender as his lips moved hungrily against hers. The room around them seemed to fade away. Sirius’s fingers trailed up her back, beneath her shirt, as he deepened the kiss.

     Y/N melted into him, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips were insistent, as though he couldn’t get enough of her, and every now and then, a soft groan escaped him, reverberating against her lips and making her pulse race.

     But just as Sirius shifted to pull her fully into his lap, a small voice shattered the moment.

     “Uncle Sirius?”

     They sprang apart instantly, both turning toward the doorway where Harry stood clutching his stuffed stag, his dark curls messy from tossing and turning in bed. His wide eyes blinked at them sleepily, completely unaware of the moment he’d just interrupted.

     Sirius cleared his throat, running a hand through his tousled hair as he tried to compose himself. “Harry, what’s wrong, kid?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

     Harry shuffled into the room, dragging the stuffed toy along the floor. “I can’t sleep,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a chubby fist.

     Y/N sat frozen on the couch, her cheeks still flushed and her heart pounding from the sudden interruption. She tried to calm herself, smoothing her hands over her lap as Harry climbed onto the couch beside Sirius.

     “What’s keeping you up?” Sirius asked, pulling Harry into his lap and brushing a hand through the boy’s unruly hair.

     Harry shrugged, and plopped himself right onto Y/N’s lap, his small hands clutching at her shirt as he snuggled against her.

     Y/N stiffened, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air. She glanced at Sirius, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

     Sirius’s brow furrowed slightly as he reached out, clearly noticing her hesitation. “Harry, maybe you should—”

     “It’s alright,” Y/N interrupted quickly, her voice soft but firm.

     She looked down at Harry, who had already settled against her like he belonged there. Slowly, cautiously, she placed her arms around him, her hands resting gently on his back. Harry let out a small, contented sigh, his grip on his stuffed stag loosening as his eyes began to droop.

     Sirius watched the exchange, his concern melting into something softer, something that made his chest tighten in the best way. He leaned back into the couch, his posture relaxing as he draped an arm over Y/N’s shoulder.

     “You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with admiration.

     Y/N glanced up at him, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “He makes it easy,” she replied quietly, her fingers brushing lightly against Harry’s back.

     Sirius’s heart swelled at her words. For a moment, he simply watched them—Y/N holding his godson with such gentle care, Harry’s small form tucked safely in her arms. It was a picture of something he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for.

     As Harry’s breathing slowed and his grip on his stuffed animal went slack, Sirius leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Thank you,” he whispered, his lips lingering against her skin for a moment.

     Y/N didn’t respond, but the way she leaned into his touch told him all he needed to know.

[monster-disaster]

Hey, I love your writing so much! ♥️

Can I request a male orc x chubby fem reader? I was thinking about bondage and discipline. The plot is up to you but I wanted it to be something related to that. Like she's his timid and clumsly employee and he's a strict boss who gets amused by it because this is a reason to teach her some good manners while working for him.

I love the idea! I hope you will enjoy it! :)

boss!orc x curvy!reader Warnings: dom/sub, spanking, spice

His broad smile is covered by his hand as he leans on the wooden surface of his desk. It's well-organized and clean. His shoulders are wider than the backrest of his chair, but he fits in it perfectly. The screen of his laptop illuminates the depth of his brown eyes as he follows you with his gaze. The tinted glass walls of his office give a perfect view of your desk. Unlike his, your workspace is a mess of papers, coffee cups, and sticky notes. That's why you wander back and forth between your desk and his office door for the fourth time, always searching for something.

You are a mess. But damn. You are a cute one.

He shouldn't think about you this way. He shouldn't think about you at all. And especially not when he is at home with his hard dick in his hand. But what else can he do? Your whole being screams and begs for dominance and guidance. It seems like to him, you desperately need someone to make rules you can follow and punish you if you break those. You need control. And who else could give that to you other than him?

The white blouse on you is a cheap one. Probably that's why the orc can see through it when the yellow lights of the lamps reach you just the right way. You wear a matching bra, and he can barely tear his eyes away from the soft rolls of your sides when you turn. His attention wanders lower. A light snarl forms on his lips at the sight. Your dark jeans are tight and hug your round ass perfectly. Your thick thighs rub together as you walk, and he can't help but imagine them around his head as he eats you out, gripping onto your flesh.

He is already hard when you finally reach his office. A few soft knocks echo in the silence. The documents he asked for are hugged to your chest. "Come in," he says. His voice is loud and husky. You are flushed and out of breath. It looks pretty on you. He is sure he could do much more to make you lose your breath, though. "The papers you wanted," you tell him, lifting the stack in your arms. You are still at the door, lifting your weight from one leg onto the other. "I wanted them ten minutes ago." You stare at the floor so intensely that you don't notice the amusement dancing in his eyes despite his rough voice. "I'm sorry," you reply. Your voice is timid, and for a second, the orc feels sorry for you. You are still new and not used to the way everything works in his business. And you are a good employee despite your lack of organization skills and occasional clumsiness. You work hard and learn quickly with the right motivation, and you always stay after working hours without a complaint when he needs your help.

But still. You could do better. Your boss is sure of it.

"Why are you late again?" He asks, even though he knows your answer already. You gulp. Your arm around the documents tightens. "I didn't find them." He hums, leaning back on his chair. He radiates dominance and authority. The black fabric of his suit stretches around his arms as he links them together in front of his chest. "And why is that?" He asks you, letting his gaze wander to your desk. When you notice his attention turning away from you, your eyes widen. He saw you the whole time. "I'm sorry," you breathe out. "Close the door behind you, Y/N," he says. "And come closer." You do as he says, stepping into the office further after pulling the door shut behind you. "I said closer, Y/N," he says. "And put those down." You put down the documents on his desk, keeping your gaze down. "Look at me."

When you finally look him in the eye, he is reminded of why he chose you in the first place. You are beautiful, for sure, but it was your determination that he liked enough to hire you. After working in a factory for years, you wanted something else, and you were ready to fight for the change.

"What did I say about keeping your space clean?" He asks after a few seconds. There is a heavy, disapproving sigh in his voice that makes your lips curl downward with shame. "I did," you tell him. "It just… it got too much, and before I knew it…" "It happens because you let it," he says. "If you take care of your things immediately, they don't become a mess." "I know." "Come here," the orc says, pointing at the small space between his legs after he turns away from his desk.

You shouldn't. It's too close. It's too intimate.

But your legs move before you can say no.

Even though he is sitting, his eyes are at the same level as yours. "Good girl," he praises you. "See? You can do what I say." His words send shivers down your spine straight between your legs. "But you know I have to punish you, don't you?" Your eyes are wide as you look at him. Your lips feel dry as you try to say something, but nothing comes out. "It's important to do your job as quickly as you can. What if I needed the papers immediately? What if I needed them for a meeting? How would it look if I couldn't do my job because you can't find what I need?" Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him, afraid he is firing you. "Don't cry, sweet girl," he hums, grabbing your hands to squeeze them softly. He is so much bigger than you. "I still want you here because I know you can do much better. But I can't let it slide, can I?" You shake your head, but it's not enough for him. "Speak, Y/N." "No, you can't." "Good girls." His praises again. Your tights clench, and something flutters in your stomach. "I want you to pull down your jeans to your knees."

For a long moment, you forget how to breathe. Your boss wants what?

The man watches your reaction like a hawk. Maybe it was a wrong idea. Maybe you will run out of his office to report him.

But damn, he can't make himself to save the situation and his reputation.

"You heard me, Y/N," he says with forced confidence. "You broke my rules, and you have to get punished." Your gaze snaps to the closed door, and his muscles tense to stop you, to do something before he loses his business.

But you surprise him again.

"What if somebody comes in?" You ask timidly. A slow smile appears on his face. His tusks dig into his upper lip. "Nobody will disturb us, sweetheart." After a deep breath, you nod and unbutton your pants. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and excitement. You can barely believe what is happening. And you are okay with everything.

Your boss is a handsome orc. You noticed his sharp jawline and wide nose from the moment you introduced yourself at your job interview. He was definitely not who you imagined with his thick, braided hair and broad body. Even the modern office and the expensive suit couldn't hide the primal dominance shimmering under his dark green skin.

"Good girl," he says with approval. His dark gaze follows the curve of your wide hips and the line of your panties between your legs. "Lean over the desk. Ass out." Your whole body trembles as you do as he says. His desk is cold and hard under your elbows and stomach. And you are sure your head is ready to explode when you register the fact that he has a perfect view of your ass. You want to reach back to pull down your blouse as much as you can, but you have a feeling he wouldn't be happy about it.

And you are right.

The orc's erection uncomfortably presses against the inside of his underwear at the sight of you like this. Your back is in a slight arch as you press your bottom out as he asked. Your white panties stretch across your ass, still leaving a handful of your cheeks bare. His palms burn with the need to touch you.

"Tell me why you get punished, Y/N," he breaks the silence when he finally finds his voice. The words almost come out as a low growl. "Because I was late," you tell him. Your voice is timid and quiet. He can see your muscles tense and relax as you wait for what he will do. "Why were you late?" "Because of the mess on my table." "That's right," he nods. "You are a smart girl, Y/N. And what did I tell you about keeping your space clean?" "That I shouldn't let my work pile up into a mess. I should put away everything as soon as I can." "Good girl," he hums. Your whole body jerks up when you feel his hand on your bottom. He is soft and careful, exploring your flesh while his other hand goes to the middle of your back to keep you in place. The green color of his hand fits perfectly to the shade of your skin. "I didn't say you can move," he says. "I'm sorry." "It's okay, Y/N," he hums, still caressing you. "I will tell you what I will do, okay?" You hum in agreement. "I want your words, Y/N," he says. "When I tell you something or ask something, I want you to answer with words." "Okay," you force the words out of your tightened throat. Your nerves are raw and tense as you lean on his desk, half-naked. Fear and anticipation stretch in your belly. "Good girl." The world starts to spin around you. "I want you to stay like this while I spank you, alright?"

ALRIGHT?!

"Okay." "I give you ten since I think this is your first time, am I right?" "Yes." "Good. I will give you the first five with your panties on, but I will take it off for the next five, okay?" You gulp. "Okay." "I would like you to add sir every time you speak to me, okay, love?" "Yes, sir." His hand on your ass is warm and almost comforting. He can't get enough of the feel of you. You are soft and much more than a handful. "And if you change your mind or it's too much, I want you to say red, okay?" "Okay." A light slap on your ass makes you jump and squeak with surprise. "Okay, what?" He asks. His voice is stern while he waits to correct yourself. "Okay, sir," you reply hurriedly. "Good. Now tell me, what did I say before?" "If I change my mind or if it gets too painful, I say red." "You are a smart girl, Y/N," he says. "And I'm proud of everything you did since you were here, but you have to take care of your messiness." "Yes, sir."

Even though it comes as no surprise, you still can't contain your reaction when his large hand lands on your ass again with much more strength than the first time. Your whole body tenses and bounces at the slap, breaking a high whine out of your chest. "Count, Y/N." "One, sir," you tell him tightly. "Good girl." You barely hear the end of his words because of the next smack on your cheek. Your panties do nothing to protect you from his hand. "Two," you breathe out. And three. And four. "Five, sir," you groan with tightly closed eyes. Every fiber of your body is buzzing with something unfamiliar. Your ass burns and tears gather in your eyes, but you still throb between your legs. With every small movement you make, your clit rubs against the white, soaked fabric of your underwear. "You are doing so good, Y/N," he says after the fifth slap. He goes back to caressing your bullied cheeks again while talking to you comfortingly. "Can you continue? Or do you want to stop?" You know this is the right time to get out of here, but you are too deep. Stopping now doesn't even occur in your mind. "I want to continue, sir." "My brave girl," he hums.

And he is really proud of you. You take everything he gives you like a champ. Your whimpers and moans drive him crazy, and the way your ass shakes after every slap is enough to make a man wild.

He feels like a kid in a candy store when his fingers slip under your panties to pull down the fabric to your jeans around your knees. His eyes barely have enough time to register the sight when you reach back with both hands to hide yourself.

"None of that," he grunts, grabbing your wrists to keep them between his thick fingers, pinned to your waist. The new position forces your back to arch some more, pushing your ass out in front of his hungry eyes. The fact that you can't even move anymore should make you afraid, but the only thing you feel is the hot, heavy arousal that burns through your body. "It's a punishment, no?" He asks, and your eyelids immediately fall shut because of the embarrassment that surges through your veins. You know what he is talking about. "Sir…" "But it seems like you enjoy it too much," he grins darkly. His free hand slips down from your ass between your legs. He barely touches your soaked slit, but it's enough to send a shock through your already tense body. "Sir," you beg. "Please! I-" "Are we done with your punishment?" He asks sternly. His rough fingertips are still sliding up on down over your pussy, rubbing your clit and almost reaching your empty hole. "No, sir," you moan, letting your head hit the desk under you. "Then be a good girl and stop begging for a reward you didn't earn." His words almost make you cry. You can feel your wetness making a mess on your inner thighs, and your pussy aches even more than your burning bottom. "Yes, sir," you croak.

The orc behind you have to force himself to leave your pussy and go back to your ass. He grabs a handful of your flesh, letting his blunt nails dig into your heated skin. He promises himself he will lick your stretchmarks later, but now…

"Six," you jump. Your breathing is heavy, and your lips taste salty because of the tears running down your cheeks. Seven. Eight. "Nine," you cry. "Please, sir. I-please!" He loves you like this. A mess of arousal and begging. Your musky scent fills his nostrils. His cock twitches with every deep breath he takes. "The last one, Y/N," he says. "One more, and you are done." Your bottom is on fire when his hand lands on your ass again. The smack is loud and clear, followed by the sound of your voice escaping your lips. "Ten, sir," you sob.

"Come here, baby," he coos softly, helping you up from the table and sitting you down on his lap. You hiss at the painful feeling when your sensitive skin meets with his pants. You want to stand up immediately, but he stops you. "It's part of your punishment," he says, holding onto your hips. He feels you up, enjoying your every curve. "How do you feel?" He speaks up again when you settle down on his thigh. "Why are you crying? Was it too much?" You shake your head, letting him swipe off your tears with his thumb. "I'm fine, sir." "But?" He asks. "I'm… I-" You can't say it. It's almost comical. Your boss spanked you barely a minute ago, and you can't make yourself admit the state of your pussy. "Are you horny?" He asks helpfully. You nod. "Show me." Your eyes widen at his request. Your arm is still around his neck to keep your balance. "Spread your legs, sweetheart," he says. Your first reaction is to close your legs even tighter, but after a moment, you open up your thighs, letting him see your wet heat as it makes a mess on his pants. "Oh," you gasp, wanting to stand up again, but he doesn't let you go this time either. "No," he says. "Did I tell you to move?" "No, sir," you breathe out.

For a second, you thought about arguing with him. You are too heavy, and you will ruin his clothes, but honestly? You have your own problems. Like the constant ache and throb between your legs as your blood sears through your system in a hurry. The orc under you is a big guy; you have no doubt about holding your weight easily, and if he wants you to make a mess on his pants? Well, it's his decision too.

When his free hand that doesn't hold your waist slips up on your thighs, your legs open automatically. A shiver runs through your pent-up body as his fingertips run through your folds, gathering your wetness before slipping it into his mouth. Your lips open breathlessly as you watch him taste you. The low rumble of his chest vibrates in your bones and nerves.

"Please," you gasp. Your arm around his neck tightens as if you could force him. "Sir-" "Do you want to cum?" The orc asks, and when you vehemently nod, a slow smirk pulls on his lips. The curve is crooked because of his tusks. "Do you think you earned it?" He teases. You nod again. You really hope so. His eyes wander to your desk on the other side of the glass wall. It's still messy with papers and cups. Your bag is dropped on the floor, and your coat is ready to fall off the back of the chair. His fingers are still on your heat, teasing and prodding but avoiding giving you the pleasure you crave so much. The muscles of your thighs shake as you force yourself to stay put. You want nothing more than to grind your burning pussy on his thick fingers. The feel of his erection pressing against your bare thigh gives you a good idea of what he hides under his pants.

"I tell you what," he breaks the silence after a few seconds. His dark eyes glint with amusement as he looks at you. "If at the end of the day, your desk will be clean, I will give you what you want." "What?" You gasp, panicked. No, you need it now. You can't go through the day with the ache between your legs that drives you insane. And you don't even have the energy to think about your still burning ass. He lifts one of his thick brows in question. "Do you have a problem with it, sweetheart?" You know his question means nothing. If you say the wrong thing, you will get nothing. "No, sir," you exhale. "Good," he hums, kissing the side of your head with a soft squeeze on your hips. "Are you ready to continue the day?" After another shaky breath, you nod. "Yes, sir." "Good girl."

[seresinhangmanjake]

Ain't What It Is

Benny Cross x reader

Summary: You think you know your boyfriend better than anyone, but when Benny thinks you've cheated, you see a whole new side of him.

Notes/Warnings: angsty-ish, but fluff too. Cursing. Throwing things. Angry Benny. Drinking. Typos.

Words: 1800

Benny Cross Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

He’s home. And as thrilled as you are to see his bike parked in front of the house before midnight on a weekday, you’re just as confused. Excluding weekends, when riding during the day frees up Benny’s nights to give to you, it’s a rarity to see him between the dark hours of eight and three; a pattern so consistent that it’s almost silly to expect anything different.

You knew that when you met Benny. You knew exactly what you were getting into, and because of that, you don’t fault him for staying out late. Riding is important to Benny, it makes up a chunk of his soul, and because the other guys in the club—with their families and day jobs and grown-up responsibilities—can typically only meet after their kids are passed out from a bedtime story and their wives have finished screaming at them for daring to leave the house at such an ungodly hour, you let him be free to enjoy time with the club when he can. 

If that time is given to you instead, you’re happy to have him for an entire night. However, now, as you enter through the front door, it’s not what you expected. The house is a pit of darkness; could be abandoned if you didn’t know the space you were stepping into. 

“Benny?” you call, flicking on the nearest light. You toss your handbag onto the entryway table and make your way to the kitchen to check the fridge. If he’s already asleep, you hope he at least got to the leftovers you put away for him that he usually scarfs down before he comes to bed. 

Turning the corner, you gasp, nearly jumping out of your skin at the shadowed figure sitting at the breakfast table. Your hand flies to your thumping heart. 

“Jesus, honey, you scared me,” you breathe out. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

A ray of moonlight streams through the window, surrounding your boyfriend and emphasizing his silhouette. He leans back in the chair and brings a bottle to his lips. 

“Have you been drinking? How much? God, please tell me you didn’t ride the bike drunk,” you say. He doesn’t answer. 

You sigh and move across the room with the intent to pull the silver chain of the small lamp on your counter—it’s a soft glow that won’t assault his eyes or yours after lingering in pitch black—but a strong hand wraps around your wrist as you pass by. 

“Benny, wha–”

Your eyes adjust. You can finally make out his features as he looks up at you, and they’re as dark as the space you occupy. “You messin' around on me?” he asks. 

If your eyebrows could lift above your forehead they would. If your jaw could unhinge itself, it’d be on the floor. “What?”

Benny shoots up, chair skidding back on the tile with an awful scraping sound. “Are you fuckin’ someone?” he spits out, leaning into you.

“What do you mean? I’m–”

He drops your wrist and groans, twisting on his heel and running his hand through already messy hair before turning back to you. And you don’t understand, because this, right here, is not your boyfriend. This is not how he acts. Rageful? Yes. One edge? Slightly inebriated? Yes and yes. But accusatory? Hot-tempered with you? Not for a single moment in the course of your time together. 

“It’s that prick your ma’s tryin’ to set you up with, isn’t it!” he shouts. “I don’t get why she thinks he’s better than me!”

And then suddenly you know. You catch the anger trying to disguise the twinge of pain in his voice. Pain that is stemming from one thing and one thing only—your Mama’s bullshit. 

She’s sly, that woman, and when you and Benny went to her house last week for dinner because you were exhausted of her complaints that she never sees you, who did you find in the seat assigned next to yours but her best friend’s son; a marking director in the city who makes an unnecessary amount of money and who expressed interest in you. 

She knew you were bringing Benny. She knew because she requested that you bring Benny. You had plans to spare him the agony of an evening with the woman who hates him for his upbringing and unpredictable lifestyle, but when she asked for him, a glimmer of hope sparked. Maybe she was finally letting it go, turning over a new leaf by allowing your relationship to be your and Benny’s business and no one else’s. But you were so wrong. 

An hour and a half of verbal jabs at your boyfriend were evened out by the plethora of compliments she had for her top pick as son-in-law. Benny was a trooper for your sake, but once the words ‘you two would make beautiful babies’ left her wrinkling lips, it was obvious the twig of his restraint was about to snap. And frankly, so was yours.

You took Benny by the hand, stormed out of your childhood home to ride back to your real home, and let Benny claim you however he wanted for the remainder of the night while you praised and soothed and reassured him of your feelings. And you thought those actions and words were enough for Benny to understand where your heart lies, but you’d be lying if you said he hasn’t seemed different over the last seven days.

You release a slow breath, “Honey…”

“So he wears a fuckin’ tie! So what!” His arm whips out and the bottle smashes against the wall, shards sprinkling the floor. 

“Benny!”

“What!”

“Calm down!”

In two large steps, his body is looming over yours, your upper arms suddenly wrapped in his large hands, squeezing but not enough to hurt. “I know he ain’t like me, but that don't make him better for ya,” he says. “‘Sides, he can’t love ya like I do, so what do ya want him for?”

And that is the last straw because now you’re insulted. You shimmy your body out of his grasp and he glances down at his empty hands with wide eyes, brows knitted, lips parted as if you had simply vanished.

“I am not messing around!” you snap. 

“Then where the fuck ya been tonight?” he demands. “Huh? Ya weren’t here. You’re always here. You’ve never not been here at this time’a night, so what am I supposed to be thinkin’?”

Your arms cross over your chest. Your jaw clenches. Your eyes burn. “Sit down.”

“Baby, you tell me right no–”

“Sit down, Benny!” 

His head jerks back at the harshness you rarely exhibit, and though he briefly hesitates, he eventually complies, because you won’t use that tone unless he crosses a line and he knows it, and when you do have to use that tone because he has crossed a line, he knows he loses the things he likes. Sex; your homemade blueberry pie; your willingness to ride with him and go to picnics and bonfires with the club—all of it, for however long you decide. Benny doesn’t like to beg, but in those times, you can take him to his knees. 

“Do you know how many nights I spend not knowing exactly where you are or when you’re going to be home?” you ask, bending at the waist until you’re at his eye level. “I knew going into this relationship that that's how things were going to be and I wanted you anyway. I understood how important it is for you to maintain your riding with the club, and I’ve always been happy that you have that. But you don’t know where I am once and suddenly I’m cheating on you?”

You straighten your spine and shake your head. “My cousin called. Needed me to watch her kid. I rang the bar but Joe said you guys were out riding.”

Benny’s huffs. His hand runs down his face, then in one final snippy effort, he says, “Well, you could’a left a note.”

Scoffing, you go over to the fridge and point to the piece of paper that in bright red lettering states: ‘Watching Teddy. I’ll be home late. Love you,” followed by your name and a little heart. 

“Try again,” you say. 

With that, he seems to sober up, both in his inebriation and attitude. As he should. It’s embarrassing to miss the note written in massive letters in an obnoxious color stuck to the fridge where you always leave notes for one another. In fact, you’re embarrassed for him, and you would tell him so were it not for the kicked-puppy look on his face that drains the irritation from yours. 

“You love me,” you say.

Benny sighs. “I know.”

“And you can't trust me?”

He leans forward in his seat, elbows perching on knees and hands scrubbing his face as if it might erase the shame of his accusations. “I do, baby, I just…

You return to his side, and planting your hands on his shoulders, you push him back in the chair to take a seat on his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck. 

“My mama doesn’t know what’s good for me if she thinks you're not it, but you can’t be treating me like this,” you tell him. “It's not fair. I don’t sit at home thinking you’re messing around on me.”

Benny’s eyes connect to yours as his hand curls at your waist. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know that,” you say. Your palm cups his scruffy cheek. “And you should know I wouldn’t either, so what happened? It’s not like you to be acting like this.”

He takes a second to collect his thoughts, then replies, “I was ridin’ and I missed you so I cut it short, but when I got home I couldn’t find you. And then I started thinkin’ and…” He shakes his head. “Baby, your ma's said shit before but she never shoved another guy in my face. I don’t give a fuck if she hates me, but– ”

“Benny, honey, there’s no way,” you swear to him, running your thumb over the sharp line of his cheekbone. “I mean, he wears a fucking tie.”

Benny’s lips part, eyes flicking back and forth between yours, before he softly chuckles in relief. His head falls forward, forehead resting on your collarbone. Your skin takes the heat of his heavy breaths, and then you feel the press of his lips. They make a gentle trail from your chest, up your neck, over your chin, before planting firmly on your mouth. 

“You're mine. You’re it,” you say when the kiss breaks. “No other man but you, Benny Cross.”

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Fat!Reader

MDNI | cw: sickness, hallucinations, injury, some light dubcon

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

A/N: the tone of this story has sort of shifted as I’ve worked on the next few chapters/plot points. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I’m excited for the direction it’s going in.

Your mother rises out of her drunken stupor - spine too straight and head flopped back limply. As if her hips are the only thing capable of moving and her neck has snapped at every ligament. The worn sheets pool around her hips, torn neckline of her nightclothes exposing her gaunt, bruised collar bones.

She says your name in that sickening, gruff voice of hers. A voice too exposed to the poisons outside. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, coats her teeth as she speaks. Black and viscous. “Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

You’re small. A child kneeling by her bed like you always did, waiting for her to ask you to bring her water or pain pills. “What?”

“It’s easier if you give in.”

People aren’t buried anymore. There isn’t room. Your mother’s urn is painfully cold in your hands. You stumble as the train lurches. A new voice hisses above you. Wild eyes and big hands that leave clawing, bloodied stripes in their wake down your body. A flash of blonde, some sort of scar. An accent so old you don’t recognize it.

“It’s easier if you give in, little girl.”

You fall back, out of the train doors and onto something soft and silky. For a few beats you stay there, in the quiet. In the dark. Comfortable in a way so deeply foreign to you it might as well be alien. Until some thick cover pulls away from your face. John grins down at you, shirtless with his head resting on his hand and elbow on the pillow below him.

“Knew you were awake.”

You rub your eyes. “Wh- when did- when did I get here?”

He frowns, a deep crease forming in his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve…” You run a hand through your sleep tangled hair. “I don’t know…”

“It could be so easy, Fancy.” He murmurs, voice low and far away. “It doesn’t have to be… this.”

“I can’t…” Something complicated swirls in your chest. A twisting of guilt and love and unadultered disgust.

The world shifts. You’re standing, now. Simon leans on the railing of the penthouse balcony, staring out at the city. He takes up so much space. Envelopes you without even touching you. “How many memories do you think a person can lose before they’re someone else entirely?”

“What?” You frown. There’s an ache in your head - a drumming pain growing more intense by the second. Your bones rattle along to the rhythm.

“It’d be so easy…”

You peel your eyes open only slightly. It hurts, as if they’ve been glued shut. An offensive light blazes in your face. It takes a moment before you realize the tingle on your skin comes from the UV lamp beside you. Did you fall asleep under it again? No matter how hard you blink your vision won’t clear. When you finally manage to swallow it feels like your throat has been lined with shards of glass.

You grope around the bed uselessly, hands unsure. The edge of the bed takes longer to get to than it should. With a low groan you crawl to the edge, barely managing to swing your legs over. Well, swing is a generous description. In reality you end up on your back on the floor, head thunking against some sort of plush rug or carpet. Your vision swims.

With another groan you slowly pull yourself up into a shaky stance. Wherever you are, it’s big. The bed you fell out of is easily a king with richly woven sheets and a thick comforter. The rug on the floor has such intricate patterns it makes your pounding head dizzy. There’s even a fireplace in the far corner, unlit at the moment.

Something different catches your eye - an item too familiar for this foreign room. Your box of valuables sits on an elegantly carved wooden dresser. Real, actual wood. You run your fingers over the strangely organic material, so rare that it almost feels more unnatural than the plastic plywood you’ve grown accustomed to in the slums.

You limp weakly toward the heavy door on the far wall. A whine escapes you as you pull it open, the heavy wood causes the hinges to creak quietly. You poke your head out, walking down the empty hall like a person with decade long atrophy. Sweat drips down your back, the sickness in your gut turning to anxiety as you realize where you are.

The penthouse.

Voices waft through the mostly open central area - deep and growling. A sound you might mistake for an angry beast if it weren’t for the intelligable words the noise makes up.

“Bloody ‘ell, Price, what the fuck?” That baritone could only belong to Simon. You poke your head around the corner of the wall, peaking into the living room where the four vampires stand.

“I know, I fucking know. I couldn’t-” An exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t lose her again.”

“So you fuckin’ marked ‘er?”

Your hand lifts shakily to the still sore cuts on your neck. They’ve scabbed over but barely. The action makes you look down at your hands - neatly bandaged. Recently, too, you think. At least if your blurred vision is to be believed.

“We’ll lose ‘er anyway if you fuckin’ scare ‘er away!” Simon’s volume continues to grow. He steps forward. John doesn’t back away.

“Guys…” Kyle tentatively steps in, hands outstretched between them as if stepping into a dog fight. He might as well be, frankly.

“You promised her you wouldn’t!” Simon’s voice wavers. It makes your heart skip, the unsteady sound so bizarre coming from him. “We all did!”

“Simon’s right.” Johnny crosses his arms. “We said we’d take our time. See where she’s at.”

“Weren’t exactly taking your time when you fucked her raw were you?” John snaps back. It’s shockingly childish and out of character for the man. Not that you would know. He sighs, rolling his wide shoulders. So much for not being angry about it.

Before you can make heads or tails of the scene playing out in front of you, your vision blackens, one leg stiffening and the other giving out. You barely catch yourself on some random side table, knocking it against the wall in the process. Despite your efforts to hold yourself up you collapse onto the cold, hardwood floor.

“Oh, baby girl.” It’s Kyle at your side first, cool hands tenderly enveloping you as he checks for damage.

“Don’t…” You push at his chest weakly. “Don’t touch me…”

“Dove-” A crack sounds throughout the penthouse, deafening and ringing as Simon’s palm comes into contact with John’s chest, forcing the man back a few steps.

“You’ve done enough.”

There’s a moment, long and silent as you watch them stare each other down. A power struggle. John is the head of the coven, objectively. The only way to change that is an exchange of power. A death. You’ve seen it out on the streets within lesser covens. Simon is bigger, but you can see the cold, dogmatic shift in John’s eyes. The look he gave you in the car. The one that says he is well and truly Right and there is nothing to stand between him and what is Right.

The moment ends when you double over, lungs heaving as you choke and cough. A slimy, viscous glob of red-black comes up from your throat. Barely liquid with the thickness of it. You fall limply against Kyle, as much as you’d rather be left in a dark alley than with these psychopaths your body just can’t hold itself up.

Someone scoops you up, pressing you tightly to their chest. Johnny or Kyle, you think. A touch so soft and sweet you might mistake it for love. Not that you would know. You’re back under the wave of nothing before you even touch the sheets.

You sit still as you can, arm growing tired of the stiff angle you have it positioned in. Laid out across some old loveseat that creaks every time you move even slightly. You don’t trust it to not have at least a little dry rot considering it’s from a good few centuries ago. One of those random pieces John hoards for some secret reason. The light positioned carefully above you feels too warm, discomfort making you twitchy.

“Johnnyyy!” You whine. “Hurry up!”

“Ye can do it, bonnie. Just sit like me.” He goes still. Inhumanly still. Transitioning from living (well, undead) being to a marble statue in barely a second. It sends a frightened shiver down your spine - the prey instinct in your hindbrain moving into overdrive.

You take a shaky breath. “I hate when you do that.”

When he does what? Has he done that before? Have you been here before?

“Jus’ be a good lass f’me.” Johnny murmurs. A different sort of shiver runs down your spine.

You recognize his room but it’s… different. Lighter, somehow, than the last time you were here. The only time you were here. The wall has far more drawings tacked to it, nearly doubling the amount and bleeding across onto another side of the room. You squint. It’s you. Well, mostly. All in different poses, some more salacious than others, each carved out with a deep attention to detail. Were… were those there before? They couldn’t have been.

Your body lights up, the room grows darker. Nearly pitch black. Your hips roll lazily. You feel… good. Ecstatic. The warmth from the light replaced by an immeasurable heat. The man below you comes into focus as the dream settles - a mountain. Blonde and pale and scarred. Part of his right ear is clipped off from a fight. At least you think it was a fight. His hair just barely long enough for you to tangle your fingers in. You’d know those dark eyes anywhere - the ones that look right to the very core of you. That know you wholly from Eve.

“Fuck, Si…”

“Tha’s my girl.” He grins. The action pulls at a scar covering his lips. “Always so good f’me.”

The hands on your waist lift you like nothing. Like you weigh as much as paper and are just as delicate. A burning fills you, a tension that pulls a grating whine from your chest.

A distant part of you remembers to question what this is. Why you’re here, with him. Why you’ve never seen his face before but seem to know every detail of it by heart. The rest of you falls into the moment without a care, allowing yourself to be consumed entirely by him and his desire. It’s all you want - all you need.

Simon’s voice rumbles in a sort of call and response to your devoted babbling. “I love you.”

You jolt, snapping forward and sloshing water around you. For a moment, you panic that you’re drowning. That you’ve been dropped into some great sea and left to flounder.

There’s a quiet rumble behind you, vibrating through your back. Simon. You couldn’t make out whatever he said.

You relax instinctively. Some unconcious part of you falls back into him. Until he runs a soap rag over your chest and you tense, clumsily attempting to cover yourself and curl into a ball. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub again. You don’t get very far, despite the massive size of the bath you’re utterly surrounded. Bracketed by Simon’s strong thighs and large hands.

“None of that.” He barks, pulling your arms back to continue washing you. “You’ve been sweatin’ in bed for four days. Gonna make y’self worse.”

Four days? Worse?

You stay quiet, limp and pliant as he pours a hefty glob of shampoo into your hair. Vanilla. Far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that you would win. It feels good, if you’re honest, the way he systematically scrubs every part of your scalp, slowly detangling with conditioner. You nod off for a moment, coming back when he pours water over your head to rinse you.

“Simon?” You murmur weakly.

He grunts.

“Why am I here?”

The hands in your hair pause. Only for a moment before going back to their gentle movements. “Because you’re ‘ome.”

You shiver, another coughing fit wracking your body. At least nothing comes up this time. There aren’t bandages on your hands, just the scabbing wounds that have obviously been carefully tended to. Even as the coughing subsides your breaths wheeze, shallow and hollow in your chest.

When you were young, your mother would set you in a cart to walk to the supermarket. The cracked streets would bump and rock you uncomfortably but it was better than walking all those miles. You always hated the market. Too loud and confusing. A maze of sterile white tile and shelving so high it felt giant to you.

One time you lost her, distracted by a massive plushie that she said you can’t afford. You’d stood there staring at it, angrily contemplating why you couldn’t afford it. What sort of societal disservice had been done that you can’t have that bright pink creature. Angry and lost you ended up wandering the aisles for what felt like an eternity. Walking through that white void in search of… you’re not really sure what, actually.

That confusion continues to eat at your mind as the aisles transition into a small, lush greenhouse. The UV lights above you would burn, if it weren’t for the large hat covering your head and shoulders. Gardening gloves protect your hands as you carefully harvest a few tomatoes. They came in so well this year, bright and firm.

You’re lost in it. The green. So accustomed to grays and neon lights that it feels unnatural. You turn your gloved hands over, palm up, down, up, down. They’re yours but distant. As if you’ve possessed some alternate version of yourself. You suppose you have, in a way, if these fever dreams are in pattern. Not that you remember the others well.

The lights turn off suddenly and you freeze, muscles tensing and hackles raising. You turn slowly as the door begins to creak open, trowel in hand. Not that it would do much against whoever has you cornered. John said to be wary.

He’s been acting strange lately.

Isn’t he always?

A hand clamps over your mouth and you shriek behind it. You claw at the stony hand covering you, instinct taking over. Adrenaline pulses through you.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Kyle coos, letting you go quickly. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t do that!” You snap, harsher than you meant. Or less so?

He deflates a bit, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, I just wanted to come in here with you for a bit.”

“Why?” You snort. Kyle is the only one brave enough to venture in. Even with an external light switch, the others are far too wary of the UV lights hanging across the roof to enter. It’s a joke between Simon and Johnny - that they’ll throw Johnny into the greenhouse if he doesn’t behave.

Kyle nods, scooting forward. You can barely make him out, the only light being that of the faux stars drifting gently through the fogged greenhouse glass. “Missed you.”

“I saw you, like, five minutes ago.” Did you?

He shakes his head. You wish they would tell you more. They always hold back so much, as if your puny human brain can’t grasp what they think. You could. You’d learn to. Even if it was some horrid, eldritch secret you would bear it for them. He pushes you back until you’re laying on the floor, slowly resting his weight on you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

You frown, but only move to reach up and pet his hair. It’s smells like vanilla. He stole your shampoo again. A fraction of you screams, rails against the idea of being this close to an apex predator. To a man you don’t know. Strange. You know Kyle. You love him. Both the fear and the fondness swirl together into a confusing mixture in the back of your mind.

“We can stay. For as long as you want.”

Something heavy and cold coils around you. You weren’t out as long this time, you think. If you’re even awake now. The room is dark. A pitch black void that you float in outside of the grounding weight holding you in place. That vanilla scent felt so real, still wafting through your nose. A nagging sense of despair settles in your chest as it dissipates.

“Need t’go home.” You croak, unsure of why you say it. Your tongue feels heavy and numb. God only knows why.

“Ye are home.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, voice low.

“Not m’bed… sheets’r t’nice.”

“It’s yers.” Johnny’s arms tighten around you. His voice shakes. “It’s always been yers.”

“N-no…”

“Knew it was tae soon tae bring you back.” He buries his face between your shoulder blades. “Told Kyle it’d be tae much.”

“Wh-”

“Ye make us such a mess, bonnie.” He sighs. “Cannae believe Price-“

Johnny cuts himself off. You can’t find it in yourself to argue or press. A sob wracks you out of nowhere. Something about Johnny, about being wrapped up in his strong arms sends you over the edge of it all. The weight of him mimics the one in your chest.

“Dinnae cry.” Johnny sits up a bit, running a thumb under your eye.

“I’m s-so confused-“ You sob. “I can’t- I-“

Somewhere in the midst of your crying fit the bed dips in front of you. Kyle cages you in between himself and Johnny, pressing you tightly in the center. It makes you want to thrash, to fight and scream.

It also feels so, so good.

You’re back in the slums, in your apartment, with some random man groaning above you. He works down the street, you think. Smiles at you whenever you go get a coffee or cigarettes. You stare at the ceiling blankly. You brought him here… why did you bring him? What- You hiss at the living heat of his hands, burning through your skin - gut churning at the blue of his eyes. It’s wrong. Neither bright nor tranquil enough. You can’t voice it. Can’t place it. They’re just wrong.

You catch a flash of dark irises as you take drinks to some slimy little vampire paying on credit. Immortal but still poor. Pathetic. Suddenly, though, you don’t care when he and his friends grab at you, your gaze trained on the man lounged in a booth on the other side of the club. You can’t stop staring at him, something tugging at you deep down to go to him. His eyes connect with yours, and you nearly leap with joy when he waves you over.

Except, when you get close, you freeze in place. Straddling his lap, a crushing weight lands on you all at once. They’re not what you’re looking for…

What are you looking for?

You sob in your bed late into the night, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re so lost. So hollow. You don’t know why - don’t understand what changed. Some portion of you carved out into nothing. A soulless tulpa born of someone’s imagination. You can’t be human, there’s no way you can be human and this empty. A walking carcass. Not even undead, just barely animated. A puppet, almost.

It’d be so easy…

You wake in a fog this time, limbs heavy. As much as you try to will your arms to move, they won’t quite do it right. Your hands glide over the soft fabric around you, barely moving a few inches. The muscles twitch and shake. It feels like wading through molasses and with a thousand pounds of steel strapped to your back as you attempt to sit up even slightly.

“There she is.” A familiar voice murmurs. It’s soft, comforting, but also incredibly far away. “Hey, lovie.”

“Kyle?” You croak. You might as well be speaking around a massive ball of cotton. There’s something hot and wet streaming down your face. Are you crying?

“You’re alright.” He murmurs, soothing down your hair. Petting you like a dog in pain. An injured, feral animal.

You collapse back on the bed - not that you made it that far in the first place - unable to see more than a few feet in front of you. Kyle, really. Kyle is all you can make out. His face so vivid you’re sure you could draw it from memory. “Where am I?”

He pauses. “…Your room.”

“M’chest hurts…”

“I know, lovie. We’ll make it better.”

“What’d y’do t’me…?” Your vision flashes in and out. You’re going back under, as hard as you try to fight it. The edge just comes closer. You teeter on your heels.

“You just breathed in some bad air. You’ve been out for… a while.” Somehow, you get the sense that what he says is an understatement. That there are layers he has to hold back. Simon said four, you remember, though you can’t quite define if that was real or a dream.

“I hate you.” You whisper, barely audible. “I hate all of you.”

“I know.” Kyle sighs, continuing to run his fingers through your hair. “I know.”

Teeth sink into you. A choked gasp escapes your lips, body stiffening and hands knotting into some thick cloth. The pain is searing but fleeting. A part of you, the present part of you, feels disgusted. Wants to shake and batter whatever parasite has you caught in its maw. Another part, a far more distant piece of you that you aren’t even sure is you, blossoms with warmth. You melt into the strong arms that hold you against a cool chest.

“John?” You murmur. Or, rather, this other you murmurs.

A low groan reverberates from his chest to yours. Your head gets lighter, vision fuzzy around the edges. A hand clamps over the bloodied parts of your neck. Your vision fractures, partially the scene in front of you and partially the ceiling of your room that isn’t your room. Your lashes flutter and you’re back loosely straddling John’s lap.

“Yes, love?” He pants, mouth and teeth stained red. It sends a wave of panic through your veins.

You swallow roughly. “I don’t-”

Something shatters - the staccato sound reverberating through the apartment.

You startle, sitting up and throwing your blankets back. The bed is empty, room dark except for the few embers trapped in the fireplace off to the side. You don’t notice the box missing from your dresser.

“Hello?” You frown, standing and moving toward your door as if possessed by some external force. As if you at all know where you are going. Your bare feet pad quietly against the hard wood, door silently sliding open a fraction.

There’s another smashing sound. Your heart rate spikes, fear coursing through your veins. No one’s home - they left days ago. On business.

How do you know that?

Suddenly you’re in the living room of the apartment, crouched behind the couch and groping underneath for one of the silver daggers stashed around in various hiding spots. An insurance policy. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps. You have to get out. Get downstairs. There’s security down there. They’ll help you, they know you.

How do they know you? How did you know the knife was there?

With the small dagger gripped tightly in your fist, you flinch at another smash. It came from John’s room across the apartment, another following right after. It sounds like this person (or people) tore his metal bed-frame apart. Splintered into pieces.

You take the opportunity to carefully move toward the front exit, allowing the noise to cover the sound of your movements. Damn the open concept design. You told John you didn’t like it. Breaths come in faster and shallow. You’re not built for running - too soft from all that pampering. A chubby, well loved pet. Not that you’re complaining. It’s just not the best for this particular moment.

A figure moves at lightening speed from John’s room to Kyle’s. You duck down behind the kitchen counter, covering your mouth to stifling the sound of your breath.

“I can smell ya.” A low voice taunts, echoing through the apartment. Fortunately, your scent is everywhere. It will take longer to distinguish where you are in particular than he may think.

Why is your scent everywhere again?

There’s more tearing and smashing. A door groans loudly as the intruder tears it off the hinges. More shattering. Your heart breaks a little - that must have been Kyle’s pottery. Oh he worked so hard on those. Some of them are from a century ago.

Anger begins to boil up your spine. Who is this fuck who thinks he can just wreck your home? Someone you know, for sure. He would have had to be invited in at some point. With a sneer you continue making your way through the penthouse, toward the front door. John’s going to rip this fucker in two when he gets back.

Except, just as you’re reaching for the front door, the vampire exits Kyle’s room. You meet his eyes - glinting in the dark of the hall. There’s barely a beat before you begin to rush, opening the door as fast as you can.

Not fast enough, of course. You’re only human, after all.

A scream rips it’s way through your throat as you connect with the far wall, knife clattering who knows where. Something broke, you’re not sure what. Every nerve ending seems to light on fire as you try to sit up. Your arm doesn’t move more than a twitch when you try to stand.

“Hey there, little girl.” The man pins you suddenly. You get the nagging sense that you know him, his name on the tip of your tongue. Buried somewhere under lock and key in your mind.

You thrash, punching at his chest and tearing at his hair. To no avail, of course. He just lets you, a cruel grin spreading wider and wider the harder you try to get away.

“What do you want!” You finally sob, going limp when your body finally gives out under pain and exertion.

“To destroy John’s coven. Obviously.” He huffs. “Yer step one.”

The vampire grabs your jaw in an iron grip, your teeth crack under the pressure as his pupils dilate. They’re bright - so blue and infinite and you can’t look anywhere else no matter how hard you try.

A clarity washes over you almost violently as you come to - like breaking through the surface of water after staying under too long. Everything from yo ur time under washing away, sinking back into the deep. A forgotten wreckage - old and twisted and grown over. Another lost Atlantis somewhere in the depths of your mind.

“John?” The name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re speaking, before his face comes into focus. Soft and familiar - comforting and enraging.

“Right here, dove.” He murmurs, dabbing your face with something damp and cool.

“Wh…” You swallow roughly, not entirely sure what you even want to say. So any words threaten to spill from your lips and yet your mind feels blank. All fuzz and static.

You want to beg him to let you go. To keep you forever. To tell you why he brought you here despite the ever nagging sense that you know why. Something deep in your marrow that connects you to this place - to these men - at the very soul. You are theirs and they are yours and you want nothing more than to run from them as far as you can go.

Those blue eyes focus on yours, so oddly gentle for all of their inhuman qualities. “We’ll talk when you’re better, okay?”

Talk about what? There isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t know them and they don’t know you, no matter what that tugging in your chest tells you. You’ve lied to yourself before - you’ve lied to others before - surely you’re just doing it again. This man hurt you. Marked you, whatever that means, so why do you still melt into his touch?

Your name falls from his lips, reverent and frightening. You blanch, eyes wide and mouth falling open. You didn’t tell him that. You didn’t-

“Just sleep for now, yeah?”

~~~

John watches intently as you fall back asleep. There was panic in your eyes for a moment, but your sick body can’t do much more than drift in an out of consciousness. You look more peaceful this time, at least, your breathing even and your body still. You’d been thrashing before, for what reason he isn’t sure. The lower city’s poison air does a number on the body, it’s effects only growing worse as time goes on and the pollution becomes more dense.

He did that, didn’t he? He left you and now you’re sick and hurt. John runs his fingers over the Mark, nearly entirely healed now. Just two small, faded marks that will follow you to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep failing you, don’t I?” He sighs. You always said he was a good man even when he didn’t believe it. Even with all the things he’s done. Would you still agree?

John‘s eyes sting. He’d be crying if he was human, surely.

He glances at the door. The others are out - taking care of business while he watches over you. The world doesn’t stop even when you need it to desperately. It took Johnny and Kyle nearly dragging Simon away to leave you alone with him.

He takes your hands in his, guilt wrecking him. They’re so much smaller, so much warmer. He can feel your pulse in every fingertip. Surely he’s ruined any chance to fix this before they could even try. He wouldn’t blame Simon if the man decided there needed to be a change - that John needs to be removed. He wouldn’t fight it.

John crawls into bed beside you like he’s done so many times before. Nestles under your pink silken sheets - the ones you picked out for Christmas. That was years go, now. Over two. Two tortorous, draining years that felt longer than the past six hundred.

He ran for days. Weeks maybe. Tearing through the city block by block, dodging and weaving between people and buildings alike. Speaking to anyone, using up every connection and resource he ever gained under this damned dome. It took a week to get through the sewer system.

No one knew where you went.

No one heard a thing. At least, nothing they would admit to. Even under compulsion.

You were gone, just like that.

Two years go by in the blink of an eye for a vampire. Might as well be a day, a night, a handful of hours. Time in such small increments is nothing to an immortal. Decades are barely enough to measure with. Not for them, though. Every second drug on. The days were long and tense.

A fracture formed between them. Kyle retreated into himself - quiet and frayed around the edges. Sometimes John caught him with a far away look in his eye, staring at nothing. He thinks Kyle would have been crying in those moments if he could. Johnny became far too unpredictable. Ripping and tearing any lower level vampire he can find. He spent a few months hunting Frenzies in the lower city without contact.

And Simon…

Simon turned into a fucking nightmare.

After the first year, they at least hoped to find your body. After the second anniversary of your disappearance came around, they gave up. The guilt of giving up brought a whole new wave of grief on them. Johnny laid in your bed for weeks, nearly beginning to petrify as he denied any blood. John couldn’t blame him, opting to re-read your favorite books with shaking hands. Simon fished your last knitting project, eyes heavy and tired. Kyle meandered listlessly through the house, sometimes laying with Johnny but most often sequestering himself in the now empty greenhouse.

They try to fill the hole with pretty girls that look sort of like you. Never enough and they never act like you. Too busy placating to snap at them like you were so willing to do. These others are only place fillers - something to take up the space you left between them. They could never truly fill it, though. It was far too great. A chasm that continues to swallow the four of them whole.

He’s so tired. The others were, too. Kate handled business well enough but their involvement was still required. Each issue and event weighing on them more and more. Kingpins of the city and they’ve been nearly ruined by the loss of a single girl. A single, human girl. None of it mattered in the face of what they lost.

John looks up, the pin-drop silence in the room bringing his attention back to the present.

And there you are.

Like Lazarus returned. An angel bathed in low, red light. Your hair spills around your shoulders framing that face he knows so well, one he’s held more times than he can count. A face that made him pray to a god he does not believe in every day to get back. Just once. Those unmistakable pearls grace your neck, the ruby latch glinting as you twist your neck and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be your Companion tonight.” You say so softly. Almost the way you used to, laid up in his bed, whispering about nothing and everything with your fingers running through his hair. Asking about the things he’s seen with such awe.

“What happened t’ Cherry?” Kyle asks faux casually. John can feel the tension in the man next to him. He’s feeling it out - always so good at that. Better at human subtleties than the rest of them. His dark eyes sparkle, though, with a light John hasn’t seen in so long. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You slide the tray onto the table. You look the same. You sound the same. There’s a few new scars, some scratches here and there. A wariness in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Damage done to your skin that could only come from the lower city air.

Where have you been?

You shift nervously. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” John says far too quickly, smiling despite himself. It might not even be you. Maybe a doppelganger. A distant relative. A clone is more plausible. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” And oh, John is sure his dead heart comes back to life. It is you. It has to be.

“Fittin’.” Johnny says, eyes raking over you. He might as well be vibrating, struggling to keep himself held back from yanking you into his hold.

They’re all measuring you up the same way he is. Feeling for anything unfamiliar. Outside of your distant, distrustful gaze with a lack of recognition that makes his chest ache, it’s you. It’s all you.

“Do you know who we are?” Simon murmurs. You’re having trouble looking at him, only meeting his gaze in small glances. Not so different from when they first met you. You and Simon have always had a certain… connection. Not that you weren’t all close - that they all didn’t love you deeply - but you and Simon had an understanding. He wonders if you can still feel it somewhere, deep down in the back of your mind.

You’re panicking a little, eyes flitting between their faces. John’s heart sinks. He feels it in the others. A deep disappointment - a turbulent melancholy- seeping into their bodies. You don’t know them. You don’t recognize a single one of them.

It’s all gone.

“It’s not a trick question.” Kyle says gently, ever one to soothe.

“No, sir.”

John’s heart breaks all over again.

A/N: My initial summary for this one was just “Fancy tripping balls on pollution while John and co. have a meltdown”

[psychoticallykind]

Maybe

"Early" - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 778 words

--------------------------------------------------------------

Regulus knocked before he could talk himself out of it.

The door opened a few seconds later, revealing a slightly surprised James Potter. "Regulus? Hey, come on in." He stepped back, giving Regulus a warm smile.

"Hi," Regulus managed, trying not to seem awkward. "Sirius invited me. To the party for Remus?"

"Yeah, of course," James replied, grinning. "You're a little early, so no one's here - Sirius is out with Remus, because he gets anxious before parties and it's best to tell him with as little notice as possible."

"Isn't - I thought it started at eleven?" Regulus checked, suddenly aware that he was possibly very early to a party he'd thought he was late to.

"It starts at one," James informed him. "But everything is set up - do you want something to drink? I can make tea."

"You don't have to." Regulus needed to check that text - Barty was the one who'd gotten the time, but Regulus was sure it had said eleven. "I - I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be so early."

He was going to kill Barty. Violently and slowly. The only reason Regulus was here was because Sirius had invited him - and all of his friends - and because they were actually trying to have a good relationship. But Regulus had planned to come late, say hi, and leave. That was all.

He couldn't be early. He couldn't - there were going to be people here. Lots of people he didn't know and couldn't talk to and didn't want to socialize with, and now he was not only early, but first.

He was going to be sick. Maybe he could leave now - only James had seen him, he could lie and say he felt poorly - it wasn't even completely a lie, really, because now he was anxious enough that he might throw up and surely that counted as feeling unwell, didn't it?

"Regulus?" James pulled his attention. "Hey. Can I show you something?"

Right. He was still here. In his brothers apartment. Early to a party he shouldn't have come to.

Regulus managed to nod. "Okay."

"Great." James grinned, holding out his hand. Regulus hesitated for a second before taking it and letting James lead him through the apartment.

James passed the first and second door, stopping at the end of the hall. "This is my room," he informed Regulus, opening the door. "I'd bring you to Sirius's, but it's a mess right now."

Regulus nodded, stepping inside and almost immediately feeling calmer. He couldn't help it - James's room was so calm.

Translucent gold curtains were pulled over an open window, tinting all of the natural light and giving the whole room a warm glow. There was a lamp next to the bed, but it wasn't on. The floor had a soft black rug, and there was an intricate quilt with mostly deep red and gold shades over the bed. A desk was in one corner, bookshelves in another. It was light and comfortable and organized, and Regulus felt so safe.

"I know that parties aren't usually your thing," James spoke up from behind him, still by the door. "So I wanted to let you know you could come and hide in here if you wanted. It'll be empty, and it's actually pretty well sound-proofed, so it should be a good place to relax and breathe if you need one."

Regulus couldn't look at him. He didn't know how to contend with this - what was this? Compassion? Kindness?

Whatever it was, it was making Regulus feel weird. He nodded to the large dreamcatcher above the bed. "That's pretty."

"The dreamcatcher?" James asked. "Thanks. My mom made it last year. She loves them."

Regulus nodded, staring at it. What was he supposed to say? Thank you for caring? How did you notice? Why are you letting me in here?

"It'll be a while before anyone else is here," James spoke up again. "Do you want to watch a film? Or we can just talk for a while, or you can borrow a book - if I don't have anything you like, you can raid Remus's collection, he has like a million in Sirius's room."

"A film would be okay," Regulus turns to look at James, smiling a little when James brightens.

"Great! Come on, I'll show you what we have." James leads him back to the living room, and Regulus follows, no longer tense.

He's way too early, and maybe he shouldn't be here at all.

But James is smiling at him, and Regulus feels so safe here, and maybe it was good that he got here early.

Maybe he should come here a little more often.

Maybe.

[boybandbaby]

Alienated (Aaron Hotchner x Pregnant!Non-BAU!Reader)

word count: 1215

warnings: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, jealous!aaron, fluff, angst? not really

note: just a silly 🤪 little idea that popped into my head - also i’ve been in the writing mood so plz send requests (please see pinned masterlist for who I write for)

Aaron had been gone for two weeks. TWO WHOLE WEEKS. 14 days. 336 hours and counting.

You had been gifted a body pillow by JJ in your first trimester. She swore by it. You didn’t need it much as Aaron was home more often now that you were pregnant.

Aaron promised to not go on any long trips when he found out you were pregnant but the last case was urgent and needed all hands on deck.

It’s Aaron’s first night back and as he adjusted his pajamas pants from under his feet, kicking his feet through the ends, he watched you fluff your pillow.

“You’re gonna sleep with that thing? It’s bigger than Jack.”

“Yeah, it’s so comfy.” You slap the sides and slam your head onto it, throwing a leg over it and sighing once comfortable.

Early on in your pregnancy, you could go without the pillow as he was around more often. But this time around you couldn’t sleep without it.

That first night back you hugged the pillow in between you on the bed. The fuzzy fabric tickled Aaron’s elbow too many times tonight. He figured he could suffer through the night with the pillow wedged into his side for a few more days. Days turned into one week. He then had to take a short trip to Minnesota for a case.

When he came back, his grudge against the pillow had grown. He would ask you to sleep without the pillow but each night he would wake to the cushion lodged in his back. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

He’d like to say it was the lack of sleep but deep down it was the lack of cuddles. Aaron would never admit out loud to being a man who loves cuddling. The team, especially Morgan would never let him live it down.

“Honey, you think we could do without the pillow for tonight? It’s far too big for our bed.”

“Handsome, I need it to sleep throughout the night. The baby likes it.”

He knew as soon as yoy said that, he would never be able to deny you the pillow. “Okay. I can’t deny my girls anything.”

“It’s a boy. I keep telling you I can feel it.” You debate. “You’re a profiler not a psychic.”

“I know that.” He deadpans as he slips under the covers and turns his lamp off. You watch as he pulls the covers over his stomach. He just looks so comfy and cute you toss your pillow to the side and snuggle up to him.

Aaron smirks triumphantly as your hand travels up his shirt and rubs his chest softly.

You focus on his deep breaths as he quickly succumbs to his sleep unlike you.

You toss and turn all night, huffing and puffing as Aaron clings to you. His arm is under your head as your belly rests against his ribcage. Aaron runs hot at nights and you need your blanket but right now you feel suffocated. You throw the blanket away from your body.

“Aaron. I can’t do this. I need to sleep with my pillow.” You groan and shift to sit up. Aaron groggily pushes at your lower back to help you up.

“I’m going to burn that pillow.” He mumbles under his breath. He believes he said it too low for you to hear but you do anyway.

“What? Why?” You gasp, pulling the pillow up from the floor.

“I haven’t gotten a proper nights sleep with that thing.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “And,” he emphasizes, “you don’t cuddle me at night anymore.”

It’s rude and you know it but you laugh. A genuine, from the belly, laugh. When you thought he couldn’t look more grumpy and stoic, he surprises you. It only makes you giggle louder and longer.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m sleeping with Jack.” He throws the comforter off his lap and moves his legs over the side of the bed.

“No! No, I’m sorry.” You struggle to rise to your knees, crawling towards him and reaching out. You pull at his t-shirt before he can get off the bed. “I don’t mean to laugh but… are you jealous of my pillow?”

“I’m not jealous.” He huffs and lets you pull him back onto the bed. His back hits the mattress and you dangle over him, hands on his shoulders. He’s upside down and even then you can see how annoyed he is.

“I’m sorry I’ve neglected you, handsome.” You cup his face, fingertips tickling under his chin and thumbs rubbing his lower lip and chin. Aaron crosses his arms over his chest. There’s a barely there pout on his lips.

You lean down as best as you can with your belly in the way. You kiss his lips somehow soft even with a slight chap to them. He melts almost immediately. You sit up to look at him, hands now on your belly.

“You know sometimes, when you’re away, I wrap one of your polos or sweaters around the pillow. They smell like you and it helps me sleep.” You brush hair from his forehead. “And if I’m feeling nasty, I even put a button up and tie.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Alright, no need for that.” He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Fine, because that was really sweet and kind of funny, you can keep the pillow but it has to stay at the edge of the bed. Can’t be in between us.”

“No! I like facing you.” You pout. “I’m pregnant, you have to be nice to me.”

“I am very nice to you.” He states, sitting up. “We’re going to have to get a bigger bed.”

“That’s dramatic, Aaron but listen, I’ll compromise and sleep facing the other way as long as you spoon me.”

Aaron thinks for a moment, “deal.”

You stick out you hand for him and he immediately grabs it, shaking it.

You shake your head with a laugh before dropping back down onto the bed. You get comfortable as you snuggle against the pillow. Aaron watches and waits and when you’re settled, he shuts the light off and scoots his front flush to your back. His right hand snakes under his pillow and his left scoops under your belly.

“Just think, only a few more weeks of this and you won’t have to suffer.” You remind him, you’re reaching the end of your pregnancy.

He pulls you closer to him, head buried in the back of your neck. You feel him nod. He’s quiet and you gently twist in his arms to look at him. “You okay?”

“As much as I hate your pillow, I’m going to miss you being pregnant. I love seeing you with a bump.”

“Just think, we’ll finally have our baby. A little brother for Jack.”

“Or sister.” He whispers.

“Or sister.” You roll your eyes playfully. After a few moments of silence, you know he’s still awake, just savoring the moment with you. “Hey, do you think I can tell JJ about you being jealous of the pillow?”

“You tell JJ and she’s fired.” He jokes, “she’s my least favorite employee now.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that when I see her.” You laugh.

[capquinn]

Hi lovely!

okay just cause I’m a sucker for seeing (hot) dads go completely soft for their daughters, could you do Quinn with his newborn baby girl? Maybe like the first night they have her home or at the lake house?

I love the way you write him so this would be much appreciated 😍🙏

The living room is cloaked in a soft, golden glow, cast by the single lamp on the far table. Shadows settle gently around the edges of the room, creating a sanctuary of stillness that feels worlds apart from the day-to-day, as if the night itself is holding its breath.

You sit curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching Quinn as he moves in slow, careful steps, pacing a gentle rhythm across the floor. In his arms, your newborn daughter is tucked close to his chest, her tiny face turned toward him, breaths whispering in and out in a steady, delicate rhythm that seems to mesmerise him.

His hand cradles the back of her head, fingers splayed to support her as he draws her close, his thumb tracing barely-there patterns along her little shoulder. Every so often, he dips his head to glance at her, captivated by each small movement — the soft flutter of her lashes, the faint sigh escaping her parted lips, the tiny twitch of her fingers. Each moment seems to settle deeper into him, as if he’s memorising her in all her perfect details.

“Hey, Bug,” he murmurs, his voice just a breath, as if he’s sharing a secret with her. “I’m gonna love you forever, you know that?”

He sways gently with each step, his movements so natural and instinctive it’s as if he’s been waiting his whole life to hold her like this.

There’s a softness in his gaze that pulls you in, a look so tender it feels like it’s lighting the entire room, like it’s carrying warmth into every shadow. Gone is the steady, guarded man you know so well; in his place is a father wholly entranced by his daughter, every bit of his usual composure melting into a quiet tenderness.

When she stirs, her hand flexing against his chest, he goes still, barely breathing as he waits to see if she’ll wake, his entire expression focused and watchful. But she settles, relaxing back against him with a sigh so small it could be part of a dream. The gentle smile that appears on his face is one of pure relief, like he’s just been given something precious and fragile to protect.

You can’t take your eyes off him, watching the way he leans down to press the lightest of kisses to her head, his lips lingering there as if he’s promising her something unspoken, something unbreakable.

He resumes his slow, steady pacing, swaying with her in his arms as he moves through the room, entirely lost in the moment, in the perfect weight of her against him.

And as you watch him, something inside you settles, like you’re seeing a side of him you’ve always known was there but never quite imagined he would embrace so completely. A quiet, profound devotion that’s only deepened since she came into his arms.

In the gentle sway with his daughter, under the soft glow of the living room lights, Quinn is transformed — a man wholly at peace, entirely captivated, softened beyond measure by the tiny life he holds close. A tiny life that’s half him, half the woman he loves, cradled tenderly against his chest.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[cheynovak]

Gravity Always Wins

Dean winchester x Y/N female friend

Summar: Y/N comforts Dean when he got aggressively emotional.

Warnings: None described, part from obvious trauma Dean went through

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Reblogs/comments and likes are appreciated

The atmosphere in the bunker was suffocating. Failure tasted bitter in everyone's mouths, and the weight of their repeated attempts to end God loomed over them like a storm cloud.

Dean’s frustration boiled over as he stood in the middle of the war room, his breathing ragged. The empty bottle of whiskey in front of him wasn't enough to dull the rage coursing through him. With a roar, he grabbed the table lamp and sent it crashing to the floor. Papers fluttered and scattered as his hand swept across the table, followed by the metallic clang of a chair crashing against the wall.

Sam and Cas stood frozen, their faces caught somewhere between concern and helplessness. They both exchanged a brief glance, neither sure how to proceed.

But Y/N had seen Dean in his dark places before.

She stepped forward, her boots clicking softly on the floor. Her instincts told her to tread carefully. He stood stiff and silent, his hands gripping the back of his head, shoving his fingers into his short, messy hair.

"Dean," Y/N started softly, her voice gentle but steady. There was no response. His whole body seemed locked in an invisible cage, wound too tight to move.

She stopped a step behind him, her hand hovering above his shoulder. She needed permission—some kind of sign it was okay to touch him. When it didn’t come, she rested her fingers softly on his shoulder anyway. He didn’t flinch, didn’t shake her off, didn’t even breathe differently.

Taking a breath, Y/N moved, her hand trailing lightly over his shoulder as she circled to face him. His eyes were screwed shut, and his chest heaved with uneven breaths. His hands were still locked high above his head, fingers tangled in frustration.

She placed her hand gently on his chest, then slid it around to his back, pulling him closer. Her other hand wrapped around his waist in a full embrace, anchoring him even though he didn’t lean in. Her grip tightened. She whispered words she hoped would break through his self-imposed prison.

"It's okay. I got you. It's okay."

The words hung in the air. For a moment, she thought he might bolt—tense as a drawn bowstring, wound up as tight as she’d ever seen.

And then the tension broke.

Dean collapsed like a dam giving way, his knees buckling as he melted into her arms. His body shuddered against hers, and she followed him to the floor, holding onto him as they went. His head dropped to her shoulder, and the raw sound of his sobs filled the room.

She tightened her hold, one hand slowly rubbing his back, the other cradling his head. "It’s okay," she whispered over and over. "I’ve got you."

Dean clung to her like she was the only solid thing in his world. She could feel his anguish, feel his heartbreak as he let everything out in those desperate, heavy cries. Tears soaked through her shirt, but she didn’t care.

Sam and Cas stood frozen, unsure if they should interrupt the moment or leave quietly. Cas tilted his head, studying the scene as if committing it to memory, while Sam took a small step backward.

“Let’s give them a minute,” Sam murmured to Cas, tugging at the angel's sleeve. Reluctantly, Cas followed Sam into the hall, leaving the two friends alone in the war room.

Y/N continued holding Dean until the shaking stopped and his breathing slowed. He didn’t move from her embrace, but she felt the tension slowly leave his body.

When he finally pulled back, his face was red and puffy, but his eyes were softer now, less haunted. “Sorry,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t apologize,” Y/N said firmly, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “You don’t have to carry all this alone.”

Dean let out a shaky breath and gave a small, tired nod. She could still see the weight in his eyes, but for now, at least, he wasn’t carrying it all by himself.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“Anytime,” she replied, offering a small, reassuring smile.

And in that moment, Dean Winchester wasn’t a soldier or a hunter or humanity’s savior. He was simply her best friend, leaning on her as she held him together, piece by piece.

--

Tags:

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl

@deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side

@kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303

@shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch

@deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal

@roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf

[dazed--xx]

SKZ Reaction: He hurts the reader (Hyung Line)

A/N: GUESS WHOS BACK?! BACK AGAIN DAZED IS BACK TELL A FRIEND GUESS WHOS BACK GUESS WHOS BACK GUESS WHOS BACK….a little short one I was able to come up with for this request. I hope y’all missed me as much as I missed y’all. I was uninspired recently but I’ve found my inspiration and I’m not as depressed as I once was so I felt it was only right to give y’all what you wanted. Also Minhos is implied Yandere

Masterlist

Chan:

“You’re fucking kidding me right?!” You argue, frustration bubbling in your stomach as the image of the trainee seated comfortably on Chan’s lap flashes in your memory. He shakes his head, his eyes rolling in annoyance, “No, Y/N if you can’t handle the fact that she just fell and it’s not what your making it out to be then maybe I don’t need to be with you!” He growls. You scoff at the audacity “oh sorry Chan, she just fell and I just so happened to walk in at the wrong time?!” He throws his hands up in frustration “Jesus Fuck! Y/N are you stupid? Like genuinely I’m asking because you’re obviously fucking stupid if you seem to think I would allow someone to do that!” The veins in his neck begin to bulge as you roll your eyes “I guess I’m fucking stupid then! Cause I don’t believe you! If she had just fell why were her arms around your neck why was her head laying on your shoulder?! WHY WERE YOUR ARMS WRAPPED AROUND HER?! I UNDERSTAND IF SHE FELL BUT SHE DIDN’T FUCKING FALL YOU GUYS WERE FUCKING CUDDLING CHAN” you counter, your voice cracking as you make your way to the bedroom. Forcing the door open you grab your suitcase placed under the bed.

Chan followed behind you his eyes never once leaving you. His heart sunk in his chest at your actions, and his anger in his stomach bubbled. There’s no way you were leaving him over this….right? He genuinely didn’t do anything wrong. And whilst, yes things could have been misconstrued he was sincerely telling you the honest to god truth. Your actions only fueling his anger “Why can’t you just fucking trust me?!” He snaps, grabbing the lamp from the nightstand and sending it hurling across the room. Only, not only did he hear the shattering of the lamp but a loud scream erupting from your throat. His eyes fall on you now huddled in the middle of the room. Fragments from the lamp scattered on the floor behind you and at your feet. Shock over took him. His mouth hung widen open, tears flowed down your cheeks as you ran past him out of the room as you meekly muttered “I’ll send someone to get my things another time…” it took him a few seconds to process everything as his anger was completely subsided with his actions and your words. His feet acted before he realized what he was doing, your retreating figure came into view and his heart yearned to stop you from walking out of that door. “Baby—Y/N, please I-I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that, please don’t leave. I’m sorry” he cried as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Your whole body tensed from the contact and his resolve completely shattered at your fear. Sobs flowed out like Niagara, his breathing grew heavier and heavier as you struggled to pull him off you. His pleas falling on deaf ears as you finally force him off you and grab your keys and purse before running to your car.

Your heart broke as Chan pulled on your door handle, heartbreak and sorrow etched on his features as he begged you to stay, that he would fix things and profusely apologizing. You pleaded for him to let go of the handle so he wouldn’t get hurt but having no choice you placed your car in reverse and slowly made your way out of the drive way and down the street. Your eyes catching a glimpse of the man you love crying at the end of the driveway where you left him, on his knees.

Minho:

“You’re overreacting..” Minho sighed as you walked down the street, not understanding your anger at his ignorance. “Minho, you introduced me as your friend to someone you’ve liked for years. How can you be so oblivious to how that can hurt your girlfriend. That watched you pine over that girl for years.” You explained cautiously behind gritted teeth. “I didn’t pine over her. And I love you, not her so I don’t see the problem, nor do I really care if she knows our relationship or not. It’s not like I go around telling everyone you’re my girlfriend anyway” he states snobbishly as he shrugs you off. You stop in place releasing his hand. “So who knows then?” You question, this has come up a few times in your almost one year relationship. For some reason, Minho seems hesitant to fully acknowledge you as his girlfriend. You wouldn’t have really cared if it was just about going public but so far you’ve never even met his members. Not when you were his friend, and especially not while you were his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure his parents knew. And with the way he’s been treating you, it’s no surprise when he gives you a confused look and states “no one? Why does anyone have to know? You know what I’m not doing this with you again. I told you already, I don’t want anyone to know about us. Other people like to ruin happy relationships, why would I want someone to unnecessarily know about something I want to be mine and mine only?” You scoff at his undermining tone, this is how it always was. You somehow get on his nerves and he scolds you like a child, almost like he looks down on you in a way. Almost like—“Are you embarrassed of me or something?” You snap.

Realization washes over you, your mouth hung open; as you stare at him in shock. The look on his face has your blood running cold. A glare planted firmly on you as he stomps over to you, his hand roughly grabbing your wrist. His grip is vice like and hurt. “ow, Minho, you’re hurting me—Don’t ever say something so fucking stupid again are you kidding me?!” He snapped behind gritted teeth his words like venom almost instantaneously you nodded in fear. Tears built in your eyes and you thanked god you were close to your dorm. “Please let me go…” you muttered as he pulled you beside him down the street toward your dorm. The whole way his harsh grip remained on your wrist, as tears flowed down your cheeks. His natural calm look remained on his face, really selling the façade of someone quite unaffected but inside he was dying. How could you ask him that? You are the only thing that matters to him. He’s never once been embarrassed of you he loves you so much. And though—yes, he may have lied to that girl about your relationship, honestly just to see how you’d react, he never thought you’d ask him such a disgusting question. He lied to you, and he knows this is his price to pay for that lie but how could he bring you around everyone that’s so desperate to meet you? He could feel you slipping through his fingers so to speak so he held you at his side. Your pleas falling on deaf ears, he didn’t even realize how tightly he had been holding you. And once he realized it was too late, when you refused to meet his eyes at your door he felt like he was going to throw up. He overreacted, he knows he did. He stared at your fearful figure and pulled you into his chest. Words getting stuck in his throat as you shoved his arms away, what could he do? He was panicking. “I-I didn’t mean to—I don’t care.” You cut him off “I can’t do this anymore Minho, please…don’t—don’t come back here” this couldn’t be happening right now. “Princess, I really didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, I’m not embarrassed of you okay? I’ll fix this, we can go to my dorm right now you can meet my members. I’ll do whatever you want but please don’t break up with me. You know id never hurt you on purpose, I genuinely just lost myself for a second but it won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again. I’m sorry I’m so sorry but please don’t make me leave now it was supposed to be our night please don’t let my stupidity mess everything up.” He begged grabbing your hand in his. Shaking your head you rejected him coldly before rushing inside and locking the door behind you ignoring the banging and whaling at the door.

Changbin:

“This is really too much, Y/N..” Changbin scolded. You had texted him quite a few times, since he hadn’t come home in 3 days and to the average person you’d expect a reply or any sign your significant other is doing okay. The last time you had seen him he was on the verge of collapse and now he acted as if nothing had happened; as if you didn’t see how he struggled to even walk to your room a few nights prior. “How is it too much? I just asked Chan if you were okay, I was worried about you, Bin” you pout from your place on the couch. “I told you that I was fine. I told you I was busy and didn’t need you consistently checking up on me and being so fucking obsessive. I understand why your exes just disappeared on you cause holy fuck!” He growls, you bite your lip at his words lifting yourself from your seat and slowly make your way to the bedroom to collect your things to get some space. Your movements are halted by his harsh grip whipping you around to face him. Tears streaming down your face as your harshly shoved against the wall “No! You don’t get to be literally fucking crazy then just walk away like you didn’t fucking harass me” He scolds.

A sharp pain radiating in your back, you flinched as he towered over you. “Please let me go I-I don’t want this…I’m sorry I’m sorry” your hands covered your head as you squeaked. His hold on you loosened “B-babe…” he croaked “Im sorry I—“ his words were cut off by you forcefully shoving him away from you “D-don’t touch me” you exclaim while you rushed to the bedroom. Locking it behind you as you listened to a once frozen Changbin shout expletives and several loud bangs ring through the apartment.

Hyunjin:

“You really think he loves you?” Yerim prods, her words like venom and you silently prayed Hyunjin would be back from the store soon. “Hyunjin likes me Yerim, we’re dating. We have been dating for over a year now I would think he likes me” you sigh. Staring at the door, “you think that but you do know what he does when he comes over to my place? It’s like you don’t exist, he loves me honestly. We’ve been friends since we were kids you really don’t think I can’t make you guys break up any time I want? You’re still with Hyunjin because I allow you to be.” She snaps. Her hands sat on her hips as she leans into your face “He loves me not you and honestly it’s embarrassing how much you cling to him” her words like venom, sending pain straight into your heart. You never particularly cared that Hyunjins best friend was a girl, you never minded that they hung out almost daily. You didn’t mind not tagging along because you felt he deserved to have time alone with his best friend. Yet, every time you’d had seen her she would have something negative to say and for a while now it’s been the stipulation that Hyunjin was cheating on you with her. You typically just ignore her, and never tell Hyunjin as you don’t want to be the reason for them to fight. But her words today have you absolutely fuming. “Jesus Christ, Yerim! Can you grow the fuck up for once? Like honestly I’m really over this bitchy, monopolizing attitude you have over Hyunjin. He may have fallen for this innocent, perfect persona but I’m really getting pissed off with it.” You snap as you lift yourself from the couch you were sat on and making your way over to the kitchen. “I WAS HIS FRIEND FIRST! I LOVED HIM FIRST!” She growls grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at her “okay! SO WHY WERE YOU SUCH A PUSSY AND DIDN’T CONFESS TO HIM?! IF YOU LOVED HIM SO FUCKING MUCH YOU WOULD HAVE TOLD HIM THAT YOU LOVE HIM WHETHER HE WAS WITH ME OR NOT BUT NO YOU CHOSE TO RUN WITH YOUR TAIL TUCKED BETWEEN YOUR LEGS AND NOW YOU EXPECT ME TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT MY BOYFRIEND! Get a fucking grip Yerim and don’t fucking touch me!” You force your arm from her grasp with a little too much force earning a small yelp from Yerim as she stumbles back toward the couch. The sound of the door slamming closed cut both of your words off. You see Hyunjin standing in the doorway a glare planted on his face as he stormed toward you two.

You feel confusion as his scowl never once left your face as he shoved you away from his friend. Losing your footing from going backward you land on the ground a sharp pain shoots through your wrist. “Yerim are you okay? Y/N are you fucking crazy?!” He growled at you never once turning and seeing your small figure holding tight onto your wrist as the pain radiates through it. “. “She’s literally fine she fell…” you grumble. “Onto a couch mind you” your words are strained as you slowly lift yourself up from the ground. “Why’d you fucking push her in the first place? I get you don’t even like her but to act so fucking childish it’s disgusting!” He scolds, you glare at him as you make your way to your door grabbing your car keys with your wrist pressed firmly against your body; as you held back your tears “ITS DISGUSTING THAT YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME TOO BUT WHATEVER HYUNJIN IM GOING TO THE HOSPITAL I WANT YOU, YOUR SLUT AND YOUR SHIT OUT OF MY APARTMENT BEFORE I GET BACK!” You snap. “Wait, Y/N! I think you’re misunderstanding something here… she’s my best friend that’s all! I didn’t mean to hurt you I’m sorry okay? But I heard what you said and just saw red when I saw you push her!” He counters as he makes his way over to you. “But you don’t care about what she said? Nothing was misunderstood she made both of your relationship very clear to me and honestly you can have each other” you argue, his eyes brows scrunch together as his head whips toward Yerim. “What the hell did you say to her?!” He shouted his voice filled with panic. “It doesn’t matter I want you both gone before I get back here…” you snap as you force your door open and make your way outside. You can hear his confused pleas for you to allow him to come with you. You saw the realization adorn his features as he realized that you were serious, when you wouldn’t unlock your passenger door no matter how many times he pulled on it. He cried and begged you not to break up with him over this, that he would fix it and he believed you. He felt the world crumbling down around him as you drove away and he received a text from you stating that him and his stuff needed to be vacated from your apartment by the time you came back home. He sobbed harshly as he stared after your car driving away from him.

[noxitsnox]

possessive hyun-ju - headcanons

hyun-ju x fem!reader

summary: one night, while you were at a bar, some guy kept hitting on you so she had to claim what's hers.

tags: not even slightly really vaguely suggestive, nothing graphic

a/n: i'm so down bad omg idk clubbing culture in korea, or anywhere else in the world, i'm only speaking from my own limited experience 😔

lately you've both been so busy, you barely could spend time together.

so as soon as the occasion arrived you two went to a bar, like you always used to do when you first started dating.

you started getting ready at 17 to leave home at 22. you got all pretty, doing each other hair and make up and trying on all the clothes in the wardrobe.

the goal of the night was have fun and not think about anything. you decided to not take the car to begin with, you took a taxi.

first step was having a quick dinner somewhere and then go bar for bar until you found the perfect one to spend the rest of the night.

everything was going on perfectly. fun and drinks and music filled your hearts, no thoughts on your mind.

until hyun-ju went to the bar to replace your long gone drinks while you stayed on the dance floor.

a boy approached you.

hyun-ju eyed him from across the bar. finding it annoying already but trying to keep her cool. unfortunately, you couldn't help the whole place for yourselves so she had to bare with other people hitting on you.

she understood them, you are so beautiful. if she wasn't already dating you she'd hit on you too.

she walked back to you, hoping that the guy would simply go away.

but he didn't. he stayed there the whole time, getting in between the two of you. everytime she tried to dance with you, he'd push her away. his gesture weren't harsh, he didn't hurt her physically, but damn if it was annoying. she could see you were starting to get annoyed to.

she kept her composure, she didn't feel like arguing with anyone.

that until he tried to touch you, grab you by the waist. that's when she saw red. she could have tolerated his standing in between them all night, forgettig him in the taxi on the way back and turn everything into a story to tell their friends.

but she couldn't just watch him touching her girl like this.

you were about to walk away from that guy, but hyun-ju was faster. in less than a second she pulled his arm away and grabbed your wrist, leading you out of the club. "wait- my jacket is still inside." "we can buy you a new one."

now that you could actually see her face, illuminated by a street lamp, you noticed just how red she was. "i can't believe that guy. so rude," she said to herself, taking out her phone to call a taxi. you could see how angry she was from the way she was dialing the phone number, the soft violence in her gesture.

hugging her you caught her attention again. "baby, calm down." she widened her eyes and put her phone away. "oh god, i'm sorry. i wasn't thinking i didn't mean to just grab you like that-" "no that," you chuckled. "that was hot. i like it when you get jealous." hyun-ju just laughed softly and kissed you and the cheek, her arm put around your shoulders. "let's go home so you can show me how much you like it."

[fraugwinska]

I know canonically Alastor doesn't sleep but let's assume it's not because he doesn't have to but because he doesn't want to - he feels powerless and vulnerable when he sleeps, also he is tormented by nightmares.

What if one night everyone is waken up by hotel almost falling apart: walls are cracking, everything is shaking, and a green glow is flowing through the corridors. Turns out, Alastor is asleep and having a very bad nightmare. And unless they want the hotel to fall apart, someone has to wake Alastor up... (reader volunteers as a tribute)

LOTS of angst with a comfor ending? :)

You ask, Anon - and I deliver (at last)! Thank you for being so patient with me! Today just felt right to write this, and I sincerely hope you find it worth the wait! <3 TW: Depictions of Blood - Minors DNI - 2.8k words

The Eye of the Storm

"What the fuck is going on?!"

Another loud boom shakes the ground of the corridor, almost making you trip and fall if not for the handrail you managed to grab. Angels door opened at the other end, a scared squeal of Fat Nuggets faintly audible as Angel stumbled out, clearly as startled and scared as you.

"Fuck, toots, what is that?"

"I have no idea!"

You had no idea, but whatever was causing it, the entire building was shaking like in an earthquake and you were terrified some of the older, worn out parts of your floor could collapse any moment. The cracks on the walls were growing with every rumble, and a bright, green glow had overtook the lamps, turning the usually warm and inviting space into an eerie nightmare.

You exchanged a terrified look with Angel, both of you unsure what to do next. He hurried over to you, his piglet shaking in two of his arms, taking your hand with his free one and pulled you with him. "C'mon, we need to find Charlie, before the fucking ceiling falls on our heads."

You didn't even have the time to reply before the lights went off, a terrified scream leaving your mouth before you could stop it. You heard a string of curses from Angel and felt him squeeze your hand tighter. The both of you ran down the stairs as fast as you were able to in the dim darkness. You tripped several times, but Angel held you steady, trying his best to not fall himself. The lights went on again with another rumble, making the stairway moan like it was in pain.

"Charlie! Vaggie!"

You reached the lobby, where you found the rest of the residents already gathered. Everyone was there, looking shaken and confused, but unharmed. You saw them look around and then up to the ceiling, the cracking of the wood and walls sounding louder and more violent than upstairs.

"Ey, you two, are yo' hurt?" Husk yelled over the noise, his eyes scanning Angel with a worried look.

You shook your head, letting the spiders hand go so he could run up to Husk, who took his pig into his arms and hugged Angel close.

"Is everyone alright? Where's Niffty... and Alastor?" Charlie's voice sounded shaky, and you could tell she was doing her best to keep calm and not freak out.

"I'm here!" The little cyclops girl appeared behind Sir Pentious's hat, her eye wide. "But I think Alastor's not okay."

"What do you mean?" Vaggie asked, her hands stiff on Charlies trembling shoulders.

Niffty looked around, biting her lip. "He has bad dreams sometimes, and he's really scary when he does, and then stuff like this happens. He can't control his powers, and-"

"Wait, so it's HIM who's causing all of this?" Vaggie's eye widened in anger and another boom made the whole lot of you duck as the glasses from the bar fall from their shelves, flooding the floor with shards of glass and debris.

"Yes, but he can't help it, it's his brain messing up! We need to help him!"

Vaggie cursed, while Charlie and the others started to ramble over another.

"Someone has to wake him up, before the hotel really collapses."

"Are 'ya crazy, Charls? We can't go in there!"

"Yeah, at this state, yo' won't know that fucker won't rip yo' to shreds befo' you even reach his room."

"It'ssss better to evacuate, I think."

"And leave the building to fall into pieces? Ugh, maldito idiota de la radio..."

Your head turned worriedly back to the green glowing corridor. Alastor. What the hell kind of bad dream would make him lose control over his powers like that? Niffty said it was his brain messing up, whatever that meant - did he really suffer from nightmares? You felt a sting of worry for the deer demon. You didn't even want to imagine the kind of terrors he had to have in his head to cause something like this.

"I'm gonna go."

Everyone stopped talking and looked at you. Husk gave you an incredulous look, still holding Angel and the pig in his arms. "Y-yo' can't be serious. That's straight-up suicide."

You shook your head. "Someone has to. I'll be fine, just... get out of here, wait outside and make sure no one is getting hurt."

Angel tore himself out of the cat demons grasp, taking you by your shoulders, his eyes pleading. "Toots, Alastor is not himself right now. He can't control what the fuck he's doing, and if he hurts 'ya, I don't... Please, don't do this, that bastard ain't worth it."

You knew the spider demon was worried, and you appreciated your friends' concern, but he didn't know the Radio Demon as well as you did. You were aware of his reputation, the stories of his atrocities and his sadistic nature. You knew how cruel and unforgiving he could be, but you also knew that over the last few weeks, he had shown you a softer, less menacing side. You and him bonded over his love of cooking and your love of eating what he prepared, over your shared interest for record players and classical music and your affinity to magic and the obscure. He could be a lot of things, but he wasn't just the bloodthirsty serial killer most of the denizens of hell made him out to be.

You gave the spider a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't worry about me, Angel, it's going to be alright. He's my friend, I can't just leave him in there to get crushed by the building."

Before you could be held back, you started to run towards the stairs. Charlie cried out to you, but you ignored her, you just took a last glance back, shouting as you vanished into the darkness.

"Just trust me, and get your asses out of here."

"Fuck."

The group stood there, unsure what to do, and a loud snap coming from the second floor made them turn and run for the doors.

The higher you climbed the stairs, the more intense the shaking and rumbling got. You had to crawl on the steps at times, because it was too dangerous to walk, and you didn't trust your legs not to give way under you. The walls were splitting, the green light was burning in the lamps, and the air was crackling with what seemed like dark magic, ominous glowing symbols appearing and fading in your vicinity.

When you finally reached Alastor's door, it was already hanging from the hinges. It had probably blown when the magic started to burst out in violent waves, the green glow brightly pulsating and threatening from within the inside. You wondered if your heart could beat any faster without giving way. It wasn't the first time you were scared witless, hell wasn't exactly a carnival. But as much as you believed the best about Alastor, he still was one of hell's most powerful overlords. He still had countless bodies in his name. You trusted him, but if Niffty and the others were right - and it seemed to be the case that they were - he had little to no control over himself when lost in a nightmare. Could a demon like him sleepwalk and kill you in their sleep?

You took a breath and squared your shoulders, turning around to call into the room, not daring to set a foot inside yet.

"Alastor? It's me. Can you hear me?"

The rattling of the sudden radio static made the framed pictures on the wall shatter to the ground, and from the edge of your field of vision you noticed the lights fade once more, turning the already ghost-like bedroom almost black. You reached for the doorway and lowered your voice.

"It's me, you have to listen, okay? It's okay. I just came to check on you. It's safe now. You are safe."

No answer, again. The darkness felt suffocating, as if it was about to crush you any minute. You felt dizzy, disoriented, like a rabbit that had caught the eyes of a fox. You didn't dare say anything else, not until you could at least see him, figure out what was going on. With shaking legs, you took a step over the threshold. The lamps flickered again and you tried your best not to stumble as you scanned the room in front of you in between the shutters of brightness for traces of the other demon.

When you found him, you had to bite down a cry of horror.

You wished you hadn't.

He was curled up and violently shaking on his bed, the covers ripped and laying in pieces around his sweating body. His head was almost between his knees, hair spiky and disheveled and his overgrown and twisted antlers slicing the mattress and pillows with every tremor rushing through him. You could barely see him, the flickering lights making his face obscured in the shadows, but what you could see made your heart sink. He was sobbing in between shattering breaths, his chest heaving up and down erratically and his claws digging deep ridges into his torso as his body jerked and twisted, blood pooling into the covers in deep red.

"Al." You couldn't control yourself anymore. The shock, the dread and worry freed your legs from their stupor and you rushed to the hunched form, nearly stumbling on the ripped fabrics.

His eyes flew open at the touch of your fingers, burning in bright crimson with ticking dials as irises, almost completely overtaking his entire eye sockets. The howling of radio static screeched from his lips as the room shook again as he bared his sharp teeth, his clawed hands swiping at you with violent intensity that send you flying on the ground. You tried to catch yourself, but fell to your side, letting out a pained cry as you felt the wound on your waist, dripping with blood and split wide open.

You watched him with wide eyes as his limbs grew, afraid to even move. His stare was petrifying you, you had never seen such violent, uncontrolled expression on him. He growled, his head turning towards you, his mouth, no, maw opening. He looked like he wasn't there anymore, that nothing left was inside besides a manic creature ready to slaughter everything it crossed. A nightmarish beast in its lair that had cornered a small helpless prey, ready to be swallowed alive.

He got up in one swift motion, the pieces of fabric that once were bedcovers flying through the air and a dark aura creeping into your vicinity. Your breath hitched. You couldn't get out of his range with him like that, the open wound kept you from moving fast, and his maw was so big it seemed he could rip you apart by just inhaling.

"Alastor, it's okay. It's me." you breathed, desperate not to lose hope. There must be something that could call to him in the deepest parts of his mind, something that could snap him out of this lucidity. You scrambled back as he stepped in front of you, lowering his head to meet your eye level. His claws dragged on the floor beside him, and in a sudden, swift move, his large hands grasped you, the pressure on the gash blindingly painful.

"I-It's okay, it's not y-you, it's just a bad dream. I'm here to h-help you. Let me..." You gasped, a sob leaving your throat as his claws started to dig into you.

"Nnnghh... Y...-you c..c-c-an't ...-he..lp...m...m-e-e.."

A snarl left his lips and he raised his face into the air, his arms lifting you effortlessly and you whimpered in fear. Pushing through the hazy fog that invaded your brain, you tried again.

"Please, Al, j-just look at me. Wake up a-and look at me. You'll be okay."

"W...-why d-d..id..-.yo...-u co..-m-e... -h..e-re...?"

The blood loss was making you feel faint, and you lifted a bloody hand, desperate to touch him, to reach the man behind the monster. With blurry eyes, you brushed his cheek, his face just near enough your fingertips reached the fizzing skin. It felt like dipping your hand in pure electricity, numbing and painful, but you didn't care.

"Because you a-are scared and h-hurting, and I care about y-you. What f-friend would I be if I l-let you s-suffer alone?"

At your words, his enormous form shivered, and you felt his grip on you loosen ever so slightly. The dials fixed on you were still ticking, but the red of his eyes dimmed. Your other hand came up, slowly, to take the other side of his face.

"Can you wake up for me, Alastor?"

More growling, more shaking.

"Pl-please. Wake up and come b-back to me."

His eyes flicked, the howling static became more hushed and his ears twitched under the forks of his antlers. You took a shuddering breath of relief as the animalistic stare on his face lost its threatening gaze and felt the buzz under your fingers slowly dying down. The sharpness under your hands subsided fully as you saw Alastor shrink back, slowly becoming aware again of his surroundings. The green glow that filled the room flickered and turned into the familiar oranges and reds. You held onto his face and his eyes, not daring to let him go until he had finally settled and transformed back into his regular form, the last clicks of the vanishing dials fading as his irises turned to dim reds once again.

"What happened. Why are you..." The sound of his familiar voice was all you wanted to hear now. As your legs gave away, you didn't fall however, Alastor's slender hands were quick to catch you, his smile confused and irritated. He let his eyes travel down your arms to the wound and pools of crimson surrounding you, and back at your face, now pale.

"What do you think you are doing, dear." he breathed, settling you down slowly on the ground.

"You had a nightmare. The hotel... everything was chaos. I had to come, had to... get you out of it." you stammered, watching him looking around to see the damage, his face warped in realization as he put the pieces together.

"Fuck!"

It was rare to hear the usually so poised and reserved Radio Demon swear, but for this situation you'd agree it was entirely appropriate. But the hotel still stood and he was back, and that was all that mattered. When he took you up in his arms and buried his face in your neck, you felt the more alive than in the whole time on earth.

"You foolish girl. You could've been killed by my hands."

You let him embrace you, his long arms circling around you protectively and his forehead resting on the hollow of your throat.

"But I wasn't." you said simply, smiling weakly into his hair. Your arms felt heavy but they still managed to find their way onto his back, reassuring and tender, letting him know you were fine, mangled maybe, but alive and there. You stayed that way for a moment, both of you unable to move or say something as you found some grounding in each other's warmth and the now peaceful silence.

The quiet was broken, however, when you heard frantic footsteps in the hall outside and the uproarious group of the hotel staff came charging through the opened door, halting when they saw your display. Alastor didn't lift his head, in fact, he didn't move at all. You turned your head, your hand barely leaving his back to give the speechless group a lazy wave.

"Are 'ya ok? I'll kill 'im if 'yer not, I don't give a shi-"

"You were so incredibly brave, oh gosh, look at all this blood. Vaggie, we need to get the first aid kit!"

"I'll get my mop! And a broom, look at the mess!"

"Aye, this fucker really owes you."

"Umm... this is rather... Should we give thossse two a moment?"

"Lo juro por Dios, un día de estos lo voy a matar..."

Through the mass of noise the others made, talking and fussing and scurrying, you heard Alastor's quiet whisper against your bloodied skin, loud and clear.

"Thank you, dearest."

You smiled, closing your eyes and holding him a bit tighter, even if it made your wounded side sting.

"It's okay, Al. What else are friends for?"

[moonknightly]

i've gotten used to sleeping here without you—

pairing: marc spector x reader

wc: 2.1k

warnings: pulling an ao3 and giving you a no archive warnings apply tag

except: marc has settled down a lot in recent years, ever since your daughter was born. he’d bought your family the apartment you’re still living in without him, landed a military operations consulting job that doesn’t involve him leaving for weeks or months at a time. he stopped drinking every night. 

thank you @poetic-solo for beta reading bb ahhhh i'm nervous

Your apartment is quiet when you walk in. You kick your shoes off by the door and abandon your bag on the floor, forgoing your usual routine of putting each item away where it belongs and opting to cut any and all corners necessary to get into your pajamas quicker instead. The sigh that leaves your lips as you trudge down the hallway hardly conveys how tired you feel, in fact it comes nowhere close. All you can think about is getting out of this stupid dress and crawling between your fluffy blankets. 

You sigh a second time as you push open your bedroom door, heading straight for your closet. You’re not even halfway across the dark room before your dress is discarded on the floor, left in a heap for you to deal with the next day. Your bra comes next, and then your panties and you’re so glad that you’d thought to lay a change on top of your drawers so all you have to do is slip into the new ones. You automatically reach for a pair of flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt, not caring if they’re a perfect match, just wanting to be cozy and knowing the combo you’d grabbed was perfect for comfort. 

The makeup on your face feels sticky and cake-like, so you decide that’s one corner you don’t want to cut as you exit your closet and walk towards the en-suite instead of towards the mattress. You take a disposable cloth and remove the mascara and concealer from your face with a cleanser, tossing your hair up before you get started to keep it dry and out of the way. Once your face is clean and makeup free, you opt to brush your teeth, reminding yourself that no matter how badly you want to climb into bed, you need to take care of these few things first. 

Finally, you’re ready for bed. You allow your shoulders to sag as you walk back into your room, almost missing the soft light now illuminating the space. You’re sure it would’ve been easy to convince yourself that you turned on the lamp and just forgot you did so, and you were so tired you probably wouldn’t have thought much about your decorative pillows now being discarded on the floor and your duvet pulled back either, if it wasn’t for the familiar body sitting on the edge of your sheets. 

“Marc,” you sigh, gesturing for him to scoot over, past your ability to ask questions, yet. “Come on, move.”

The man so unexpectedly in front of you snorts but does as he’s instructed, giving you enough space to finally crawl between the sheets, which you do without another glance his way meanwhile he’s watching you the whole time.

He’s quiet while you start to settle in, but so are you - you think you might be past your ability to talk at all. You weren’t expecting to see him in your bedroom, let alone in your apartment, and honestly? It’s a little jarring, a little too close. It takes a few more seconds for you to finally shake yourself and speak up.

“Thank you for watching her,” you say, voice quiet as you situate yourself upon your pillows, finally looking towards your ex-husband once you find a comfortable position. “I wasn’t expecting anyone home, I thought you would’ve taken her back to your place.”

Marc hums, and for a second you don’t think he’s going to say anything in response but he eventually finds his own voice. 

“Of course,” he mumbles, rolling his shoulders back to stretch them out. “She’s my kid too.” 

He skips over why he’d brought her home and not to his apartment.

“I know. But it isn’t your night and I didn’t expect to get stuck at work.” 

“So?”

“So…” You try to think of your words carefully, wondering if he’d brought your daughter home because maybe... “I didn’t ruin your plans or anything?”

He furrows his eyebrows, a soft snort following, absolutely catching the duality of your question. “My plans involved takeout for one and my TV.”

Marc has settled down a lot in recent years, ever since your daughter was born. He’d bought your family the apartment you’re still living in without him, landed a military operations consulting job that doesn’t involve him leaving for weeks or months at a time. He stopped drinking every night. 

You nod slowly, trying not to show that his answer secretly pleases you - he didn’t have plans with a girl. You try to push that thought away quickly, it wasn’t healthy for you to think that way and you know it, remind yourself of it. You’re divorced, have been for over a year by this point. He can spend his time with other women if he wants.

“Still,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Thank you for picking her up and bringing her home.” 

Marc nods, and you thought maybe, he’d take that as his cue to leave, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t even speak up again. You just look back and forth towards each other in silence, stealing glances, sometimes locking eyes and quickly looking away. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, and you find it just a little bit startling. It feels so natural, like he was simply saying goodnight, that he was going to stay up for a while longer before he comes to bed but this isn’t his bed anymore. You don’t share it with him like you once did.

You’re the first to break the silence again. 

“It’s late,” you mumble finally, catching the subtle way he seems to deflate at your attempt to get him to leave. 

He nods again, but doesn’t make any move to get up. Not really. 

You give him another moment or two before you speak up again. “Marc what's going on?” you ask softly, voice gentle like it always is with him. Even in the worst of arguments, he’s not sure you ever spoke to him in a way that wasn’t kind. 

Marc rubs the top of his thighs, something you know he’s doing just to keep his hands busy. He doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind, he never does. It was the cause of so many of your fights.

And you’re not doing it again. You can’t.

“If you’re not going to talk to me, I think you should leave. It’s late.”

His eyes meet yours again and you watch something flicker, so subtle and quick you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him so well - you’d sparked his anger, but he’d been able to bring himself back down quickly, before he snapped.

You look at him expectantly. He must really have something weighing on his shoulders because he hasn’t bolted yet. 

He finally gives you something. 

“Being here tonight felt normal.” 

His confession makes your eyebrows furrow, and you understand without him needing to elaborate - you’d felt the same when you’d seen him sitting on your bed, but you hadn’t let yourself think about it for too long until now. You push it away again quickly though. 

And while you don’t need him to elaborate, you want him to.

“What do you mean?”

He knows you’re asking him just because you want to hear him say it, and he gives you a stern look that you ignore. 

“I mean it felt…normal. Watchin’ her while waiting for you to come home. Coming to bed and waiting for you…seeing you in my clothes.”

You break eye contact, cheeks turning hot at the realization that you’d subconsciously picked out his hoodie and his flannel pants to sleep in because they were the most comforting combination you could find, picking a random spot on the wall to stare at because his brown eyes made you weak and now wasn’t the time to let your guard down. Something somewhere slips though, and Marc catches the moment it does. 

“I mean, it was our routine. When I would work late and couldn’t get her after school.” 

“Yeah, it was,” he mumbles, more like whispers. He clears his throat. “And then we’d get in bed and you’d let me kiss you until you fell asleep.”

“Which was as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

He chuckles, forcing air out of his nose in a rush. “Yeah, I’d only get a couple in. Maybe that’s what put you to sleep.”

There’s another lull in conversation as you chuckle - the silence doesn’t last very long, and Marc is the first to break it. 

“Do you need help falling asleep tonight?”

You pause, taken aback by his question, his offer - honestly, it stuns you into silence but fills your stomach with annoying butterflies at the same time.

Marc is your ex husband, you remind yourself. You shouldn’t get butterflies around him anymore.

He doesn’t give you the time to expel them from your belly.

“We can just sleep,” he says quickly, a hint of pink tinging his cheeks. “We don’t have to, I mean I wasn’t- I,” he stutters, trying to cover himself, a rare nervousness and maybe a hint of embarrassment tainting his words. 

Stuttering. So uncharacteristic of him. You take him out of his misery pretty quickly.

Sort of.

“You want to sleep together?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow as Marc continues to splutter.

“Not like that, I mean not that I wouldn’t want to but I, uh…shit.”

He’s really embarrassed, you can tell. You’ve always been so good at reading him, even now.

You’re not sure that sharing a bed with Marc is the best idea. You don’t want to get his hopes up, because you can tell that he’s eager for…something. Something to happen, something to fill the gaps, maybe. You’re not sure what exactly. 

But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t hoping for the same something. 

“So you want to sleep together, but not sleep together, but maybe sleep together?”

“Yes,” Marc deadpans, just glad that you hadn’t thrown him out yet. 

You’re still apprehensive, still on the fence. You can think of a million reasons why you shouldn’t sleep next to him again but God, you want to ignore every single one of them.

Just for tonight. Just one night. 

“Get in bed, Spector,” you sigh finally, starting to adjust and situate yourself into the blankets, hoping you can get comfortable and drift off before you have time to realize that his head is on the pillow beside yours.

But the clank of his belt coming undone, the thud of his jeans hitting the floor - that distracts you from your dreams, for sure. 

He’d always slept in his boxers when you were together though. This isn’t anything new, you suppose. 

Hell, you’d made a kid together. You can handle sleeping next to him in his boxers and his stupid hair a mess and oh fuck he took his shirt off too-

He can feel your eyes as he lays down, but you miss the way he bites his lip, because that’s not where you’re looking. “Is this okay?” he asks.

It’s weird, hearing him ask if he can have his shirt off around you - he never needed to ask before. 

That’s right, before, you remind yourself. 

“It’s okay.”

Marc lays down next to you, so close you can feel the warmth off his skin and you think you might be able to feel his heart pounding but maybe that’s just your own. It’s quiet again, and maybe a little sad, a little weird, maybe a little something you can’t quite put your finger on.

There’s something off. Something that just isn’t right. And it’s not the fact that neither of you are wearing your rings anymore, even though that is weird. 

“Can you-”

“Yeah,” he says, and then he’s dragging you closer, draping his arm around you like you had wanted, the way he used to.

He takes your leg and hikes it over his hip. He’d told you once that the pressure, the reminder that you’re asleep next to him makes him feel safe. He’d actually admitted that to you, the man who never touched his emotions. 

Marc was right - it feels normal. It’s just the way it was before. 

Except it isn’t. Except it never will be again. 

Except you want it to be. 

Neither of you say anything for the rest of the night, and you both drift off eventually, sleeping better in those few hours than you had in months.