#4 noses brewing

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 6) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

-

And they say if it sways, you have to cut it off at the root.

You repeat that to yourself when you catch the way you glance out the kitchen window again, surreptitiously watching John. It’s hard to pull your eyes away. He walks over to the well to fetch water for you to do the dishes, the chore you’d elected to take when he offered you the choice between that and feeding the horses. It’s a fair compromise since you balk at the thought of getting anywhere near either of those beasts. 

Watching him bend over the well to lower the bucket down, his muscled shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and suspenders drawing tight against his back, makes you bite your lip. Then scowl. Then pull the curtain shut to block out the view.

You have to cut any gentleness off at the root. 

When he comes back, you step to the side without a word to let him pour the water into the wash basin, hot water from the teakettle and lye soap making the water already in the pan sudsy. In a sense, it’s not any different from anything you’ve done back home; the same two pans for washing and scalding, the same cake of soap, and the same dish towel to dry the dishes off at the end. The only difference is the man that pours the cool water into the basin to make it more comfortable for your hands. 

“I’ll be out back,” he tells you, before grabbing you around the waist and pulling you in close to press a close-mouthed kiss to the side of your head. You only scrunch your nose a little. “When you’re done, come get me. Got business in town.”

“Why do you need me to come with you?” you ask, lips cresting into a pout without a thought. You’d never considered yourself a bellyacher, but it’s almost second nature around John. “I can…I can stay and clean the house.”

“You saying I keep a messy home?” John asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You look pointedly down at the dirt he tracked into the kitchen after fetching the bucket of water from the well. “It could do with a spit shine.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, a bellow from deep in his belly. It shakes you to your bones. 

“Darling, I’ll be honest with you,” he says, turning you to face him before folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust you not to bolt like a runaway horse, and you’ll only wind up putting yourself in danger if you try to make a run for it out here.”

That expression makes your stomach twist. “Good to know you think of your wife as some scared filly.” 

“You talk a whole lot for a woman who’s been over my knee. Do we need to repeat that?”

When his tone goes stern, you lose the wedging piece of candor keeping you upright. Eyes widen and then narrow. He’s been patient despite your loose tongue, but when that patience slips, you can see the steel underneath his gentle exterior. It’s the true root of him. 

You clam up under his stare, sullen and begrudging. Smooth your dress down to have something to do with your hands. You’ve forgotten your place again. Side-stepped it out of intimacy or misplaced trust or naivety or forgetting, again, for the umpteenth time, that the world is not a place for women that open their mouths. So you keep it shut, trap every festering word behind your teeth. 

He must not like something he sees painted on your face because his brows draw closer together, frustration brewing anew in his eyes. The longer you stay quiet, the more irritated he grows, his nostrils flaring wide. 

“See that you come get me as soon as everything’s squared away in here,” John bites out, pointing a single, blunt finger at you. “Else I’ll come get you myself.”

And we wouldn’t want that, you think, surly. You hope it swims across your eyes. Blooms on your face. Perhaps it does. 

The lines around his mouth and eyes grow more defined when he smiles. His whole mustache moves with his smile, every part of his face expressing his satisfaction. It’s beyond infuriating. He taps you on the nose with his knuckle before leaving out the backdoor, not sparing you a backward glance. You nearly shake with indignation. 

It’s hard not to watch him out in the paddock while drying the dishes though, not with him set against the gilded sun. You inch the curtain slightly open, just enough of a gap to peer through. The Stetson shadows his face when he tilts his head up towards the sky, the hard edge of his jaw the only thing that meets your gaze. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a man out in the fields or pastures, but most of those have been at a distance, removed. Glimpsed briefly through the window while your train barreled on past acres of farmland. 

John cycles through the morning tasks of guiding the horses into the paddock by a lead fixed to their halter, replenishing the food trough, and fetching more water from the well to fill the water trough. His horses are striking in the sheer size of them; muscled shoulders and legs, and well-padded flanks. Most of the horses you’ve seen out west haven’t seemed nearly as well-fed, many whittled down to rib and hip bone. 

It says something about him, but you’re not ready to confront exactly what. You turn your attention back to the dishes, scrubbing the last of the dried butter and eggs at the bottom of the pan. It takes a little extra grit, but cleaning is a familiar chore—it’s one you’ve done all your life, what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You don’t like what you find when you finally venture out of the house to track him down. 

“I’m not getting on that thing.” 

You put your veritable foot down with that, arms straight and stiff by your sides, more out of worry than annoyance. You do also give a little stomp for good measure, but you’ll chalk that up to reflexes should John inquire. 

He doesn’t. Just stares down at you with unimpressed green eyes that haunt your days and nights now. Tells you without telling you that you’ll get on that horse, willing or not. 

It’s not for a lack of beauty that you can’t quite shake the nervousness they elicit in you. Buttercup, the one that John saddled up and now waits patiently to be mounted, keeps her head low as if sensing your disquiet, curiosity glimmering in her coal black eyes. Not even the animal curiosity of is this a friend or foe, but the curiosity that comes with pure trust, almost intelligible that way. 

John runs his hand down her smooth, buttery flank. “Did you enjoy yesterday’s walk?”

“I didn’t hate it.” Truth be told, you’d hardly been of a mind to notice it at all. Though your legs still ache from the walk back to John’s house, the walk itself had not seemed especially grueling in the moment. The mind can put aside quite a bit when it has something else to focus on. 

“Well, I’m not too keen to repeat it.” He leaves it at that, tightening a strap on Buttercup’s saddle in such a purposeful way that your shoulders tense. 

“I could meet you there,” you say, a touch desperately. Your stomach turns when you think about hoisting yourself up onto Buttercup’s saddle. It doesn’t seem possible. It’s not something you’ve ever done or ever considered doing. You remember horror stories of stableboys back home trampled under their hooves and stomped to death, kicks so powerful that they could break a fully grown man’s ribs or cave in his face. 

“My wife isn’t gonna wander into town by her lonesome like some vagrant,” John says disdainfully, almost scoffing. Insulted by the whole idea. “And you’re sure as hell not staying here alone, darlin’.”

“Well, figure something else out because I am not getting up on that thin—” You cut off on a yelp when he circles around you and abruptly lifts you up. Your head rushes at the sudden motion, legs flailing beneath you. 

“Quit squirmin’ like a damn barn cat. Little hellion,” John grits out, guiding your heel into the stirrup. “C’mon, you’re just side saddling, so you only need your butt on the saddle.” When he sets you down lightly onto the saddle, you stop wiggling around, acutely aware of the thousand pound horse beneath you. “There we go—that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” 

“I hate this,” you hiss, fingers clamped tight over the pommel. 

“Aw, darlin’, don’t go insulting Buttercup like that,” John chuckles, replacing your foot in the stirrup with his own.

You sit there stiff as a board, perched precariously on the saddle as he hoists himself up behind you. His sheer proximity doesn’t register right away. You’re too concerned with the moving beast under you, its ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. Unlike you, John is more than comfortable sitting astride the horse, not a smidgeon of tension in his body. You suck in a horrified breath when you feel him readjust himself before settling down more comfortably. 

He reaches around you to grab the reins, a sharp whistle signaling the horse to take her first stride forward, looping around the side of the house. Even the slow trot threatens to buck you off at first. You lurch forward with each step, certain that you’ll slip right off the saddle and onto the dusty ground below until John loops an arm around your waist and pulls you to his chest.

You grow stiffer in his arms somehow. Despite sleeping in the same bed the night before and sharing far too many kisses for your comfort or virtue, being pressed up tight against a man never gets easier. Perhaps if you’d been married for longer than a single day you’d be more at ease with the notion, but as of yet, it comes as a shock to the senses every time. 

You carefully avoid the thought that other married women wouldn’t be still in possession of their maidenhead so many hours after their wedding night. That’s none of your business.

The two of you navigate into town at a slow canter, allowing you to gradually acclimatize to the gait of a horse. Part of you remembers riding horses when you were younger, but that was a lifetime ago, long enough to shake the memory from your muscles. These days, you can barely remember the hands holding you steady, the ones that would’ve lifted you up onto the horse and helped you back down. Those people are faceless in your memories. 

John stays silent at your back, only tightening his hand around your hip when you slip the slightest bit when Buttercup picks up the pace, heading towards the familiar sight of the sheriff’s office. It draws a quick squawk out of you, neatly masked by a fake cough. His chuckle at that rumbles through you, clearly not buying it. Another lesson in humiliation. 

You manage not to flail as much when he gets off the horse and helps you down, even though you’re still not used to being manhandled so, particularly not in front of the townsfolk milling about and glancing over with undisguised interest. 

“Are you working today?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you while John ties Buttercup’s lead to the post outside the sheriff’s office. 

“Don’t exactly get many days off when you’re the only sheriff in the county,” John replies. “We’ve got a few deputies in every town, and a couple here, but it ain’t an easy gig.”

“How many deputies have you got here?” 

“Just the three. Simon, John, and Kyle. You met Simon the other day.” 

His name draws up the faint memory of the masked deputy from your wedding ceremony. “I remember,” you say flatly. There’s no lost love between you and anyone involved with that sham of a wedding. 

“Don’t hold that against him,” John smiles. “He’s a good ole boy. Can’t fault a man for following the boss’ orders.”

Watch me. You glance away lest he see that thought etched across your face. 

The town is bustling with activity this late in the morning. Steps and floorboards creak under the weight of boots coming and going. A man going by in a horse-and-buggy whistles sharply when he cracks the reins, his horse puffing out a low, frustrated grunt. 

Men hustle past you decked out in leather chaps and waistcoats, spats covering the half-boots of those not decked out in tall, spurred cowboy boots. There are far less women scampering about town than men, particularly not so close to the sheriff’s office, but you keep finding your eyes drawn to them. 

John grips you under the arm and swiftly pulls you back when you narrowly sidestep a mound of horse droppings left uncovered in the middle of the road. The smell only hits you a second later. 

“Well, that’s lovely,” you remark, deadpanned, putting your foot down deliberately a good distance away. 

“Wouldn’t need to complain about it if you just watched your step.”

“You know, this really would’ve been a nice day to just stay home,” you mutter, chastised enough not to say something sharp in return. 

While the smell makes your nose wrinkle, you have to admit that the air here is far less pungent than back home. In general, this bucolic town is far more pleasant in certain respects than the city you’d left behind in a haste. 

“Where do you want me to wait for you?” you ask, turning to face him now at the front steps of the sheriff’s office.

He frowns. “Wait for me?”

“While you work, I mean. Surely you don’t mean for me to sit inside all day twiddling my thumbs while you work.”

His mustache twitches with a smile. “Thought I’d show you around first—get you acquainted with the locals.”

The idea of mingling with the townsfolk doesn’t appeal to you, but you also can’t think of a good enough reason to refuse. Especially with the curious glances already being sent your way. You duck your head to stare down at your boots when you spot a group of other women clustered together and whispering to each other, their eyes trained on you. Somehow you’ve gone from being furniture in a room to being a source of local gossip, and it’s almost hard to believe that you miss being ignored. 

When you look back up at John, you find him still staring down at you, waiting patiently. Up close, the sunlight almost turns patches of his beard gold; he has a smattering of moles across his face, not the blush of freckles but rather a few dark spots by his nose. Aside from the tuft of hair under his bottom lip, his chin is mostly bare, and when he smiles, his whole face moves with it. You have to blink to snap yourself out of it. 

Your upper lip curls involuntarily when you say, “So you want to help me make friends?” 

“Well, seeing as I know most of ‘em, figured I’d be a help.”

“The job’s really not all that busy then, huh?” You really wish you could learn to shut your mouth, since it keeps getting you in trouble, but the barbs roll off your tongue so naturally. Luckily, it seems to amuse him now more than it did early this morning. 

“Guess life isn’t as exciting ‘round here as it is back in the city, but it has its days,” John chuckles. “Now come on; I’ll give you the tour.”

For some reason, you hadn’t pictured the town being quite so big, but during your walk, you realize you’ve vastly underestimated the true size of it. Though not anywhere near as ostentatious as the cities back east, the sheer breadth of it eclipses anything from back home. It’s spread out on an incomparable scale, the mountains in the background stretching out along the horizon like the skeletal remains of a giant long since dead and decayed.  

It’s not the ramshackle town you envisioned when you stepped off the train the other day, despite the wooden facades and their brightly painted signs. You almost wish you had more time just to admire the craftsmanship, but John leads you from store to store like he’s on a mission.

He seems most interested in towing you around like some prized mare, all trussed up and clean from your bath the night before. You meet so many people that their names and faces all begin to blur together. The worst offense of all is that it makes you lean on John for support, looking up at him again and again for reassurance whenever you can’t answer a question or your answer triggers a moment of awkward silence. 

Those moments come aplenty too. The few people nosey enough to ask you about your life back in the city find themselves on the butt end of a cheerfully delivered lie from John. It unnerves you at first, seeing how comfortable he is with lying. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second when recounting your previous life as a schoolteacher in Connecticut prior to your engagement.

Perhaps it’s not a lie though. You don’t know the extent to which he and his original betrothed corresponded. Certainly not enough for him to suspect you of not being her, but maybe she’d spun him that story. Or maybe it had been the truth. All this time you’d thought that John had been swindled by some con artist using desperate men to fund her lifestyle, but maybe somewhere between here and Connecticut, there’s an unmarked grave with the corpse of the woman that John had intended to marry. 

That makes you feel guilty somehow, like you’ve taken something not meant for you. Even if you hadn’t wanted it—in fact, been forced into taking it. 

You swallow that thought when John leads you into the general store. Your eyes bug at the sight of a blonde haired woman in khaki cloth knickerbockers stocking the shelves, who turns at the sound of the door creaking open, the sharp look on her face melting away at the sight of John.

The warmth in her face infuriates you more than it should. You have no right to feel this way—or, some right, but you resent the fact that you do as well. 

“Hi John,” she greets. Her voice is deeper than you anticipated, springtime crisp like a babbling brook. 

“Laswell,” John greets, scooping his arm around your side until he can palm the side of your hip, dragging you in close. You stumble into him, catching yourself with a hand on his chest. Your neck and face go hot when Laswell’s eyes turn on you, curiosity glinting in them. 

“Your lady finally showed up then,” she surmises. “I’ll be honest, I was starting to think you made her up. Told the boys to think about forcing you into an early retirement.”

John huffs at that. His fingers tighten at your waist when Laswell says your lady, as if the words alone make it fact. Speak it into being. The metal burns against your ring finger. In a sense, it is fact, despite the subterfuge. You wonder if it would hold up in court, but out here, it’s real enough. 

“Well, she’s very real, as you can tell.” He gives you a little shake with the hand on your waist. “Say hi, darlin’.”

If looks could kill, yours would be pit-viper venom. You’d leave behind a festering puncture mark and a body in the throes of envenomation. “Excuse me?”

Your attitude might come at a cost this time because he looks unamused at your back talk in front of an audience. “Darlin’.” It’s said like a warning. 

You bite your tongue instead of lashing out. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Kate Laswell; I own this little shop,” she says, introducing herself and stepping forward to hold out her hand. You have to step forward to take it, pulling you out of John’s arms. It feels familiar being on your own, certainly more natural than being constantly at John’s side the way you have for almost two days now. It’s also a bit cold after having John’s warmth at your back or side at all times. 

There’s a moment when you realize that Kate is the first person you’ve had to introduce yourself to, John having introduced you to everyone else you’d come across. It hovers on the tip of your tongue when you realize that you could just say your real name, and you find yourself torn between setting it free and the odd fear of John’s reaction. 

You chicken out at the last second, giving Kate the same name as the one John introduced you by to everyone else in town. 

“He might growl like a bear, but you’ll get used to that,” she says, winking.

You frown. Awfully familiar talk for someone who isn’t his wife. Why should she know that? 

You make yourself push that thought away, reminding yourself again that it doesn’t matter. It’s none of your concern. 

“He’s been a gentleman,” you croak instead, smile so thin that it might as well be a grimace. 

A shout from the bar across the street startles you, drawing your attention away from the conversation. John stills too. A series of raised voices puts him on alert, and then someone inside the bar must fire a gun because the violent crack of one makes you scream, the noise pulled involuntarily from your chest. 

“Stay here,” John growls, his pistol already drawn. He’s out the door before you can respond, darting across the street towards the bar and shouldering the door open so hard that it rattles in its frame. You watch everything happen through the window of the general store with your heart in your throat. 

“Good Lord,” you whisper, hand over your mouth. Kate stands beside you in a similar manner, her eyebrows pinched in concern. 

The thought doesn’t even occur to you that now would be the perfect time to make a break for it, with John busy across the street. Your feet are rooted in place; you doubt you’d be able to take so much as a single step towards the door. 

There’s precious little that you can see through the grit-lined bar windows, not as dusty and dirty as they are, but you can hear the commotion from inside. Raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. It makes you flinch, heart galloping at an even faster pace. Like harness horses on the Freehold Raceway. It’s not long before you see a large, masked man hightailing it down the road towards the bar, dust clouding around his boots with each heavy step. 

You recognize him almost instantly as the man from your wedding, the one that signed your marriage license. John’s man—Simon. He nearly takes the bar door off its hinges when he throws it open, barely in there a second before he and John come out each with a man in hand, both already handcuffed and looking roughed up They drag them stumbling down the dirt road towards the sheriff’s office, Simon half-dragging another man whose white button-down is slowly saturating with red blood oozing out of a gunshot wound in his belly.

“Shouldn’t they call a doctor for that man?” you ask Kate in a frantic voice, whipping around to face her. 

She nods. “They probably will once they’ve got the four of them locked up. Doctor probably heard that anyway—he’ll be on his way, I bet.”

“On his way already?”

“There’s only one doctor around here. And not much else sounds like a gunshot.”

“Does that happen a lot around here?” You don’t know why the thought makes you nervous, but there’s a cramp in your belly and a sweat building up on the back of your neck and your hands itch to grab something. When you swallow, it almost doesn’t go down. 

“It’s not uncommon. I reckon it’s not something you’re used to?”

You purse your lips. “I’ve seen a dead body before.” You don’t know why that comes out so defensively, like a slight that’s been levied against you. There’s no easy way to dispel the myth in everyone’s mind that you come from a life of comfort and ease, with delicate hands fit for delicate work. You curl your hands into fists at the thought, conscious of the old scars and calluses built up over years of scrubbing and cleaning. If she were to look down, she wouldn’t see the well-kept hands of a lady. 

When Kate quirks an eyebrow, you realize that your response had nothing to do with her question. “Well, look at you.”

When John and Simon disappear into the jailhouse, the door swinging shut behind them, you sway on your feet for a second, feeling oddly unbalanced. Something about the sight of the man’s blood leaves you feeling woozy, taking the chair that Kate offers you when she sees the way you rock back on your heels. 

“Let me get you something to drink,” Kate offers, brows now furrowed sympathetically at the pathetic sight you must be. “I’m sure you got a little fright thinking of your husband facing down a man with a gun, but I’m afraid that comes with marrying a sheriff. There’s danger everywhere, you know.”

What you don’t say is that your lightheadedness came not just from the sight of the man with the blood leaking from a wound in his stomach, but the grim look on your husband’s face as he carted away the man responsible, eyes hard as steel. No sympathy for the man in his hands. Only another criminal to be tossed away in a jail cell. The punishment for making another man bleed.

Your hands shake in your lap, but you don’t say that. Instead, you smile weakly and take the glass of water from her hands when she comes back from filling it at the sink. “You’re right. Just a little fright.”

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Lightly possessive!reader x Logan. I wanna see him flustered about it too >.< Could do a 5+1? I adore those <3

Ideas:

hand on thigh

hand on waist

possessive/pointed kiss in front of someone trying to hit on him (save him!)

put space between him and another person (again, that was flirting with him)

👏stand👏up👏for👏this👏man👏

Okaythankyoumightcomebackbyeeeee

-🌸👸

Okay I loved this! I did a 4+1 instead of a 5+1 (I ran out of ideas) I hope that's okay! Request for Logan are open! Lmk if you want to be added to Logan's taglist!

A/N: The reader has a mutation where they can yell really loud and like shatter glass and stuff lol

1. Hand on his thigh:

It was your annual date night, and you decided to just do casual this week. The two of you sat next to each other in the booth, you were looking over the menu and Logan was watching the hockey game that was playing on one of the TVs. Since he was distracted, he didn't notice the waitress coming over to take the order, you leaned over to order more clearly since the music was loud and to steady yourself you ended up putting your right hand on his upper thigh without even thinking. As you ordered his brain malfunctioned. His eyes widened slightly, a faint blush dusted his cheeks, and he swears his ears started ringing. All he could think about was how close your hand was to his - "Oh, thank you so much! Lo, sweetheart what do you want?" He finally snapped out of it, he looked over at you and then the waitress before clearing his throat and ordering his food.

2. Arms around his waist: (I had two ideas, so I just wrote both)

You found Logan standing by the back door watching a group of students practice their hand and eye coordination skills. You'd been looking for him all morning, he sneaked out of bed before you could even get up and you decided to sneak up on him. Well sneak up on him as much as you can sneak up on someone with super senses.

He was so focused on the students that he jumped at the feeling of smaller arms wrapping around his waist. He looked down and relaxed into your arms when he noticed your hands, "Hi princess" he muttered and focused back on the students as he held your arms in place. The two of you stood there for a few minutes in quiet, he rubbed your arms, softly trailing his fingers up and down your skin. He was so relaxed that he nearly forgot that he was supposed to be watching the kids train until someone started yelling that their nose is broken. "Oh fuck" He muttered and left your hold to go check on the kid.

2.5 Arms around his waist:

He was half asleep standing in front of the coffee pot, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. He had just rolled out of bed, hair still all over the place, nothing but sweats on. Fuck is that not the best sight to see first thing in the morning.

You walked up to him and leaned up against him, pressing your chest against his back and wrapped one of your arms around his waist to steady yourself as you grab your favorite mug from the top shelf. He has to bite back a whine feeling your chest press up against his back, feeling you against his skin makes flash backs of the night before flash before his eyes. You whisper in his ear "Morning handsome," before kissing his cheek. You get to steal the coffee pot from him and get the first cup of coffee while he is trying to recover from the kiss.

"G'mornin indeed darlin" He smiles and says groggy, drunk off the feeling you give him.

3. You stand up for him:

It was clear that he didn't see eye to eye with Scott all the time. Today the most recent argument was over the mission plans that Scott swears by and for some reason Logan's gut is telling him it was going to end badly.

"I'm telling you this is a mistake! It'll be a blood bath if you don't fix your shit plan" Logan growled as Scott tried to walk away from him. Logan grabbed Scott's arm and made him stay in the room; Scott yanked his arm out of his grasp. "This is the plan! There will be no changing it I know what I'm doing. My team will be safe, some of us protect our loved ones." He left before Logan could get another word in. Logan was ready to just give in, if Scott didn't want to believe him then it'd be blood on Summer's hands not his, but you tensed up after hearing what he said, and you couldn't drop it.

"How could he talk to you like that?!" You scream making Logan cringe slightly, he moves closer to you to try and calm you down, but you escape the room before he could get to you. Oh, fuck Logan sighed and left the room to go find you before you seriously hurt Scott. He heard glass shatter from how loud you were yelling at Scott, and he couldn't help but get flustered and hard knowing not only are you sticking up for him, but you're using your mutation for him too.

4. That's your man

The entire team wanted to go to a bar, and you thought there would be no harm in the trip. You were wrong.

There was this tiny blonde who tried to latch herself to Logan as soon as you guys walked through the door. Logan stayed close to you the entire night, but you separated yourself from him for five minutes to get him another whiskey and you another vodka cranberry. As you went back to the table you saw Logan alone with that little blonde and all of your teammates were out either playing pool or ordering food. Oh, fuck no you mutter to yourself as you stomped over to the table. You didn't care that a girl was flirting with your Logan, look at him. He's so pretty. You were mad because he clearly looked uncomfortable, and you had been there when he told her no the first three times.

"Hey barbie" You greeted her sarcastically as you handed Logan his whiskey, "Here you go baby" you say loud and clear as you sat in his lap. "Thank you darlin" he response with a smirk. He knows how you get when you feel extra possessive, he also knows you're going to get pouty because your attempts at leaving hickies on him will fail once again. He wrapped his arm around your waist to steady you on his lap and he takes a sip of his drink, enjoying the little show that your sarcasm will be giving him. However, the girl doesn't seem to take a hint, and he can see your jaw clenching more and more.

"Baby?" he asked quietly, growing concerned of the situation, "Let's just head home." Before he can tap your thighs to signal you to get up you glare at the woman and grab his dog tags making his eyes widen, he stumbles slightly as you pull him even closer, and he nearly moans against your lips as you kiss him with more passion than ever before.

When you pull away barbie is finally gone.

5. That's my girl

Logan has been looking for you all afternoon. It was finally a nice cool day, and he thought you would enjoy a walk to your favorite little cafe before the sun set but he couldn't find you. "Where the fuck is she? The mansion isn't that big!" He was quietly ranting to himself as he wandered around the property. He heard your laugh coming from one of the spare rooms and he couldn't stop the smile from growing.

'Oh, her laugh is amazing, if she's laughing that means she's smiling and if she's smiling it means she looks like she's glowing and-'

As he was thinking about you, he rounded the corner, and his smile dropped. Fucking Jean. A sharp glare graced his face as he watched the red head push hair away from your face, he knew you were working with her on a project and it's not that he didn't trust you, you were his everything. He didn't trust her with his everything though.

You looked over at the door and he watched your face light up when you saw him "Oh my handsome man!" You cheered and skipped over to him before wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your head in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and smirked when he saw Jean's face drop slightly. He kissed your head and asked you out on the little date he had originally planned, you squealed and told him to give you five minutes as you go grab one of his your jackets. He gives you a nod and a smile and watches you leave the room, when you are out of sight his smile drops and he goes back to glaring at Jean as he walks out of the room.

Taglist: @mahi-tamashi @100percentlazybonez @lanassmarty

@misscrissfemmefatle

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Six Times Toto Pushed His Luck (Part1)

Part 2

word count: 888

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife reader

Summary: When Toto Wolff's antics push his wife to the brink, she resorts to calling him by his full name, "Torger," reminding him who's really in charge in their playful yet loving relationship.

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You never really called him by his full first name. Toto was just easier, softer, and it fit him—most of the time. But sometimes, just sometimes, he pushed you to the edge, and then ‘Toto’ wasn’t enough. That’s when ‘Torger’ came out, a signal that he was skating on thin ice. And on very rare, very special occasions, when things were absolutely out of control, it became ‘Torger Christian Wolff.’

1. Monaco Apartment - Breakfast Disaster

It started off as a calm morning in Monaco, the sunlight streaming into your apartment. You’d barely woken up when you heard the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. Toto’s cooking. You sighed, knowing exactly where this was headed.

As you entered the kitchen, you were greeted by the sight of him attempting to scramble eggs in the smallest pan possible. Half of the eggs were sticking to the pan, the other half still runny, and he had the heat turned up too high.

“Toto,” you began gently, “maybe I should—”

“I’ve got this,” he said, his voice confident.

Seconds later, the eggs flipped awkwardly, some landing on the stove, some… on the floor. You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperated.

“Torger,” you finally said, crossing your arms. “You need to stop before we end up with a fire.”

He froze, the name cutting through his concentration. “Torger? It’s not that bad.”

“Torger. Step away from the stove.”

2. Silverstone Garage - Headphones Drama

Silverstone was in full swing, the race just as intense as you expected. Things weren’t going Mercedes’ way, and you could feel Toto’s frustration brewing from across the garage. Then, as if on cue, it happened—the dramatic slamming of the headphones. He ripped them off his head and threw them down onto the table in one swift, angry motion.

You sighed. How many pairs had he gone through this season? Too many to count.

“Torger,” you said, louder than usual to cut through the tension. “If you break one more pair of headphones…”

He looked at you with raised eyebrows. “Torger?”

“Yes. Torger. Those things are expensive, and you’re going to run out at this rate.”

He chuckled, the tension easing a bit. “Alright, alright. I’ll be gentler.”

3. Vienna - The Overpacking Incident

Packing for a quick weekend trip to Vienna should have been simple. Should have been. But when Toto decided to take the lead, you knew you were in for trouble. You opened the suitcase and stared in disbelief. There were four pairs of shoes, multiple shirts, and enough clothes to last a month.

“Torger,” you called from the bedroom. “Come here.”

He appeared in the doorway, clearly proud of his work. “I packed for us.”

You pointed at the suitcase. “Torger, why are there four pairs of shoes? We’re gone for two days!”

“I thought options would be good.”

“Torger, we don’t need options. We need space. Unpack this now.”

4. The Paddock - PDA Overload

The paddock was bustling, as usual, cameras and fans everywhere. You and Toto were walking through when, out of nowhere, he decided it was the perfect moment for an over-the-top kiss. In front of everyone. The photographers snapped away, and you could practically feel the internet lighting up with memes.

“Toto,” you whispered, trying to pull away.

“What?” he asked, his grin devilish.

You shot him a look, but he leaned in again, clearly enjoying himself. That’s when you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Torger. Not in front of everyone!”

He laughed, finally pulling back. “What? Can’t I show my wife some affection?”

“Torger, not when the whole grid is watching.”

5. Home Gym - The Training Competition

One of Toto’s favorite pastimes was working out, and today, he had challenged you to a little ‘friendly’ competition. At first, it was fun—some light weights, a few squats—but as the session went on, his competitive side started showing. He kept pushing, adding more weights and insisting on extra rounds.

By the time you were on your third set of squats, you’d had enough. Your legs felt like jelly, and he was still going strong.

“Torger,” you panted, dropping the weights. “I’m not a Formula 1 driver. This is insane.”

“One more set,” he said, completely ignoring the exhaustion in your voice.

“Torger,” you warned, “if you make me do one more squat, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

He chuckled, finally letting you off the hook. “Fine, fine. You win.”

6. Baku - The Meltdown

Baku was not going well. The race had been a disaster, and Toto’s mood was even worse. He spent the entire evening pacing, ranting about strategies, tires, and everything that had gone wrong. You had tried to calm him down, but nothing worked.

Finally, he stormed into the hotel room, still mid-rant, and that was when you’d had enough.

“Torger Christian Wolff,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you’d ever intended.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. You never used his full name unless you were seriously upset.

“You need to stop this. It’s done, the race is over. Either calm down or I’m calling Christian Horner to tell him you need a break.”

Toto blinked, stunned. “You wouldn’t…”

“Try me, Torger Christian.”

He stared at you for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. “Alright, I’ll stop.”

“Good.”

[soobnny]

one more month — bang chan. established relationship. fluff. chan missing you while he’s on tour. (0.6k words)

“Chan?”

It’s 11pm for you when he calls from his hotel room, somewhere oceans away. There’s still sleep dripping from your tone, and he can almost hear the rustling of sheets from your end.

“Sorry baby, did I wake you?” Chan speaks so quietly it’s almost a whisper. He was careful not to shake you out of your silence.

“Mmm, no.” You croak out.

He knows you’re lying, could almost picture you jolting from your sleep at the familiar buzz of your ringtone. The thought makes him swallow, teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

“Is there a reason why you’re calling?”

He pauses before answering. Chan has no idea how the fuck he’s feeling right now, but he knows he misses you.

It’s been 4 months since he last saw you. All he has are pictures of you in his phone, and occasional phone calls that will never suffice to the way you sound in person. To the way you feel in person.

Chan stares out the big fucking window from where they’re staying, finding comfort in the thought that you might be looking at the same moon.

He swallows again. “Does there have to be a reason?”

“Of course not.”

“Just miss you.” He breathes out slowly, head tilted on the glass windows. “And I wish— we didn’t have to be so far away all the time.”

He’s thinking of you, imagining how you look right now with tired eyes. He’s thinking of what it would be like if he was there right now. You’d probably be asleep, tangled up in each other’s limbs. It would look uncomfortable from an outsider’s eye, but he knows. Knows how it feels to have your heartbeat pressed against his and how nice it feels.

You sigh. “One more month.”

The tone in your voice is gentle, yet knowing. He knows you miss him too.

“For now, you need to sleep, no?”

It’s 3 in the morning for him, and he’ll have to be awake again in three hours.

“Can’t.” He bites his lip, swallowing hard as he tries to fight the sob brewing in his throat. Your heart clenches at the way he sounds, knows that when he feels, he lets it take over him.

“Will you be able to sleep if I stay on the phone?”

“Maybe.” Shaky.

“Okay. Have the kids been treating you well?”

A smile pulls at his lips at the mention of his best friends, and the topic change does a good job at masking the nauseating pain of missing you. A bandaid. A temporary fix.

“Still loud and stubborn, but I wouldn’t want them any other way.”

“Hmmm, I won’t be surprised if you come home with a head of white hair.”

He laughs at the thought, running a hand through his hair. “I think I’m already starting.”

“Then Seungmin calling you an old man is justifiable, then?”

“I don’t think I like you teaming up with the boys against me. You’ve signed up on my team the moment you said yes to being mine.”

You laugh from your end, and Chan’s heart flutters at the sound. He can almost see you with your crescent eyes and the cute scrunch on your nose, the one you do when you cackle.

He tries not to think about it too much. Tries not to picture himself right there with you. He knows it’d only rip the bandaid he’d desperately plastered on himself.

“Not sleepy yet?”

“Just a little.” He admits quietly, a yawn escaping his mouth.

There’s stifling from his end, and you can only assume he’s slipped himself back into the covers of his bed.

You keep telling him stories, no matter how menial, anything to keep him company. You know he just needs to hear your voice, has told you before how simply hearing you comforts him—it’s a calm only you can offer.

Chan breathes in and out slowly.

It’s four in the morning now, and there’s quiet snoring in the background.

“Goodnight Channie. One more month.”

[cherryobx]

Prom season

request: here

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: you tell your best friend Rafe no one's asked you to prom and he insists on taking you (because he's down bad)

warnings: language, insecurities about appearance and behavior, lovesick Rafe, angsty, oc side character

wc: 2.4k

“I seriously don’t know who to go with!” Emma groans, shoving a couple of fries in her mouth. “Like 4 people have asked me already and I don’t know how I’m supposed to choose.”

She’s been venting the whole lunch break about her prom struggles. She has 4 people to choose from and it’s her biggest dilemma to date. It’s all she’s been talking about the last couple of weeks. You wouldn’t mind it if it wasn’t for how she keeps rubbing it in your face that she’s got so many options while you haven’t got a single one. No one’s asked you. For a while you kept hoping that someone was going to ask. Maybe that guy in biology who keeps asking for your notes or that dude in your English class who you sometimes study in the library with. Or even your best friend, Rafe. But no one’s asked yet and now you’ve lost all hope. Prom’s soon, everyone who plans on going already has a date.

It’s always been like this. For as long as you can remember, all the guys have gone for your friends. Sometimes they make conversation with you first before asking for your friend’s number or if they’re single. Over the years it has affected your confidence and mental health more than you’d like to admit. Was it the way you looked? Were you awkward? Were you too tall or too short? You couldn’t for the life of you figure out why no one ever approached you like they approached your friends. You weren’t in any way lesser than them. So what was it?

You absentmindedly push your lunch around the plate with your fork, not really focusing on her constant chatter.

While Emma’s talking your ear off about the struggle of choosing a date, you’ve also got a dilemma brewing in your head. There’s no way you’re gonna go alone. That would be embarrassing, you think. That means you’re going to have to sit out prom entirely. But that also feels wrong. Prom is such a staple in every young person’s school experience and you know for certain that you’d feel shitty for missing out. 

“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks as you hop into his car after school and throw your backpack in the backseat before buckling in. He has always been good at reading you, ever since you two became friends, best friends. He just knew by the way your shoulders were slumped and how you walked to his car that something had happened.

“Nothing.” You angle your knees towards the car door and stare out the window, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Talk to me,” he presses but you won’t budge.

“Just drive.”

He looks at you with a puzzled expression for a second before shaking his head, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the school parking lot.

He will find out what’s bothering you.

Rafe pulls up to your driveway. As soon as his car rolls to a stop, you’ve unbuckled yourself and grabbed your backpack. You exit the car swiftly and walk to the house without waiting for him.

This is bad, he thinks. Something is very wrong because you’re almost never this cold to him. He turns the ignition off, trying to figure out if he’s done something to upset you. If he did, he can’t recall it.

“Did I do something?” he barges into your room right after you, having caught up to you in the hallway. The door slams shut after him, the bang of it echoing through the house.

“What?” you turn to him after throwing your backpack on the ground next to the desk.

“You’re clearly mad at me and frankly I can’t figure out what I have done to deserve this treatment.”

“Not everything is about you, Rafe. I’m not mad at you but I’d like for you to go home.”

He shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around this. “So you are mad at me?”

“I just said I’m not! I just wanna be alone right now,” you groan in frustration and pinch the bridge of your nose. You didn’t mean to unleash all these pent up emotions on him and if he had left after dropping you off like planned, you wouldn’t have to have this conversation with him.

“You are! Clearly something is wrong and you refuse to talk about it. I’m not gonna leave things like this and just go home. That’s bullshit. You know me better than this.”

And then you snap. All of the negative emotions from the past couple of weeks take you over. “I still haven’t been asked to prom. And that makes me feel like shit, like a complete loser. Is that what you wanna hear?”

Rafe’s lips are sealed shut and he doesn’t know how to react.

“I’ve been feeling sorry for myself for weeks because no one seems to want anything to do with me. What is so wrong with me that absolutely no one wants to go to this stupid fucking prom with me? Emma got asked four times. Four fucking times! And I haven’t still gotten asked a single time. Not once! That was all I wanted. I wanted one person to ask me. Just one! And no one did. All of my friends have found their dates. I even bought the dress and I was so excited to wear it and now I won’t have the chance because no one thinks I’m worthy enough. Am I that invisible?”

Your emotions are all over the place and that tipped you over, you burst into tears. They’re streaming down your cheeks. It feels embarrassing to be crying in front of him. You’ve done it before, of course, but this feels different.

“Hey.” His voice is soft as he takes a step closer. He hesitates just for a second before wrapping his arms around you. One of his hands snakes around your waist and the other cradles the back of your head. He holds you against him as you sob into his t-shirt, fisting the fabric in your hands. But he doesn’t mind that one bit.

“You are not the problem. Not one bit. And absolutely nothing is wrong with you. It’s not your fault that everyone else is an idiot. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“You’re just saying that,” you sniffle, voice weak and quiet, barely above a whisper.

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true.” You still don’t believe him. He’s your best friend. He’s supposed to say stuff like that.

A beat of silence passes before you speak up again. “No one ever chooses me. And it hurts, you know. Everyone always goes for my friends, sometimes using me in the process to get to them. It makes me feel like shit, Rafe. I feel so unwanted. And this prom thing is just making this feeling grow worse and I hate it. I don’t wanna feel like the last choice anymore. I’m tired.”

Rafe feels sorry for how you’ve been treated. And angry. How is it possible that you, the most wonderful, beautiful, and funny person he knows, has been enduring this and hurting in silence? Who has dared to make you feel like you’re not enough? How is it possible that you’ve never felt like anyone's first choice? You’re his first choice. You’re enough for him. He’d choose you every day if you’d let him. He wants to kill everyone who has ever made you feel bad about yourself. You haven’t deserved this in the slightest.

He’s not sure what he should do. He doesn’t know if he should confess how he’s been feeling for the past couple of years to show you that there is someone who’d put you first. 

“I’ll take you to prom.”

You pull back a bit at his words, staring at him dumbfounded with your red puffy eyes. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? I’ll take you.” His fingers gently run through your hair. You don’t think he even acknowledges doing it.

“No.” You take a step back, out of his warm and comforting arms. You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

Now it’s his turn to be dumbfounded. He hadn’t expected that to come out of your mouth. “What do you mean ‘no?’”

“I don’t want your pity, Rafe. I’m not letting you take me to prom just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you! I feel sorry for others because they can’t see what’s right in front of them. I want to take you to prom. I want you to get to wear that dress. I want you to have fun. I want you to not regret going years later. I want to make you happy. I would’ve asked you in a heartbeat if I had known that no one had taken up the opportunity to ask you. I was so sure you already had a date. I would’ve pulled out all the stops and given you the most embarrassing promposal ever.”

You feel your heart tighten in your chest at his words. His voice is pleading and he’s so desperate for you to hear what he’s actually saying.

“Why are you saying all that? I’m not some charity case. I’m not some problem for you to fix. No one asked me to prom, no one chose me, no one has ever asked me out, but that’s my burden to deal with.”

He furrows his brows. “That’s not what this is! I’m not trying to fix you or invite you to prom out of pity. I fucking love you! Why can’t you see that? I want to take you to prom because you want to go and I would do anything to make you happy.”

Your mind short circuits as your mouth hangs open as you just stand there. “You…love me?”

“Of course I fucking love you,” he states, like it’s obvious. 

Rafe loves you. And you had no idea. You try to think back to all the moments when he’s gone above and beyond for you. All the moments you felt like he was trying something, all the gifts, all the compliments and the sleeping over almost every other night. Was that just him trying to show you he cared more than he let on? That he cared about you more than a best friend should?

“Me? Why?” You can’t believe it. This must be a dream because what the fuck.

“Why? Because I just do. I think you’re the most beautiful, amazing and caring person in the whole world and it pains me that you don’t see that. I love you because you’re always yourself around me. You’ve wormed yourself into my heart and my head and no matter how much or what I try I can’t get you out. You occupy my every waking thought and you won’t even leave me alone at night in my dreams. I think about you constantly and I feel almost sick when I’m not next to you. You are and have been my first choice for so long. I’d choose you in a room full of my family and closest friends without a second thought. I care about you more than anyone else in my life. And if I lose you after this confession I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. I don’t know if I can let you go. I don’t want to let you go. I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same and despise me now. I’ll find it in my heart to accept that. But I won’t stop loving you. I refuse to do that. I don’t think I’m capable of not loving you.”

A tear falls from your eye and rolls down your cheek. Rafe reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb.

“Do you mean all that? You’re not fucking with me?” Rafe hears the insecurities speaking for you.

“I’d never, and I mean never, fuck with you about this. This is real, this is what I feel.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” he confirms with a nod.

You take a step closer to him and hesitantly wrap your arms around his torso, placing your head against his chest so you’d hear his heartbeat and you feel it grounding you. You’re speechless and he can tell so he just holds you for a while. He did just drop a life-changing bomb on you.

“I love you too, you know.” Your voice is barely a whisper but it’s enough for him to hear. “I just never thought you’d feel the same.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and then keeps his lips there. He inhales the familiar scent that is just so uniquely yours and he can’t seem to get enough of it.

“Well, I do. Always will.”

You raise your head from his chest and look up at him. “You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can. I’ve known for years that I will always love you, doesn’t matter if we’re friends or together. My feelings for you will never change.”

One of his hands leaves your body and he extends his pinky towards you. It makes you laugh. Pinky promises have been your thing since forever. It’s childish but that’s how you always knew he meant what he said, that he intended to stay true to his word.

You wrap your pinky around his in a silent promise and Rafe doesn’t hesitate to lean down and press his lips against yours. Your pinkies are intertwined as you kiss him in your bedroom. A concept so wild you think you might pass out. You’re kissing Rafe Cameron. Rafe fucking Cameron. Your best friend. Yet it feels so right.

After a while he pulls away and his forehead rests against yours as you catch your breath. Your heart is racing with adrenaline and happiness. This is so surreal.

“So… prom?” he asks.

“I don’t care about that anymore.”

“Too bad, we’re going.”

And he stays true to his word. He picks you up at the agreed time. He makes sure you know that you’re absolutely gorgeous and that dress suits you so well. He opens doors for you and dances with you all night. He’s glued to your side the whole time and makes sure that this is the best goddamn prom in the history of proms. For you. He’d do anything for you.

[solxamber]

Rest Assured - Jamil Viper x reader

4 times you see Jamil nearing his breaking point and the 1 time you intervene

You’ve always prided yourself on being observant. Some might call it nosy, but you prefer thoughtful. After all, if you didn’t keep an eye on things, who would? Especially when it came to someone like Jamil Viper, who, despite his best efforts to appear unfazed, was absolutely not fine.

And lately, it’s been like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

The guy was practically doing everything—cooking, cleaning, managing Kalim, studying, practicing, and dealing with an endless amount of Scarabia chaos. But today? Today felt like the universe decided to crank up the difficulty setting on his life, and you were determined to intervene. But first, you needed to observe.

Instance 1: Spaghetti Saga

It began in the kitchen, where Jamil was, unsurprisingly, cooking for the entire dorm. Kalim, bless his overly-enthusiastic heart, had announced a Scarabia Spaghetti Spectacular—an idea that seemed innocent enough on the surface. Until you realized that Kalim had no intention of helping. Well, he tried. Keyword: tried.

“Jamil! Jamil!” Kalim ran into the kitchen, arms full of ingredients that had no business being in spaghetti. “Look! I found some strawberries! And these marshmallows! They’d go perfectly in the sauce, right?”

Jamil froze mid-stir, his hand gripping the spoon so tightly you were concerned it might snap in two. Slowly, he turned to face Kalim, a polite but strained smile plastered across his face. “Strawberries? In spaghetti sauce?”

Kalim nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! It’s sweet, right? Sweet is good!”

Jamil’s eye twitched, just a little. “Kalim… no.”

“But—”

“No strawberries. No marshmallows. Please.”

Kalim deflated slightly but wasn’t deterred. “Okay! No problem! I’ll just add them to the salad instead.”

Before Jamil could react, Kalim darted off, presumably to wreak havoc on the next innocent dish. You caught the moment Jamil whispered to himself, “I’m in hell.”

And that was only the beginning.

Instance 2: Basketball Breakdown

The next incident occurred during basketball practice. Now, Jamil was usually the best player on the court, no question. Quick reflexes, sharp strategy—he could wipe the floor with the other teams without even breaking a sweat. But today?

Today, it was like he forgot what a basketball was.

It started innocently enough. A pass here, a dribble there, nothing out of the ordinary. But then one of the players tossed him the ball, and Jamil, in a moment that defied all logic and reason, missed it entirely. The ball smacked him square in the face with an audible thud.

The gym went silent. You could hear the collective gasp from the team, all eyes on Jamil, who stood there frozen, gripping his nose.

“Jamil!” Kalim shouted from across the court, jogging over. “Are you okay? Here, I brought some ice just in case!” He whipped out a handful of ice cubes from his pocket, offering them as if this was a totally normal thing to do.

Jamil stared at him, then at the ice cubes, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw his soul leave his body. But instead of snapping, he simply nodded, took the ice cubes, and walked off the court in silence, leaving everyone else standing there in stunned confusion.

“Did he just—?” one of the players started to ask, but you shook your head. “Don’t.”

You made another mental note. This was getting serious.

Instance 3: Paperwork Pandemonium

After practice, you found Jamil in his dorm room, surrounded by a sea of paperwork. And, of course, Kalim was there too, oblivious to the storm brewing in Jamil’s head.

“Jamil, can you help me organize these?” Kalim asked, holding up a stack of papers. “I don’t really know what half of them are, but they seem important!”

Jamil glanced at the pile with a deadpan expression. “Kalim, that’s the inventory for the next three months. You were supposed to file this weeks ago.”

Kalim blinked, still smiling. “Oh… well, I knew it was important!”

Jamil’s fingers twitched as he grabbed the papers from Kalim, scanning them quickly. “These are all overdue. We’re going to get fined if we don’t submit them by tomorrow.”

Kalim’s eyes widened in horror. “Tomorrow?! Oh no! What are we gonna do?”

Jamil took a deep breath, visibly restraining himself. “We aren’t going to do anything. I am going to fix this. Again.”

Kalim, ever the optimist, beamed. “Thanks, Jamil! You’re the best!”

And with that, he was off to who knows where, leaving Jamil alone in the paperwork disaster zone. You watched as he stared at the pile in front of him, his eye twitching again. He muttered something under his breath—something you were pretty sure wasn’t very polite.

You added another mental note. He was hanging by a thread.

Instance 4: The Final Straw (Almost)

The fourth instance happened later that evening, when you found Jamil in the library, supposedly studying for finals. But when you approached his table, you found him sitting there, staring blankly at a textbook. His pen was poised over a page, but he hadn’t written a single word.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting down next to him. “How’s studying going?”

He didn’t answer at first, just continued staring at the book like it held all the answers to his existential crisis. Finally, he sighed. “I can’t do this.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t… I can’t handle all of this. Kalim. Finals. The dorm. Everything.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. “It’s too much.”

You stared at him for a moment, then reached over and gently placed your hand on his. “You don’t have to handle it all by yourself, you know.”

He looked up at you, exhaustion clear in his eyes. “Who else is going to do it? Kalim? The other students? No one can do it like I can.”

You could hear the defeat in his voice, the resignation. He truly believed he was stuck in this never-ending cycle of responsibilities, with no way out.

That was it. You’d seen enough.

The Fifth Time’s the Charm: Break Time for Jamil

Without another word, you grabbed Jamil by the arm and pulled him out of the library. He barely had the energy to protest, following you like a zombie as you led him to a quiet, secluded spot in the courtyard. Once there, you gently pushed him down onto a bench.

“Sit,” you ordered, and to your surprise, he didn’t argue.

He sat there, looking completely drained, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. You sat next to him, feeling your heart twist as you saw just how close he was to breaking down. This wasn’t the Jamil you were used to—this was someone who had been running on fumes for way too long.

You didn’t even think. You just acted. Before he could react, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Jamil stiffened at first, clearly not used to such open displays of affection. But after a few seconds, he slowly relaxed, leaning into your embrace like a man who had been drowning and finally found a lifeline.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You hugged him tighter, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I know. You’ve been doing too much for too long. You need a break.”

“I can’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. “There’s too much to do.”

“Screw the to-do list,” you replied. “You’re not a machine, Jamil. You need to rest, or you’re going to collapse.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just leaned into you, letting himself be vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. You could feel the tension slowly draining from his body, the weight of his responsibilities finally lifting, if only for a moment.

And then, before you knew it, he was asleep.

You blinked in surprise, looking down at his head resting in your lap. His breathing had evened out, and his face, usually so guarded and composed, was now relaxed in peaceful slumber.

You couldn’t help but smile, gently running your fingers through his hair. He needed this more than he’d ever admit. And you? You were more than happy to be his pillow.

Jamil didn’t wake up for a while, and when he finally did, it was gradual, the soft sunlight filtering through the trees casting a warm glow over the courtyard. His lashes fluttered against your lap, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion as he blinked awake. The moment he realized where he was, nestled against you, his cheeks flushed and honestly, he looked adorable.

“I—” Jamil began, his voice thick with grogginess as he pushed himself up, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. “Did I fall asleep?”

You offered a soft smile, brushing a few strands of his hair away from his face. “Yep. Right in my lap, too. You must’ve been really tired.”

His eyes widened, and the blush on his cheeks deepened. Jamil rarely let his guard down, but right now, he looked almost vulnerable, caught between embarrassment and gratitude. “I’m… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Jamil,” you interrupted gently, placing a hand on his arm to keep him from sitting up fully. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and you finally let yourself rest. I’m glad you did.”

He stared at you, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. His shoulders sagged, and for once, he didn’t try to fight it. He stayed close to you, his body still angled toward yours, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away completely.

You could see it, the weight of the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. The lines of stress etched into his face, the constant need to be on alert. Jamil had always been the responsible one, the one who took on everyone else’s burdens. But now, in this moment, you wanted to be the one to take care of him.

“Hey,” you said softly, threading your fingers through his hair again, watching as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “How about we get out of here? Take a break. A real break.”

Jamil’s eyes opened, and he frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s go somewhere. Just the two of us. Somewhere far away from all of this. No Scarabia, no endless responsibilities. Just… us.” You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as if you were sharing a secret. “You deserve it, Jamil. You’ve done more than enough. It’s time to take care of yourself.”

He hesitated, his frown deepening, as if the very idea of abandoning his duties was too much to comprehend. “I can’t just leave… there’s too much to do. Kalim—”

“Will be perfectly fine,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument. “And besides, I think Kalim would be all for this. In fact, I bet he’d love the idea.”

Jamil looked unconvinced, but before he could argue further, you gave him a gentle nudge. “Think about it. You could actually relax for once. No one bothering you, no one asking for a hundred different things at once. Just peace and quiet. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

He glanced down at his hands, clearly mulling over your words. You could tell he was struggling with the thought of letting go, even just for a little while. Jamil had been in control for so long, it was hard for him to imagine a world where he didn’t have to be.

But you weren’t about to let him slip back into that cycle.

Reaching out, you gently cupped his cheek, tilting his head up so he was looking at you again. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Jamil. Let me take care of you for a change.”

His breath caught at your words, and for a long moment, he just stared at you, something soft and unspoken passing between you. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned into your touch, his eyes slipping closed as he exhaled a long, weary breath.

“I don’t know if I know how to relax,” he admitted quietly.

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Good thing you’ve got me then. I’ll teach you.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, with a small sigh, Jamil opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “You really think we could just… leave? Just like that?”

“Absolutely,” you said, the determination clear in your voice. “We’ll go somewhere beautiful, somewhere quiet. No one to bother us. Just you, me, and a whole lot of nothing.”

Jamil let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “And what about Kalim? He’s bound to make a mess of things if I’m gone too long.”

“Don’t worry about him,” you said with a grin. “We’ll get him on board. Heck, Kalim will probably help us pack.”

And as if summoned by your words, Kalim himself appeared around the corner, grinning ear to ear like he’d just heard the best news of his life. “Did someone say vacation? I am so in!”

Jamil stared at him, his expression caught between disbelief and mild exasperation. “Kalim—”

Kalim bounded over to you both, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, Jamil, this is perfect! You’ve been working so hard lately, you totally deserve a break! You should l go somewhere fun! Ooh, maybe a beach? Or the mountains! Or, ooh, how about a floating island? I heard there’s one with the best sunrises!”

“Kalim—” Jamil tried again, but Kalim was on a roll.

“I’ll even help you pack! I can get everything ready! Don’t worry about Scarabia, I’ve got it all covered!” Kalim’s grin widened as he clapped Jamil on the shoulder. “You just focus on relaxing!”

Jamil blinked, looking thoroughly overwhelmed by Kalim’s sudden enthusiasm. “I… don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘yes’?” you teased, nudging him again. “Come on, Jamil. You deserve this. Let yourself have something nice for once.”

Jamil glanced between you and Kalim, clearly torn. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that still wanted to cling to his responsibilities, to keep everything in order. But then, slowly, his expression softened. He let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…Fine,” he muttered, his lips curving into a small, tired smile. “But only if you promise we’re not going anywhere too ridiculous.”

Kalim’s eyes lit up, and he practically bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! Don’t worry, I’ll find the perfect spot! You’ll love it!”

But before Kalim could dash off in a whirlwind of excitement, there was a sound behind you that made you groan inwardly—Crowley.

The headmaster sauntered into view, his usual over-the-top grandeur evident in every step. “Vacation, you say? Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible! You see, I was just about to ask you two for some assistance with a few important matters—”

Before he could finish, Jamil stood up sharply, his expression darkening. For once, it wasn’t the usual calm, collected Jamil standing in front of you. This Jamil was one step away from grabbing Crowley by the collar and shaking him like a rag doll.

“Headmaster,” Jamil began, his voice low and dangerous, “I have been running this dorm, managing everything from meals to paperwork, while studying and handling Kalim’s disasters for months. I have not had a break. I am this close to losing my mind.”

Crowley blinked, clearly taken aback by Jamil’s sudden intensity.

“If you try to take this vacation from me,” Jamil continued, his tone flat but terrifying, “I swear I will not be responsible for what happens next.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Jamil’s expression—wild-eyed, teetering on the edge—was enough to make him think twice. “Ah, well, I suppose the matters can wait! Yes, yes, of course! You both deserve some time off. Enjoy your… rest.”

Jamil didn’t wait for any further confirmation. He grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet, and shot Crowley a glare that could have melted steel. “We’re leaving. Now.”

You tried to suppress your laughter as Jamil practically dragged you away, Kalim bouncing along happily beside you.

Once you were a safe distance from the courtyard, Jamil finally slowed down, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He glanced down at you, his hand still holding yours.

“You really think this is going to work?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

You grinned, squeezing his hand gently. “Absolutely. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you saw Jamil smile—a real, genuine smile, soft and full of relief. He leaned in closer, his voice low as he whispered, “Thank you. For… everything.”

Your heart fluttered as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary. “You deserve it,” you whispered back, resting your head on his shoulder. “And I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

Jamil chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both walked off, Kalim already rambling about potential vacation spots. But for now, you didn’t care where you were going. All that mattered was that it would be the two of you together.

Masterlist

[frost-queen]

Tempting fate // part 3 (Reader!Featherington x Colin Bridgerton)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @dutifullyannoyingfox, @wolf-phoenix-lover, @mellowdreamlandpost-blog, @markive-m, @esposamultifandom, @mswwvaleska, @itsalyssadawnuniverse, @magical-spit, @winter-solstice24

Summary: Penelope tries her effort into turning Colin's eye to her. Realization hits you as you have a hunch of who the writer of Lady Whistledown is. Bad blood brewing between sisters.  [ part 1 & part 2 & part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 8 & part 9 & part 10]

You had excused yourself from Colin, heading back inside. Where the warmth wrapped around you like a blanket. The loud muttering deafening out your clear hearing. A pair of dancers almost knocked you over when you rushed by. Coming to the window, where you had spotted your sister, she was gone. The spot empty. Looking around suspiciously, you wanted to know where she had gone too. Some bystanders glanced your way, whispering as you ignored them.

You could care less about them. Getting on the tips of your toes, you tried to overlook a few high heads. With your sister’s new wardrobe it wasn’t easy to spot her. Her bright colours exchanged for more plain colours. Blending more easily with the others. Turning your head, your eyes widened brief seeing that Colin had returned inside.

Looking searchingly around as well. You dropped your feet flat on the ground, lowering in height. Ducking a bit, you didn’t want Colin to find you. Some lords pulled their noses up at your curious and suspicious behaviour. Finding your way to the crowd lowered as if you were looking for a lost earing.

Lifting your head a bit, you came in contact with Benedict Bridgerton. He sat down, mouth half stuffed with a sweet, the half bitten part in his hand. You smiled sheepishly at him. Benedict moved his free hand to the side, pointing. You followed his point seeing him point at your mama. You thanked him with a nervous smile.

Straightening your back a bit, you walked off casually. Benedict quirking his eyebrow up at your strange, but funny acting. You pretended to make your way over to mama, till you hopped aside, disappearing into the crowd. Where ever could she be? Looking left and right. Then your eyes locked. Pinpointing her.

She stood by the walls, her dance card dangling down her wrist. Her gaze was focused elsewhere. Not far from her stood a group of ladies. Chattering away. Your sister tilting her head a bit, as if being able to hear better. Her expression emotionless. Silently you made a big turn around to reach her out of surprise.

You reached the walls, practically glueing yourself to it. Your reputation was already ruined by gossip, so you could care less for your mischievous acts. Quietly you approached her. Coming to stand beside till she noticed the company that had joined her. She glanced at you. – “Are you not dancing sister?” – you asked gesturing at the dancers. Penelope kept looking in front of her. – “I am trying not to draw any attention to myself.” – she replied. – “I saw you with Colin earlier.” – she added leaning a bit to you.

You clasped your hands together below, leaning a bit forwards. – “What a keen observation sister.” – you answered with a hint of sarcasm. You caught her looking, smiling intentionally at her. Penelope smiled back at you. In silence you both stood, looking away from each other. For the first time in forever it felt awkward standing with your sister. As if being near a stranger. You became aware of some curious eyes once more.

Seeing their heads come together to whisper and gossip. Ladies and lords probably discussing your purity. It hurt. Seeing the entire ton be against you, but perhaps you deserved it. After all you did kiss Colin. Not your intended, not your fiancé and certainly not your husband. Despite all the lies and the hurt, a part of you deserved it. Deserved to be judged like that.

“Best not to draw attention to yourself.” – Penelope spoke softly. It made you widen your eyes at her. Turning around, you left feeling already judged too much. You returned to mama, waiting there till the dreadful ball was over. The carriage ride back home was horrible. Your mother sighing loud as she undid one of her pins from her hair. – “This is a nightmare.” – she called out.

“I’ll have to marry my daughters off to farmers at the rate of this. Congratulations daughters, you better get used to the life of work.” – she said sarcastic. Phillipa busted out in tears, leaning her head against Prudence’s shoulder. She sighed again. – “I had such high hopes for you Y/n. Guess I overrated you.” – she turned to look outside.

Her comment made you lower your head, letting your hands slip in the folds of your skirt. The carriage hobbled on the cobble stone as it rode into your street. Mama got out first, your sisters following. You got out last, feeling miserable as hell. You immediately went to your room, crying on your bed.

Penelope lifted her head up as the door to the Parlor opened. Colin Bridgerton entering. – “Colin.” – Penelope spoke getting up. Colin bowed to her, before approaching him. – “To what do we owe the pleasure?” – she let out with curiosity. –“Are… are you here alone?” – he asked. Penelope let out a soft ‘yes’. – “Would you like some tea?” – she offered, gesturing at the small table. Colin nodded. Penelope poured him some tea, handing him the cup.

Colin took a sip as Penelope was staring at him. It made Colin furrow his brows. – “What is it Pen?” – he asked almost humorously. – “Nothing.” – she responded mesmerized back.  It made Colin set the cup down with a sheepish chuckle. – “It is just…” – she started catching his attention. – “Your eyes…” – she began. – “A remarkable shade of blue.” – Gazing wondrously at him.

Colin stared back at her, caught up in her words. The front door opened as you entered alone. You walked past the Parlor, hearing your sister’s voice. – “and yet somehow they shine even brighter when you are kind.” – you heard her speak. Curious as to who your sister was speaking, you cautiously opened the door a smidge. Enough for you to look into the room, with one eye. Your eyes widening seeing her stand with Colin Bridgerton.

Colin cleared his throat, drinking his tea as if parched. You backed away from the door in stunned. Slowly figuring it out, you made your way over to the stairs. Stomping loudly as your presence was known now. Penelope turned around in shock. Colin with a quizzable brow. He moved forward, thinking perhaps an intruder had come to the house. Penelope’s eyes shifting thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Upstairs you rushed to your sister’s room. Swinging the door open as you didn’t bother to close it. Immediately you went towards her desk. Pulling the drawers open. Searching vigorously through the papers. Some flew out of the drawer from your force. On her desk stood a little box as you opened it, ruffling with your hand in it. Nothing. You went towards her dresser, searching through her clothing.

Nothing. The covers got pulled back from her bed. Nothing, not even under the bed. For a moment, you felt impatient. Biting your finger a bit. Till your eyes fell upon something else. You crossed the room, hearing a plank creek. It made you pause. Putting more pressure on it, to hear the difference. It creaked more.

Kneeling down you let your fingers brush over the wooden edges. Till you felt that you could lift the plank a bit up. Eyes widening, you pulled the plank up. Almost aggressively you forced your hands down to the wooden box and papers. Reading head line after head line. Dearest gentile reader. Dearest gentile reader. Dearest gentile reader. Throwing a few pages around you, you couldn’t stop reading them. All editions of Lady Whistledown you had read before.

The realization hitting you. The one who wrote such filth about you, was closer than you thought. Your own dearest sister. Quiet wallflower Penelope Featherington. Shy as a mouse, but loud with a mighty pen. In shock, you got up, holding numerous pages of filth. There were rushed footsteps on the stairs. Penelope barging into the room as she bumped against the doorframe, panting.

Her eyes widened at the sight of you with her papers. You slowly looked up to her, holding the numerous papers up. – “You… you did this…” – you said still trying to process your discovery. – “I can explain.” – she started coming closer.  – “Filth after filth!” – You started throwing pages at her. Penelope got started as some pages flew against her.

“You wrote about me!” – you screamed out throwing the last of pages at her. Bending down, you picked up a few more. – “Does this satisfy you sister!” – waving the pages at her. – “I saw you with Colin!” – Penelope called out full of emotion. It made you throw the pages at her out of anger. – “So you decided to write lies about me!” – you yelled at her. – “You know I like Colin!” – Penelope answered justifying her acts. It made you scream in agony. – “If you just stayed away from him, I wouldn’t have to write about you!” – Penelope made clear.

Pacing around, you felt yourself get emotional. Lip trembling as you tried your best not to cry. – “You are the devil!” – you cried out with tears in your eyes. Penelope swallowed, finally cracking to her own emotions. – “It was only meant to teach you a lesson.” – she said. – “Is that what you were doing?!” – you shouted at her. – “By writing about me in your latest sheet! By telling the entire world about things I entrusted you with?” – you finished with anger.

“It was the only way I could convince you to leave Colin alone.” – she responded with emotion in her voice.  You took a step forward to her, wiping your cheek clean. Your expression turning cold. – “The only person you were interested in glorifying was yourself!”

Penelope briefly looked away. – “I do not even know you.” – you said to her taking a step back from her. You turned away from her, wiping more tears away that kept coming. Penelope’s expression changed with anger. – “All you ever do is talk about your sisters!” – Penelope called out in frustration. – “You’ve all these dreams and ambitions, but I am the one who did something great, and you cannot stand it!” – She yelled out.

You returned to your sister, inhaling deep. – “I wish to never see or speak to you again.” – you told her coldly. You went towards the door till you stopped, finger thoughtfully against your lips. – “I wouldn’t put your hopes on Colin, Pen.” – you said to her. – “He’s not interested in you.” – you let her know, wanting to have the final blow.

Your words cut like a knife through her heart, making her gasp soft. You left her room, crying your eyes out. Penelope grabbed a pillow and threw it in agony at the wall. Rushing down the stairs, you didn’t expect Colin to still be here. – “Y/n?” – he said with concern at the foot of the stairs. With a trembling lip, you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him.

Colin got startled for a second. – “What is wrong Y/n?” – he asked, moving his arms around you. You only wrapped your arms tighter around him, wanting him to comfort you. Colin hugged you better, stroking your back. Penelope had come into sight, standing at the railing of the stairway, looking down at Colin and you. You curled up a smile, knowing your sister was watching.

You moved a bit back in the hug as Colin saw the tears on your face. He touched your chin, concerned for you. – “What happened Y/n? Who hurt you?” – he wanted to know. You simply turned your head, looking at your sister up on the second floor. Colin looked past you to her as well. Penelope gripped onto the railing, staring bitter down. – “Pen?” – Colin asked you confused.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[theapangea]

I actually posted about this but I thought a fun dynamic to play with for lip and his girlfriend would be lip and a non drinker. Shes like the designated driver caregiver and the gallaghers love her because after parties they all magically wake up in their beds and lip just really values her more than life, like hes so in love its insane

A million times yes to this!! I love the idea of soft!Lip. Hope you love it!!

Soft 4 You

Lip Gallagher x reader

A/N: This is told from Lip's perspective which I think just lets us get into his head and how he feels about you. If you see any mistakes, no you didn't.

~~~

Summer in the Southside means two things - sweating your ass off during the day and partying until you black out at night. For Lip, the getting drunk off of your ass was all part of the fun, especially when he knew you were around to make sure he got home safely. 

The events of last night quickly fade away as the sunshine peeks through the makeshift curtain pinned to the wall. The whipping sound from the fan turns into a high pitch ring causing Lip to groan. His heartbeat pounding right behind his eyes as the beginning of a headache settles in. 

The feeling of his brain wanting to burst out of his skull makes him grab his pillow, placing it over his face, half covering himself from the sun and the other half suggesting that maybe death is a better way to deal with this hangover. His arm stretches out to feel around the bed, but it's empty, the presence of you long gone on this painful morning, if you could still call it morning. 

Pushing on the pillow more, the pressure lightly helping with the deadly headache. Squeezing his eyes tighter as the image of you begins to form inside his eyelids. Your smile, your voice, your laughter dancing around Lip’s head, the only solace from the raging migraine.

He wants to live inside his mind forever. The memories playfully swirl through his head as a warm, fuzzy feeling brews inside his chest. His heart beats faster just by thinking of you, the way you brighten a room, how you carry yourself, selflessly putting others before you. Caring for his siblings as if they are your own, stepping up to take the responsibility of the household on your shoulders. 

Since Lip met you, he has promised himself that he will become a better man for you. Become the partner that you deserve, striving everyday to do so. Lip wants you to have the world, hoping one day he can be the one to give it to you. 

Lip is so helplessly in love with you that he definitely doesn’t mind the fall.

The cotton mouth is too much to handle as he just lays there in his own sweat. He thinks if he waits here long enough that at some point you will show up, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, fingers rubbing over his chest, your sweet scent engulfing his nose. But sadly he can’t wait that long.

Groaning as he lifts himself onto his elbows, blinking a couple of times as his surroundings become clear, the headache throbbing more with every move. His eyes trailing along the room before seeing the tall glass of water that sits on the dresser. Smacking his lips a couple of times as he wants nothing more than to drink something. 

Pushing himself up, a small puddle of sweat lay underneath as he scoots to the edge, the bedsheet sticking to his legs as he fumbles to stand up. Using the dresser as leverage so he doesn’t fall.

The faint hint of a smile appears as he comes face to face with the water and next to it, two Advil and a little note that says ‘take these’ signed with a heart in the corner and your initial. His heart skips a beat as his fingers trace over your delicate handwriting. Barely being able to think straight because of the hangover and now you got his mind racing a million miles an hour with your love. 

Quickly raking a hand through his hair before swallowing the pills and chugging the water. Closing his eyes to allow the medicine to relieve some of his pain, knowing it will take longer than a couple of seconds. 

Tripping over himself as he pulls on a pair of jeans. Leaving his room to wobble down the hallway and descend down the stairs to the kitchen. The sound of chatter and laughter fill Lip’s head, wishing the happy sounds weren’t causing his head to pound more. Finally stopping on the bottom step as he observes the scene in front of him. 

Deb’s and Carl’s laughter fill the small room as you are telling a funny story. Your voice erupts louder as the punchline comes, sending them into fits of laughter. Their faces tell how much they enjoy having you around, the way you bring a sort of calmness to the house. Turning it into a home.

The kitchen is a bit of a mess as the grand breakfast you made - pancakes, eggs, bacon - sits on top of the stove. The dining table is messy as Lip can tell you just finished eating. Taking your time with his siblings to bond with them and get to know them on a deeper level. 

He couldn’t love you any more than in this exact moment. Without you knowing he was around. 

Lip gets pulled from his thoughts when Ian comes racing down the stairs behind him, patting Lip on the shoulder while he passes by. Prompting you to turn towards them both, a huge smile forming on your face, the kind where your eyes grow smaller and your cheeks grow bigger.

And God did that damn smile light a fire inside of him that he will let burn forever.

~~~

what did you think ??? thank you for reading !

[jaemna]

w.c 1.0k | fluff

[ 4:29pm ] soft music plays from the old radio on the counter, and you quietly hum along as the wooden spoon in your hand flows smoothly through the pot on the stovetop in front of you. the noodles begin to soften and collectively swirl around in the boiling liquid in a whirlpool of broth and vegetables. the hearty aroma of the brewing soup drifts through the air, and there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll smell it from his room down the hall.

without missing a beat, the creaking of the floor boards and the shuffling of his fuzzy socks interrupts the steady flow of mindless music as he creeps closer towards the kitchen. you tip a shaker of seasoning over the pot, not turning to greet the sick boy because he should be in bed.

haechan muffles a sloppy sneeze before entering, stumbling up behind you.

“lee donghyuck,” you sternly address him, twisting the knob on the stove down to the lowest notch before turning around to face your ill partner. you cross your arms over your chest, and haechan sticks his lower lip out in a pout; he knows what you’re going to say.

“go back to bed.”

haechan crinkles his nose up in a sniffle, rubbing his face with the blanket he cloaked himself in. his hair is a nest of knots, sticking up every which way. his bangs stick to his forehead and kiss the tops of his flushed cheeks. his nose is red and irritated- as he’s been blowing it all day- and his eyes are droopy, like he could fall asleep standing upright. although he’s wrapped in a fluffy blanket, you see that all he’s wearing is a t-shirt, boxers, and socks he hadn’t bothered to match. he shakes his head from side to side, tufts of hair flopping. he crosses his arms under his blanket, mimicking you.

you roll your eyes, turning to continue tending to your cooking. “you really shouldn’t be out of bed, donghyuck. you can’t even talk,” you assert, dipping a ladle into the pot of soup. haechan suddenly swings his arms around you from behind, cocooning you in his blanket along with him, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“i can talk,” he retorts in a raspy and borderline inaudible voice; he’d just proved your point. you raise an eyebrow at him, but he buries his face into your neck as if he knows the look on your face reads ‘i told you so.’ haechan groans into your shoulder, blowing hot air onto your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. his bedhead tickles the spot on your neck just under your ear. you wiggle your arm free to push the tangled mess of his hair away from your neck, but it just flops back into place. you huff, and haechan chuckles.

“babe, you’re gonna get me sick.” he only tightens his grip on you.

“go back to bed, hyuck.”

“no,” he groans, muffled by your clothing.

“alright, kid. no soup for you, then.” you scoop up the ladle so it’s full, wafting the steam toward you to inhale it, deeply and loudly, teasing him. he’s not watching, but he knows what you’re doing.

“more for me!” you sing, bringing it up to your lips. just as you’re about to sip it, haechan sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you yelp, and the ladle slips from your grasp, causing broth to splash up from the pot. when you lift your hands to wipe the bit of soup that met your face, haechan lifts the ladle and slurps soup obnoxiously loudly, smirking at you. you glare at him as he beams, rubbing his stomach happily.

“mmmmm,” he hums sarcastically. you drop your jaw in faux animosity.

“that’s it, back to bed with you!” you link his arm with yours after plucking the ladle from his hand, and tug him out of the kitchen. he leans his head on your shoulder as you lead him to his bedroom, filling the narrow hallway with the sound of his sly snickering from the craftiness of his own joke.

you pull him into the bedroom, met with a collection of used tissues and cold medicine and a video game tune softly playing from the tv. you unhook your arm from haechan, moving the game controller to the floor and tossing all of his trash into the bin, tidying up the area to make it feel a little more inviting to your stubborn boyfriend. haechan glances down at the disarray of pillows and blankets and releases a more-than-whiny sigh.

“come on, babe,” you encourage him, pulling back his duvet for him. “you need your beauty sleep if you wanna stay that pretty,” you ruffle his jungle of hair. haechan huffs, slumping down into the bed reluctantly, laying on his back. you pull the duvet back up, laying it on top of him and his head sinks heavily onto his pillow. as you turn to leave the room, you feel a tug on your pajama pants. looking down at him, he blinks up at you a few times with big, sleepy, brown puppy dog eyes.

“i’m coming right back with your soup, baby,” you promise him sweetly, attempting to pry his hand from your pants. he only whines again, twisting his fingers in the soft fabric.

you shake your head, crookedly grinning at the sleepy boy’s desperation, and lean down to press a light kiss to the tip of haechan’s nose. he smiles proudly, as if he’s just saved the world, and snuggles up into his blankets.

the trip back to the kitchen takes no more than five minutes, but even so, haechan is fast asleep when you return. you step in quietly, careful not to disturb him, and set the bowl of soup on his desk along with the extra cold medicine you picked up from the bathroom. haechan snores a bit, most likely due to his stuffy nose, and he shifts to lay on his side. he draws in a long congested breath, letting it out in a big sigh.

you lower yourself onto the bed, picking up the game controller. taking precaution to not wake him, you mute the game’s volume before unpausing and continuing where he left off. as you lay back, haechan drapes his duvet over the both of you, resting his chin on top of your head and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“if i get sick, you’re taking care of me.”

he hums happily. “deal.”

[featherandferns]

5. “Ah Yes. Betrayl, I’m Familiar With That”

22. “You’re My Best Friend” Angst Pleaseee

🫂❤️‍🩹

21. "You're my best friend"

I've actually already done prompt 5 (read wasps here) and prompt 21 ("You're my best friend" is 21 not 22), so I just did an angsty prompt 21 instead of redoing both- I hope that's okay! <3

Season 4 spoilers kind of? Just episode 1 vibes.

Promise - prompt 21

JJ Maybank was designed for you to fall in love with him. It ran deeper than his looks; penetrated through the flesh. His personality was interwoven with his beauty the way his veins lined his muscles and skin. All the idiosyncrasies that made him up in flaws and faults, like his recklessness and his impulsiveness, were nothing but charms in your eyes. He caused trouble wherever he went the way a hurricane accidentally leaves a wake in its path. You chased that trouble like a storm chaser: compass and map and get-away car at hand, just for him. 

By the wonder of fate, you ended up by his side. It was as though the universe placed you there - as if you and JJ were born from the same star dust, destined to find one another in the next life. From childhood, you were in the picture. Offering him a place to stay when his dad was in one of his blind, drunk rages. Giggling through pier jumping adventures and screaming through cheesy horror flicks. Later, older, he was there after your first “heartbreak” and you were there to hear about his cunning escapades with a random girl on the island, his virginity no longer a mark on his name. And with this age came realisations and ramifications. With this age came thoughts and feelings that were new and alien to you. The kind that warps one’s perception. The kind that frames someone in new ways under new titles. JJ Maybank went from being your snotty, scheming long-lasting friend, into your crush. The more time you spent in his orbit, the closer you were drawn. And so, as designed, you fell in love with him. 

He was hard to read and harder to decipher. A flirt, no doubt, though less so as the Pogue-centred adventures grew. His carelessness diminished somewhat when the stakes grew. When the sight of blood and dead bodies became shy of the norm, even compared to his youth in his father’s shadow. John B and Sarah went and with that, JJ came. Closer to you than ever. Needing you more than before. Restless nights and lonely days which you were more than happy to fill, needing him just as much. Nothing beyond cuddles and shared beds. A kiss that never strayed more than a cheek or forehead. Then, reunited with the formerly missing Pogues, came his lightness once more. But that distance didn’t come: he was still just as close. Almost attainable. Poguelandia and El Dorado felt like fever dreams in this light. The one constant was JJ, no matter what, and you the same for him. 

Now, settled, JJ’s old Maybank home rebuilt and remade, the bait-and-surf shop up and running, the gang tethered together through trauma and triumph: you finally felt like everything was falling into place, the same way you had fallen for JJ. 

“I might just sleep out here tonight,” JJ tells you. He’s lying by your side on the newly fixed up boat. The two of you are staring up at the sky, slowly starting to fill with stars, slowly losing the colour of daylight. 

“You’ll be dinner for the skeeters,” you say. 

He shrugs. “Circle of life, I guess.”

Laughing quietly, you turn your head. His hair is short again - dirty blonde, sunkissed highlights. The small jut of his chin and the slope of his nose. The high press of his cheekbones from his small, lingering smile. At the feel of your gaze, he turns his head too. An air of amusement brushes over him; has him almost laughing, quirking a brow. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” you hum. Your own smile falters and your stomach churns. The words are brewing deep within you like a slow, roasting broth. They’d been there for years now, waiting to slip out, and you felt like you can’t hold it down much longer. JJ’s own smile fades into a look of worry, mirroring your own anxiety. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, lying. “I just…I’m just happy.”

His lips twitch upward again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m happy you finally have a home, JJ,” you quietly say. 

Visibly moved by your sentiment, his hand reaches out for yours, lying limp on the cool plastic exterior of the boat. He squeezes your hand in his. Smiles at you. Holds your gaze. As if drawn in by some outside force, you lean over. Your eyes slip shut and your lips find his, and there, you plant a gentle, soft kiss. It’s no more than a peck. No more than a fleeting, almost phantom moment of weakness. Lingering, lips no more than a centimetre from his, you wait. Wait for some absolution that you hoped might come. 

JJ clears his throat. His hand slips from yours. Your heart cracks like the break of an ice surface as he sits up, sort of hurried. You sit up too. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, knowing fully well what the answer is. 

JJ is reaching for his boots that he took off an hour or so ago. He meddles with the laces. Not looking at you, he mumbles, “why’d you have to do that?”

“What?”

“Everything was…God, why the fuck did you have to do that?” he repeats, frustrated, maybe even angry. 

Your eyes sting and your heart burns and it starts to feel as though you’re slipping away from yourself. “I don’t know. I just…I just figured–”

“--Well, you shouldn’t have,” JJ snaps, his head darting up. Your eyes meet his and there’s this panic there, deep and damning. You feel damned. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. Sorry for what? For kissing him? For thinking that he might feel the same? For hoping that he might? 

JJ shakes his head and looks back at his boots. His frantic movements stop, fingers mixed with his laces. “Why’d you have to do that, huh? Everything was finally how it should be and now…Now it’s all messed up.”

“Messed up? No, no, it doesn’t…We can just forget about it,” you hurriedly say. You grab at his forearm, wanting his attention, now for a whole new reason. “We can just pretend it never happened.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I don’t know. I just thought that maybe, with everything that’s happened, maybe you might feel the same way,” you stammer. 

JJ’s eyes slip shut. It’s as though you gave him the diagnosis to a disease he always dreaded. “We can’t.”

You’re not sure what he’s alluding to with that. We can’t pretend it never happened? We can’t move forward? We can’t be friends? 

“You’re my best friend,” you whisper. “I don’t want to lose you.”

JJ gnaws at his lower lip. You sit and wait and hope and pray that you haven’t managed to tear apart years of friendship with one stupid moment of idiocy. Ironic how JJ lived his life in spur-of-the-moment choices but the second you make one, it might haunt you forever. Eventually, as if in slow motion, he looks at you. There’s a sadness in his eyes as though he knows what he says will pain you, and your heart takes pause as you wait. His lips move wordlessly at first and then, sighing, he finds the words. 

“I’m in love with Kiara.”

You feel like bleeding ink on a page. Like you have no mass or place of purchase. Like any meaning you ascribed to anything is now without, soulless and baseless; a work of fiction, like some Shakesperian tragedy. 

“Oh,” you breathe. 

He nods. “I…I’m sorry, I just…I don’t feel that way for you.”

“Okay,” you murmur. You think you might throw up. You shift in your spot as if preparing to. JJ reaches out a hand and it burns when he touches yours. 

“I don’t want to lose you though. I do love you, but the love I feel for her is different. I’m sorry, I don’t know why, I just–”

“--JJ, please,” you beg. You force yourself to look him in the eyes. He’s terrified of everything. Always has been, as long as you’ve known him. More than anything, terrified of love. And you know what that means, for him to care so deeply for someone. You know that he needs you. And you know that, despite everything, you need him. It hurts to be something but it’s worse to be nothing, after all. 

Somewhere deep inside of you, you find a smile. A forced, placid smile, like a lady-in-waiting might wear. Your other hand envelopes his and you will the tears away. 

“I’m your best friend,” you assure him. The words are sour like acid on your tongue. It feels like blasphemy. Nodding, as if trying to make yourself believe it too, you say, “we can forget the whole thing.”

A relieved smile comes to JJ’s face like a breath of air after free diving. He leans back, nods, happy, overjoyed, appeased. 

“Thank God. Cause I don’t know what I’d do without you. I really don’t,” he says, meaning every word. Maybe that’s what hurts the most. 

Nodding, agreeing, you say, “Kiara would be an idiot if she didn’t want you, too.”

Smiling to himself, his head dips, abashed, and you know then and there that he’d never be that way for you. He gets up and as his hand slips form your hold, it feels like you’re losing him forever. Once again, he’s reframed. Different again. No longer your crush, no longer your future, and no longer your best friend. He’s a mirage. He isn’t real. You no longer know what to call him or how to name your connection. Because as he walks away, bidding you goodnight, heading to the house where Kiara sleeps soundly, beautiful and brilliant, you begin to cry, knowing that you would never be able to forget it, and yet knowing that you had to. 

JJ Maybank was designed for you to fall in love with him, but he was never designed to love you back.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Summary: A trip to the thrift store becomes overwhelming for Harris, and you and Eddie have to work as a team. But the real test of your relationship's strength is the crisis that unfolds days later.

Warnings: financial insecurity, school lock-in, missing child, police presence, mention of kidnapping, mention of drug addiction, blood (no gore)

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 19/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie has already been awake for two hours when the phone rings. One part of parenthood that he hadn’t anticipated is that children do not understand the concept of weekends. Harris had flung himself out of his racecar bed promptly at 6:30 in the morning, crawling under Eddie’s sheets and poking his nose until he woke up.

“Har, go back to sleep,” Eddie had grumbled, the last word extended in a whine. One cheek was smushed against his pillow, muffling his complaint. “It’s Saturday; you don’t have school.”

In response, Harris pursed his lips into a perfect pout and used his thumb to peel Eddie’s eyelid open, getting as close to his face as possible. His morning breath was tinged with the scent of chocolate; Eddie groggily made a mental note to better supervise his nighttime teeth brushing routine. 

“‘M hungry.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself pouring his third cup of coffee while his son keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, watching Doug stutter and stammer in front of Patti. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that that’s probably what he looks like around you.

“‘Lo?” He cradles the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, wincing as he clumsily clinks the carafe into place. There isn’t enough coffee left to slosh over the side, a small miracle in and of itself, although he’ll have to brew some more if the caffeine doesn’t kick in soon.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is sleepy yet sweet, smoothing all the creases of the morning. “Did I wake you up?”

Eddie laughs and takes a sip from his favorite mug, the one that proudly declares #1 Dad. It’s stained and chipped, but he’ll never throw it out. Wayne had bought it for him on his very first Father’s Day; ironically, Eddie had bought him a #1 Grandpa mug that year, probably from the same kiosk at the mall.

“Not even close,” he says, tongue flicking to the corner of his lip to catch the drip of coffee that’s pooled in the crevice. “Someone was up bright and early this morning.” His gaze flits over to the bowl of Cheerios snug between Harris’s criss-crossed legs, mostly uneaten despite his earlier protests that would make an outsider believe he was starving. “How was your sleep?” he asks, swinging back to your conversation.

You switch the phone from one ear to the other. “It was good. Would’ve been better if you were next to me, though,” you add, twirling the cord around your forefinger. If you could, you would capture the safety of his embrace and bottle it, releasing a bit each time you craved his gentle touch. “I might’ve even let you be the little spoon.”

He balks at this with a playful scoff, nearly spilling his coffee with the sudden movement. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, licking the side of the mug before the bitter liquid can slide off and hit the ground. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Admittedly, his skepticism is rooted in truth; whenever you do get the chance to cuddle in bed, he’s always the one wrapping his arm around your waist, often taking the opportunity to snake a hand up your shirt and let the pads of his fingers brush over your breasts. It isn’t always a display of sexuality or desire–though you can’t say you mind that–but a connection, a way of ensuring that you stay close. 

“Just a few more weeks until we get to find out for ourselves,” you tease, though he needs no reminding. Only sixteen days remain until you officially move in together, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s counting down. “Speaking of which,” you continue, glancing at the clock, “I was wondering if you and Harris wanted to do some furniture shopping for his new room.” You knew that he would be keeping his racecar bed; it’s unlikely he’ll part with it until he’s outgrown it completely. “Y’know, a new dresser or nightstand or something.”

There’s an extended pause on Eddie’s side of the line. You think the call dropped and are about to hang up and redial when you hear him say,  “I, um…I don’t get paid until next week…” He nervously scratches the countertop with one fingernail. 

“Oh.” You grapple with a response, trying to strike a balance of empathy without condescension. “Well, I was going to surprise you, but I sold some of Grandma’s old—”

“No way,” Eddie interjects, firmly but not harshly. “I’m not having you spend your money on me. We can just wait until payday.”

“I want to buy this for Harris. I…I probably should have cleared out Grandma’s room months ago, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it felt wrong because I had nothing to put in its place.” You don’t care that you’re babbling on, forging ahead with your impromptu monologue. “It would’ve been too empty, but with you and Harris here, it won’t be empty anymore.”

Eddie tucks his thumbnail between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he prods, not wanting to sound ungrateful. 

“Positive.” You’re much more assured in your reply. “If she knew Harris before she got sick, she would’ve spoiled the hell out of him, anyway.” The moment she saw him happily digging into the Oreos, she would have ensured that the cupboard remained stocked with Double Stuf. “In a way, s’like she gets to spoil him now.”

You can sense Eddie’s resistance tempering with an audible exhale. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure,” he muses, buying time to process the influx of emotions flooding his body. There’s the obvious gratitude that you’re so eager to take care of his son, but it’s cut with the insecurity of him not being able to do so. If you’re going to buy Harris furniture, it should be because you want to, not because he can’t. What if you hold this against him? What if, in the future, there’s an argument and you fire back with a retort about his shortcomings as a father?

Except…you have never done that. Ever. Not that night in the emergency room, or when you’d found out about the CPS report filed that evening. Not even when Eddie had made it his personal mission to tear you down, pulling insults from the depths and hurling them at you with reckless abandon. 

You hadn’t brought up the way he’d helplessly panicked when confronted with the possibility of Harris’s learning disability, or how he’d let anxiety overtake him when he officially received a classification. With everything the two of you had endured, you’d never once echoed his anxieties about his parenting abilities; it was quite the opposite. With you by his side, he feels as though he can take on whatever challenge life chucks at him. 

“Eds? Is everything okay?” Your tone is thick with concern; Eddie realizes that you probably think you’ve upset him. “We don’t have to go—we can do something else, or—”

“Sweet girl,” he says in one exhale, both to reassure you and to remind himself that you’re his, and he’s yours. Love surges through the phone lines when he speaks. “We can pick you up in an hour, if that works? I should be able to wrangle Harris by then.”

“Y’sure?” And, Christ, how his heart sinks when you shrink inward, reflexively making yourself smaller when you’re worried that you’ve offended someone.

Eddie doesn’t answer you directly, instead, calls out his son’s name. “Hey, Harris?” He frowns when Harris completely ignores him in favor of watching the cartoon. Using his free hand, he cups his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, amplifying his voice. “Harris Wayne Munson!”

The sudden sound jolts him out of his TV-induced stupor. “Huh?” 

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth; we’re gonna go shopping with Ms. Sweetheart!” Eddie grins as Harris turns to him with a wide smile of his own. “C’mon, let’s go!” 

Harris jumps up without further hesitation, inadvertently tossing his bowl from the makeshift table of his legs. Milk splatters, instantly soaking into the carpet, and the Cheerios topple out and land in a soggy pile. “Nooo, my bref-ist!” His big eyes well up with tears. “Daddy, you made me drop my bref-ist!”

“You, uh, wanna deal with that?” You can’t hide your amusement at the usual Munson chaos. 

“Probably should, huh?” Eddie jokes back, stretching the phone cord as far as he can and reaching for the paper towel roll. “I love you, babe. See you in a bit.”

“I love you, Eds,” you tell him. “And Harris, too, of course.”

Some more static and shuffling; then, an energetic voice greets you. “Hi Ms. Sweetheart! Daddy made me drop my bref-ist,” the little boy reports. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Har.” You’ve perfected the art of mustering up sympathy for children’s not-soearth-shattering issues, a skill that every preschool teacher must possess. “Why don’t you help him clean up? That way, I can see you even faster.”

Harris pauses, mulling over his options. “Yeah, okay! Gotta go! Bye!”

You hear the clunk of him struggling to replace the phone on the hook, followed by Eddie saying, “Let me say good-bye before you hang—” click. 

Pulling your own receiver from your ear, you stare at it with mild amusement. Never a dull moment with my boys. 

Your boys drive up to your building just over an hour later. You stand up from the bench outside the entrance and smooth down your shorts where they’ve creased. 

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie lets the pet name roll off of his tongue. He wants to kiss you as you slide into the passenger seat, but he withholds his affection for Harris’s sake. It seems silly, considering you’ll all be living together, but he doesn’t know how his son will react to the romance aspect of it. Will he be happy? Excited? Disgusted by any display of affection?

You give his hand a subtle squeeze, turning around to greet Harris. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Till we drop?” Harris wrinkles his nose, glancing between you and his dad. “Why would we drop?”

“It’s just an expression,” you explain, catching a glimpse of the smile tugging at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Just means that we’re going to shop until we’re too tired to shop anymore.”

“I never get tired,” Harris declares, sticking his legs straight out so his flexed feet push up against the back of the driver’s seat, nudging Eddie slightly forward. “Grampa Wayne calls me an ‘Energizer Bunny.’” He bounces up and down in his booster seat to prove his point.

Eddie reaches his right arm around, keeping his left firmly gripping the wheel, as he moves Harris’s feet from where they’re planted into his lower back. “So, Har,” he starts, easing his weight onto the brake as he approaches a red light, “we’re gonna look for a new dresser for you, and maybe a nightstand.” He takes a deep breath as he delivers the news: “That means we’re not making any pit stops for toys. Got it?”

You want to interject, to let Eddie know that you don’t mind splurging on a small treat for Harris, but you bite it back. Whether or not you have the spare funds is irrelevant: this is the boundary he’s set for his son, and you have to respect it, regardless of your desire to spoil him.

Harris, however, does not accept the announcement as readily. “Not even, like, a little one?” he presses, holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “Even if I’m really, really good?” He gives a hopeful smile, eyes blinking expectantly.

Eddie looks at you, serving as your cue to provide your input. You nod your approval, trying to hide your delight in being asked to make a parenting decision, regardless of how menial it may seem. He peers up through the rearview mirror at his son’s waiting face. “If you’re really, really good,” he acquiesces, features pinching into a grimace when Harris’s exuberant squeal echoes through the sedan. “You have to use your inside voice and stay next to us the whole time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harris confirms. “Deal, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Deal.” Laughter bubbles up inside you and you let it spill out uninhibited. You know that telling a child he can get a toy is an easy part of parenthood, but you silently swear to never take for granted being included in that choice. Harris joins you, though he’s not quite sure why he’s laughing, but your joy is contagious. 

You lean your head against the car window, listening to the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Harris hums along, more on-key than the average five-year-old, which you can safely attribute to him having a musician for a dad.

“I’m not getting a new bed, right?” Harris says with sudden urgency. “Because I wanna keep my racecar bed.”

“Mhm,” you affirm, smiling when Harris relaxes back against the headrest. “Your racecar bed will be in your new room, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” That response satisfies him until he thinks up another question. “An’ you’re bringing your bed, Daddy?”

Eddie chuckles as he pulls into the Goodwill parking lot. He picks a spot close to the store, right next to a green Ford with a faded “Clinton ‘96” bumper sticker. “Um, no. I’m not bringing my bed.” 

“So are you getting a new bed?” His eyes dart from side to side as he assesses the size of the car. “Where’s it gonna fit?”

“I’m, uh, not buying a new bed, either.” Eddie kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, swiveling to face Harris, who is more confused than ever. “Ms. Sweetheart and I are going to share her bed.”

Harris kicks his feet, processing this new information. “But you didn’t get married yet,” he points out, “so how can you share a bed?”

You rest your palm on Eddie’s forearm in quiet reassurance. “Some people share a bed before they get married,” you explain simply, knowing that less is often more when talking to young children.

“When are you gonna get married?” he asks, more curious than meddling. “Because it’s taking forever. My friends’ mommies and daddies are already married.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harris essentially referred to you as his mommy; instead, he slowly exhales. “I’d like to marry Ms. Sweetheart someday, and I think she’d like to marry me, too.” He looks over at you with a sheepish grin, and you give his hand an agreeing squeeze. “But, for now, we’re just going to try out living together. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’s okay.” Harris isn’t completely thrilled with his dad’s response, but he relents anyway.

“While, we’re, uh, on the subject,” Eddie continues, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he carefully considers his words. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. Is he really doing this? Is he opening his son up to this relationship? “You know that Ms. Sweetheart and I love each other very much, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes,” Eddie continues with only some trepidation, “sometimes, when grown-ups love each other a lot, they hold hands o-or kiss. Would that be weird for you? If Ms. Sweetheart and I held hands, or kissed?”

You avert your gaze, partly from bashfulness but mostly so Harris doesn’t feel any pressure from either of you. 

The little boy looks at the car’s ceiling, centering his focus on the overhead lighting. Finally, with utmost certainty, he declares, “just no tongue-kissing.”

You snort out a laugh while Eddie goes bright red and sputters, “where did you learn about that?”

“Young and Restless,” Harris reports nonchalantly. 

Eddie rubs his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids until his vision blurs. “Remind me to tell Wayne to stop letting him watch the soaps,” he grumbles to you, turning back to his son. “Yeah, no tongue-kissing.”

You easily lace your fingers with Eddie’s as you walk through the front doors of the Goodwill. Harris starts making a beeline for the toys, but Eddie uses his free hand to pivot him in the direction of the furniture department. Harris huffs but complies, trudging alongside you. 

There’s a bright blue nightstand on display that immediately catches his eye. “Look!” he points, smiling so wide that all of his baby teeth are on display, “can I get it? Please?”

Eddie smiles warily, flipping over the white tag hanging from one silver drawer handle. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees the price is within the range of what he’d like to spend; rather, what he’d be comfortable asking you to spend. 

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he says, posture straightening with the announcement. He runs his fingertips over the surface, checking for any chipping paint or splintering wood, but the finish appears to be intact. “I’ll go tell someone to set it aside for us.”

He sets off in search of an employee, leaving you alone with Harris. You swallow the nervousness building in your throat. You spend nearly every day taking care of children, but you’re suddenly inundated with the memory of losing him at the flea market. Those few minutes when you couldn’t locate him were some of the scariest of your life. 

And yet, it hadn’t prevented Eddie from giving you another chance.

“Are you excited to move in with me, Har?” you ask, reaching out to ruffle his curls.

He nods, then looks straight up at you so that you’re staring at his nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart?” The position of his neck changes his voice’s pitch so it’s froggy. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Can you marry my daddy?” His eyes shine with potential. “And then you can be my mommy for real?”

You crouch down to his height, heart melting at his request. “Harris, I love your daddy very, very much. And I love you very, very much, too.” You poke his nose gently, and he giggles. “Being married is a big responsibility—”

“‘Sponsibility?”

“Mhm. Responsibility. It means a really important job.” You slide your heart pendant across the chain on your neck anxiously. “And your daddy and I want to make sure that we’re ready for that kind of responsibility before we do anything, okay?”

Harris nods, but you can tell from his crinkled nose and furrowed brows that he doesn’t fully understand. You can’t blame him; it’s an abstract concept, one that even you often have trouble comprehending. “But I can tell you one thing: whenever your daddy wants to propose, I’ll say ‘yes.’” You smile at the thought of Eddie asking you to be his wife. 

“Is that where he gets down on one knee and asks ‘Will you marry me?’” You’re about to respond when he adds, “and then someone runs in and yells about being their long-lost ‘dentical twin?”

Yeah, no more soap operas for Harris. 

Finding a dresser proves to be a much more difficult task than picking out the nightstand. Everything that Harris likes is out of budget, and everything within budget is too worn down or small. There’s one that’s in good condition and isn’t too pricey, but it’s covered in hand-painted unicorns. 

“That’s for girls!” Harris groans, stomping his feet. The last word is stretched in a whine. “I can’t have girl stuff!”

“We can paint over it. Whatever color you want,” you quickly jump in, trying to avoid a meltdown, but your efforts are fruitless. Fat tears stream down his cheeks; he’s already determined that the dresser is tainted. 

“No! No, no, no!” he howls, throwing himself on the floor. He smacks down on his tailbone, fanning his tantrum’s flames. He quiets for a moment, too shocked to cry, but then he’s screaming louder than before. 

It’s as though he’s lost control of his body, arms and legs knocking into the lower shelves without care. You can’t block him in time before he knocks over a lamp—a Nickelodeon-themed one that would have been perfect in his new room, ironically—and it shatters on the ground. Ceramic splinters, scattering across the linoleum like roaches in the light. 

People start to stare, some with sympathetic looks, and some glare angrily at the child daring to interrupt their shopping. Eddie’s face blazes, vision swimming as he wracks his brain for a solution. 

You’re faster, slapping a few bills into Eddie’s palm and jolting him from his thoughts. He watches you scoop Harris off of the floor, trying to avoid his flailing limbs. 

“Go get the nightstand and pay for the lamp,” you tell him, straightforward and precise. “I’ll get him to the car and calm him down. Keys?”

Eddie blinks, the information swirling around him but not quite penetrating the surface. It’s when you hoist Harris onto one hip and balance his weight in one hand, using the other to make a ‘gimme’ motion that it registers. 

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” Eddie fumbles for the car keys and tosses them to you, the two of you working in tandem. A well-oiled machine. You nod gratefully, wincing as Harris’s foot makes contact with your thigh. “I’ll be right out.”

You’re able to bring him to the car, struggling to unlock it and hold on to Harris. After a few failed attempts, you manage to open the passenger door and sit him on the seat. 

“Harris, hey, Harris?” you start, keeping your voice soft and even while trying to pull his attention. His sobs are slowing down but he’s definitely breathing too rapidly for your comfort. “Hey, bud. You’re okay, all right?” You extend your hand and he tentatively places his own palm on top of it. “You wanna give my hand a squeeze?”

He does it, the motion grounding him enough that he can focus on your body in front of him. You don’t want to touch him, knowing that his senses are already overstimulated from the tantrum. Instead, you relax as his squeezing grows stronger and his breaths gradually even out. 

“There ya go, Har. Just like that.” You smile warmly. “That was a really big feeling, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice shakes and hiccups. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, smudging them into his skin. 

You reach into the center console and grab a tissue, wiping the mucus from his nose and lips. “Good as new.” With no trashcan nearby, you shove the used Kleenex into your pants pocket. “Can you tell me what made you so mad in there?”

“D-Don’t want girl…girl st-stuff,” he stutters through ragged breaths. 

There’s a time and place to discuss the optics of categorizing interests into ‘boy’ and ‘girl,’ but you know better than to have that conversation now. “Oof, that’s why you were angry! That’s a lot to handle.” You gingerly tuck a curl behind his ear. “But, Harris, did you see what happened when you started hitting and kicking?” He shakes his head. “Well, you knocked over a lamp and it broke. You could have gotten hurt, or someone else could have gotten hurt.” 

Harris’s face falls as you speak, absorbing what you’re explaining. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sniffles. “‘M sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, “sometimes, when we have big feelings like getting angry, we do things we shouldn’t without even realizing.” You pause for a moment, biting your lip as you consider your words. “Do you want to hear what helps me when I have really big feelings and I can’t scream and cry?”

“Mhm.” He nods again, little tongue peeking out to swipe up the tears above his mouth. 

“I take a deep breath and close my eyes,” you start, demonstrating both actions. Inhale for three, exhale for three, and repeat. “And then I picture myself being in my favorite place in the world.” You smile at him, blinking back the sadness that comes with memories of holidays at Grandma’s. “Wanna try it together?”

Harris responds by closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. “Good job, Har,” you softly praise him. “Now breathe out; make sure you’re thinking of your favorite place, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about the zoo,” he whispers, voice raspy from shrieking for so long. “Daddy taked me there and we saw so much animals.”

“Zoos are a lot of fun,” you agree with a laugh. “I’ve never been to the one in Hawkins. Maybe we can go over the summer?”

“Yeah! I wanna show you the flamingos!” His grin stretches across his cheeks “Do you like flamingos?”

Like most people, you don’t have a strong opinion on flamingos, but you respond with an enthusiastic, “I love them!”

“Love who?” Eddie’s voice breaks into the conversation. He’s rolling out the nightstand in a cart, keeping one hand on top of it to hold it steady. “Me?”

You laugh, opening up the back door so he can wedge the furniture next to Harris’s booster seat. “Yes, Eddie. I love you very much, don’t worry,” you tease, seizing the opportunity to inconspicuously check him out. His biceps flex as he maneuvers the nightstand, and you have to tear your gaze from his denim-clad ass when he stands up and triumphantly wipes his hands on his pants. 

“C’mere.” He pulls you in, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout and planting a smacking kiss on you. 

While you giggle, Harris is not as amused. He claps his hands over his eyes and groans. 

“No tongue-kissing!”

You’re wrapping up storytime, your students fidgeting with their shoelaces—some fidgeting with their friend’s shoelaces—eager to move onto the corresponding art activity Will has planned. 

“Okay, we’re going to use our walking—” Your announcement is cut short by Principal Sinclair’s voice coming over the loudspeaker. Her tone is typically warm and excited, but the way she speaks so sternly sends chills through your entire body. 

“This is a lock-in. All staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified. I repeat, all staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified.”

You breathe out, though you’re still concerned about the cause of the lock-in. It’s usually some kind of medical issue that requires emergency services to have unblocked access through the halls. You hope that whatever it is isn’t life-threatening. 

Will locks the door wordlessly, and you repeat your directions to the class. The kids walk to their seats, asking non-stop about what a lock-in means. 

“We just have to stay in the classroom,” you find yourself repeating, losing patience with each iteration. You’re thankful for small miracles; your class has already gone out for recess, which means you don’t have to break that news to them. 

Will is helping the kids glue multicolored strands of crepe paper in the shape of a rainbow, complete with cotton ball clouds. You’re unclogging a bottle of Elmer’s when the classroom phone rings, startling you. You place the glue bottle on the table, promising Joshua that you’ll be right back, and answer it. 

“Hello?”

“We need you to come to the office immediately,” the secretary’s clipped voice informs you. “Bring your personal items. We’ll send someone to assist Will.”

Stupidly, you nod before remembering she can’t see you. “Y-Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” You hang up, tell Will the plan, and bolt out the door. 

What the hell is going on? Why are they having me break the lock-in to go to the office? You hike your purse higher up your shoulder, trying to ignore the dread pooling in your stomach and creeping up your throat. 

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong. 

Your feet can’t carry you fast enough. You nearly stop breathing when you see Eddie pacing in the lobby, Marion and Paula standing off to the side and speaking with Chief Hopper. The two teachers wear matching worried expressions. 

As soon as Eddie spots you, he’s charging over. “Oh, thank God,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. You can feel the tears falling from his eyes, wetting the crook of your neck. His hands squeeze against your back and your shoulder blades as his body is wracked with sobs. 

You weave your fingers through his hair, holding him as close as you can. You’re desperate to know what’s going on, but you doubt he could explain if he tried. Instead, you continue comforting him while Principal Sinclair walks over. 

Her strides are long and purposeful, and she meets your own terrified gaze with her own. “Harris went missing during recess,” she says quietly, “and Mr. Munson let us know that you might be an asset in locating him.”

Harris went missing. Bile inches up your esophagus and you swallow it, wincing at its burn. “Why would he—” You stop mid-sentence; his motive is not important right now. All of your focus needs to be on finding him. 

Chief Hopper approaches you and Eddie, tapping your boyfriend on the shoulder with two fingers. Eddie looks up, wipes his face with the heel of his palm, and clears his throat, but a fresh batch of tears threatens to spill over anyway. 

“We’ve just collected statements from his teachers,” Hopper reports, looking down at his notepad. “They said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that Harris was just playing with his friends one moment and then gone the next.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, something had to have happened.” Harris had wandered off plenty of times, like at the flea market. The difference was that he was easily found. “If you haven’t found him, then he’s either hiding, or someone…” The thought is too painful to finish. 

Hopper looks over at the principal. “You’re certain that the playground is secure?” He asks her, not accusing, but waiting for confirmation. 

“Yes, absolutely secure,” she affirms, nodding her head. “The gate can only be opened from the inside, so no one can access it off of the street.”

You know this, of course, but it doesn't bring you closer to finding Harris. 

“We’ve taped off the playground,” Hopper continues, “and we’ve got a search squad going now. Considering that Harris has been diagnosed with a disability, we’re beginning this investigation right away.”

“Mr. Munson,” a second officer chimes in, “is there anyone who would be inclined to take your son? Perhaps a non-custodial parent or an estranged relative?”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “His mom, um, isn’t in the picture. Never has been.”

Hopper cocks one brow. “Never?” he asks disbelievingly. “How soon after he was born did she relinquish her rights?”

“She, um,” Eddie swallows, rubbing his nose in embarrassment, “she never did. Never relinquished her rights, I mean. She just kinda split.”

“So there was no formal agreement that she could no longer be involved in Harris’s life?”

“N-No,” he stammers, shame seeping from every pore. He’d always meant to start the legal proceedings, but that takes time and money…and maybe a small part of him had always hoped she’d come around and do the right thing. 

He looks over at you now, the way you’ve stepped into a mothering role like a puzzle piece. Like any parent, you’d made some mistakes, but you’re also the most compassionate person Eddie has ever known. 

He thinks of the times he’d tried to make his ex get clean, to want to get clean, and to be there for Harris. The weight of disappointment caused his chest to ache every time she’d mumble, “I’m gonna, but not right now” or “I don’t need help.”

Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the two of you; after all, you hadn’t struggled with addiction. But Eddie can’t help himself. You’d loved Harris before you’d even loved him, he realizes. And he’d never had to ask you to. 

“Do you have any contact information for her?” Hopper taps his pen against his notepad. “Nine out of ten times in these situations, the child is with someone they know.”

What about the ‘one’ time? What happens then? Heat pulses in Eddie’s cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t need Hopper to answer the question; he already knows what that means. 

“It’s from five years ago, so I don’t know if it’s still accurate.” He stumbles over his words, thinking about the last time he’d called her; it was the invitation to Harris’s birthday. “I don’t know it by heart, but I have it in my address book at home.”

Hopper gives a brusque nod to his colleague and to your boss. “We’ll give you a lift. And, uh, it’ll be good to set up your place as a home base.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Eddie mumbles, simply going through the motions without processing them. He’s on autopilot, a robotic version of himself. If he was able to fully absorb his surroundings, he would note the irony of him sitting in the back of the cop car because they’re helping him instead of escorting him to the county jail. 

You don’t let go of his hand the entire ride there, your thumb rubbing the soft hairs on his knuckles. “We’re gonna find him,” you whisper reassuringly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. 

But Eddie is too embroiled in his own thoughts, imagining every possible tragedy that could have befallen his son. As soon as Hopper pulls up to the apartment complex, Eddie is flying up the stairs, two at a time, unlocking the door as fast as he can. You run in behind him, watching as he flings loose papers and pens from a kitchen drawer. He’s kicked over the boxes he’s already packed; clothes and some of Harris’s toys are scattered across the floor like a poorly-designed booby-trap. 

He holds up the tattered black book, flipping through it until he lands on the right page. “Here. Right here.” He frantically points to an entry at the top, fingertip jabbing into it over and over. 

Hopper takes the book from him, careful not to rip the already weathered materials. He dials the digits and frowns when he’s greeted by the automated we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service, far too chipper for the circumstances. He tries once more in case he dialed incorrectly, but he gets the same message. 

“Disconnected,” he says gruffly, hanging the receiver with a clank. “Is there anyone else?”

Eddie can only shake his head somberly. If Wayne got Harris from school early, he would have told him. He wasn’t even sure how much of Harris’s maternal family knew of his existence, let alone his location. If someone took his son, it was more than likely a complete stranger. 

Hopper’s walkie crackles with static; you and Eddie stiffen with anticipation. “Hey, Chief?” comes from the garbled voice on the other end. 

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got a kid here at the school who says he spoke with Harris Munson right before he went missing today.”

Eddie stands up, walking closer to Hopper. Part of you expects him to grab the walkie and try talking straight to the other officer, but he doesn’t. 

Hopper presses the small black button and speaks. “Copy. Does he know where we might locate him?”

There’s a deafening silence for a few moments; no more than ten seconds pass, but it feels like a lifetime. Finally, there’s some information: “No known location; just says that Harris told him he was having ‘big feelings’ and needed to go to his favorite place.’”

“The zoo,” you murmur aloud, drawing confused looks from both men in the room. “When he got upset on Saturday—at Goodwill—I taught him to do some deep breathing and picture being in his favorite place, and he told me it was the zoo. But I…” you swallow, furrowing your brows, “I told him to picture it, not actually go there.”

“Zoo’s too far for him to walk, and no bus driver is going to let a kid that young ride by himself,” the chief points out. 

You nod, biting your lower lip. “He might not be at the zoo, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there.”

Hopper thanks the other officer and turns to you and Eddie. My guys are deploying the search party as we speak.” He takes a deep breath and makes direct eye contact with you and Eddie. “We’ll do everything we can to bring your son back safely.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands, collapsing back against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor. 

You look over at the police chief. “Can we help? Join the search…or something?” Anything besides sitting around and waiting for answers. 

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an officer stationed here in case Harris comes home.” 

You nudge your foot against Eddie’s. “C’mon, babe.” You try to keep strength behind your words, to be what Eddie needs right now, but it gets harder with each passing second. “We’re gonna go look for him.” He looks up and notices that you’ve extended your hand, and he takes it, pulling himself up. 

He doesn’t say a word, but he follows you and Hopper out the door. He’s gnawing on his lips so violently that some skin peels off between his teeth; flecks of blood dotting his usually perfect mouth. 

“We’ve got some time before sunset, so that’s on our side,” Hopper says as he drives back the way he came. “We’ll start in the woods near the school, and we’ll move from there.” He peers back at the two of you through the rearview mirror with a determined gaze.

“My uncle,” Eddie says suddenly, no certain expression on his face. He’s practically catatonic when he talks. “I want Wayne to wait at the apartment. I need to tell him…” If Harris does return home first and sees police officers surrounding the place, he might get scared and run off again.

Hopper scratches at his beard. “We’ll let him know, all right? Don’t worry about that.” He radios the instructions to a colleague, who confirms them and signs off, before pulling into a grassy area and killing the engine. “Let’s go. If Harris is going to come out for anyone, it’ll be you two.” He slams his door and then helps you and Eddie out of the backseat. 

Before you can even begin, you hear a group of people shouting Eddie’s name. You look over to see Jeff, Jess, and Robin waving and walking towards you. 

“We came as soon as we heard,” Robin says, giving you and Eddie a hug. “We’re gonna help you, and we’re not leaving until we find him.”

Jeff offers a tight smile, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man,” he promises, sincerity in its purest form. “Viv is gonna stop by later and I’ll take care of Ettie.”

It’s a kind gesture, but Eddie’s stomach sours at the thought of still searching later. He needs to know that his son is safe now. 

Harris’s name is echoed over and over, bouncing off of trees and shaking the leaves as you and your friends call out for him. 

“Harris!” you cry out, throat raw from your constant shouting. “Harris, it’s Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Harris!” Eddie’s voice is even louder than yours; the power behind it is palpable. “Harris, it’s Daddy! Please come out! You’re not in trouble!” he adds, cognizant of the little boy’s fear of making people mad. 

Every squirrel that darts across the forest floor has you whipping your head around, heart leaping at the prospect of Harris emerging from where he’s hiding. 

He has to be hiding; your mind won’t let you imagine what could happen if the wrong person saw him walking by himself, determined to get to the zoo…

“Harris, Aunt Robin and I will buy you any toy you want!” Jess yells. “And all the ice cream you can eat!”

The five of you take turns making promises to nobody; they’re secrets shared with the wind. Each unanswered call leaves you feeling more defeated, especially with the sun hanging lower in the sky. It will be dark soon, leaving Harris even more vulnerable than he already is.

Will joins the group a few moments later, bringing granola bars, water, and flashlights. You can only stomach about a quarter of your snack, having completely lost your appetite. Eddie doesn’t even bother to eat, fueled by adrenaline rather than food.

“Principal Sinclair is also looking,” Will tells you and Eddie. “She’s with Lucas and Erica over at Merrill Wright’s farm. It’s closer than the zoo, but he’s got some animals, so they wanted to check there.” He pauses, casting his eyes down for a second before looking at Eddie. “Everyone’s helping out with this. They all want to find Harris.”

Tears well up along Eddie’s lash line; he blinks them away to keep his vision clear. “Thanks, man.” He coughs to clear his throat, emotions forcing their way through. “That means a lot.” For a moment, he sees Will as he was when they first met: an overwhelmed little freshman, unsure of his place in high school, let alone in the world.

What if Harris never gets the chance to find himself? What if he doesn’t get to grow up and learn new things, make his own mistakes, figure out who he is?

You put an arm around Eddie, unknowingly pulling him from his intrusive thoughts. “Can you try to drink some water? Please?” You know better than to nag him about eating right now, but the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated.

He cracks open the bottle and takes a few sips, not realizing how thirsty he was until the liquid covers his tongue. He downs it all without taking a breath, the plastic crinkling as he siphons out every last drop of water.

“Take mine,” you tell him, offering it with the best smile you can possibly muster, but he shakes his head.

“You need it, too.” He’s not wrong, but you have no issue letting him drink from your bottle if he’s still thirsty.

You take a sip and pass it to him. “We’ll share.”

Another hour passes, the pink and orange hues becoming deeper purples and reds as the sky darkens with night. Some people start to call it quits, returning home to their own children, breathing secret sighs of relief that they have children to return home to. Your group remains intact; no one is even considering leaving until they physically cannot move any longer.

With just overworked flashlight bulbs illuminating your path, you continue trudging through the woods. Hopper’s shift was over hours ago, but he’s steadfast in his pursuit to find Harris.

Eddie’s exhausted physically and emotionally, feeling like every part of him has been drained and can never be replenished. His son is missing; he might have been kidnapped, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll see him again. All he wants is to hold him again, to hear his little laugh as he tells a cheesy joke he learned at school, to watch him sound out new words or draw a picture or just fall asleep in his own bed.

Hopper’s walkie crackles; he clutches it tight and holds it so he can hear it clearly.

“Chief, we may have a sighting.”

A light flickers behind Eddie’s eyes; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t help himself. He listens intently as the other officer relays the information.

“Doris Driscoll just went outside to let her cats in for the night, and when they didn’t go inside, she went looking. Found them behind a bush, eating crackers out of a little boy’s hands. He told her his name is Harris. Matches the descriptions the father provided.”

Eddie grabs your hand, gripping it with whatever strength he has left. You feel a surge course through your veins as Hopper motions for you to follow him to his car. He turns on his siren and guns it down the road, swerving in and out of traffic to get to the old woman’s house as fast as he can.

Please, please let him be here, you silently pray, subconsciously screwing your eyes shut and holding your breath. The only thing worse than not knowing where he is might just be a false alarm that he’s been found. 

Hopper slams on the brakes behind an ambulance parked in front of the Driscoll residence, their open doors allowing the fluorescent lights to stream through. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as an EMT wheels a stretcher over to it. 

A stretcher carrying Harris. 

“Harris!” Eddie cries in simultaneous relief, exuberance, and fear. He instinctively reaches for a door handle, quickly remembering that he’s in a cop car and had to wait for Hopper to let him out from the outside. 

You’re already crying; everything you’d been holding back to maintain a solid resolve for Eddie is crumbling as soon as you’d seen his son. You scramble out of the car, right behind him, and run to where the emergency technicians are treating Harris. 

He’s awake and alert, and he spots the two of you right away. “Daddy! Ms. Sweetheart!” He tries sitting up, but a technician gently guides him to lay down again. “No, that’s my daddy and my almost-mommy!” he protests. “I gotta see them!”

You and Eddie reach him at the same time. He’s covered in dirt; it’s smudge along his cheeks, his arms, and his legs. He’s even managed to get some on the tip of his nose. Some blood is smeared on his right knee where he’s seemed to have scraped it, and the EMTs spray some antiseptic on it and apply a bandage before he can even feel the sting.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out of Eddie’s mouth, and he puts his palms on his son’s cheeks and presses kisses all over his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He turns to the technicians, worry pinching his brows together. “He’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?” He pushes some of Harris’s damp curls from his forehead. There aren’t any visible bumps or bruises on his face, which eases a bit of his nerves.

One technician nods. “Right now, it seems like he’s just got some minor lacerations, but we’ll run the gamut of tests to rule out more severe injuries.” She looks over at the police chief, who stands a few yards behind you. “We’ll take it from here.”

Hopper gives a small, sad smile; it’s then that you remember that his own child had passed away nearly twenty years ago. She was only a little older than Harris is now. 

Eddie follows your gaze with red-rimmed eyes, the realization setting in for him, too. “Thanks, Chief,” he says, just loud enough so Hopper can hear him. Hopper nods, placing his hat atop his head before walking away.

The EMTs check for any broken or sprained bones, shine lights into Harris’s pupils, and ask him a few simple questions to assess for a concussion. “We’ll have to take him to the hospital, just to be sure,” they say to you and Eddie, “but barring any extenuating circumstances, you should be able to bring him back home tonight.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes, crouching down a bit so he’s eye-level with his son. “Har, can you tell us why you ran away from school? You’re not in trouble; I promise.”

Harris looks down at the blanket draped across his lap. “I had really big feelings, and I tried thinking about the zoo like you told me,” he glances at you, “but then the feelings didn’t go away, so I decided to go there.”

You take his small hand in yours. “What were the big feelings?” you ask gently, free of judgment and filled with concern.

He thinks for a second, then states matter-of-factly, “Mad and sad.”

“Mad and sad?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping at his nose with his free hand. “‘Cause of Ms. Marion and Ms. Paula.”

You freeze, trying to regain your composure before Harris can pick up on your uncertainty. “What happened with your teachers, Har?”

“They were saying mean things about you and Daddy, and it made me mad and sad.”

At the sound of his title, Eddie speaks up. “Mean things about us?”

“Yeah, like, that Ms. Sweetheart is probably teaching you how to read, too,” Harris explains, “and I said that they’re lying, that you’re really smart and read to me all the time. And that Ms. Sweetheart isn’t your teacher; she’s my almost-mommy.”

Eddie clenches his fists, veins prominent as his body goes stiff. His anger isn’t at the insult, but at the way they could speak so brazenly about a child’s family, disregarding the hurt it causes. He doesn’t care what those women think of him, but he’s furious that they upset Harris.

“They keeped laughing and telled me to go play,” Harris continues, getting choked up at the memory. “I tried to do my breathing and my favorite place remembering with Charlie, but it didn’t work. And I got lost going to the zoo–the real zoo, not the one in my imagination–so I hided with the cats until the nice lady found me.”

You and Eddie share heartbroken looks, pushing aside your respective emotions as you tend to the little boy laying in front of you. “Get some rest, Har Bear,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You had a long day.”

He falls asleep after a few minutes, constantly checking to make sure that the two of you are still by his side. As soon as his breathing steadies and his eyes remain closed, Eddie turns to you, exhausted and running on fumes. Wet brown doe eyes pleadingly gaze at you, lids heavy with sleep. You wrap your arms around him, unable to get close enough. He moves slowly, every action a delayed reaction, but he gradually embraces you, too.

“Stay. Please.” The words are muffled by the way his mouth is mashed into your scalp, but you hear them perfectly fine. “And if we get to go home tonight, come back with us. I need you both close to me.”

“Of course.” Your own lips press against his perspiration-soaked shirt collar. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You pull back ever-so-slightly, brushing tears from his cheeks. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s here, and we get to keep spoiling and loving him.”

Eddie absorbs this as best as he can, mind still spinning as the adrenaline crash hits. There’s so much he wants to say, but for right now, he just carves out space in his body for yours. Your light whisper keeps him grounded, pulling hi away from the spiraling that usually overtakes him in times of crisis.

“I’ve got you.”

--

[chiliyue-archived]

4:07PM

↬ taking naps with them

Includes; Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Sigma, Tetchō

Not requested ! [Bsd M.List] ♡

-

—DAZAI

An ambiance of silence furnished the bedroom, the light sound of your breathing providing a source of comfort to the burnette.

A milky eye peeked open from where he rested, cheek pressed against your lap. The complacent grin of his undeniable, beaming at your below as his breathy sigh intruded the silence. Propping himself up, a cotton arm extended out, the pads of his digits brushing along your features.

His index finger took placement at your temples, pausing before traveling south along your cheek structure. He was busy mapping out the bridge of your nose when your face scrunched up, brows furrowing at the touch. "What are you doing?" The question fell upon deaf ears as the limb retracted.

" I'll have to restart now." Dazai lets in a fatuous display of feign annoyance, the stretching of his cheeks betraying his brewing playfulness. His finger shifted to position back along your temple, blunt nail trailing down again languishly.

You recline against him. His finger glided across your skin in a manner you've expressed praise in; as so he had it committed the movement to memory. Sleepily, you echoed, " What are you doing?" His reponse came nonchalantly, visage focused where his nail trailed - it was disrupted by the ghost of a smile on his lips and a beaming glint.

" Counting the freckles/markings on your face." The corners of his mouth twitched into a more defined grin - uncharacteristically voided of the teasing undertone - it was a besotted look more than anything. "Go back to sleep, I'll wake you when I'm done."

—CHŪYA

" Let's get you to bed."

You could faintly recall being wrapped up in a thick blanket before being suspended right off your feet. The fabric felt warm, so much so that it must have just come out of the dryer. Its comfort permeated along your arms, acting as a catalyst to your slipping state. Toned arms held you close, your cheek pressed against Chūya's shoulder. You could faintly make out the scent of his cologne and light squeezes from the hand purchased on your hip.

Soon enough your back pressed against the familiar bed, the hand at your hip adjusting you as necessary to the comforter. A pair of lips reached your cheeks, kissing each one in sincerity before concluding it with one to your lips.

" Stay with me, please?" You murmured when Chūya's hands withdrew, a hot streak left in its reminder - far warmer than the blanket as cozy as it was.

You really didn't have to ask. He had already made his mind up the moment he found you rubbing your eyes and yawning at your second skin of fatigue. The bed dipped as he took the vacant place beside you, renewing the warmth that had previously started to ebb away.

Carefully, he reached out to click off his alarm before fully settling beside you. The sigh that left him was involuntary but leveled out as comfort overtook him; the way his taut muscles in his body sunk evidence of his growing indulgence. Wordlessly, his hands slipped around your waist, his body curling around you like cocoon - both from a subconscious effort to shield you but also earth himself in your radiating heat.

The tip of his his nose nestled against your shoulder, lips grazing the surface of your skin. From where he rested, Chūya's eyes took in your details, burning it to memory; he may not be able to dream, but this wasn't so bad either.

—RANPO

" You have to give me a nap kiss first." Ranpos voice halted your reverie, heavy eyes peeking open. You were greeted with the sight of Ranpo shuffling close to you, his face taking on a diametrical expression to that of his common lax one.

" Nap kiss?" He nodded, head propping close and waiting.

Your peck to his furrowed brows did nothing to alleviate the crease between it. If anything, his grip of your clothes tighten, a sound more attributed to a beg and childish compliant leaving him.

A dainty finger pointed his neglected lips, already puckered and gravitating toward you eagerly. " Right here." His words were skewed and voice raspy, but the look of determination embedded in his gaze was candid even amongst the dampened lighting.

You leaned forward, properly granting him his request. You could feel him smile against your lips in pure satisfaction, grip loosening and falling to your lap. He attempted to make the tender exchange linger for as much as possible before withdrawing.

" This isn't a goodnight kiss, by the way. I'm expecting one later, so don't forget." His words would have been more serious had it not been for the way he rubbed his eyes, latching close to you like a koala.

And even in his moments of exasperation, the lopsided smile on his face betrayed him, giving way to a tender moment amongst the afternoon.

—FYODOR

The thrumming of his heart anchored you to a hazy state, it's deep echo resonating from the chamber to your ears. A pallid hand rested on the small of your back, keeping you in place whilst his other thumbed through a book - though mindlessly he turned the pages as his foucs was more centered on the lazy circles he traced on your spine.

The yawn that slipped you didn't go unnoticed. And although you couldn't see his eyes, the shift in his gaze was palpable, accentuated as the motions of his fingers stilled. " Tired Myshka?"

Fyodor hummed in disapproval when you shook your head, a light 'clack' sound emulating the room as he discarded the book with a flick of his hand. The appendage favored to pinch your chin, a chuckle escaping him as adroit hands directed your gaze onto himself. " You are a terrible liar, my dear."

His following actions were calculated, voice taking a lower octave and brushing his hands along your shoulder blades in a seasoned manner that only he could muster.

You weren't sure if what you felt next was a play of your wearied mind, as something pressed against the crown of your head. It was in sync with the swipe of his thumb over your pulse point - amassing to form an authentic intimate display and push you right over the precarious edge of sleep.

His voice rippled against your head, muddled as hands moved to push your hair back. " Such a distraction, my dear. Hmm, perhaps you're making me go soft." He situated you against his chest again, his hum still suffused from the column of his throat. " I suppose even I have my weaknesses."

—SIGMA

It had required a lot of encouragement on your behalf, Sigma admittely nervous when it came to silces of affection and the prospect of napping never suited his interest before - additionally he was occupied with the Casino and he seldom recieved moments of leisure. But if there's one thing he falls victim to, it's that he can't say no to you.

Your body was snuggled up against him with his head pressed on top of your own. The more you squished your cheek into him, the more he swore his heart would brust from the gesture alone.

However, he was more enamored with how the leaking sunlight bathed you in gentle warm hues, leaving your skin warm as his fingers roamed aimlessly. He briefly pondered how you could look even more enticing as the hues danced along your face.

" Oh, you're already asleep." He mumbled as his stupor halted by the sound of a gentle snore. His gaze softened as it landed on your figure again, leaving from where his fingers kneaded at your thigh. A tickling became prevalent along his body as the sight assuage him unknowingly.

Sigma found it difficult to fall asleep himself, shackled by the nerves that shadowed his will of rest. The panning of your breath against his skin had a tacit effect on him, cheeks warming and chest stirring in bubbling affinity. Yet he wasn't entirely opposed to watching you nap soundly as he inwardly struggled to quell his erratic pulse - your heartfelt snuggling the incentive.

An arm draped itself over your hips, providing a comforting hold. His other, however, traced along your arms before curving up into your hair; his touch diffusing his unspoken infatuation. He swept some locks within his fingers, bringing to place a kiss against it.

The moment doused him in a form of peace, a momentary escape from the clutches of work and abysmal stress. His legs tangled with yours, not wanting the afternoon to end.

—TETCHŌ

" Lay against me."

The words had left him naturally almost nonchalantly had it not been for the sweet smile that gave way to his placid intentions.

" You look tired, I have some free time." His hand patted against his lap, punctuating his words whilst being terribly oblivious to his own deepening cheeks.

When it was evident he wasn't going to withdraw his statement, you gently situated yourself against his build, head cushioned right on his sternum. Calloused fingers slipped beneath the hem of your clothing, drawing contours along the bare skin in fluid motions. His thumb lightly brushed along your spine, his touch containing a tincture of zeal.

It was impossible to keep yourself awake, not with Tetchō murmuring sweet nothings in a silky voice, his words of "I love you" soft in the quieting room. His voice was gentle, considerate to your drowsy person but mixed with a tone of fondness that he had always expressed to you in.

Even as you found yourself deep in the clutches on your subconscious, his syrupy words persisted perpetually. His eyes were glazed in a layer of undisputed solace, golden irses diluting in what could only be described as undying admiration.

He shuddered lightly whenever you shifted in his arms, but his muscles remained slacken and even lazily wrapped around your waist. He relished being in your presence, even in the silence it leeched a form of warmth unmatched to the sunlight pouring through the windows.

Tetchō was sure to remain stagnant amongst your slumber, only moving to push aside your straying hairs and maneuver a kiss to your temples. The moment was shrouded in a cloud of bliss, his reverence scribed with gentle features akin to an awestruck child entranced by things on a screen.

He would like to do this more often, he reckoned, letting you sleep against him when granted such opportunities. When you wake up, he'll be sure to spoil you with a good meal. And many kisses too.

-

A/n; This is self-indulgent, I've been taking too many naps lately (im gonna take another one rn, bestios :])

Um I kinda made them all soft oopsie

[trashmouth-richie]

𝟹 𝙰𝙼

↳ eddie x fem!reader

↳ summary: just some sweet little smut between you and eddie before he goes to work

↳ A/n: wrote this awhile ago & I thought maybe I’d turn it into a series but nah, enjoy 😉

↳ warnings: smut 18+ only, smut with a plot. p in v, oral.

the soft whirring noises from his nose wake you before his alarm does. 

  Swing shift at the plant had Eddie’s sleep schedule completely out of whack. Some nights he’d be falling asleep at the table during supper, long curls bobbing as his head jerked forward. 

  There were days where you’d find him snoring, splayed out on his back on the thick rug on the floor of the baby’s room. Toy blocks in his hands, trying to be the dad he promised himself he would be. A dad he didn’t have. 

  And earlier tonight when he came home with grease lined under his fingernails, exhaust from the heavy machinery freckling his face, he let out a deafening yawn. 

  “Gotta be back in at 4,” he said after hugging you tight and tickling your sides. His soft lips pressed to the crown of your head. 

  You crane your neck to meet his lips and nod at him. The bags under his eyes were prominent tonight. Instead of going to bed early like you had suggested, after supper he spent the evening curled up in his recliner, rocking the baby to sleep while he read story after story. 

  This is why you loved him so much. 

  Both of you had come from broken homes, and when you wound up pregnant senior year, the odds were not in your favor. 

  But Eddie stepped up. You both finished high school early. Earning diplomas in December and he immediately started working at the plant with Wayne. Long hours for a decent paycheck. He was determined to not fail.

  When the neighbors next to Wayne’s trailer moved out after a death in the family in Texas left them millionaires, Wayne marched into the landlord’s office and put a down payment on the trailer. 

  $250 later the trailer was home. Eddie danced with you under flickering lights as he held you from behind, pressing kisses into your neck. Promising you a good life. His thick hands on your growing belly, rubbing it softly. 

  Auntie Robin and Uncle Steve helped on the weekends to clean the smoke stained walls and provide the latest gossip from Hawkins High. 

  Chrissy Cunningham? Caught blowing Mr. Higgins in his car during first period. 

  Steve had a date with Nancy Wheeler tonight. 

  Dustin took over as DM for Eddie and was doing really well. 

  You smiled through Robin’s fast paced words and when her and Steve left that night Eddie asked if you missed highschool, hanging his head in sorrow at fucking things up for you. 

  Not a chance when I have you. The promise splayed thick on your smile, sweet against his neck. 

  When the spring flowers bloomed in May, you had the baby right after Eddie’s birthday. 

  The best birthday present ever. 

  He had said with tears in his eyes, you knew he would be the best dad, he spent his lunch breaks reading books on parenting. He saved every dime from his paychecks— determined to make enough so you wouldn’t have to work. 

  He was a good man, the best dad you could ever imagine. And he deserves the world. 

  So tonight when the alarm went off at 3 o’clock, you turned it off before he could wake. Tip-toeing past the baby’s room and into the kitchen to make some coffee. 

  Scooping two heaps of the off brand coffee into the white paper filter you press the on button and watch as the brewed coffee gently tinks into the glass pot. 

  Painted toes skip over the creaks in the floor and back to your bedroom, where the man who made all of your dreams come true laid to rest, bare chested with two names inked over his heart, yours and the baby’s. 

  His arms were curled over his head and his snores were light. Untucking the sheet from its place under the mattress you crawl beneath it careful to not knee anywhere on Eddie.

  Up paled legs sat a pair of blue checkered boxers, the button undone from moving around during the night. And beneath them the delicious treat you were after, soft but still fairly large and thick, nestled with a pinked sack and a dusting of curls. 

  Trailing your nails along the waistband of the patterned blues, you work them down his hips with ease. Tired from already working 55 hours this week, Eddie doesn’t stir. 

  His cock springs out with a thud against his thigh, asleep like it’s owner, but enormous in size. 

  Dribbling a line of spit from your puckered lips you let it flow over his pink mushroom head like you were icing a cake, spreading it around with your thumb, rubbing the slit deep. A few jerks from your spit covered hand and Eddie moans in his sleep. His thick cock at full alert, veins on display for your lips to suckle. 

  You run your tongue from his sack up the shaft and around the peak. Kitten licks at first then long broad stripes. When you take his head into your mouth and swirl your tongue like you’re tasting a popsicle, Eddie finally wakes. A moaning grunt and then immediate panic. You pull the covers off your head and wipe your mouth while smiling wildly. 

  “Babe? Wh—what’s going on?” Eddie says sleepily, his hair askew and eyes still blinking from the sandman’s sleep. 

  “Shhh..” you shush, looking into his eyes and taking him whole into your throat in one swift gulp. 

  He moans and bucks his hips up into your face. 

  “Fuck,” he groans, his breathing erratic and breaking as you swallow him further, hands working double time in a twisting upward motion. Your spit running down to his balls. 

  You release him with a slow slide, gasping for breath as he holds your hair in his fists. 

  His eyes were squeezed tight and open immediately when you lick his slit, hungry for the salty seed. 

  “Bend over,” Eddie grunts, “now.” 

  Throwing the blankets off of you both and standing fast. He grabs your vibrator from the nightstand and clicks it to the on position, giving it to your waiting hand between your bent legs, your face smashed into the mattress. 

  He hikes the sleep shirt up your hips and sucks in a breath when he finds you soaked with no panties on. Glistening from the street lamp shining through the thin curtains, a feast for the taking. 

  “Jesus Christ,” he says, slapping his hands hard against the plush of your doughy ass, “my perfect fucking girl.” 

You whine when the vibration hits your clit, humming along into the mattress to soften your expecting screams. 

  Eddie’s thick head slips through your folds and you moan deep. Mirroring his own as you wiggle your hips for more.

  Burying himself inside your gummy walls you suck him in tight. A cozy wet hug around his dick.  

  “I swear to God this pussy was made for me,” he groans into the open air, pistoning his hips deeper and smacking against the fat of your ass.

  When a drop of spit hits the button and his thumb runs circles around it you squeal in pleasure. Puckering around his thumb, giving him a small kiss and begging him to go deeper. 

  He moans and mutters under his breath. Fucking into you harder. 

  The vibrator is working overtime on your swollen clit as Eddie bucks harder into you, his cock thick and hard jutting deep into your aching hole. You scream out as your legs start to shake and Eddie begins to twitch inside of you. 

  Before you can both come, he flips you over and scoots you both up on the bed. Your legs wrap around his hips and he dives into your lips. Kissing them sweet then harsh, the same way he kissed you for the very first time when you were both thirteen. 

  You were sitting on the handlebars of his bike, your bare legs wrapped around his black jean styled waist, the studs of his belt making indents in your calves. He was standing on the gravel, the bike balanced in his strong hands. Dust circling around you after he skidded to a stop around the curve of the trailer park road. Your lips teasing him for far too long that summer. 

  His hips thrust into yours and his lips moves down your neck, the sweet spot above your beauty mark acting as an ‘x’ for pirates treasure. 

  His hair tickles your skin and you hold his head in your hand and press him further into your neck. When your walls tighten and you whine out he cums hard too, filling you up full. 

  He presses sweet i love you kisses into your collarbones and licks a path up the curve of your chin. Devouring every ounce of your skin he can. 

  “Mrs. Munson,” he teases, lips grinning goofy, “I must have been a good husband to deserve such scandalous behavior at 3 AM.”

  You tickle his under arm and wiggle your way from beneath him, “Mrs. Munson?” you question, an eyebrow quirked into your disheveled hair. “Since when are we married?” 

  Eddie stretches on his back and fumbles into his drawer, wrestling the wrapper off a blue raspberry ring pop. He holds it up to you like a prized possession, “a placeholder for when the layaway is done being paid off at JCPENNEY’s.” 

  You giggle like a child and hold your out hand.Eddie threads the ring on your finger and licks the diamond shaped sucker. 

  “You keep waking me up like that we’re gonna have a whole litter of Munson’s running around, and besides,” he says, kissing up your arm and biting your shoulder, “I kinda like you,” 

  Kissing him deep you giggle. 

  “I kinda like you too.” 

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Therapy

Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader

TW: hurt/comfort & cursing

F1 Masterlist

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Logan's been so focused on working out that he hasn't noticed that his phone has been ringing the past minute and a half, not at least until there's a banging on his home gyms door.

Logan's head snaps towards the door at the sudden noise, taking long but cautious strides to see who's there, opening it only to reveal a less than pleased Y/N standing there.

"Hey," Logan says breathless as he wipes sweat from his forehead "You could've called first"

a scoff leaves Y/N's mouth "I just did, you've blowing me off this past week. I need you to talk to me"

Logan's first season in Formula 1 wasn't the best, he was a bit underweight, not following the diet his trainer gave him and he wasn't managing his energy well in the car which would burn him out and either made him DNF or finish last, which was really getting to him.

"I'm working out, Y/N, I'm busy." he pants, going right back into the exercise he briefly put on hold.

"You're gonna make their weight requirement in the next 10 minutes?" Y/N spat, a little harsher then she intended it to come out but she still stood her ground, making Logan stop and stare at her.

"Thanks you for being so supportive of my work" Logan said with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Because you've been such a champion of mine?" Y/N scoffed. It's true, Y/N just recently signed a contract with WWE's developmental program NXT and not even a single congratulation from her boyfriend.

Logan turned around, fire burning in his eyes "What's that supposed to mean?"

Y/N looks back with an icy stare "What do you think it means?"

Logan just stares at her dumbfounded which causes Y/N to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration before she continues, "I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to talk about my needs? What needs?"

"Did I say that?" His eyebrows knit in confusion as he stares at her urging her to explain.

"You didn't have to say it, it's implied." She rubs her forehead in anger

Logan whips around in utter confusion "How is it implied?"

"You're the athlete and I'm the girlfriend. That's how you feel right?" That causes Logan's hands to cover his eyes and roughly rub his temples as he senses an argument brewing.

Logan absolutely hated arguing with his girlfriend, but ever since his first season started that's all they ever seemed to do. Logan left the TV on all night? Argument. Logan ate something he shouldn't have? Argument. Y/N left her shower towel on top of Logans beach towel? Argument. Y/N forgot to lock the ferret in the cage and now Logan's keys are missing and he's late to a very important William's meeting (he wasn't making it anyway, he took too long acting like Taylor Swift during the ERAS tour in the shower)? Argument.

"Can we talk about this later, please" Logan tries to change the subject so he can finish his workout

"When Logan? When is later?" Y/N raises her voice an octave higher than she intended.

"Not tonight," Logan said, tears of frustration forming on the brims of his eyes threatening to spill.

His response made Y/N's face contort with anger in a way he's never seen before that he made a mental note of never to make her that mad again because he was scared.

"I have been working out all day. I have up since 4 this morning. I have tried to make their weight requirement for a week, and I am nowhere!" Logan yells, those tears of frustration once threatening to spill have now poured out his eyes with more following in pursuit.

"I've been telling you how unhappy I am for months!" tears have now also started flowing out Y/N's eyes as they argue.

"Everyone's unhappy in Miami! That's what Miami is!" Logan screamed has he throws a 5 pound dumbbell on the floor by the bench

"I don't know how to get through to you anymore. You keep shutting me out! You keep putting up these fences!" Y/N's hands tremble in anger as she throws them up, running her fingers through her hair

"I'm not, I'm not shutting you out" Logan states as he wipes the tears from his face but to no avail as more tears spill from his green eyes

"You're a million miles away all the time" Y/N's voice trembles as she lets the tears free flow.

"Actually, I'm right here." Logan says with the straightest face you can have as a crying arguing mess of a man

"Are you Logan? Actually? Cause I know you" Y/N says as the tears slowly stop falling.

"You're right. I've been distracted, but I promise you, after I make this requirement-" before Logan could finish his statement, he gets cut off

"After the requirement?" Y/N whispers in disbelief

"After the requirement!" Logan confirms in a harsh tone

"Everything is after the requirement!" Y/N screams

"Yeah"

"What if you make the requirement and nothing happens? No William's contract extension? You don't go straight to point positions? You're still a bad driver, You still DNF, You don't get signed with anyone else? What then, Logan? What about me?!" The tears that briefly stopped streaming down her face started back up and flowed faster than this time.

"I can't move with you to Orlando. I can't leave my career behind" Logan ripped off the band-aid, he couldn't put off the real reason he's been avoiding this topic, why he's been avoiding Y/N.

"You think I don't know that?" she trembled.

"What," Logan stops, unsure of what she means and what he wants to say next, a million thought in his mind at what his girlfriend just said to him, but not one of those questions are coming out of his mouth right now "What are you...? What is this? What do you want?" he finally manages to choke out

"I guess I just, I wanted you to tell me not to go" Y/N finally lets out and that's when all the emotion she's been bottling up for months comes out, unable to stop the sobs she chokes out. She's a shaking sobbing mess on the floor and all Logan could do was just stare. He knew she'd been hurting at his cold shoulder treatment but he didn't think it hurt her this bad. He couldn't believe that he was watching her hurt this bad because of him and there was only one question floating in the back of his mind...

why don't I feel bad?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 4

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: I'm a sleepy babay.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

There’s a finality to the tap of your thumb. You hold the block button for a moment before you let it go. The window pops up asking if you’re sure. Yes. Certain. This is just a mistake and when you’re older and wiser, you’ll be thankful you made it. If you even remember it. 

You lay back and put your phone down. Done. Over. No more Jacob. No Andy.  

Maybe you’ll go back and see Kara again, or she can come here, even if she hates this town. You can at least be thankful that it reconnected you two, and you have to be grateful to learn a hard lesson. Don’t mess with strangers online. You’re better off alone. 

You close your eyes. You’re exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and yes, physically. Who knew scooping ice cream could be so much work? 

When you wake up, you’re sore and still groggy. The sun peers in at you brightly in the slat between the curtains. You groan and hide under the pillow. Your shift starts at noon. You can’t spend all morning doing nothing or the whole day is wasted. 

You drag yourself out of bed. Your grandma is still asleep. You’re sure she was up until dawn with her latest haul from the used book store. You clean up the cluster of wrappers around her chair and tidy up the kitchen, dumping the old coffee and brewing a new pot. 

You go to grab your phone and pause as you see an unusual notification. Your email? Huh. You don’t really use that besides for school. You open it up, thinking it might be about enrolment. No. It’s him. Andy. Holy moly. 

You scroll up and down, skimming the blocks of text. Oh god. You hit delete. You’re not reading all that. You said what needed to be said. 

You have your coffee and load the machine for whenever your mother gets out of bed. You eat and wash up, catching up on some Youtube before you make yourself get your uniform on. You head out, walking to work to enjoy the sunshine, and key in between tying on your apron and chatting with Gavin, the high schooler who does half-shifts every now and then.  

He leaves at four and you have your complimentary cone just after five. Peanut butter chocolate; classic. You eat at the window as you watch the mostly empty street. Your phone vibrates and you slide it out, hoping to take advantage of the lull. 

WhatsApp request? No way. The shammy recruiters always want a piece of you. At least you never fell for that. 

You bite into the cone and your phone suddenly blows up with Insta notifications. Bots! Ugh. So annoying. Every new follower is faceless with some generated name. You mute the notifications and put your cell away. You really are a boring person. 

As you look up, tires crush over a patch of gravel and your barely catch a glimpse of the car as it rolls just around the corner. You feel like you’ve missed something. Maybe your grandma is right about you always having your nose buried in a screen. Who is she to talk? She lives in her novels. 

Your shift ends at eight. You lock up and stop by the convenience store down the block. Nothing special, just a tray of carbonara you can shove in the nuke. As you pay at the counter, the door chimes to signal another customer. You accept your meagre meal as the other patron strides into the aisle. You don’t look over as you go directly for the door. You’re starving for more than a scoop. 

Your footsteps seem to echo through the dull streets. The frozen meal makes your hand hurt as your other holds your cell phone close. You text Kara as you finally get through the essay she wrote about Calvin’s latest antics. You wish you could convince her to play something. You feel aimless without an analog stick under your thumb. 

There’s a scuff, close behind you, loud enough to make you jump. You fumble with your phone and glance over your shoulder. You don’t see anything but the thick oak outside Luella’s. Ugh. Alright, you need to eat and lay down. It hasn’t been a busy day but still a long one. 

You pass through your grandma’s front door. She’s where she always is, in her chair, but something’s off. Something’s different. The smell of pollen hangs in the air and a pot stands on the coffee table with several white orchids tall in the soil. You frown. The last time you got her flowers, she didn’t even put them in a vase. 

“Oh, those are pretty,” you say. 

“Mph, not mine,” she grumbles, not looking up. 

“Not... who’s...” 

“Delivery man said your name. I didn’t read the card. I’m not a snoop.” 

You nod, thankful at least that she isn’t nosy. You go to the table and examine the pot. Who would send you flowers? 

You take the card off the tall pronged stick and open the envelope. You slide out the paper and unfold it. 

‘I know I’ve told you a million times, so I’ll show you how sorry I am instead. Yours always, Andy.’ 

You nearly drop your handful. Your eyes flick up to the pot and you have to stop yourself from pushing it off the table. What the hell? How... how does he know where you live? You never even mentioned what town you’re from. He only knows your college and it’s so small, he wouldn’t have heard of it. 

It’s enough to unsettle you. That he knows where you live is bad enough but the flowers themselves make a point. It’s not over. He’s not walking away but what else can you say to make him? Didn’t he get it? You think were pretty nice considering. 

“You got some boy?” Your grandma raises her eyes from the page. You can’t remember the last time she even bothered looking at you. 

“Not exactly,” you tuck the card away and put it in your pocket. “I’m going to make my dinner.” 

“Eh,” she grumbles, “fine. Get them flowers somewhere else. They stink.” 

You lift the vase, hugging it around the pot, and carry it from the room. You balance it against your hip and go into the kitchen. You use your free hand to pull open the freezer and put the pasta inside. You’re not so hungry anymore. 

🎮

The irises are pretty. The pot they came in is fancy, probably expensive. It underlines once more the gap between you and the real Jacob. Between you and Andy.

It only reminds you of how ridiculous you must have sounded. So, you just can’t understand why he’s doing this? Why is he still trying? For you? A girl with dwindling hopes of even finishing her low-tier college degree. 

You try to forget. You don’t have a shift that day but you can’t just sit around. Usually, you would. You’d hole up in your bedroom and play video games. Not anymore. He ruined that. You’re disappointed you’re letting him. 

You got down to the library for a while and wander around. There’s nothing there you’re very interested in. They still haven’t got the latest release in the series you’d read in high school. Oh well, you’ll wait around until one day you learn the fate of those revolutionary spies. 

You walk the main strip of the town. It isn’t very extensive. There’s a coffee shop and the used bookstore which also carries hobby supplies. There’s the same diner that’s been there since you were a kid and the interchangeable business that open and close year after year. 

There’s a vibe in your pocket. It’s not Kara. Another WhatsApp request, more Insta bots, and Discord. You haven’t been on the server in ages. You couldn’t keep up with all the channels and most of it was arguing about mining strategies. 

It’s Andy. Frig. You should’ve blocked him there too. You just hadn’t thought of it. 

‘Did you like the flowers?’ 

You don’t answer but he’ll see that you read it. It isn’t long before he’s typing. 

‘I am still very sorry. I wish you’d talk to me. Hear me out.’ 

Hear him out? He said everything. His son is dead and he lied to you. That’s not anything you can hash out. 

‘I know you’re not working today. I’ll make a new world and we can chat there.’ 

No. That’s not going to happen. Over. O-V-E-R. It’s done. You’re not going to be like Kara. When you cut the cord, it’s snipped. 

You won’t answer. That’s just bait. He’ll keep nibbling if you do that. You press the chat settings and block. That’s better, you can’t breathe. 

You put your phone on silent and back in your pocket. You wish you had the money to try the sushi place. It won’t last long in the bodunk town so you probably won’t ever get to. Oh well. Back on campus, they sell decent California rolls at the cafeteria. Decent, not necessarily good. 

You go home. To your grandma’s house. It doesn’t always feel like home. You know she’s counting the days until you leave. You are too. 

You wish you were brave enough to apologise. To say sorry your mom and dad didn’t want you. That she got stuck with you. It feels like saying it out loud would be worse. Just wallow in the unspoken resent, one day you won’t ever come back and maybe then you can both be happy. 

In your room, you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your Switch taunts you from across the room. You want to mine or race or even scare yourself with some Hellblade. You can’t. More Youtube. More wasted time. That’s what people like you do; people from small towns with no one who loves them and no money; waste time. 

The mindless videos help you relax but not forget. You just can’t get rid of the little tickle at the back of your head. There’s a tinge of shame that remains and a sliver of guilt. It will go. It has to, one day. 

You catch yourself staring at the orchid. You can smell it. You want to throw it away but that feels rude. Even if Andy would never know, even if you shouldn’t care. He hurt you, didn’t he? He lied. Well, you could give it to Mahalia next door, she loves flowers. 

You lay in indecision. You don’t want to do anything but lay there. Now that you’re still, you have no strength. Your day off is chipped away in your laziness.  

The next day awaits you with another shift at the booth. And the day after and the day after. 

Your fourth day in a row and you get a new Discord message. You know even before you open it, even by the blank avatar and nondescript username. It’s him. Just leave me alone. Let it go. Let me forget. 

‘I know you don’t want to hear from me but I need you to hear me. I can’t stop thinking of you and what happened. I can do better. Please, let me apologise.’ 

Blocked. Again.

Work. Again.  

You’re half asleep as you fill cones with soft serve. You smile and swallow yawns, faking it for the hyper children and cheerful couples. 

When it slows, you work on cleaning the freezer, switching out empty containers with ones from the deep freeze. As you check the soft serve, there’s a tap on the open walk-up window. Oh shoot. You should’ve been paying better attention. 

You turn back to greet the next customer but as you approach the window, your chest deflates. Frozen, like the tubs around you. You stare at Andy as he smiles at you. He wears a short-sleeve button up with blue, grey, and white stripes. His hair blows in the soft breeze. 

“Do you have butterscotch ripple?” He asks brightly. 

You blink and hesitate. You don’t know what to do. How did he get here? How did he find you? Why is he here? 

You reach for the window and before he can stop you, you shut it. You lock it from the inside and step back. His face falls and his brow arches as he stands straight. He says your name, his voice muffled by the glass, and puts his palm to the barrier. 

“Please,” he begs. 

You shake your head and turn your back to him. If your manager was here, you’d be in shit. That’s a no-no. Never turn away a customer, only shut the window when you lock up. 

You ignore him and go back to tidying. There could be a line up out there but you don’t care. Your hands are shaking and it’s not just the temperature.

You just can’t believe he’s there. You can’t believe he won’t just give up. You don’t want to believe it because you’re afraid. You’re terrified and he seems entirely clueless about how scary he’s being. 

Flowers are one thing but showing up at your job? That’s a flaming red flag that even you can see. Not only because you told him plainly that you don’t want to talk to him again, but because he’s a grown man. Fortysomething and he can’t take a hint. Why would a man his age want to talk to someone as young as you? That’s another red flag on its own. As if catfishing you wasn’t enough. 

[yumeaoka-chan]

A Witch & Her Spider

Pairing: Hobie Brown × Reader/ Demon! Hobie x Witch! Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: flirting, pining, clingy hobie, touchy hobie, lovesick reader, lovesick hobie, cursing, no physical description of reader(besides clothing), reader is AFAB, fighting(idk why I keep writing fighting scenes), blood, gore, death(it's really not as bad as it looks I promise)

Summary: And let it be known, no harm shall come to the Spider's witch, lest the culprit be webbed and eaten whole.

A/N: Credit for the lovely banners goes to @the-shroom-garden !!! Week 4 of Octobie @the-kr8tor , let's go!!! I promise the next thing will be a little more... wholesome😭🤚 Also, Hobie calls R starlight cuz her magic looks like stars💕

“Now where did I put that night orchid…?”

“...Still workin’, starlight?”

With wide eyes and a gasp, you turn around to level your intruder with a glare. A small huff leaves your lips and you place your hands on your hips, looking up at the smirking demon before you. He chuckles softly and leans down just so that your eyes are level with his, his multiple piercings glinting under the light. His long hair moves to frame his face, gold pieces adorning it like the most beautiful of jewels. You can practically feel his cool breath fanning your rapidly heating cheeks. Piercing gold eyes bore into yours as Hobie grins at you cheekily. It makes you scoff and you turn back to rummage through your cupboard of potion ingredients.

“Jumpy tonight, aren't we? Is it because it's a full moon?” You roll your eyes before handing him a a small glowing vial, a ghost of a smile on your lips. He takes it gladly, his grin turning genuine as he slips the sleeping potion into the pocket of his trousers. The demon barging into your cottage was nothing new, of course. You'd known him since you were twelve, after all. Just a young witchling who was tasked to summon a familiar during your studies. Only to accidentally summon a very powerful, very playfully annoying demon prince instead.

Hobie had been about the same age in demon years as you around the time yet, he still towered over you like it was nothing. As you had gaped at him in awe, all he did was take a look around your home and scrunch up his nose in apparent disgust.

“Not to be rude or anythin’, but it smells like a red cap had a party with a bloody ogre in here…” His words had snapped you out of your astounded daze and you let out a loud snort of laughter before pointing to your black cauldron. Black liquid bubbled inside, smoke from the brew wafting through the air.

“Tongue of wartfrogs and toenail clippings of ogre do tend to smell like shit.” His grin had been so wide that you could see the glistening pair of fangs in his mouth.

“Awful stuff, witchling. What poor bastard is gettin’ that?” After that day, you two were inseparable. He always took time out of his day to visit you, sometimes even crashing on your sofa just so he didn't have to leave. You never liked to admit it, but you enjoyed his company. Loved it, even. It was like something in your life just clicked in place when Hobie appeared and you truly wouldn't have it any other way. The feeling of arms wrapping around your middle pulls you out of your musings, a smile flitting across your face as he drapes himself over you.

You take a moment to lean back in his arms, closing your eyes as he rests his chin on your shoulder. Hobie's locs tickle your cheeks, his cool breath fanning your neck. Slowly, you turn in his arms to face him, tilting your head back as you look at him with a teasing smile. Gold eyes gazing into yours, warm and glittering and so very beautiful. It makes your breath hitch as you take time to admire his features. You've always thought Hobie looked ethereal and otherworldly, from his sharp chiseled jawline to the way his cheekbones sat high. Even his skin held this radiant glow that made it apparent that he belonged to another world entirely.

“You're awfully clingy tonight. Afraid you'll have to find someone else to cuddle though, Hobes.” You say teasingly as you pull back just a bit. He gives you a playful pout before chuckling softly, deep voice rich and warm in your ears. You hoped you didn't look as utterly taken with him as you felt. As you always have for quite a long time now. Hobie cocks his head to the side with a fond look shining in his eyes and you mentally curse the way your heart flutters in your chest.

“And why's that, starlight? Hm?” He's too gorgeous to be looking at you like that, you think as you force yourself to pull away from his embrace. Walking towards your bubbling cauldron, you wave your hand in the air, a black cloak magically appearing on your body in a shimmer of sparkles. Hobie follows you, eyebrow raised in question at the sudden summoning of your cloak. After whispering a quiet spell, the boiling liquid settles almost instantly, steam wafting through the air.

“Like you said earlier. It's a full moon. The perfect time to go foraging for ingredients.” Grabbing a wicker basket from off the shelf of your cupboard, you're surprised to turn around and find Hobie gazing down at you with an uneasy expression on his face. Brows furrowed and lips downturned into a slight frown, he crowds you until you're almost pressed against the shelf.

“Foraging? Tonight…? You don't really have to, right?” His words make you look up at him curiously. Hobie's easy going attitude is nowhere to be seen at the moment, just barely contained worry and something else. Something you couldn't quite find the name for. Giving him a smile, you press a hand softly against his cheek to ease his worries. You try not to dwell on how he instantly nuzzles his cheek against your palm when you do so.

“Afraid so. Night Orchids and certain mushrooms are only available during the night. And having a full moon means there's more in quantity.” As you move your hand back from his face, Hobie's hand is quick to gently bracelet your wrist, careful not to scratch you with his sharp nails. He places your hand right where his heart beats and you internally squeal when he leans down until your faces are inches apart.

“Why not stay here with me, yeah”, Hobie mumbles softly, gold eyes filled with warmth and shining as bright as the glittering stars. His other hand comes up to hold your chin, tilting your face up towards his more. A nervous chuckle escapes your lips and you turn your head away, pushing lightly at his chest as you try to calm the frantic beating of your heart.

“Something really is wrong with you tonight. What's with you? I'll be fine. Gone and back before you know it, promise.” You say hurriedly, voice a shaky mumble as you wriggle your way from off of the cupboard, moving so away from him and towards the door. Hobie's quick to grab you again before you can open it, his hand softly squeezing yours with something akin to urgency. You turn around to give him an exasperated look but falter when you see the pleading look in his eyes. He's serious about not letting you go out tonight. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, his eyes suddenly widen just a bit. He tilts his head to the side with a frustrated look on his face, eyes narrowed and a scowl on his lips. Moments pass before he lets out a long groan, releasing your hand so that he can scrub at his face in frustration.

“Stupid fuckers, I swear…”, he growls lowly under his breath and that's when you understand what has happened. There are times when Hobie gets mental messages from the Hells, some from his friends and others from his family, the latter he absolutely loathes. Hobie takes a deep breath before looking down at you again, his hands reaching out to gently rest on your shoulders.

“I've gotta go, starlight. I'll be gone for only a little while, then I'll come back. Please just… stay home and wait for me. Something about tonight just seems… off.” You want to laugh at his words, but the unreadable expression on his face makes you bite the chuckle back. Once you nod your head and reassure him that you won't leave, he's off with an annoyed scowl, slipping into the beckoning portal that he's suddenly opened on the floor. As soon as the portal closes over his head, you grip your basket and slip outside. The crisp night air makes you shiver just a bit and you pull up the hood on your cloak, humming a bit as you venture further into the woods behind your cottage.

Sure, Hobie might get upset that you left anyways, but he should know by now that you do what you want. Regardless of his very adamant warnings.

“He's such a worry wart. I'm a powerful and capable young witch! I can handle myself, dammit!” You huff as you kneel down to pick the patch of glowing blue mushrooms beneath a white oak tree. You spot a couple singing purple thistles a ways ahead, storing the mushrooms inside of your basket before trudging on. As you pick and search for ingredients, the one flower you've been searching for is nowhere to be found. After several minutes of looking, you let out a loud groan of exasperation. You frown as you contemplate searching deeper into the forest, glancing back at your lit cottage in the distance. Would it truly be a good idea to go so far away when Hobie said something was off around here?

As much as you trusted Hobie, you really did need more night orchids, especially for the batch of potions that your client was coming to pick up tomorrow. Steeling your resolve, you step deeper into the thick forest, the trees so tall that it seems like they're touching the moon. The stars are hard to see in such a dense part of the woods, so you utter a small spell, a pocket size ball of light magically flickering into existence. It floats in front of you, tiny shimmering sparkles trailing after it as it slowly moves in the air. It makes your foraging a bit easier.

While you travel deeper into the woods, a sudden feeling of unease creeps up your spine. It makes goosebumps appear on your arms and your heart thud loudly in your chest, so loud you can hear it in your ears. There's something like a thick aura settling around you, stifling the air and making it harder to keep calm. Your eyes dart to and fro as you start to pick up the pace, eager to find the night orchids and hurry on home. Spotting a bundle of the flowers, you quickly gather them and place them inside of your basket, clutching it to your chest as you turn to head back home. Hobie was surely waiting for you there by now, probably upset and pouting that you left despite his warnings. The idea of him waiting up for you eases the nervousness bubbling in your stomach just a bit and you speed walk towards the cottage.

The ball of light floats in front of you as you press on. It's then that you hear the rustling of leaves nearby, making you snap your head in the direction it had come from. Narrowing your eyes, you study the bush a few feet away from you, only for your stomach to drop at the sight of a pair of glowing yellow slits for eyes. Low rumbling growls surround you, the sound making sweat drip down your back, the barking the thing to make you break out into a sprint.

Werewolves, a pack of eight of them, froth at the mouth as they chase after you. Large dripping maws snapping at your heels and cloak, howls and growls ringing through the night. You can feel the saliva of one of them dripping onto your arm and you quickly flick your wrist in its direction, vines shooting up from the ground to grip its tail and yank it back away from you. Your chest heaves as you dash towards your cottage, wicker basket swinging wildly in your grip as you try to escape the pack of werewolves. Sweat beads on your forehead and the hood of your cloak falls off your head as you zoom past the trees. Glancing back, you can see another one lunging straight for your foot, quickly shouting out a spell to make it take a mouthful of flowers instead.

A yelp leaves your lips as you feel claws yank at your cloak, pulling you back. You quickly make it disappear into a pile of shimmers with a quick swipe of your hand, making the werewolf stumble and bark angrily. Just as you spot the lit cottage in the distance, sharp teeth imbed themselves into your ankle, making your scream pierce through the night sky. Gritting your teeth, you lift your hand and shoot small bolts of fire from your fingertips, hitting the werewolf in the eyes and burning its fur. It howls and rubs it's face in the dirt as you press on. Blood oozes down your ankle and makes your shoes soggy, pain flaring up every time you press down on it. You have to suck it up, have to keep going until you were home. Hobie was waiting for you, after all. You couldn't die here.

Just as you reach the yard of your home, claws sink deeply into your shoulder and teeth into your calf, and you cry out as you're thrown onto the ground. Dirt and sweat sticks to your cheeks as you groan with pain, your head having made an impact first. Crimson drips down from your shoulder onto your dress and you press a hand there to stop the bleeding. The pack of werewolves creep slowly upon you then, sharp teeth bared and claws on full display as they lick their chops. Panting from the flaring pain and the run to your home, you lift up a hand, your palm glowing a bright white as you ready yourself for their attack. Fear makes you shake and your lips tremble as you gaze at the pack of hungry creatures. You couldn't fight off this many alone, especially in your injured state. It was like you could feel Death kissing the back of your neck as you peered at your reflection in their glistening orbs.

The front door of the cottage suddenly slams open then, a thick and ominous mist spilling from inside. It makes both you and the werewolves look on with shock and anticipation. It's eerily quiet then, not a single one of you moves. Something darts out of the opened door moments later, so lightning quick that it's like a blur. There's a hiss and a sudden whimper before one of the creatures drop dead before you. Your eyes are wide with shock and disbelief as you look up. Hobie glowers at the pack menacingly, murder gleaming in his golden eyes, his pupils now thin slits. From his jaw there now sits a frightening pair of spider-like fangs, what he uses to viciously tear off the head of another werewolf. Crimson drips down his maw as the sound of bones snapping from his fangs sounds loud in your ears, and you can do nothing but watch as he spits the head into the dirt. His lower half is now that of a spider, eight legs long and black as night as he scurries over towards another. Using two legs and his claws, he tears through the creature, ripping it clean in half, blood and gore from its insides splattering his hair. Hobie mauls through the pack with ease, a fury you've never seen before marring his frightening expression.

Only one lone werewolf remains, shivering and whimpering as it watches its pack get decimated. Tail tucked between its legs and ears drooping, it turns to quickly escape, only to let out a terrified whimper when it comes face to face with the livid Spider. Hobie's hand shoots out to grip the creature by its neck, yanking it up until it's eye level with him. The werewolf whines, its feet high off of the ground now. Hobie tilts his head again, eyes cold and boring into the creature. His voice rumbles through the night and makes even your bones shiver.

“Touch her again and I'll eat you alive. You'll feel every agonizing moment of me gorging on your body. Understand me, dog…?” His threat isn't even that. It's a promise, one that you're sure he'll keep. Not even waiting for the creature to respond, he throws it away from him, his attention now on you as he slowly transforms back into his more human form. You can hear the creature howling and scampering off but you don't pay much attention to it.

All you can see is Hobie, whose frightening and menacing appearance has all but faded, his eyes once more those gold liquid pools of warmth you love so much. He's quick to bend down and scoop you up in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he walks inside of your cottage. The warmth of his arms makes you nuzzle closer to him and your eyes flutter shut as he presses a tender kiss on your forehead. There's no pain as he holds you safely in his arms, his every touch soft and delicate. You let yourself drift off to sleep as he cares for you, adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion settling in your bones. Hobie's whispered words are like the sweetest of honey, the most delectable of nectar as you slip into slumber.

“I've got you, starlight. I'm here.”