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just-some-random-blogger · 4 months ago

Text

Double Dutch

The twins walk in on you as you talk about your stupid, fit neighbor. Wonder who that is.

George Weasley x Reader (x Fred Weasley) | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, fred lives stfu, harry potter lore noob, fluff, rizzler!Georgie, typos, etc.

A/N: this is a continuation to Sweets & Sweeties but both can be read individually for the most part. GUYS IDK MUCH ABOUT HARRY POTTER LORE SO PLEASE KEEP CALLING ME OUT IF YOU NEED TO COS WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERES AN UNLOCKING SPELL HAHAHAHAHAH | cross posted on ao3

"And they didn't just use Alohomora?"

You giggle as you momentarily lean on your mop to turn to your phone, "that's what I'm saying!"

Your friend snorts from the other side of the line.

"But," you continue mopping, "to be fair, even I didn't think of it in the moment. I was just glad they helped me get back in my shop when it felt like I'd be locked in forever."

Your friend groans, "you can be so dramatic. Why would you be locked forever from your shop?"

"Stop it. I was seriously debating throwing rocks at my window to get in."

"Wow," your friend laughs, just as the bell on your front door rings, "you're just as stupid as your neighbor."

You look over your shoulder mid-mopping, "sorry, shop's not..."

You grip your mop tightly as the tall man raises a hand, "mornin'."

"... open yet."

His smirk is lopsided as he raises a brow, "not even for your stupid neighbor?"

Your stomach drops and blood rushes up your neck.

"Bloody hell," your friend's voice on loud speaker reverberates in your empty bake shop, "did your fit neighbor walk in?"

The said man chuckles and you nearly whack your phone with your mop. You quickly end the call and grit your teeth in embarrassment, unable to turn back to the red haired man that was laughing yet again.

"Fit neighbor, huh?"

You clear your throat as you decide to put a brave face on and feign ignorance. You turn to him with a dramatic hair flip and shrug.

Fred or George Weasely smiles then hums, crossing his arms. Which one he was, you couldn't tell. "Glad to know you find me fit, love."

"I-" you clear your throat, "that wasn't about you."

His brows quirk and his lips part. He scoffs in offence but his smile is still visible, "don't tell me you think I'm stupid and my brother's fit." He walks over, shaking his head, clicking his tongue, "you have terrible taste in men."

You snort to mask the feel of your face burning, then pretend mopping is more exciting you really think it is, "I-" you clear your throat as you clean the tiles in front of your cake display, "don't even know which one you are."

The sheer dramatics of his gasp forces you to look back at him. The Weasley has a fist on his chest, pretending he was stabbed. He grunts in faux pain, "you're telling me I look exactly like Fred?" He rests the back of his hand on his forehead and turns away, "the horrors."

The laugh he pulls out from you is dangerous. It's full and giddy. It's more than amusement, it's full blown endearment that makes your belly roll. You stifle your laughter with your sleeve, feeling warmth linger on your cheeks. Your heart races as he, as George, saunters in front of you, hands smoothly sliding into his pockets. He tilts his head with a sigh, "might have to get even for that terrible remark, my..." he looks around the shop, "sweet neighbor."

You look up at him, pursing your lips to withhold your smile. You shrug, "I doubt a boy named Georgie can do so much damage."

He snorts and shakes his head, "cheeky bugger."

You tense when he leans forward.

"Did you just dare me to do you some damage, sweetheart?"

You open your mouth, but a strangled gasp is all that leaves you because he places his hands atop yours as he takes your mop from you.

"I feel like you don't need anymore damage, considering you did just break a mug."

You stare at him as he haphazardly starts mopping around. Your belly reacts to how he circles around the mop and shoots you a grin. You gulp, "how did you know I broke a mug?"

"Pfft," he scoffs, straightening up, resting his elbow on the top of the mop. Damn, he was tall. "I heard it break. Why do you think I came over here? To check on you!"

Your brows furrow as he puts the mop aside, "how'd you know it was a mug though?"

Georgie shrugs, "well, cause I'm a genius."

You give him a look.

He mirrors your look, then slowly begins to lean forward again, "d'ya want me to prove it?"

Your heart races as you slowly lean back, "w-what? No?"

"Wicked," he grins, straightening up, "you think I'm a genius, do ya?"

"W-What?"

"I just called myself a genius and you agreed," he puts his hands in his pockets and moves towards your cake display. He points, "that looks really good."

You compose yourself by brushing your hair back, "shop's not open yet, genius."

Georgie turns to you with a grin. He breaks into a chuckle, "why not?"

"I'm still cleaning."

He looks around the room and pulls out his wand from his pocket, "I-"

"No!" you raise your hands, "I like cleaning!"

He lowers his wand.

"I don't have anything to do before opening, and cleaning, you know..." you trail off and look away.

"No, I don't actually," he tilts his head in interest, "cleaning what?"

You shrug as you look back at him, "it gives me something to do."

He purses his lips and raises his brows, "wouldn't you rather do something fun?"

You chuckle and shake your head, "that's easy for you to say. You own Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

Georgie shakes his head and raises his hands, "that's ex-"

"And you have your twin brother."

"... so?"

"You have someone to have fun with. I bet you never get homesick at all."

"Oh," he lowers his hands, "distraction for the loneliness, is it?"

You purse your lips and shrug, "yeah."

He offers you a soft smile, "I'm not a genius actually," he points his thumb over his shoulder, "your broken mug pieces are on your counter."

You turn to said object and counter, feeling bashful that you forgot about it, "oh, that's-"

"And I didn't come here because I heard you break it," he buzzes his lips then rubs his ear, "I don't think my ears are good enough for that."

You raise your brows, "I mean, I figured. I don't think anyone's ears are good enough for that."

"I did come here because I wanted to spend time with you."

You freeze.

"Want," he corrects, "I want to."

You feel blood rush up your face.

"That is," he motions vaguely and shrugs, "only if you want to take back what you said about me being the stupid one and Fred being the fit one."

"You think I'm fit?"

You both turn to the front door, only realizing now the bell had rung. Your face was burning, "I-"

"This isn't about you!"

Fred walks in, "oh, ho, ho, I do beg to differ."

Overwhelmed by the two Weasley men who begin to bicker in front of you, you step back unable to do anything but watch for a moment. That is until George says:

"No, I told you I think she's cute."

Fred scoffs, "I totally said she was cute first!"

"Keep lying, you liar."

"I literally told you the moment she w—"

"SHOP'S STILL CLOSED!" you blurt, making them turn to you. You gulp as they turn to you, and exaggeratedly clear your throat, "though I appreciate you both," cough, "think I'm cute, I have to prepare things."

"What things?" they ask in unison.

You stutter, "t-things!"

"I can help," they say at once, turning to each other, "Jinx. Double jinx. TRIPLE J-"

"GET OUT!" you point to the door, "respectfully."

The twins visibly deflate. George smacks Fred on the chest, "this is all your fault."

"Mine?" Fred scoffs, "you're the one that-"

You cut their bickering off short by pushing them towards the door. They begin to protest but do not try to overpower you to stay inside. You huff once you manage to kick them out and wave them goodbye.

"I thought we could drop by at any time for a cuppa?!" George calls out.

Fred huffs and cups the sides of his mouth, "liar!"

You chuckle softly under your breath, face warm as ever as you give them a look, "later! Once I open!"

They both huff and turn to each other. Fred says, "that's not any time, now is it."

"No, it isn't," George agrees.

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falling-endlessly · 1 year ago

Text

Boomerang (part 2)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: After being faced with a dilemma, Vox tries a new approach to get you back. All hell breaks loose.

<—Part 1 Chapter Index Part 3—>

"You're shitting me right now," Velvette's eye twitched as she stared at the snoring TV demon sprawled across your bed. "For fuck's sake, what am I? A babysitter?"

"At least he's knocked out," you crossed your arms, raising a brow. "You won't have to listen him try and tell you that he lost his hat, only to realize it was on his head the whole time, and then start crying because he forgot he owned such a cool hat."

Velvette smacked her forehead audibly, dragging the hand down her face. "Jesus Christ," she hissed under her breath, before glaring at you in irritation. "You know, none of this would have happened if you hadn't left, right?"

"Vel," you said tiredly, rubbing your temples.

"Do you know how fucking annoying it is to hear him bitch all goddamn day about you?" She growled, waving her hands around aggressively. "I'm this close," she held her fingers a millimeter apart. "To pouring water all over his monitors. This. Close."

"Vel—"

"And then there's Valentino, who's also in a fucking mood. You know what? Forget about the water. I'm going to shoot both of them in the—"

"Velvette!" You raised your voice, making her grit her teeth. "I'm not coming back. He made his choice," you glanced at the demon in question, currently drooling all over your pillow. "It's not my problem anymore."

"Is that what you think?" She snapped, crossing her arms. "That you can just, what, leave your shit in a mess and walk out? Sorry to burst your bubble bitch, but you aren't fucking Cinderella. Things aren't just going to magically work out if you hide from them."

"I'm not hiding—"

"Bullshit!" She growled.

Your jaw set tightly as you both stood in a tense silence, glaring at each other.

After a few seconds, you sighed, shaking your head. "He already knows what he has to do if he wants to fix this," you said firmly. "I'm not going to change my mind."

Velvette pressed her lips together, before letting out an irritated breath. "Always fucking cleaning up everyone else's messes," she muttered angrily under her breath as she roughly hoisted Vox's limp body over her shoulder. "I'm going to kill him. Pathetic piece of shit—keep up a good image my ass."

She was almost out of the window when you called out, "Vel."

Velvette turned to give you an annoyed what now look over her shoulder, scowling impatiently.

"Thanks," you said sincerely.

She didn't answer you, instead turning and vaulting herself out of the window, disappearing from sight.

****

Vox woke up feeling like his screen was being forcibly bent in half. "What the ungodly fuck?" he whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of his sweaty bed sheets as he tried to control his breathing.

His stomach roiled ominously, making him gag. "Nope, nope. Not here," he stumbled out of bed, staggering to his attached bathroom like a desperate zombie and nearly running face first into the wall.

Vox dropped to his knees, flipping open the toilet lid and shooting out an unholy amount of chunks.

"What the—ugh, holy shit!" Velvette coughed from the doorway, shielding her face. "God, that smells worse than that skit when Angel got shat on."

Fuck you, he wanted to say. What the fuck are you doing in my bathroom?

But instead what came out was: "FUghhhuckk!"

Velvette watched him, unimpressed and disgusted. "You're an idiot."

"Not. Helping." Vox growled miserably, screen flickering as he gripped the edges of the toilet bowl.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Velvette jeered unsympathetically. "Who dragged your pathetic drunk ass back here last night? Oh, that's right!" She snapped her fingers in a mock eureka! moment. "I did. How about a little gratitude?"

Vox lifted a weak, trembling hand and flipped her off.

Velvette rolled her eyes. "Ungrateful bitch," she muttered under her breath.

Vox heaved loudly into the toilet, making her cringe. Gross. She grabbed the hand towel off of the rack, before throwing it at his head. It landed on the top of his monitor, hanging off the corner, before he grabbed it and sluggishly wiped his mouth. "I th-think I'm sh-short circuiting," he groaned, gripping his head in pain.

"You'll be fine," Velvette closed her eyes in frustration, but internally her thoughts took a different turn. She hadn't seen Vox this fucked up in ages. Val maybe. But not Vox. He cared way too much about his public image. This erratic behavior was very, very unlike him, and it was starting to become...concerning.

"What happened?" Vox coughed, leaning his monitor weakly against his forearms. The last thing he remembered was the fight with Val, and then—a garden...? The hell?

"Well, apparently, your dumbass thought it was a good idea to pay Y/n a visit—" Vox froze at the sound of your name "—to personally deliver her flowers at three in the morning. Then you cried about your stupid hat, passed out in her room, and she called me to pick you up like an incompetent child. The end."

By the end of her rant, Vox's expression looked even more pained, if that was even possible. "Shitttt," he moaned, curling in on himself. "Fuck. Shit. Fuck."

He looked so pathetic and distraught that Velvette almost felt bad for him. Almost.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were Vox's labored breaths and Velvette's judgmental stare. The silence was starting to border on stifling when Vox finally broke it.

"Did she like it?" He asked quietly.

"What?" Velvette scowled, crossing her arms.

"The roses," he continued, making her raise a brow. So he did remember buying the flowers then, she never told him what kind they were. "Did she like them?"

She was about to dismiss it when a sudden memory struck her, making her pause. "She kept them. In a vase on her night stand."

Vox slowly lifted his head, a warmth (not bile this time) blooming in his chest. You kept them. Even though he'd made a fool out of himself and probably ruined your night. And you didn't kick him out, either.

You still care, he realized, with a fragile, growing hope.

And that meant—he had a chance. Not baseless hope this time, an actual, legitimate chance to win you back. A slow, goofy grin started to climb his face.

"What—what the fuck? What's with the idiotic look on your face?" Velvette cringed away, disturbed. Then realization hit her as her eyes rolled skyward. "You're going to do something incredibly stupid, aren't you?"

"Maybe," he grinned, before another bout of nausea hit him, making him retch violently into the bowl.

"Idiot," Velvette reiterated.

****

"Oh, hell no," you heard Vaggie say, making you glance up. The moth demon looked incredibly hostile, spear pointed at whoever was at the door.

Concerned, you lifted from the lounge chair you were seated in, taking a few steps towards them, only for a firm hand to land on your shoulder.

"Toots," Angel Dust laughed nervously, moving to block the scene with his body. "Maybe you should let the others sort this one out, yeah?"

"Angel, I know I don't look like much, but I'm an overlord," you raised a brow, peeling his hand off of your shoulder with ease. "I can probably help."

"Shit! Wait, you're not going to like this," Angel groaned under his breath, but it was too late. You'd already seen him.

Vox caught your eye, a charming smile quirking his mouth. "Hey, doll."

Your fists curled by your sides, eyes flashing dangerously as you started to dematerialize, glowing green code dancing along your skin. You glitched out, growing substantially in stature as your mouth distended horrifically.

"Ohhh shit," Angel cursed, taking cover behind the bar counter.

"What's wrong?" Charlie's confused voice came from the stairwell, only to gasp at your demonic form, glitching horribly as your voice raged like gravelly static. It almost sounded like there was another, deeper voice speaking in tandem with yours.

"Woah!" She bolted to the scene, catching sight of a pale Vox, shocked Vaggie, and gaping Niffty. Husk, Pentious and Angel had done the smart thing and taken cover behind the bar.

"Y/n," she smiled placatingly, raising her hands in a show of non-aggression. "What's going on?"

"Gonna kill him," you spat, making everyone wince. "Can't have one goddamn moment to myself without this fucker appearing like a fucking genital wart—"

"Hey," Vox laughed nervously. "I'm not here for any of that, I promise. Just—sweetheart—could you maybe not hover over me like that—"

"O-kay Y/n," Charlie stepped between the two of you. "Maybe just calm down, take a few deep breaths, and let's hear him out."

"Charlie, he blew up the hotel two days ago," Vaggie hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, well, so did Pentious," Charlie raised a brow, wincing at said demon's faint protest.

"Pentious blew a hole in the wall," Vaggie argued. "This guy blew up half of the building!"

"Charlie!" Angel yelled, voice strained. "Do something before we all die!"

"Alastor's going to kill him," Niffty said cheerfully.

"I'll kill him first."

"Guys—" Charlie pleaded.

"I'm here for redemption!" Vox's voice cut through the air, making everyone freeze. It even shocked you out of your demonic form, the glowing code disappearing as you shrunk to normal proportions.

"You what?" you snapped.

"I want to...make things right," he glanced at you, making you grit your teeth and turn away. "I'm not here to cause trouble I swear—"

The door slammed in his face, cutting him off.

"Charlie," Alastor grinned, finally pulled from wherever the hell he'd fucked off to in his free time. "Tell me you're not thinking of letting this mongrel stay, are you?"

"What is this?" Vaggie hissed, dropping her head in her hands. "Overlord central?"

Charlie looked down, pursing her lips. "Well, it would be wrong of us to refuse anyone. It is open to everyone, after all."

"Think of Y/n!" Alastor said desperately, smile twitching as he clasped his hands on your shoulders, holding you out like some sort of charity case. You gave him an unimpressed look. "It's obvious he's only here to harass her!"

"And what were you here for again?" Charlie raised a brow. "To see demons trip and tumble down into the fiery pit of failure," she deepened her voice to imitate his, making him let out a screech of radio feedback.

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself," you said, disgruntled as you shrugged off Alastor's uncomfortably tightening grip. "Charlie, do what you want. But I can't promise I won't kill him."

You were starting to accept the fact that there was nowhere in hell you could possibly go to escape your ex if he didn't wish it. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up a fight, though.

"Oh fuck," Angel dragged a hand down in face. He already knew what Charlie was going to decide. "Shoulda fuckin' stayed over with Cherri."

Charlie took a deep breath, and despite everyone's silent pleas, reached for the door handle and twisted it open. Vox perked up, turning towards her attentively.

"Welcome to Hazbin Hotel!" She attempted an awkward, welcoming smile.

****

<—Part 1 Chapter Index Part 3—>

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah

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ohburgee · 2 months ago

Note

(Climbs out of the window for the third time)

Ok, I actually had an idea for another request. Spouse & Killer!Reader x 007n7 scenario, except you don't remember him due to head trauma before getting forsaken, and then, have a "John Doe moment" when you meet each other and fall in love with 7n7 all over again. (Because in canon, John Doe would fall in love with Jane all over again if he met her again, LOL) (Also, you probably take care of c00lkid outside of rounds despite questioning why this kid calls you his parent)

(Throws myself out of window... For the third time)

-- Window Anon (because it's funny to me to be called that)

Oh my this is so beautiful idea scenario, and first time writing 007n7 :] Well here your requests you been waiting for thank you for your cute angst request. Sorry for sudden gone I was just got busy on my college stuffs :'> Also the italics on first one is from 7n7 and the two rest is from you.

Another round, another fight for survival.

007n7 is exhausted from playing this deadly game, but he has no choice, he must survive and help the other survivors. As he works alongside Builderman to repair a generator, he suddenly feels a chilling sensation, as if someone is watching them. His instincts scream at him.

"Watch out!" 7n7 warns Builderman.

Just as the words leave his mouth, a blade slashes through the air. Thankfully, both of them manage to dodge just in time, dropping low to the ground. 7n7 quickly glances up and sees the attacker, it's you.

You're gripping a blade, your expression twisted with rage, eyes locked onto Builderman. You move in to strike again, but suddenly, You hesitate.

Your gaze lands on 7n7, and something inside you shifts. Memories begin to flicker in your mind, struggling to surface.

"I want you. I want to be with you."

7n7 sees you clutch your head as if in pain, confusion flashing across your face. He doesn't waste the moment. "Run!" he shouts at Builderman, and the two take off in opposite directions.

Shaking off your thoughts, you snap back to the chase, your instincts driving you forward. You pursue them across the map, weaving through obstacles. Builderman disappears into one path while 7n7 takes another, unknowingly separating himself.

7n7 pushes forward as fast as he can, but in his rush, he stumbles over scattered debris. When he looks up, he sees you sprinting toward him.

Thinking fast, he activates his cloning ability. In an instant, two identical versions of himself break off in different directions. You pause, momentarily confused, before chasing after the clone.

7n7 lets out a breath of relief, until the pain hits.

A sharp sting blooms in his shoulder, and he collapses to one knee. He grits his teeth and yanks the blade out, blood seeping through his clothes. Then, heavy footsteps approach.

Jason.

7n7 exhales, closing his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable. But the final strike never comes.

Instead, he hears the sound of metal clashing against metal. His eyes snap open, you're standing in front of him, blocking Jason’s attack.

"I'm going to protect you no matter what. Even if I bleed to death, I'll protect you."

7n7 stares, wide-eyed and bewildered. You keep your stance firm, eyes locked onto Jason, ready to strike if he moves any closer.

"Go!" you yell.

He hesitates but obeys, scrambling to his feet and running. Jason watches him escape, then turns to you. "You're letting a survivor go?" he questions, unimpressed.

You quickly convince him to focus on hunting the others instead. After a tense moment, Jason relents, walking away.

When you turn back, 7n7 is still there, staring at you.

"7n7, my dear, I'll always be here with you."

He stops in his tracks, caught in your gaze.

He knows why you act this way. You always lose your memories due to the curse placed upon you when you were turned into a killer.

And yet, despite that, you never attack him.

From the moment he learned of your fate, 7n7 never once resented you. He never hated you. Because no matter what, you are still his wife, His beloved wife.

The day he lost you shattered his heart into pieces. But every round, you prove something to him. Even though you are a killer, you don't harm him. You just watch, then disappear into the darkness.

And that alone gives 7n7 hope. Hope that somewhere, deep inside, you’re still there.

Hope that you still remember him.

Hope that one day, he’ll have you back.

Bonus Scene

Outside the game, in the resting area, you are slumped over a table, head resting on your arms. Exhaustion weighs on your body from the endless chases.

Something pokes your hand. You ignore it.

Then it happens again. And again.

With a tired sigh, you crack your eyes open, only to find a small red looking child staring up at you.

"Can I sit beside you?" he asks, looking at you like a lost puppy.

You sigh again but nod.

He immediately sits beside you, his eyes never leaving you. Then, without warning, he wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly.

You gasp, sitting up in shock. "Wha—?"

You swear, this kid has been following you, clinging to you, talking only to you. He keeps insisting that you have a responsibility to take care of him.

You exhale heavily but, after a moment, place a gentle hand on his back.

His warmth seeps into you, and for the first time in a long while, a small smile tugs at your lips.

A tiny bit of comfort isn’t so bad.

#007n7 x reader #007n7 forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken #c00lkidd #c00lk1dd forsaken #gee request

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ghostlycamil4 · 15 days ago

Note

can you PLEASE do a husband!katsuki reacting to the reader and his son being disrespectful or and rude to the reader, maybe even pushing her lightly?

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜'𝑠 𝑅𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡: 𝑆ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑀𝑦 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑀𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.

Thank you so much! It’s my first request, so I’m kinda excited haha. I hope it’s exactly what you wanted, feel free to ask for more anytime!

Kaito’s teenage years came fast, and no one was ready for the mess they brought. You looked at him with a mix of worry and sadness, wondering when the sweet boy who used to come to you for everything had turned into a teenager who barely looked at you.

That afternoon, you were pacing around the living room, turning the words over in your head. You had no idea how to bring up what you had found that morning in his room.

When you heard the front door open, your heart skipped a beat. You heard Kaito’s footsteps, and before he could disappear down the hallway, you broke the silence:

“Can you come here for a second, please?”

Kaito let out a long sigh, the one he’d been using lately like armor.

“What do you want now?”

That morning, while cleaning his room —with nothing but the intention of tidying up a bit— what you found under his bed froze you to the core: an almost empty pack of cigarettes, a half-finished bottle of alcohol, several failed exams… and other things you’d rather not name. You shut the box abruptly, hands trembling and your throat dry.

Kaito’s eyes fell on the box the moment he walked in. He didn’t say a word, but he knew exactly what it was. He took a deep breath, and then said:

"Did you seriously go through my stuff?"

“I swear I didn’t mean to invade your space,” you said, trying to find words that wouldn’t set him off. “It’s not about spying on you, Kaito. It’s just… there are things that worry me. That’s all.”

His eyes locked on yours, full of restrained anger.

"Just stay outta my life, okay? I'm not a little kid anymore!"

“I just want you to listen. Just for a moment.”

He got so close his breath brushed your face. And then it started. With every word, a shove. One after another, like he didn’t know how else to get his point across.

“You don’t get it!” Shove.

“You’ll never get what it’s like—carrying his name, his shadow, every damn day!” Shove.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Shove.

“I don’t need you watching my every move like I’m gonna explode or screw everything up!” Shove.

“Just stay out of my room, and out of my life!” Shove.

Bakugo slammed the door open with almost violent force, like some instinct had pushed him to come in without warning. His sharp, alert gaze swept the room, looking for any sign of danger—but what froze him in place was the sight of Kaito’s finger digging into Y/n’s shoulder, shoving her with a rage that couldn’t be ignored.

Bakugo’s expression darkened, and with a low growl, he stepped forward without hesitation. “Kaito, that’s enough!” His voice echoed through the room, firm and commanding, the kind of order you don’t argue with. He closed the distance fast and placed a strong hand on Kaito’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “You don’t treat your mother like that. You hear me?”

Kaito didn’t back down, but his jaw clenched.

“Of course… just what I needed. Now you,” he muttered with scorn, trying to shake him off. He didn’t succeed.

Bakugo lowered his head slightly, face to face with him.

“Don’t. Move,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I’m not done with you. Not after what you just did.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Kaito muttered, like he needed to convince himself more than anyone else. “I was just… angry.”

Bakugo didn’t let go. His voice dropped low, tense like a threat:

"Listen to me, Kaito: no one, no one lays a hand on my wife! Not even a finger! I don’t care how angry you are, you don’t push your mother, you don’t raise your voice at her, and you sure as hell don’t look at her like that. Got it?"

Kaito closed his eyes. One second. He took a deep breath, like he was trying to swallow his own rage.

“I get it,” he said quietly.

Bakugo didn’t shout this time. He leaned in just slightly, his eyes locked on Kaito’s, voice low but solid as steel.

“No, you don’t. If you got it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle between them.

“You’re angry? Fine. You think life’s unfair? Fine. But that doesn’t give you the right to hurt the people who love you. You don’t lash out at your mother. Ever. You hear me?”

His voice softened just enough, but the edge never left.

“You wanna be a man? Then start acting like one. Own your anger. Control it. Don’t let it control you.”

Kaito lowered his gaze, jaw tight.

“…Okay.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed as he stared Kaito down. In a low, dangerous tone he leaned in and snapped,

“I didn’t hear you. Louder.”

Before the tension could snap any tighter, you stepped forward and gently pressed your hand against Bakugo’s arm. Your voice was soft but firm:

“That’s enough. It’s okay, love.”

Bakugo clenched his jaw, but listened. He let go of his son’s shoulder, though his voice remained firm:

“Apologize to your mother. Now.”

Kaito blinked, his expression shifting in an instant, as if a bucket of cold water had just hit him.

“I… I’m really sorry, Mom,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean… I don’t know what I was thinking. I messed up. I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you, Kaito,” you said gently, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “I’m not angry. Just… scared. I need you to understand that you’re not alone, that I’m here to—”

“I know,” he cut in, barely above a whisper, eyes still avoiding yours. “Can I just… go to my room now, please?”

You nodded, though there was a sadness you couldn’t quite hide in your voice.

Bakugo was more direct:

“Yeah, go. But don’t forget what we said.”

Once Kaito left, the silence that filled the room was so thick it was hard to breathe. You stood still. Shaken.

And then, without saying a word, Bakugo wrapped you in his arms. Tight. Like he could hold everything together just by holding you. His warmth, the solid feel of his body, the steadiness in his breathing that was all that kept you grounded.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into your hair. “Kaito’s not a bad kid. He’s just lost. We’re gonna help him. You’re not alone in this. I swear.”

And in that embrace, everything broke. The tears started falling, one after another. Because even though the road ahead was long and hard, in that moment, one thing was crystal clear:

Even if the world fell apart, Bakugo was going to be there.

Holding you.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

MASTERLIST

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x y/n #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha x you #mha x y/n #katsuki x you #bakugo request #bakugo husband

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im-so-normal-iswear · 3 months ago

Note

Tw: kidnapping/brainwashing

Hello! I simply adore the way you write, so if it's not too much of an bother, could you please write something about yan!Sonic with an darling who's got kidnapped and controlled into getting on Robotnik's side?

Have a good day/night

☕️

A/n: this one took a while, its not too long though.

Yandere!Sonic x brainwashed!reader

"Come on, Y/N, snap out of it!" he yelled desperately. His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found. His face was contorted in panic as he dodged another attack you threw at him, before jumping to Dodge another attack from one of eggmans mechas. His eyes darted between you and Robotnik's latest monstrosity.

But you didn't respond. You simply stood there, your stance rigid, your expression devoid of any emotion. The once bright spark in your eyes had been replaced by an eerie, lifeless glow. Robotnik’s laughter echoed through the air, sharp and mocking.

"Looks like your little 'friend' has finally seen the light, hedgehog!" Robotnik sneered, leaning out of his floating pod. "They're mine now, and there’s nothing you can do about it!"

Sonic clenched his fists, his body tensing as his mind raced for a plan. "You’re wrong, Egghead! I'll get them back, no matter what!"

Robotnik only laughed harder, motioning toward you. "Go on, my dear. Show Sonic where your loyalty lies."

Your body moved, almost mechanically, stepping forward with cold, unrecognizable precision. Sonic flinched as you raised your weapon, one of Robotnik’s energy blasters, aiming it directly at him.

"Y/N, come on! Snap out of it!" He desperately wanyed to try and shake you out if it but you aimed the weapon at his head.

Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger.

Of course, Sonic is still the fastest thing alive, so he dodged it easily, darting to the side. He skidded to a halt, his eyes filled with a mix of shock and heartbreak. You were really trying to hurt him.

"Guess I’ll have to do this the hard way," he muttered to himself, shaking off the dread creeping into his chest.

Sonic lunged forward, zipping around you in a blur. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he needed to disarm you somehow. As he closed the distance, he could see the faint tremor in your hands.

You turned to him, aiming at him, and firing, though he dodged.

"Come on Y/N! Youre better than this!"

For a brief moment, recognition flickered through your eyes. But it was quickly snuffed out as Robotnik barked another order.

"Enough!" Eggman ordered. "Finish him, or you’ll regret it!"

Your body stiffened, your movements becoming even more rigid. Sonic gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling up inside him. He hated Robotnik more than ever. How could he- no, how dare have the audacity to lay his hands on you.

"Fine, If you won’t let them go, I’ll just have to take them back."

Sonic closed the gap between you in an instant. . You lashed out, your movements swift and precise, but Sonic was faster. He dodged your strikes with ease, his focus unshakable. As you swung at him again, he caught your wrist, holding you in place.

Sonic held your wrist tightly as he sped away from the battlefield, dodging blasts and debris from the collapsing mecha behind him. His heart was pounding. He refused to let Robotnik keep you like this, this cold, unrecognizable version of yourself. He wasn’t going to lose you.

"Hang in there, Y/N," he muttered under his breath as he reached a secluded clearing far from the chaos. He gently set you down, though you struggled, thrashing against his grip with the same mechanical precision. "I'm sorry about this," he said softly, grabbing a piece of rope he’d snagged earlier and tying your wrists and ankles together. You struggled harder, but Sonic was too fast and too determined.

Once you were secure, Sonic knelt in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders as he stared into your lifeless eyes. "This isn’t you," he whispered. "You’re stronger than whatever Robotnik’s done to you. I’ll fix this, I promise."

He fumbled for his communicator, dialing Tails with shaky hands. "Tails, I need you," "he said as soon as his friend picked up. It’s Y/N… Eggman did something to them. I don’t know what, but they’re not themselves."

Tails voice crackled through the communicator, calm but concerned. "Bring them to my workshop. I’ll see what I can do."

Sonic hesitated, glancing at you as you continued to struggle against the restraints. He hated seeing you like this, but he couldn’t risk untying you just yet. "Alright, but you’d better be ready, buddy. I’m bringing them now."

When Sonic arrived at Tails workshop, the fox was already waiting, tools and scanners laid out in preparation. Sonic carefully carried you inside, setting you down on a padded table as Tails got to work.

"They've gone under some kind of mind control," Sonic explained, pointing toward hus head as he tapped his shoe on the ground. "Eggman’s got them doing his dirty work, and I can’t... I can’t lose them, Tails."

Tails nodded, scanning you with one of his devices. "It looks like Eggman implanted a neural control chip. It’s suppressing their free will and amplifying his commands. I think I can disable it, but it’s going to take some time."

"Then do it," Sonic said firmly, his hands clenched into fists. "I don’t care how long it takes, just fix it."

Tails worked diligently, carefully removing the chip while Sonic stayed by your side, holding your hand even as you fought against him.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Tails let out a relieved sigh. "That should do it. The chip’s deactivated, and their neural pathways should return to normal soon."

Sonic’s ears perked up as he looked at you. Slowly, your eyes fluttered closed, and when they reopened, the lifeless glow was gone. Instead, there was confusion, fear, and, most importantly, recognition.

"Sonic…?" you murmured, your voice shaky.

"Y/N!" Sonic’s voice cracked as he pulled you into a tight hug, relief washing over him. "You’re back! I knew you could fight it."

You blinked, your memories slowly coming back. "What... happened?"

"It doesn’t matter now," Sonic said quickly, holding you closer. "You’re safe, and I’m never letting him hurt you again."

Over the next few days, Sonic barely left your side. He hovered constantly, always checking on you, asking how you were feeling, and making sure you ate and rested. At first, you appreciated his concern, it was comforting to have him so close after everything. But as time went on, his behavior became more and more overwhelming.

"Sonic, I’m fine," you said one afternoon, trying to step outside for some fresh air. But Sonic was already blocking the door.

"Are you sure? What if Robotnik tries something again? You should stay inside where it’s safe."

"Sonic," you said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I can take care of myself. You don’t have to watch me 24/7."

His eyes softened slightly, but he still didnt relent. "I almost lost you, Y/N. I can't let that happen again. I won't."

You frowned, trying to reason with him. "Sonic, you saved me. I'm okay now. You don’t need to-"

"I do need to," he interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "You don’t get it, Y/N. I can’t lose you. Ever. You mean too much to me."

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. You tried to step back, but Sonic caught your wrist.

"Don’t worry," he said, his usual grin returning, "I’ll make sure nothing ever happens to you again. You’re safe with me."

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #yandere #yandere sonic #yandere sonic x reader #yandere sonic the hedgehog #yandere sonic the hedgehog x reader

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hivemuthur · 3 months ago

Text

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 12.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11.

word count: 5,5K

tag: #the game of teaching body

author's note: Ok guys, this is it! My hands are shaking as I'm publishing it. Thank you all so, so much, for all the kind comments, for the freakin' art (like what? fanart? of my writing? I'm still gagged over it!), for reblogging, placing messages in my inbox, for everything! Something that was supposed to drag my attention away from the temporary shittiness of my life, has turned into a full-blown passion, as currently I am drafting three new fics and working on all your awesome requests and I wouldn't be doing it without your encouragement. Thank you.

(disclaimer: I have a request for the opposite of the situation happening here, coming soon!)

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You noticed Viktor’s breath coming in short, uneven pants, his face twisted—not with pleasure, but something else entirely. His movements faltered, his grip tightening on your shoulder for balance before he suddenly stilled. His hands dropped to the desk on either side of your hips, fingers digging into the surface as though bracing against some invisible force.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, as though fighting off something within himself. His head hung down, strands of hair clinging to his damp forehead.

Alarmed, you scanned his body, searching for a clue. “Viktor?” you whispered, your voice steady despite the concern that thrummed through you. But he didn’t respond.

With a frustrated groan, Viktor slipped away from you, grabbing a pillow from the bed to shield himself as he limped toward the armchair. Every step was stiff and uneven until he finally collapsed into it, stretching his leg out with a sharp hiss. “Fucking cramp,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his hand rubbing at his thigh.

“Where?” You hopped off the desk immediately, pulling your sweatshirt over your head as you hurried to his side. You knelt beside him, your hands already seeking out the problem. “Let me see.”

His body tensed further, his lips pressing into a hard line as his free hand rose to cover his face. Anger, frustration, and something darker flickered across his expression. Embarrassment, no—shame. He was a man who hated to feel weak, and this moment—vulnerable, raw—clawed at his pride.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, but the pained wince that followed betrayed him.

You softened your voice, making it as non-threatening as possible. “Viktor,” you urged, your fingers hovering just above his thigh. “Show me.”

For a moment, you thought he’d refuse. His jaw worked as though grinding back a retort, but the tension in his leg won out. With a reluctant nod, he guided your hands to the offending muscle. You worked slowly, methodically, your fingers finding the knotted muscle and easing into it with unpractised care. Viktor leaned back, his head tipping against the armchair with a low, shuddering exhale. You glanced up at him occasionally, careful to give him space, but unable to stop the flickers of affection that crossed your face.

When the cramp finally loosened, Viktor’s body sagged with relief. His hand fell from his face, but his brows were still knitted together, his mouth almost invisible, save for a line. He looked... defeated.

You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his knee, a wordless gesture of comfort, before reaching for the pillow. You straddled his lap, intent on drawing him back, or rather away from this. But just as your lips hovered above his, Viktor’s hands came up, catching you by the shoulders and halting your movement.

“Wait, I—” Viktor exhaled heavily, his eyes darting anywhere but yours. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths, the frustration in his face giving way to disgust. “This is… strongly unattractive.” He offered you a sad, apologetic smile, one that left his eyes empty. It was a weak defence, a brittle mask to cover the discomfort roiling beneath. He didn’t want you to see him like this—not yet, maybe not ever. “I’m… sorry.”

Your lips curled into a soft, teasing smile. “Are you joking? A hot man in need of aid? In my books, that’s strongly attractive.” Your tone was light, your fingers weaving gently through his hair as though trying to coax him back to you. “Any other… affliction I could be of assistance with?”

But Viktor’s smile faded completely. “Please, stop,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it almost cracked. His body stiffened beneath you, his hand rising to cover his face again. He didn’t push you away, but the gesture was louder than words.

As if on cue, your hand slipped over his, tugging it gently away. “Let me in,” you whispered, your voice a soft, disarming plea. You rubbed your nose against his cheek, your warmth melting into him, your presence grounding him. Viktor’s breath hitched, a shallow inhale slipping through his parted lips. He was never this close to anyone—not like this. His heart was never this close to opening, his fears never this close to crawling into the light.

“How did this happen?” you asked, your fingers trailing behind you to graze the tense muscle of his thigh.

Viktor hesitated; his gaze fixed somewhere on the space between you. His teeth tugged at his lower lip, and when he finally spoke, his voice was distant, almost clinical. “Rotated femur. Just… a bad case.”

He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t have to. Your mind worked quickly, piecing together everything you knew about him, every detail you’d catalogued. The timeline was clear, the reasons obvious, but you made the deliberate choice not to probe further. Instead, you placed a gentle hand on his chest, your touch steady and reassuring. “You’re okay,” you said softly, trying to guide him somewhere lighter, somewhere safer.

Viktor’s chest fluttered beneath your hand, his breaths uneven and shallow, each one giving away his hesitation. His eyes flicked to yours briefly before darting away again, the vulnerability in that fleeting glance leaving him feeling exposed. He gripped the armrest of the chair tightly, his knuckles whitening, as though he were bracing himself for something he couldn’t name. The silence between you stretched like a pained muscle.

For a long moment, he stayed like that—closed off, his expression unreadable save for the tightening of his jaw and the way his lips pressed into a thin line. But then, slowly, his grip on the armrest slackened, his shoulders dropping as though releasing a burden. He didn’t speak, but something shifted in his gaze as he looked at you again. It was tentative, unsure, but there was a crack in the armour—a fragile permission.

You saw it immediately, the subtle easing of his posture, the way his eyes softened despite the war still raging inside him. You stayed still, letting the moment settle, your touch light and unintrusive. Your thumb traced soothing circles over his chest, your movements careful, watching for even the smallest sign of discomfort. When none came, your fingers drifted to his thigh again, the tension there still palpable under your gentle ministrations.

“You can tell me to stop,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes searching his for any flicker of doubt. But instead of resistance, there was something else entirely—a flicker of trust, raw and unpolished, but unmistakable.

“So... how do we not make it upset?” you asked carefully, leaning forward to rest against his chest, your palm cradling his cheek. Your voice was calm, your touch light, but Viktor’s body tensed beneath you again, the rigidity in his frame speaking volumes. The answer, when it came, wasn’t surprising.

“We don’t ask questions about it,” Viktor huffed, his tone carrying a faint edge, though it softened as his hand began to move idly up and down your back. His touch was a distraction, deliberate and almost subconscious, as though trying to steer the moment away from his discomfort. But the heaviness lingered—how had this spiralled from intimacy to a conversation about his leg? The absurdity of it all made him feel drained, a long sigh escaping him.

“But I never asked you,” you murmured quietly, your lips pressing to the curve of his neck. Your words lingered, warm against his skin, as your fingers trailed through his hair. “And I seek to correct my mistake.” You whispered the words like a secret, your tone so tender it nearly disarmed him. Viktor clenched his jaw, the growing ache in his chest conflicting with the faint spark of heat your presence stirred.

“You read me like a book. And here I am, still wondering… what gets you off,” you teased softly, your playful tone a deliberate shift away from the seriousness he so clearly wanted to avoid.

“Definitely not questions about my leg,” Viktor groaned, pulling back slightly, though his lips twitched in reluctant amusement. He let out an exasperated sigh, wiggling just enough to escape the trail of kisses you left along his neck. “Please, let’s sit this one out.”

Even though the warmth of your weight on him stirred something deep in his core, the shame pressed harder, suffocating, and unrelenting. He tried to muster an apologetic smile, but it fell flat, and the tension returned like a phantom haunting his every breath.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, adjusting yourself on his lap, your hands cupping his face with intent. This wasn’t about sex anymore, and Viktor could see it in your eyes. You weren’t looking for fun or distraction. You were asking for something bigger, something he wasn’t sure he could give.

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, his voice steady despite the storm inside. But then, with a small, bitter laugh, he added, “Though I know exactly what’s coming next. You’re going to ask me when I’m comfortable, and we’ll never have fun sex again because you’ll forever burn this moment into your brain as a pity party for the cripple.” His words were dry, calculated, but the flash of frustration in his eyes betrayed him. “Which I am, by the way. But that’s beside the point.”

“Viktor, I don’t care if—”

“You are not allowed to say ‘cripple,’ it’s my word only,” he cut you off, his tone clipped as his eyes fixed on you. Your lips twitched in a half-smile as you rolled your eyes in response, your patience endless.

“I don’t care if you’re an Olympic athlete or a chess world champion,” you continued with exaggerated care, your voice steady, measured. “I want to know what gets you off. No more, no less.”

Your thumb brushed softly against his cheek, a small, grounding gesture that made Viktor’s jaw tighten for just a moment before he let out a slow breath. “And I won’t force you to do or say anything,” you added gently, your words laced with sincerity. “But I’m asking you to reconsider, given that you are in a safe space.”

He studied you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face, searching for something—doubt, insincerity, any crack in your words he could latch onto. But there was none. Just your calm, unwavering presence.

“And this is your request?” he asked finally, raising an eyebrow, though his tone lacked the sharpness it held before.

“This is my request,” you said plainly, your bluntness somehow soothing, disarming. You leaned in to kiss his forehead, a tender gesture that made him close his eyes, his resistance softening like ice melting under the warmth of spring sunlight.

You let him gather his strength. You stayed close, your movements deliberate and slow, as though any sudden action might startle him into retreat. Your hand slid to his chest, resting there lightly, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart. You waited, not speaking, letting the weight of your presence fill the space between you.

Viktor’s fingers twitched at his sides, then hesitated before coming to rest lightly against your hips. His grip was tentative, almost unsure, but he didn’t pull you closer or push you away. His silence stretched out, but in it, something shifted—a small crack in the wall he’d built, a mute permission.

You tilted your head, your gaze fixed on his, waiting for a sign—any sign—that his discomfort was easing. It came in the form of his breath, no longer shallow but slow and steady, his shoulders relaxing by degrees. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly, as though he was trying to let you in but didn’t quite know how.

“I’m here,” you whispered softly, your words more a reassurance than a prompt. “Whatever you’re ready to share—or not—it doesn’t change anything.”

Viktor’s eyes lifted to yours, and for a moment, the battle within him seemed to subside. He didn’t speak, but the look he gave you said enough. A faint vulnerability glimmered there, a quiet acceptance of your presence, even if he wasn’t ready to bare everything yet.

He sighed, the weight of it carrying the burden of his struggle outside of his body. Damn you.

“Let’s see,” he trailed, his hands moving to rest on your thighs, his touch light but grounding. “I thoroughly enjoyed our last time,” he admitted, his words tentative at first, but gaining confidence as he felt your weight settle more comfortably on him. “And it was… comfortable,” he added thoughtfully, as though revealing a truth he hadn’t quite allowed himself to accept before.

You smiled, leaning into his warmth, your hand brushing softly over his shoulder. You didn’t push, didn’t rush him, giving him the space to guide the conversation.

“Standing, eh, is not my forte, as you saw,” he continued, his hand trailing off to the side as his gaze followed, lingering somewhere beyond you. His voice was steady, but you could hear the faintest hint of self-deprecation beneath it.

“It’s not my favourite either,” you mused, your fingers threading gently through his hair, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. You could feel the subtle shift in his body as he relaxed beneath your touch.

“Don’t lie, you liked it. I saw you,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at your face, though the glint of amusement in his irises betrayed him.

Your laugh was soft, playful. “I liked it because it was with you,” you breathed, your voice carrying a teasing innocence. You leaned in to place a sweet kiss on his lips, feeling his judgmental hand fall back to your thigh.

His grip tightened slightly, and a sly smirk curved his lips. With a sudden, playful jolt of his hips, he snapped you out of your little act, making you gasp in surprise before laughter bubbled out of you again.

“I like when you suck on my thumb,” he said, his voice lower now, softer, yet carrying an unmissable heat. His hand rose, pressing the pad of his thumb gently against your lips. You parted them immediately, your lips warm and soft as you took him in without hesitation. Your eyes fluttered shut at the quiet praise that followed, his voice like a thread of warmth weaving through you.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his tone laced with a mix of encouragement and wonder. His thumb moved, brushing against your tongue, the sensation grounding him in the present moment.

You opened your eyes to find his gaze fixed on you, his expression softened, the guarded edge that usually shielded him nowhere to be seen. Vulnerability still lingered, but now it was met with acceptance, even a flicker of confidence.

“You’re good at this,” you teased, your words a whisper as you gently pulled his hand away to press a kiss against his knuckles. “Being open.”

His laugh was quiet, a breath more than a sound, but it was genuine. “Don’t get used to it,” he warned, though the slight smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

You simply leaned in, resting your forehead against his, your weight steady but light enough to remind him that you would follow his lead. “One step at a time,” you murmured, your hand resting over his heart.

In your touch, in your gaze, Viktor found a quiet reassurance that spoke louder than any words. And for the first time, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen, slipping away into the quiet intimacy you had built together.

“I like to see you,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft yet steady, as his hand cupped your face lovingly. “Doesn’t matter if you’re on top or I am,” he continued, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “Though I have to admit, this setup you got us in here is… appealing.” His lips curved into a faint smirk before he pulled you closer, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was as tender as it was deliberate.

“Oh, and I will never say no to a good head,” he whispered against your mouth, the teasing edge in his tone mirrored by the smirk tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, your eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “A good head? Are you trying to tell me something?” you quipped, shifting your hips against his, eliciting a groan that vibrated through him.

“I’m not complaining,” he replied innocently, though the way his hands tightened on your hips betrayed his composure. He rolled his hips beneath you, his movements fluid, deliberate, and taunting. “All I’m saying is that practice makes perfect, and I am… willing to be your study buddy,” he finished, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as the corners of his mouth quirked upward in a smile.

You found yourself slightly breathless at his audacity, but you refused to falter. Instead, you leaned in closer, your teeth grazing his lower lip in playful retaliation. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” you teased, your voice low, though it carried a spark of mischief that only made his grin widen.

The tension between you shifted, turning softer, as Viktor let out a quiet, contented sigh. His body, once taut with uncertainty, now felt pliant beneath you. A gentle heat spread through his veins, chasing away the lingering shadows of shame and fear. For a moment, he simply gazed at you, his expression thoughtful, as though weighing his next words carefully.

“I... want to be wanted,” he finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of his honesty. “I want you to want me—not to see me as—”

He faltered, his brows knitting together as his words trailed off. His hand moved to rest over yours where it lay on his chest, grounding himself in your touch. Viktor’s gaze searched yours, wary yet hopeful, as though testing the waters of how much more he could bare to you.

You tilted your head, your fingers lacing gently with his as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t,” you said softly, your tone steady and resolute. “I see you as you, as exactly who you are. Consider me… bewitched.”

A wave of affection swept through him, soothing the raw edges of his vulnerability. You didn’t push, didn’t demand anything more from him than what he was willing to give, and it was in that quiet understanding that Viktor felt something shift.

It wasn’t just trust—it was something deeper, something that made the walls he had so carefully built around himself tremble and, piece by piece, begin to fall.

“And Viktor, I want you… so, so much,” your voice barely a whisper against his mouth as you gave him a longing kiss, your hands cradling his face as though he was the most precious thing in the world.

Your words ignited a spark deep within him, fanning the embers of confidence that had smouldered under layers of doubt. Viktor’s hesitation began to wane, replaced by something more primal and eager. His lips moved against yours with renewed hunger, his body responding to you in ways he could no longer suppress.

He hummed, the sound low and rumbling, as his hands found your waist and pulled you closer, his movements deliberate yet restrained, like a man rediscovering his footing. “Hmm, tell me how much do you want me,” he muttered hoarsely against your lips, his breath fanning over your face.

His hands travelled lower, gripping your ass as he guided your movements, your tongues tangling in a slow rhythm. You rolled your hips lazily on his cock, feeling him grow hard beneath you, his groan vibrating through you as you murmured, “So, so much, it hurts. Fuck me, Viktor,” against his lips.

Viktor let out a low chuckle, the sound rich with both amusement and arousal. “Ask me nicely,” he teased, his voice steady now, laced with a familiar confidence that sent shivers down your spine.

Your gaze locked with his, a flicker of playful frustration dancing in your eyes as you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. His hands slid under your sweatshirt, cupping your breasts with deliberate tenderness, his thumbs brushing against your skin in a way that made you gasp softly.

A tremor ran through you as you exhaled, your fingers threading through his hair. You hesitated, your pride momentarily warring with your desire before you finally gave in. You voice was quiet but filled with emotion as you whispered, “Please, make love to me, Viktor.”

The words melted over him, and he felt last bits of doubts leaving him. His expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss you deeply, his lips warm and unhurried against yous. This wasn’t just about reclaiming your passion—it was about finding something sacred in the spaces between your bodies, something that belonged only to you and Viktor.

Without breaking the kiss, his hand travelled between your bodies, and you could feel his fingers playing idly at your entrance. He couldn’t fight a smile blooming on his lips when he found out how much indeed you wanted him—your core hot and fluttering on his tender skin as he lazily guided the head of his cock inside.

It was easy to claim you. It was easy to be with you now. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, and you both let out soft groans of relief, filling each other's gaps. For a moment, neither of you moved, letting gentle twitches of your connection guide the growing feeling of pleasure bubbling between you.

Viktor started with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips; it was almost painful, and he felt himself wanting more and less at the same time. With a quiet gesture, he started rocking your hips on top of his, letting you find her own flow. When he felt your movements grow more balanced, he handed the control over to you and savoured the sight of you swaying on top of him. You lazy, sensual rhythm carried both of you in tandem, as your bodies grew closer and closer together. He got himself busy with kissing your neck and kneading the flesh of your ass.

As your rhythm grew more frantic, the strain of holding back visible in your furrowed brow, he pulled you closer by the back of your neck and muttered into your ear, “Touch yourself for me.”

It was both a command and a plea, and you placed your timid hand where your bodies met. You felt momentarily exposed as Viktor’s eyes studied your face, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You held his gaze and seeing there was nothing else but admiration in it, you put yourself on display for him. You let him take in your face, the movement of your wrist, all the quiet sounds you made as your hips stuttered and you came on his cock with a loud “Fuck!” muffled by his neck.

He watched you, fascinated, his own mouth agape, as he felt your walls clenching around him. His own pressure was rising, when he pulled you closer, caging your arms with his and let his thrusts take over. He pushed his hips up with a gentle force, your body already melting around him, as he traced a slick trail up your neck with his tongue.

Seeing his searching eyes and the strain in his forehead, you leaned in and encouraged him with a barely audible, “Come for me.” Viktor’s breath grew hot, and you swallowed the moan he gave you when you whispered a quiet praise against his skin. “You fuck me so well.”

“Fuck, I’m—” he squeezed you flush against him, as the final pants and groans fell from his mouth and he spilled himself inside you, his face pressed against you neck. Feeling him shift beneath you, you hugged him tighter and soothed him with a soft, “Stay."

You remained straddled on his lap, your bodies cooling together in the quiet aftermath. Your fingertips traced lazy, featherlight patterns over his shoulders, grounding you both in the stillness. Viktor's hands rested on your hips, his thumbs brushing absentmindedly over your skin, as though to memorise the moment. Only your breaths, soft and calm spilled into the silence of Viktor’s room.

***

“Of course. Breaking the law, as usual,” Viktor smirked, catching you smoking a cigarette outside the window in between a study session with Sue. “How many times do you think I should let this go?”

“Three,” you deadpanned. “I will have one more that way.” You were so fucking tired. And Sue was completely useless, already snoring soundly in your room.

“How is it going?” he asked, plucking the cigarette from your fingers and taking a drag. You shuffled on your feet with a long sigh and shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to learn all of this in such a short time and then remember it for the rest of my life.”

“You are not. You will forget it briefly, and then it will come back,” he said, passing the cigarette back to you.

“The visions of the future,” you murmured, tracing your open hand toward the window, as if it held the vision itself. “The only future I see is the break. Unless I fail. Then, possibly Starbucks.”

Viktor scoffed. So dramatic. “Such a baby,” he muttered, tracing his thumb over the swell of your lips. It was tender, and he wanted to tell you he was proud of you.

The last time had stirred something very scary within him. His guard was down, ruined. It was never coming back up—it was so ruined. So, he had to be sure. But now, of course, wasn’t the time. You were elbows deep in genetics, chemistry, and other subjects that Viktor had no interest in.

“I think I should switch departments,” you sighed, the sound too heavy for a joke, even though it was, and you smiled weakly. Viktor only blinked slowly, taking the cigarette back.

“Eh, you are doing great. I was much worse during your year.” He hugged you with one arm, the other lifting the cigarette to your lips. You raised your brows in question, though no answer came.

“My mother says changes are good.” This time you put more effort into the joke. “Though she also tells me to wear red knickers to exams and tests, so… I don’t know how trusted she can be.”

“Oh, they work. How do you think I am where I am?” He chuckled, warming your shoulders with his hands. The rumble of his laughter carried itself through you, down, down to your toes. “Not all changes are possible, though.”

“Viktor, if you’ve changed, anything can.” Your voice was wistful, as if you didn’t know what you were saying.

He hadn’t changed.

“I haven’t changed, though, have I?” A hysterical thought tore through him. “Look at us, back here, at the beginning. You, deep in thoughts, and me—” Deep in love with you.

“Viktor, what… what are you doing?” You blinked, unsure. He was stalling. His shoulder left yours as he leaned against the windowsill, just like he did then. You put the cigarette out and flicked it outside. “Do you want to talk about something?”

“Not really, I’m just stating a fact.” I want to tell you; I just have to be sure.

“Fact being?” You swallowed it down—the fear that had started crawling up your throat. You smothered it and pushed it back down, bitter on your tongue.

“That some things don’t change.” He made sure to sound unfazed, to make it sound non-threatening, just natural—an obvious truth about him.

“Why are you being so defensive?” you asked, your eyes narrowing.

“I just… don’t want you to jump into something you’re not sure of.” You have to be sure. He allowed himself a shrug and a faint eye roll for the effect. He watched you, your body completely still as you watched him back.

“I haven’t jumped anywhere yet,” you said, measuring your words, gathering your composure. A month ago, it would have made you claw his eyes out, but now you knew. Because you felt the same. He loved you, and he feared it, and you felt the same. “I’ve barely dipped my toes.”

“What are you saying?” Were you saying what he thought you were saying? It felt like a challenge, and for once, he didn’t like it. It felt more serious than back at the beginning. He had more to lose now. “What do you want from me, really?” He meant to keep it in his thoughts, but it shot out.

“Change is inevitable. I don’t want games. I want you.” A countdown of statements. Dry and measured, said with no affection, just stating facts, like he was. Was that why it had felt so hollow?

“You can’t just walk into a relationship with the intent to change somebody. I won’t. This won’t,” his voice rose dangerously, echoing through the empty corridor. He pointed to his leg and pushed his cane firmly into the floor, as if to steady himself.

“That’s not what I said. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. I’m merely saying that changes happen,” you said firmly, letting your arms drop from their defensive cross on your chest.

He hesitated. You were right, somehow, and he was right as well. “What do you want from me?” Just say it. So I can be sure.

“Do I have to know now?”

It was so different from your fight in the snow. He had guarded himself back up, came prepared. You had to improvise. No, you knew. You knew him already. He’d said he’d give you his princess heart, and he did, and now he was asking if you would take it.

“I have to know now,” a shuddering breath escaped him. I have to know now because I won’t be able to walk away later. I have to know now. I have to know now.

“I… brood. I put my work first because it’s the only thing I had for the longest time. I will become boring. And this will become hard,” he began counting it down and couldn’t see the end. “I am… aware that people grow apart. I accept it. But—”

“Viktor,” you interjected. “Why are we talking about growing apart when we haven’t even started anything properly?”

“Because it’s important. And because… yesterday. What you did yesterday, I don’t think I—” I don’t think I can live without it.

You stared at him, breathing evenly, as if you were forcing the breaths inside you.

“You haven’t seen me at my worst. You really haven’t,” he added, noticing you formulating a scoff. Each word was such a strain. Each and every one tried to crawl back down, deep into his stomach, and stir there with all the bile and cigarette smoke.

“I get so jealous. I get so angry. I get angry because I can’t fuck you the way I want to. My leg hurts, and I remember everything. I never forget anything. I will use everything I can against you if it comes to it. So what do you want from me?”

“All of it.” Blunt, almost painful.

He pleaded weakly with your name on his lips. He was so tired. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.

“I want it all. Now, and later. I will keep it safe.” I will keep your heart safe; I promise. “Viktor, I also remember everything. I get jealous and angry. I will use the things you didn’t want to say against you, probably, and I’ll regret it after. I’ve beaten you up in the snow. What you’re describing is human.” I love all your human things.

All the while, you stood at arm’s length. Viktor came closer, swallowing it all down. The words he had said let themselves out, and he swallowed your words too—they coated his stomach with warmth. He swallowed it all down, awash in it.

He pulled you in, slowly, his touch tentative. “Okay,” his breath fanned over her face. “Okay.” I love you so, so much that it hurts.

“I think… I’m in love with you.”

He thought a current of vomit would take him, but it didn’t. Instead, it was your hands holding his as you stared at him, wearing your sweatshirt with a torn collar and his boxer shorts, barefoot, a blanket loosely wrapped around you.

“I love all of you. I promise,” you whispered, meaning it with all your fluttering heart. And Viktor knew you meant it. He knew by the way your hands cradled his ribs, your body slotted in with his so he could feel the drum of your chest. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you tightly and allowing himself a relaxed exhale, which felt like the first one he had ever taken, as the game was truly over, and you both had won.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #the game of teaching body #disability inclusion

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lovelynim · 7 months ago

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TickleTober2024/Day 08 - Exposed Body Part

Genshin Impact - Sethos x Wanderer

“H-hngh..! Pfft- c-cahan’t you- AHah, p-plehease..!” Sethos whined, his hands clenching at the border of Wanderer’s hat while its owner was sitting behind him. Fingers slid up and down Sethos back, following each curve of his tensed up muscles and making him squirm in his place as the ticklish sensation ran through all his nerves, straight to his brain.

Wanderer had a nearly sadistic smile on his lips, tracing a zigzag line over Sethos’s spine. “I suppose it makes sense for the desert folk to wear more… revealing outfits,” he commented, lazily scratching over Sethos’s shoulder blades, making the guy giggle helplessly.

“T-then yohohou could pahahay more attehenetion to my outfihihit!”

“But I am. This part, right here-”

“HYAHH!”

“-can, indeed, capture one’s eye,” he teased, grinning like a little devil at the other reactions.

To think Wanderer would get the chance to torment Sethos like this over the exchange of letting him ‘see his hat’s details closely’... What a deal, Wanderer thought. While Wanderer couldn’t really understand what was so interesting about his hat, there were certainly lots of interesting things about Sethos’s outfit.

Like his exposed back, for example.

“B-buhut it tihihickles! AHAHahah ~” Sethos laughed, curling up his body forward and tightly hugging the large hat, melting under the ticklish touches that went from the base of his spine all the way up to his shoulders, not even sparing the parts that weren’t exposed.

“I can tell it does,” Wanderer mocked, resting his head on his free hand while continuing to draw and trace shapes over Sethos’s back, alternating his tickles between lighter and rougher touches. “Such a sensitive bee you are.”

Sethos widened his eyes at the nickname, gritting his teeth and trying to stop that dumbfounded smile from spreading all over hsi face. “D-dohohon’t call me thahat now!”

“Hm? Why not now? You never complained about it,” Wanderer teased, sliding his hand inside Sethos’s shirt through the back window and reaching for his ribs, “oh, is it connected to the front side?”

“W-wahahait!” Sethos giggled while heat covered the whole length of his cheeks. He didn’t know which one was embarrassing him the most: the situation he was in or the idea of Wanderer simply tickling him silly.

Still, if it tickled that bad - which seemed to be the case - why Sethos wasn’t stopping him? Why didn’t he just get up and walk away?

Wanderer chuckled to himself, shaking his head. It was better to not jump into conclusions.

“Tsk, didn’t you ask me to check out your outfit? Get out of my way, bee,” Wanderer mumbled, his fingers digging into the spaces between Sethos’s ribs.

The attack over the new spot sent the guy into a renewed laughing fit, throwing himself back into Wanderer’s body as he laughed, trying to escape Wanderer’s hand. “P-plehehease, nOHOHOHOT THEHEHERE!!”

“H-hey!” Wanderer groaned, freezing on the spot as, in a matter of seconds, Sethos was now laying on top of his lap. “Y-you- agh, get off me!”

“W-wahahait.. l-lehet me just, hehe… r-rest a bit, Hat Guy… p-plehehease,” he asked, a tired smile on his lips with Wanderer’s hat still carefully held by his hands.

“...sigh,” Wanderer muttered something under his breath, barely making his complaint hearable. “Troublesome bee.”

A/N: Finally got to this prompt! Sethos's back window was the sole reason for me to choose this prompt, so - here it is!

Sadly, I still think I'm not that familiar with his character, so forgive me if he sounds too ooc here ~

#lovelytickletober #tickletober 2024 #tickletober #genshin impact #genshin impact tickling #sethos #wanderer #sethoscara #lee!sethos #ticklish!sethos #ler!wanderer #tickle fic

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strafepanzer · 1 year ago

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continuation of this. cw threesome & light rimming

bakugo is on top of you, fingers deep in your wet heat, exploring roughly as you buck and whine beneath him. fuck, you're beautiful all sweaty and flushed, ethereal naked and panting beneath him.

shouto disappeared not long after the foreplay started, muttering something about the bathroom and carrying on without him.

"c'mon, bakugo," you whine, grabbing at his shoulders, wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling him close. "i need you to put it in me," your glassy eyes stare up into his. "please,"

he groans when you beg, mind briefly drifting to the fact that shouto sees you like this all the time. he bites his lip, then kisses you like a man starved. he doesn't stop fingering you, continues until you're shaking and squirting beneath him.

it's when you're completely boneless that he rubs himself over your slippery heat, nudges and pushes slowly into you, holding his breath until he's fully inside you.

"fuck..." he breathes, watching how you react, how you slowly arch into him, how your eyes shimmer with the promise of more.

"oh my god," you groan, reaching for him again, clawing at his back until his weight is pressing against you, your mouth at his ear. "so... thick, fuck,"

bakugo is so lost in you that he doesn't even register the bed dipping behind him.

you hold him there, legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, kissing skin, licking at his sweat.

then hands are at his waist, lips at his spine, tongue tracing his vertebrae.

he freezes. tenses up. is this--? does he want this?

"he's gentle, i promise," you rock up against him, nudge your forehead against his. "do you not want it?"

"d-" his voice cracks, his hands fisting the sheets by your head. "depends what it is."

shouto chuckles. "I'll only go as far as you let me," he soothes, those hands drifting slowly down katsuki's hips until they run over the globes of his ass.

"y-you gay or something?"

"he's not straight," you laugh. "but we both think you're really hot, and we' both like to enjoy you."

katsuki can't say he's completely straight either, but he is no way ready to be penetrated. "just..." he takes a deep breath, turns his head a little to meet shouto's eyes. "you can play with me, but don't go shoving your cock in. 'm not ready for that yet."

"i'll make you feel good, bakugo," shouto promises, leaning up and over bakugo, pressing a kiss to his hair; he then pushes bakugo against you with his body weight, meeting you over his shoulder in a slow, wet, clash of lips.

the wet sounds have bakugo twitching inside you, and you moan as he begins to give into the feeling, humping into you best he can while sandwiched between you and shouto.

shouto lifts up, giving bakugo room to pull out and push back in, and in moments, the hotel room is filled with moans. your heat pulls him in, and he feels like melting into you, enjoying how blissed out you look underneath him.

as he edges closer, he feels shouto's lips decend the length of his spine, kissing and sucking down his back until he reaches his ass.

"keep going," shouto urges, noticing how bakugo slows when shouto's hands spread him open.

"baby, he might not be ready," you interject, breathing evening out with bakugo's slowed movements.

"it's fine, i'm fine, you-- shouldn't be talking," he grits out, thrusting into you harshly, embarrassed that you came to his defence over half-and-half.

you grin, bottom lip sucking in between your teeth. "that all you got?"

moments later, bakugo's coming; his dick kissing your cervix, shouto's tongue in his ass.

#tdbk x reader

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alastwhorez · 7 months ago

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Everyone was preparing for Halloween. Nifty was cleaning, Charlie and Vaggie decorating, Husk was drinking because well— that's all you ever see him do, Angel was flirting with Husk while looking at different costumes, and you were carving pumpkins.

Charlie wanted to have a Halloween party, never having one before she was going all out. The only person who wasn't helping was Alastor. Well I guess that's not technically true his shadow was helping hang decorations that Charlie couldn't reach.

Alastor was sitting at the table with his coffee, and a newspaper. You tried to stay focused on carving the pumpkins, not wanting to cut yourself. It was only you and Alastor in the room, everyone else was either at the bar or the lobby. You could see them though and if they turned towards your direction would be able to see you and Alastor as well.

You kept glancing at Alastor. You two weren't close per say. You didn't hangout outside of the hotel, or around anyone really. No, you two were only ever together privately.

Alastor took a sip from his oh deer mug and turned the page of the newspaper. You noticed him shift and instead of having his legs crossed they were spread open now. You smirked and checked on the others, making sure they weren't paying attention to you.

You put the knife down and walked over to where Alastor was sitting and sat down in the chair next to him. He didn't pay you any mind. You sat there for a few seconds before slowly placing your hand on his knee. He jumped and looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, but went back to reading when you didn't do anything more.

You slowly start sliding your hand up his legs, drawing patterns as you did with your finger. Your hand lands on his thigh and you lay it there before squeezing. He tenses his leg and looks at you again before taking another sip from his mug.

You moved your hand to his crotch, where you felt a slight bulge. You palmed him then squeezed, and jumped and look at you from the corner of his eyes, bringing the newspaper closer to his face.

“What are you doing?” He hissed smile strained

“Nothing” you say smiling at him, then peeking over his shoulder to look at the others. “Just finish the paper”

He glared at you before returning to reading. You let your hand lay there for a few minutes, squeezing every once in a while. You moved your chair closer to him and started undoing his pants. He glanced at you again with a raised brow but said nothing.

You pulled him free and started rubbing his cock, swiping your thumb over the head every few seconds. You look at him and see him swallow. His cock started to leak and you collected the slick as you moved your hand.

You hear him let out a shaking breath, and see he has his eyes shut and mouth slightly open. The newspaper hid him from the view of the others.

You speed up your movements, and cup his balls with your other hand. You see him tighten his fists on the newspaper. He opens his mouth to say something—

“Hey guys, almost done with the pumpkins?”

His eyes shoot wide open and he is looking at you, paper covering his face from whoever just walked in. You smirk at him as you start moving faster.

“Almost done, Charlie. Only a few more.” You say smiling at the princess.

“Yay! I'm so excited—”

She continues to talk to you as you rub Alastors cock. His newspaper is so close to his face it's almost touching his nose. You glance at him and see a blush start to form on his cheeks. His legs are starting to twitch as his cock jumps every stroke. You know he's going to cum soon.

“— as Alastor?” Charlie says

You look to see her focus is on him or well the newspaper. He is gritting his teeth before swallowing and clearing his throat.

“My apologies, princess. I didn't Hear that” He is glaring at you now as you speed up your hand.

“Oh, I was just wondering what you were going to dress up as?”

He clears his throat again. “Not dressing up” he mumbles. “Not if you'll excuse me I'm trying to read The paper”

Charlie excuses herself and You laugh as you continue to stroke his cock

“It's not funn—mmmhh” He throws his head back and shuts his eyes.

“Oh, of was lost definitely funny”

He tries to speak again but is cut off by a moan. When he realizes how loud he was he snaps his neck In the direction of the lobby but no one is paying attention.

He continues to moan as his cock twitches. You lean in hidden by the newspaper and start kissing and biting his neck.

He's biting his lip trying to be quiet.

“Be a good boy and cum.” You whisper into his ear. He groans as he reaches his release, moaning your name. He's breathing heavily and his hair has fallen into his eyes. The paper is wrinkled and has small rips where his fingers were.

You wipe your hand on his pants and stand up, kissing his cheek and walking away after grabbing a pumpkin. You'll finish your work with Angel.

Alastor sits there in shock, watching you as you laugh with the others, as if you didn't just jerk him off under the table moments earlier.

#not proofread #kinktober #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x oc #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x y/n #alastor x oc #♡~mazie is talking~♡#🦌~alastwhorez~🦌#🎃~mazies kinktober~🎃

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multi-fandom-imagine · 8 months ago

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I just had a small idea of Fords kids getting bullied and Stan’s girls beat up said bullies and so a parent teacher conference is called and Stan is just so proud

A/n: As he should 👏👏

Getting a call about your children was one of your worst nightmares though the moment you stepped foot into the school to see Stanford and his spouse arguing with some teacher, you barley had a chance to say something before the principle was ushering you into and Stan into the room where your twins were sitting, fat tears rolling down their little cheeks.

"Why the hell are my little girls cryin?"

Stan did not hide back his distain from the principle that sat across from him as you quickly wiped the tears from their cheeks.

"Mr.Pines please calm down."

"Calm down? You call us down here sayin how my girls are in trouble. I come into see my brother arguing with some teacher and now I see my babies cryin."

"Your daughters broke the tooth of a male student."

Tensing, you stood up narrowing your eyes as you held your daughters protectively to your chest. "I know what boy you're talking about....he's the same one that were harassing my nieces and nephews."

Gritting his teeth, Stan dug his nails into his palm only to take one of his daughters into his arm as she rushed to him.

"It's true daddy! He and is friends corned them! They said all horrible stuff! We told the teacher and the principal. They didn't do nothin so we gotta protect em daddy! They're little! They can't protect themselves! So we did."

Rubbing his daughters back, you held your other daughter close. "You knew....you people knew they were being bullied....how many times do we have to come down here before something happens."

"We."

Shaking your head you shrugged your purse over your shoulders. "I'm pulling my daughters out and I will be making sure the school board knows about this!"

Not giving them a chance to react, you and Stan stormed out of the room. Ford, his children and spouse long gone. "I hope Stanford won't blame himself."

"He probably will...but uh let's get you two home alright." Stan cleared out his throat buckling the twins in their car seats.

"You're not mad daddy?!"

"Mad?! Ha nah! I'm proud of you two...you stuck up for your family when no one else would...so what happened?"

Stan gave his girls a grin as they returned his smile on their faces. "I punched him! Like you taught me!"

"And I bit him daddy!"

"Ha that's my girls."

Rolling your eyes, a small smile formed on your face as you glanced back at the twins, your lips parted unsure how to explain it to him. "Just tell me and daddy next time okay."

"Okay mommy."

"Now how about we get some ice cream"

"Yay!!"

Placing his hand on your knee, he gave it a soft squeeze as his voice dipped. "Ya know...that was really sexy of you. That whole protective ma'ma bear thing."

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't hide the smile on your face as you playfully gave his cheek a pat. "Eye's on the road Pines."

"Whatever ya say Princess."

#drabbles #drabble #stan #stanley #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines x you #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #stan pines #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines #ford pines x reader #stanford #stanford pines

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 26

part 1 | part 25 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, recreational drug/alcohol use

He’s marching over the grass with a couple of varsity guys; two on his left, two on his right; V-formation like a flock of geese. Jason's at the head of the group, self-assured purpose of a leader, and it’s weird, seeing this little runt all grown up. The kid used to worship Steve; used to follow him around practices like a lost puppy, called him Captain before he’d even earned the role.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Jason asks. His voice is harsh, winded, winding up for a fight. Steve can see it in his stance: the tightening of his jaw, the clench of his friends’ fists. Plant your feet.

Steve’s gotta shut this shit down before it goes where it always does. Smashed plates, broken bones. All pissing contests flow toward the ocean or whatever.

“Nah, man,” he answers, standing up to dust himself off. The coke zips under his skin, makes him jittery and hot. Hard to play it cool. “We’re good. Busted my ass on the rocks; Munson was just helping me up.”

Munson. Like they’re buddies. Like Eddie’s thumb isn’t still damp from Steve’s tongue.

Jason doesn't seem to buy it. Little pastor-cop in training, he narrows his eyes and turns on Eddie. “Were you following him, Freak?”

Eddie's eyes flash in warning, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Steve shifts his weight to stand in front of him, and his fingers twitch around empty air. He wishes he had his nail bat with him; kind of wants to glue the handle to his palm.

Never know when monsters will come crawling out of the woods.

"Well?" Jason barks, "Answer me!"

His lackeys all pipe up then, the guy to his right sneering, "Not so talkative without his lunch table to stand on, is he?"

"Look at him shaking," adds another.

"Think he was trying to do some Satanic ritual shit while no one was looking?"

"I don't know," says the guy on Jason's left. "Looked like they were sucking each other off to me. Hey, maybe Harrington’s turned fag.”

“Andy!” Jason warns, and Steve—

Steve staggers forward with three arrows in his chest. One for every letter of that stupid fucking word that's been haunting him for years; raging fire in a black box in the far reaches of his brain, belching thick, black smoke, singing his fingertips whenever he gets close enough to touch it.

He wonders if Andy can taste the sulfur in it, too.

“No, go on,” he seethes, voice deadly calm when he lays a hand on Andy’s chest. Steeple his fingers, tips his chin. “Say it again; don't think I heard you right.”

Andy swallows hard, grinds his teeth; tenses to square off for the fight, but Jason throws an arm in front of him. "Easy," he says.

Easy. Down boy.

Andy snarls and backs off.

Jason lowers his voice, searching Steve's face. "You sure you're good? Can't be too careful with..."

His gaze slides over Steve's shoulder, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Steve's never wanted to risk a concussion more. "I'm fine," he grits out, balking at the diplomatic bullshit that's about to slither from his mouth. "Really. Thanks, though, man; appreciate you looking out for me."

Jason gives him a serious nod. "Any time."

—

“So, uh…” Eddie squints at Steve once Jason and his goons run along. His arms are hugged tight around his middle, and he's biting his lip; nervous jiggle of his leg. “How, um— How are we playing this, exactly?”

Steve scrubs at his face; swoons where he stands. Feels like all the blood's drained out of him without the adrenaline to prop him up. Goddamn, he's still so drunk. “Playing what?” he asks, confused.

Whatever it is, it’s already been played, hasn’t it?

Fight’s over; Steve’s exhausted. He just wants to go home.

But then Eddie shakes his head and tuts softly at the ground, his expression gone sour and sad, and there it is again. That feeling that Steve’s fucking everything up somehow.

He’s so tired of that feeling.

Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out a hand. Skims Eddie's side; leather jacket, bony hip, and then he hooks his pinky finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Tugs, just a little. Not hard enough to topple him, just—

Enough.

He hopes.

—

part 27

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#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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tanjamikaelson · 3 months ago

Text

MEDDLE ABOUT - CHAPTER 1

MASTERLIST

The night air was thick with humidity as you drove home from work, your car's headlights cutting through the darkness of the Cut. The streets were nearly deserted at this hour, save for the occasional stray cat or the distant hum of cicadas. You were tired, your shift leaving an ache in your feet and a dull weight in your chest.

But then—movement.

A lone figure stood in the middle of the road, illuminated by your headlights. You squinted, instinctively slowing down, your heart kicking up a notch as you made out the familiar frame.

Rafe Cameron.

Alone.

On this side of the island?

Something felt off.

You hesitated before lowering your window. The scent of salt and asphalt filled the car as the night breeze brushed against your face.

"Rafe, is that you?"

He flinched at the sound of your voice, like a deer caught in headlights. His usual cocky arrogance was nowhere to be found. Instead, his red-rimmed eyes darted toward you, raw and puffy, his lips parting as if struggling to summon his usual sharp retort. His hand swiped across his face quickly, erasing the evidence of whatever had left him so unguarded.

Then, just as fast as the vulnerability appeared, it was buried beneath a scowl.

"Oh, it's you." His voice was rough, barely holding together his usual bravado. "What do you want, Pogue?"

You leaned against the car door, resting your elbow on the window frame, studying him with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing on this side of the island?" Your voice was casual, but the curiosity was real.

Rafe let out a sharp, humorless snort, stuffing his hands into his pockets as if trying to anchor himself. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Pogue." His gaze flickered away. "I'm just... taking a walk, okay?" His voice wavered slightly, barely noticeable, but enough for you to catch. "Just leave me alone."

Your brows lifted skeptically. "Taking a walk? On the Cut?" You echoed, tilting your head. "Sure."

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced with a defensive snarl.

"Fuck off, okay?" His voice was sharp, but beneath it, you sensed something else. Something cracking. "I'm not in the mood for your goddamn questions."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, clearly."

He flinched at your dry tone before masking it with a scoff, shaking his head as if to brush it all off. "You gonna give me shit too? Just like everyone else?" His voice was laced with frustration and something dangerously close to despair. "Great. Fucking perfect."

He turned on his heel and started to walk away, his steps uneven, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

You sighed, shifting the car into a slow crawl beside him. "Wait, no. Rafe."

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice trailing after him. He muttered something under his breath—probably assuming you were about to mock him. But you weren’t. Not this time.

His steps grew heavier, his breathing more labored. His stomach growled—loudly.

"Why?" His voice cut through the night, bitter and sharp. "So you can say 'I told you so'? So you can remind me how much of a pathetic, fucked-up Kook I am?" His words dripped venom, but there was an unmistakable break in his voice. "Newsflash, princess—I already fucking know."

Your grip tightened on the wheel. "No, I can help you, okay?"

Rafe halted.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Just stood there, shoulders stiff, fists clenching at his sides. His body trembled slightly, though whether it was from anger or exhaustion, you couldn’t tell. Then, softer this time, he muttered, "Help me? You?" His laugh was dry, almost hollow. "Fuck off, Pogue."

You exhaled through your nose, patience thinning. "Oh my God."

"What?" He spun around, eyes flashing. "You wanna make a joke? Tell me to grow up and man up? Go ahead. Everyone else does." His voice cracked slightly before he gritted his teeth, forcing the emotion back down. “It's not like you give a damn anyway."

Another growl from his stomach.

You sighed, softer this time, watching the way he refused to meet your gaze. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was gripping onto the last frayed edges of control.

"Get in my car."

Rafe blinked.

"What? Why…" His voice lost some of its sharpness, replaced by something uncertain.

"I just want to help you," you said gently.

He stared at you like you were speaking another language. He had been bracing for cruelty, for mockery—for anything but kindness.

"You’re not bullshitting me?" His voice was quieter now, uncertain.

You shook your head. "No."

There was a long pause. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Wordlessly, he walked to the passenger side, slipping inside with the kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones. As soon as he settled in, another loud growl echoed from his stomach.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably.

You bit back a smile. "You hungry?"

"Duh," Rafe muttered, then caught himself being semi-rude. He looked at you. Your hair was down today. He realized how pretty you look like this. He swallowed, answering your question properly. "Yeah, I'm starving.”

"Okay, we can go to my place," you said, shifting the car into drive.

The ride was quiet. Rafe stared out the window, the flickering streetlights casting soft shadows across his face. He looked... lost.

Then, breaking the silence, he muttered, "For someone who hates me so much, you're being really fuckin' nice about all this. Should I be worried you're planning to poison me or something?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "No, Rafe... I know we hate each other, but—"

"But what?" He cut you off, his voice raw and defensive. "You having a moment of weakness? Trying to get in my pants or something?"

You let out a dry laugh. "Oh wow... Get in your pants? Really?"

Rafe cheeks flushed slightly as he realized how ridiculous that sounded coming out loud. "Whatever, forget I said that." He shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "Just... stop trying to act all nice and shit. It's weirding me out."

The drive back to your place was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t exactly comfortable but wasn’t hostile either. The air between you two was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of everything that had transpired hanging heavy. The occasional flicker of passing streetlights cast shadows across Rafe’s face, illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw, the furrow of his brows, the way he chewed at his bottom lip like he was lost in thought.

You pulled into your driveway, cutting the engine. The stillness of the night settled over you both, interrupted only by the ticking sound of the car cooling down.

Rafe barely moved.

You opened the driver’s side door and stepped out, stretching slightly, the long shift still lingering in your muscles. As you walked towards your house, Rafe’s gaze instinctively followed you, his throat tightening.

Goddamn it.

He hadn’t allowed himself to notice before—not really. But now, in the dim glow of the porch light, he found his eyes trailing over you, lingering where they shouldn’t. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, but the image was already burned into his brain.

"You gonna follow?"

Your voice snapped him out of his daze.

Rafe blinked rapidly, his jaw clenching as if trying to shake off whatever the hell was happening to him. He quickly shoved the car door open and got out, following you with stiff steps. He couldn’t believe he just sat there like an idiot, staring at your ass. What the hell was wrong with him?

You unlocked the front door, stepping inside first, flipping on a small lamp in the hallway. The warm glow cast soft shadows across the room, illuminating the simple furniture and lack of decorations.

"I know this house isn't what a Kook is used to—"

Rafe stepped inside after you, his sharp blue eyes scanning the interior, taking in the modest layout. He snorted. "Yeah, no shit."

You shot him a look but didn’t comment. He trailed behind you, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing around. No lavish paintings, no expensive furniture, no grand staircase. Just a small, tidy house that felt lived-in. Comfortable.

"Yeah, not everyone has money for a house like yours," you muttered, completely unaware of the nerve you had just struck.

Rafe froze.

His stomach twisted violently. For a split second, he thought about telling you—about the way his father had finally done what he always threatened, kicking him out like he was nothing. How he had nowhere else to go.

But instead, he smirked, plastering on that same cocky arrogance he always wore like armor. "Well, excuse me for being born with a silver spoon up my ass."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you moved to the fridge. "So, since you're hungry, I have something I can heat up in the microwave."

Rafe leaned against the counter, watching you fumble around in the fridge. His stomach twisted again, but this time with hunger. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to play it cool. "Microwave food? Fancy," he muttered, sarcasm laced in his tone, though the truth was, he’d eat just about anything at this point.

You pulled out the food, placed it in the microwave, and then turned towards him, arms crossed. "Soo, why were you in the middle of the road?"

Rafe tensed. His body went rigid, his jaw tightening as his eyes flickered away from yours. His fingers drummed against his biceps as if debating whether to answer or not. Finally, his voice came out flat, guarded. "None of your business, okay? Just drop it."

You sighed, leaning against the counter. "Oh, come on. After I helped you, you could at least tell me."

Rafe scoffed, rolling his eyes before crossing his arms tighter. "Why the fuck would I tell you anything? You're the last person I'd ever want to know my shit." His voice was sharper now, more defensive, his jaw clenched so tightly it might crack. "Just forget it, alright?"

You exhaled deeply. "Damn, you really hate me."

"Yeah, I really fucking hate you," Rafe confirmed without hesitation, his words biting and laced with venom. But even as he said it, something in his gaze softened—just for a split second. He didn’t like the way you looked at him, with concern instead of judgment. It made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

You shook your head, turning to grab the food as the microwave beeped. You pulled it out, handing him the plate with an unreadable expression. "Enjoy your food."

Rafe took the plate, pausing for just a second as his fingers brushed against yours. The touch was brief, but it startled him. His grip tightened on the plate as he looked up at you. He had expected you to shove it into his hands, to be rough, but you weren’t. You were... gentle. That was unexpected.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Yeah," you mumbled before turning and leaving the kitchen.

Rafe watched you go, his brows furrowing. Confusion flickered across his face, warring with frustration. He stared down at the plate in his hands, his appetite suddenly feeling like a secondary problem.

Why the hell were you being nice to him?

Meanwhile, you entered the bathroom, turning on the sink, and staring at your reflection. Had you made a mistake? Bringing him here? Helping him?

Back in the kitchen, Rafe hesitated before taking a bite of the food. He expected it to taste bland, but it was surprisingly good. He chewed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the doorway where you had disappeared.

By the time you returned, he had nearly finished.

Rafe looked up, swallowing his last bite as his eyes locked onto yours. He watched you carefully, studying you in a way he never had before. You were quiet now, thoughtful instead of sarcastic, and for the first time, he realized… He didn’t really know you at all.

"So, I can drive you back home," you offered casually, still unaware of his situation.

Rafe hesitated, his fingers tightening around the fork. His stomach sank. He didn’t want to go back. But he also wasn’t about to admit to you that he had nowhere to go. Instead, he forced a nod. "Yeah... sure."

You grabbed your car keys, sighing slightly, thinking you should’ve just done this from the start.

Rafe watched the way you rolled your eyes, and something inside him snapped. For once, he wants you to drop the attitude and actually see him. "Would you fucking stop acting like you can't stand being in the same room with me?" His voice was sharp, harsher than he intended.

You scoffed. "I tried to be nice. You’re an asshole."

Rafe threw his hands up. "Oh, so I’m an asshole for not wanting to talk about my fucked-up life?" He stepped closer, his eyes flashing with something between anger and vulnerability. "You have no idea what I’m going through."

You shrugged nonchalantly. "And I guess I never will. So let’s just take you home and get this over with."

Something in Rafe’s chest twisted painfully at your shrug. For a fleeting second, he considered telling you - about being kicked out, about having no one... But his pride won't let him.

"Yeah," he muttered bitterly. "Take me fucking home."

You walked out of the house, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you locked the front door behind you. The quiet hum of the crickets filled the silence between you and Rafe. He followed behind you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his footsteps heavy on the pavement.

As you reached your car, you unlocked it, the soft beep breaking the stillness. Rafe hesitated beside you, his jaw tightening, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. A war raged inside of him—pride versus desperation, anger versus exhaustion. His chest tightened.

Then, abruptly, he stepped back. "You know what? Never mind. I'll walk." His voice was rough, laced with something almost frantic. He turned sharply, his broad shoulders tense, preparing to leave.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Walk?"

Rafe stopped but didn't turn to face you. His face was contorted with frustration, his arms crossed over his chest like a shield. "You heard me. I don't need a ride from you anyway." His voice was sharper now, his defenses snapping back into place. "I’ll walk."

And just like that, he started moving.

You watched him for a few moments, trying to make sense of his stubbornness before huffing in frustration and jogging after him.

"Rafe, it's too far away to walk. Don’t be ridiculous."

Your voice reached him before your footsteps did, and he stopped abruptly, his back still to you. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his shoulders rising and falling unevenly.

"I don't want your fucking pity ride," he spat out, his voice quieter this time, but not any less sharp.

You take a step closer, watching the way his body is practically vibrating with barely contained emotions. "It's not a pity ride," you argue. "I just want to drive you home."

Rafe finally turned to face you. His eyes are red-rimmed, a storm of emotions swirling behind them—anger, frustration, but also something deeper. Something raw. His face twisted into something unreadable, his lips parting slightly before he swallowed hard, as if forcing the words down.

"Why the hell do you care so much?" His voice cracked slightly, making him even angrier. "You hate me. You've made that clear a million times." He looked away, his shoulders shaking slightly.

You exhale, crossing your arms. "Well, you hate me too. So I guess we’re even."

Rafe let out a harsh, humorless laugh, the sound catching in his throat like it physically pained him. His gaze snapped back to yours, his expression unreadable yet intense. "Even?" He scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you fucking kidding me? I hate you SO much more than you hate me."

You tilted your head, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips. "Right. You would never try to help me like I’m helping you right now."

Rafe's mouth opened, but no words came out. He blinked rapidly, his throat working as he tried to find something—anything—to say back. But nothing came out. Pride wars with desperation inside him. "Yeah, well..." His voice trailed off, suddenly hoarse.

"So let me just drive you home, and we can forget this ever happened?" You suggested, your tone was softer now.

Rafe bit his lower lip hard, his jaw clenching like he was physically holding himself together. After a long moment, he nodded jerkily, his movements stiff and forced. His eyes flickered away from yours, like looking at you for too long might shatter whatever control he had left.

"Fine," he muttered. "Drive me fucking home."

You followed him as he headed back to the car, his strides were stiff and reluctant. He yanked the passenger door open and slid in his body tense. His hands rested in tight fists on his lap, his knuckles white.

As you settled into the driver’s seat and started the car, Rafe stared straight ahead, refusing to meet your gaze. His jaw is tight, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths.

"Just drive," he muttered, his voice rough. "And don't fucking talk to me."

The silence between you was suffocating. The only sounds were the distant hum of the car engine and the rhythmic tapping of your fingers against the steering wheel.

When you finally pulled up in front of his mansion, you shifted the car into park, expecting him to get out immediately. But he doesn’t move.

He just sat there.

His hands remained clenched into fists on his lap. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts. His gaze was locked on the house in front of him, but there was no relief in his expression. Just resentment.

He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Here we are. Home sweet fucking home." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was an undeniable sadness underneath it.

You glanced at him, confused. "Yeah, so you can get out now." Your voice was sharper than you intended, still unaware of the real reason he was hesitating.

But Rafe didn’t move.

His chest tightened painfully, his throat constricting like he couldn’t get enough air. He was trapped. Trapped between his pride and the ugly truth of his reality.

After what felt like forever, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't go back."

Your eyes snapped to him, confusion flashing across your face. "What?"

Rafe finally turned to look at you, and the anguish in his eyes hit you like a punch to the gut. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by something hollow.

"You heard me?" His voice was rough, uneven. "I said I can't go back there."

"Why not?" You asked, your brows furrowing.

Rafe let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. His eyes glistened under the dim streetlights, but he quickly looked away. "Because Dad kicked me out, okay? I'm fucking homeless now." His voice was sharp, but there was an underlying tremble. "But I couldn’t tell you that, could I? I have to maintain my fucking image."

You stared at him, stunned.

"And you didn't think to tell me that before I drove you all the way here?" You asked, exasperated.

Rafe clenched his jaw, looking away, his entire body rigid with shame. "I didn't want your pity," he muttered.

You sighed deeply, shaking your head. "Oh my god, Rafe... you are too fucking worried about someone pitying you."

His eyes snapped back to yours, filled with anger and hurt. He wiped at his face roughly, as if trying to erase the evidence of his emotions. "Fuck off. You don’t know what you’re talking about." His voice wavered slightly. "I'm not some weak little bitch who needs your fucking sympathy."

You softened slightly when you saw the tears brimming in his eyes. "But you need a place to stay."

Rafe looked away quickly, swallowing hard. His pride warring with his desperate need for a place to sleep. "I'll figure something out," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“Let’s just go back to my place and you can—”

Rafe cut you off abruptly, his voice sharp with anguish, his breath uneven. "No. No way in hell am I staying with you." His hand trembled slightly as he jabbed a finger in your direction, his jaw clenched tight. "You think I'm that fucking desperate?"

You sighed, your grip tightening on the steering wheel. "You can stay tonight and leave tomorrow when you figure out where to go."

Rafe didn’t answer immediately. His pride was screaming at him to refuse, to walk away, to act like he had this under control. But the exhaustion pressing into his bones said otherwise. His fingers twitched against his knee, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He finally exhaled, forcing himself to accept the reality of his situation.

"Fine," he muttered, his expression dark and sullen. "I'll stay tonight. But I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

"That's fine with me." You started the car again, the engine humming back to life as you turned the wheel, heading back toward your place.

Rafe leaned his head against the window, his breath fogging up the glass slightly. His voice came out quieter this time, almost vulnerable. "You're probably wondering what the fuck I did that was so bad my own dad kicked me out. Right?"

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the passing streets, waiting for your response.

"Yeah, I am," you admitted, glancing at him briefly. "But you won’t tell me if I ask."

Rafe let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Smart girl." His jaw tightened, the muscles in his cheek flexing. He watched the city lights blur past as he continued, his voice rough. "But if it makes you feel better... I did something really fucking stupid. Like, really fucking stupid."

"Clearly," you said dryly.

Rafe turned his head slightly, shooting you a glare, his blue eyes catching the glow of the streetlights. "You think you're so funny, don't you?" His arms crossed over his chest, his body slouching lower into the seat. "You want to know what I did?"

You nodded, keeping your attention on the road but stealing another glance at him. "Yeah, I wanna know what you did."

He took a deep breath, his fingers drumming anxiously against his arm. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and bitter, edged with something raw. "I stole something from my dad. Something valuable. And when he found out, he fucking lost it. Said I was a disappointment. Always have been, always will be."

You glanced between him and the road, your brows furrowing. "Why did you steal it?"

Rafe sighed heavily, running a hand down his face like he was trying to rub away the exhaustion. "Because I'm an idiot, okay? I thought I could sell it, and make some easy money. Pay off some debts." His voice dropped slightly. "But clearly, I fucked up royally."

"It seems like it," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "But I’m sure your dad will forgive you."

Rafe let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah?" His voice was laced with bitterness. "You think so, huh? Newsflash, princess—my dad's not exactly the forgiving type. Especially when it comes to this kind of shit." His voice lowered, almost to a whisper. "I fucked up bad. Real bad."

"So what, he’ll just leave you homeless?" You frowned. "I don’t believe that."

Rafe turned back to you, his gaze heavy with a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to despair. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was tight. "My dad doesn’t do things halfway. If he says I’m out, I’m out. No second chances. No coming back."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Then your dad is a bigger asshole than you."

Despite himself, Rafe let out a choked half-laugh, his lips twitching slightly before he shook his head. "You haven’t even met the guy. But, yeah, probably." He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Maybe I got my asshole genes from him after all."

You chuckled a little, the tension easing just slightly. "Well, that makes sense."

Rafe smirked, opening his eyes again, a little of his usual cockiness slipping back in. "You know what else makes sense?" He tilted his head toward you, his smirk deepening. "Me stealing shit. Me getting into fights. Me sleeping with random girls. My crappy attitude. All that shit makes perfect sense when you meet my dad."

"Yeah, that looks a lot like daddy issues," you commented your voice light, almost teasing.

For the first time tonight, Rafe actually laughed—a real laugh, not one filled with bitterness or sarcasm. "Daddy issues? Fuck, that’s a good one. Yeah, I’ve got a ton of daddy issues."

You pulled into your driveway, putting the car in park. "No wonder, when he’s like that." You turned to him.

"Yeah, well..." He unbuckled his seatbelt slowly, running his fingers through his messy hair. His expression shifted slightly, back to guarded. "Should I be worried about your neighbors seeing me come in at this hour? You know, not wanting people to think you’re bringing a Kook into your house?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I don’t think they care."

Rafe shrugged, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. "Fair enough. Worst case, they think you’ve got terrible taste in men." He opened the car door, stretching his tall frame as he stepped out.

You scoffed, laughing again. "Well, they wouldn’t be wrong," you muttered under your breath as you closed the driver’s side door.

Rafe heard you, and his eyes darkened slightly, but he made sure you didn’t see the smirk he was trying to suppress. He watched you walk ahead of him, his gaze unconsciously drifting over your small frame.

"You know what else?" His voice was softer this time, almost teasing as he followed you up the porch steps. "You're really short."

You rolled your eyes, unlocking your front door. "And you’re really tall."

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped inside behind you. "Guess that’s why you look like a midget underneath me," he muttered with a smirk.

You turned, giving him a flat look. "Very funny."

Rafe smirked, leaning lazily against the wall by the door as he watched you close it and lock it behind you. His eyes scanned your house again, taking in its simplicity—small, cozy, and warm. It was nothing like his father’s mansion. There was life here. A sense of comfort. A place that felt like someone actually lived in it.

"So, uh... I'm crashing on your couch, right?" He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, and shifting his weight slightly.

"Yeah, on the couch. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket," you replied, already turning toward your room.

"Thanks." he said quietly, watching you disappear down the hall.

Rafe gaze drifted over the room again. The warm colors, the personal touches—it was so different from what he was used to. All expensive furniture and perfectly placed decorations that no one actually cared about. This? This felt... real.

He listened to you moving around in your room, rummaging through drawers, probably grabbing the bedding for him. The quiet shuffle of fabric and the distant sound of a closet door creaking open filled the space.

After a moment, he pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the couch. He sat down, running a hand through his messy hair, exhaling slowly. The exhaustion was creeping in now, pressing against his limbs like a weight he couldn’t shake.

"Hey, you got a bathroom I can use?"

"Yeah, down the hallway," You called from your room.

Rafe got up, and walked down the hallway, his steps slow and deliberate. He found the bathroom, flicking on the light, squinting slightly as the brightness stings his tired eyes. He glanced around. Clean. Simple. Just like the rest of your house. No expensive marble countertops, no ridiculous gold-plated fixtures like at his dad’s place. Just a regular bathroom that actually felt... normal.

He exhaled, leaning over the sink, turning on the faucet. He cupped his hands, splashing cold water onto his face, letting it drip down, cooling his skin. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror—tired, worn, eyes still slightly red. He looked like shit.

Shaking his head, he dried his hands and stepped out, heading back toward the living room.

When he returned, he found you setting up the couch for him, placing the pillow down and draping the blanket over the cushions. He stopped in the doorway, watching you for a moment. There was something oddly domestic about it—something he was not used to.

"You really don't mind me crashing here?" He asked, leaning against the doorway.

You glanced up at him. "I wouldn’t offer if I did."

Rafe nodded slowly, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "True enough. Guess I’m lucky you’re not a complete asshole." He pushed off the doorway and stepped further into the room. "This is actually really nice of you."

You half-chuckled, brushing off the compliment. "Yeah."

Rafe sat down on the couch, pulling off his shoes before stretching out, and adjusting the pillow beneath his head. The couch was softer than he expected, the pillow plush, the blanket warm. It was... comfortable. It was unfamiliar.

"Hey, are you gonna sleep soon or what?" He asked, looking over at you as you lingered nearby.

"Yeah, soon. It’s only a bit past midnight though," you shrugged.

"Yeah, well, I’m tired," he mumbled, pulling the blanket up to his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing despite the exhaustion pulling at his body. After a beat, he turned his head toward you, watching the way you stood there as if debating whether to stay and talk or just go to bed. "You always stay up this late?"

"I usually fall asleep a bit later," you admitted.

Rafe scoffed softly, shaking his head as he looked back up at the ceiling. "Insomniac much?" He asked dryly, one hand absently playing with the edge of the blanket. "Wonder how you manage to function during the day."

"I function just fine," you replied.

Rafe smirked slightly. "You know most adults need like eight hours of sleep?" He teased, his voice dropping into something softer, almost playful. He watched you from the corner of his eye, you’re small and have curves in all the right places. He swallowed hard, pushing away thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

"Well, I’m good with less," you shrugged.

Rafe rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow so he could look at you better. "Less? Jesus, you’re practically a vampire," he joked, though there’s a hint of admiration in his tone. He met a lot of people, but not many who could function on so little and still be this put together.

You laughed, "Who knows? Maybe I am."

Rafe laughed lightly, the sound warm and deep. He watched as you smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners. It was... nice. The way you laughed. It was not forced, not high-pitched, or fake. It was real.

"Nah," he muses, still watching you. "You're too... alive to be a vampire."

"Maybe it’s just pretending," you chuckled.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Pretend? You mean you’re actually undead and just really good at faking it?"

"Yeah, maybe I lure men into my house and drink their blood," you smirked back.

His smirk turns into a full-blown grin, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Well, that would explain why you live alone and have no known boyfriend," he teased, sitting up now, crossing his legs in front of him on the couch.

You laughed but rolled your eyes, unable to resist saying, "Fuck you."

Rafe threw his head back, laughing fully this time. "Whoa, harsh words from a lady vampire. I think I’m safe though," he smirked, tilting his head, lazily gesturing to his neck.

"Why do you think you’re safe? You’ve been an asshole toward me," you challenged, crossing your arms.

Rafe chuckled, still grinning. "Yeah, but I’m an asshole who’s staying at your place. If you were really a blood-sucking monster, you’d have drained me dry already." He winked, keeping the mood light.

"Maybe I’m saving you for later," you shoot back, mirroring his smirk.

Rafe laughed again, shaking his head. "Save me for later, huh? Well, I better watch my back then." There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something playful, almost relaxed. He's enjoying this banter with you, feeling more at ease than he has in a long time.

You shook your head, still smiling. "You’re fun when you’re not a complete moody asshole."

Rafe threw his head back with another laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. "I have my moments," he admitted, his voice softer now. He watched you closely, his gaze lingering on the way your expression shifted—your laughter still evident, your features relaxed.

"Yeah, well, I’ll let you sleep," you said, reminding him of his earlier complaints about being tired.

"Wait—" Rafe said quickly, his tone losing some of its cocky edge. "I mean... I am tired. But... you’re actually pretty funny when you’re not telling me to fuck off."

You chuckled, turning back to him. "Thanks, I guess."

He grinned mischievously, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "You’re welcome, I guess," he mimicked your tone, making you roll your eyes but smile anyway. He liked this—liked the way it felt easy. Sitting here, bantering, laughing. It was not what he expected, but he didn’t hate it.

"Good night, Rafe," you said, your smile genuine.

Rafe watched you for a second, his chest tightening at the sincerity in your voice. It was rare for someone to talk to him without expecting something in return. He swallowed the lump in his throat and offered you a small, real smile back. "Good night," he murmured, lying back down as you turned to leave. His eyes followed you until you disappeared down the hallway, and for the first time in a long time, the ache in his chest felt a little lighter.

CHAPTER 2

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