#and she's just scrambling after him trying to pick up his pieces

[96theater]

DON'T BELIEVE HIM SKYLER DIVORCE HIM RIGHT NOW HE'S A LYING BITCH!!!!!!!! LEAVE HIM

edit sorgy to everyone going through the brba tag and seeing this

[littlelamy]

you were right!

a/n: okay, i know you guys might be tired of me doing these but this is my last one! i hope you all like it 😜 gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The blazing Moroccan sun beats down on Rafe, its intensity mirrored by the firestorm raging in his mind. Dust hangs in the air around him, adding to the harshness of the moment as he stands over the well. Below, Groff coughs and groans, his face contorted in pain, but Rafe barely spares him a second glance. His rage overpowers everything else, even the satisfaction he should feel. He narrows his eyes, voice laced with anger and finality.

“Checkmate, bitch!” he yells down, his words slicing through the hot, tense air. The motorcycle engine he’d used to get out here sits idle a few feet away, rumbling like his frustration.

He turns on his heel, muttering a curse, fists clenched. As he stalks away from the well, he pulls out his phone and dials Sofia’s number, his chest tight with the realization that everything he thought he knew was a lie.

Sofia answers after two rings, her voice as casual as if he hadn’t just found out about her betrayal. “Hey, babe, what’s up ?”

Rafe’s voice is steely, cold. “Is it true? Is it true, what Groff just told me? Is it?”

The silence on her end is all he needs. He can practically hear her scrambling for words, but she never manages to answer. His face twists in anger.

“Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” he snarls, a final, unforgiving edge in his voice. “God, after everything I did for you? We’re done. Done.” He hangs up before she can say another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a bitter scoff. Betrayed, twice over—and he’d ignored the only person who saw it coming.

He stands there, baking in the Moroccan heat, his mind racing back to a month ago in Kildare, when you and he had argued over Sofia. You’d warned him that she wasn’t who she seemed. He’d brushed you off, accusing you of jealousy—knowing damn well that there was more to it. You were his best friend, but it was complicated; that line had already been crossed too many times, with late-night kisses and tangled sheets. But you two hadn’t spoken since that fight, since the way he’d brushed you off had hurt deeper than either of you cared to admit.

Taking a breath, he pulls out his phone again, fingers hovering over your name. He hesitates, swallowing his pride, before finally pressing call.

The phone rings, and you pick up after a few moments, your voice tight with annoyance. “What, Rafe?”

Your tone makes him pause, but the way you sound almost comforts him, even with the irritation clear in your voice. You’re there—back in Kildare, probably sitting cozy in your little apartment. Meanwhile, he’s out here under the scorching sun, alone, trying to piece together his pride.

He clears his throat. “Hey… princess,” he says, voice softened, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. He can almost feel you rolling your eyes on the other end, but he presses on, the words weighing heavy on him. “I—uh… Look, I’m sorry. You were right.”

There’s a surprised pause, and he hears you shift in your seat as if you’re debating whether to hang up or let him speak. When you do answer, your tone is a bit softer, cautious.

“What happened?”

Rafe lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Turns out Sofia was exactly who you said she was. A snake. And here I was, thinking you were just being… petty. But I guess I’m the idiot, huh?”

You breathe out, and he can picture you shaking your head, lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t listen,” you say quietly, as if the words hold more hurt than anger.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his voice. “I know. I was so damn sure you were just jealous. I mean—” He pauses, grappling with how to say it. “Hell, I thought you were jealous because you… I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me with her because we…” His voice trails off, but the implication lingers between you.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I get it.”

Rafe bites his lip, letting the words sink in. “Can I see you? I’m done here in a few days, and I could be back in Kildare very soon. I could stop by, explain… properly.”

A beat passes, and when you finally speak, it’s careful, guarded. “After everything you said last time, why should I?”

He laughs softly, almost self-deprecating. “Because I think you might be the only person I can trust right now. And… I miss you.” His voice drops, laced with a warmth he can’t help. “Even if you’re just going to gloat and rub it in my face.”

You chuckle, and he smiles, savoring the sound. “I don’t know if I miss you or if I just feel sorry for you,” you tease, but the playfulness is back in your tone, if only faintly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, amusement lacing his words. “Act like you don’t care. But come on, you miss me. Admit it.”

A small silence follows, and he imagines the way your lips twitch into a smile. Finally, you relent. “Maybe a little. But you’re bringing wine. Good wine.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he says, the flirtation back in his voice. “Only the best for you.”

You scoff, but he hears the hint of a laugh. It’s the closest thing he’s had to a good moment in a long time. He takes a breath, savoring the thought of leaving this mess behind and getting back to Kildare—back to the only person who knew him well enough to call him out, and care anyway. As the call ends, he puts his phone in his pocket, a grin spreading across his face, motivating him to get that crown and go to his princess.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif

[pencil-n-pen]

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

--

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

--

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

--

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

--

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

--

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

--

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

--

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

--

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

--

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

taglist: @topsecret101 @slowdownpal @leeknowpegger @sunbl3achedfly @hiireadstuff @paige0103 @private190104 @beautyb1ade @coraline-jones353 @pleasenter-sandman @sttvrdustt @gluchie @thomasintheshadows @dessamira1001 @bbleeeeh @hufflely-puffly @bippityboppityboob1tch @buggys-space @redxfangirl @liauchiha147 @dreaming-potato @meandyoulollz @jobrosimp

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 2

construction worker!rafe who spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ and driving shy!reader home, shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

c/w: fluff, smut: slight somnophilia, dry humping, p-in-v, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.7k

so this story was supposed to be just a small drabble consisting of a few silly sentences but then i got a bit carried away..

series masterlist

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

It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.  

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her. 

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) when she gingerly opens the door, mentally preparing to face a serial killer.

However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her. 

“Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” a surprised look paints over her countenance.  

“You forgot this in my car, thought you might want it back,” he smiles, holding out a phone to her, the pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.  

“Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.  

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly call,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke. 

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance; a worn-out t-shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it.

She’s not wearing anything else and he’s trying his hardest not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair.

She swallows nervously under his attention.  

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never ended up doing anything when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for an entire week after the particularly long shift she’d had.  

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder before letting her get some much needed rest, telling himself he could be patient.

However, she’s not making it very easy for him when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her at the moment— she looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms right now and slump down on her bed, crawl under crisp sheets and feel her lungs expand against his chest.  

“Uh, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.  

“No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.  

“Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” she clumsily offers, not wanting him to go just yet.

His brows raise in surprise because she’s being uncharacteristically bold, making his mouth twist in amusement. 

“Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and jus’ wanna go home, sorry, don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown accustomed to.  

“Nah, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold before taking a look around her cozy home; picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls and leafy plants adding greenery to the small space. It’s cute, he thinks.  

She sets a steaming mug in front of him when he takes a seat around the kitchen table. And when she sits down on a chair next to him, he can’t help but stare at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up, revealing the tops of her thighs and allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out.

He clears his throat.  

“You, uh, you have trouble sleeping a lot?” he tries to focus on something else, anything else while taking a quick sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.  

“Yeah…sometimes it’s jus’ kinda hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. Like I try to close my eyes, but then the loud voices of customers and the clinking of plates keep replaying in my head and suddenly m’wide awake, you know?”

“Is there anything that helps?” he prods.  

“Um, I don’t know, I guess jus’ trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out. 

“Oh yeah? So, what you’re sayin’ is that you’re just usin’ me right now in order to fall asleep?” he teases, grinning when he manages to drag out another giggle from her.  

“Guess I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she blinks up at him.  

“Should I feel offended right now?” he jokingly huffs.  

“No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.” 

He thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy; a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape his tongue.

“You, uh, you into cuddling?” he asks, noticing how her eyes round out in surprise.

“Uh— I mean, probably if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond. 

“Wanna cuddle with me?” he says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent about this whole situation when she feels almost dizzy; dazed mind reeling and her vivid heart tingling in her ribcage. 

“You, um…you want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” his brows crease. 

“Yes, of course we are, I just—” 

“Look, all m’sayin’ is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having somethin’ else to focus on ‘n shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this when he’s simply trying to help.  

“You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees before swiftly getting up on wobbly feet—nearly falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at the sudden proximity.  

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he chuckles, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him rather amusing.  

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.  

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle— caging her in with mindless fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter shut.  

“You good?” he murmurs into her hair.

“Mhm,” she blissfully hums, letting out a content exhale because he’s so warm and big— making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.  

Soon, her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy.  

‘Sweet dreams’ is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a place where the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.

- - - - - - - - - - -

She’s lethargic in her movements when she stirs from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in with Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his.

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what woke her up because it’s still murky in her unlit bedroom— the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots of her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.

Then, she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass.

There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization. He’s hard.

Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more. 

She swallows.  

What is she supposed to do? 

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low rumble— his grip only tightening around her smaller form.  

“Rafe?” she calls out. 

No response.  

“Rafe? Wake up.”  

Still nothing. 

She can feel his heavy breathing against her neck—bigger hands pawing at her hips every now and then and trying to pull her closer, as if they’re not already effectively glued together, leaving her no space to move.  

She’s already beginning to grow sticky between her thighs when he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in some sort of a stupor.  

She can’t help but let out a faint mewl when her clit throbs, pestering for more friction since the soft fabric of her underwear is not even close to enough, more or less torturing her with the its cottony graze.

And that’s when Rafe finally stirs, the weight of his arm loosening like a tight knot unfurling, finally allowing for her lungs to greedily suck in the air of the quiet room.

“Shit— sorry, my bad,” his tone is gravelly, and she could swear some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides in response.

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects. 

“It’s…uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries, it happens,” she rambles with heated cheeks because what the fuck is she supposed to say to that? 

“Nah, s’fully my fault, jus’ had this, uh, nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse. 

“Oh. What was it about?” she inquires with a yawn, perhaps slightly too curious for her own good.  

“You wanna know?” his brows raise. 

She manages a hum.

“Well, there was this, uh, real pretty girl…‘n she had me in her mouth ‘n was lettin’ me do whatever I wanted,” he murmurs, a heady tone overlaying his response.  

“Oh.” She tries to appear indifferent, even if there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom in the pit of her stomach.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re silly sometimes, you know?”

He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here? 

“So, what else happened?”  

“What else? Okay, then she, uh, let me do this,” he confesses at the same time as he grabs at her hips again before pushing against her, earning a whimper when she can feel how big he is through the thin material of her underwear. 

“Rafe…what’re you doing?” she asks through a whine— his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Got no idea what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

“I— what are you…what’re you talking about?” her brain is foggy, unable to think straight when he’s so close. However, he doesn’t respond, merely continues the retelling of his dream.

“Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper— shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock.

Somewhere along the way, her inhale gets stuck in her throat, mindlessly moving her achy cunt over him and causing him to let out a heartfelt grunt.

“Needy little thing likes this, huh?” he helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips and dragging her over his cock— filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.  

“Rafe, can you…”  

“Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” he says while already slipping a hand in her panties; petting at her puffy clit, earning a surprised moan from her before she lifts up the hem of her shirt for a better view.  

“Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Gettin’ real fuckin’ wet from me just bein’ close to you, huh?” his thumb rubs lazy circles over her sensitive button, making her cry out as she presses down harder against his cock. 

“Shit, gonna come in my fuckin’ pants if you keep doin’ that…you wanna know what else was in m’dream?” 

She nods, frantic.  

“Pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. “And then, did this,” he mumbles out as he takes himself out, causing her eyes to round out when she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head on her clit— one, two, three times, and then he’s smearing it over her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.

“Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean; pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out and turning her into a whimpering mess.

The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked to where they connect, fascinated. “Fuck, sweetheart, does that feel nice?” he asks, thumbing over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper and forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.

“Feels so good, Rafe, think m’gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.  

“You gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his features while he keeps nudging his dick about halfway in and then out, never fully plunging it inside.  

“You feel so…can’t— can’t hold it,” watery droplets gather in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as her teary eyes look into larimar and she keeps rolling her hips against him, chasing after a release. 

“Go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” he encourages, and she doesn’t need to be told twice before she’s crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him. 

“There you go, fuckin’ give it to me,” he grunts, and all of a sudden, he feels his own orgasm approaching—rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he finally stuffs his cock inside her, to the hilt.

Then, he’s stilling inside her and groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim— making her feel so full.

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.  

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him and burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.  

She thinks she could die happy right now.  

“Did so good for me, shit, should do this more often, yeah?” he says with a sleepy tinge.   

And she’s completely out of it; head as empty as ever and merely managing a hum of agreement before she’s tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber.

[changetyre]

My weakness II Mafia!Lando Norris x Reader Ⓢ

SUMMARY: Lando is a man known to be cold, unfeeling, overflowing in strength and composure...except when it comes to you.

WARNINGS: Assault, Blood, inaccurate medical terms, not proofread.

A/N: This is something I posted over on Wattpad a few days ago, thought you guys might want to start seeing some for fluff rather than pure smut ;)

It was a miracle you were walking down the streets on your own right now...well partially. Lando had been obliged to fly over to territory 55 after a business deal had gone wrong with his partner who urgently needed his assistance. 

Lando hated leaving you alone even if it was for short periods of time just hating the feeling of not being able to protect you himself. Nevertheless, he reluctantly had to sometimes and he wasn't one to force you to go with him everywhere especially if he knew he would be putting you in more danger around him. 

For this specific instance, he had needed to fly for a few days and it had taken a whole lot of begging over the phone for him to let you leave the house to go shopping, a treat for yourself (and a little for him). He only agreed because he had your location on your phone but also as long as you agreed that his best man Max Fewtrell would accompany you. 

The day had been wonderful for you, Max wasn't sure how much longer he could stand at another store watching you try on what felt like hundreds of pieces of clothing only for you to walk out with just 1 piece or none at all.

His feet were aching more than they would when he went on a mission and he was about ready to force you back home if it weren't for the stores closing that forced you to finally call it a day. 

You were walking to the car, Max a few steps ahead of you as he worked to get all the multiple shopping bags and boxes into the car. His struggle to do so distracted him enough not to notice the other eyes in the empty parking lot. 

Max heard you scream but by the time he turned around and drew his gun you were already down on the ground badly beaten, Max could only watch as the men delivered their last few kicks and punches before they scrambled disappearing in the night. 

Max attempted taking shots but they were futile as they ran in multiple directions and instead he focused on you instead of running after whoever they were. He saw a note left beside your beaten body.  

Max picked you up getting you in the car to quickly drive you to the hospital as you groaned in pain trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

"Max don't tell-" You struggled to breathe properly. 

"Shh don't hurt yourself." Max was stern, he knew what you were going to say and he also knew he wasn't going to listen.

"Don't tell Lando." You finished feeling as though this wasn't bad enough to have him fly back and panic over you. 

Max sees as you're wheeled in, panic filling his face at the amount of blood he can see down your face and body. At the hospital, apart from a few cuts and bruises to the rest of your body it's determined you have a mild fracture to your skull and you required a few stitches to a medium-sized gash to your head, explaining the large amounts of blood.

You fail to recall at what point you'd lost consciousness or been put to sleep as you woke up to see Max on the couch next to you, his leg jittering nervously, his phone in one hand and his head in the other hand.

"Max, are you okay?" You ask him, his head popping up and his eyes meeting yours, a wave of relief flooding them.

"NURSE!" Max screams out.

"Ouch." You grab your head as Max's loudness makes your head pound.

"Sorry." He gritted his teeth guiltily. "You get attacked and you ask me if I'm okay?" Max stifles a laugh.

You shrug. "Are you?" You ask again. 

"I'm fine...lucky for me he's decided to take his anger out on the poor nurses and doctors." He shakes his head.

"He? Max I-" A nurse comes in interrupting you, she explains everything to you, and checks your vitals before finally walking outside.

You're about to engage in conversation with Max again when Lando runs into the room.

"Y/n?!" He calls out, desperation and panic audible in his voice.

"You called him?! I told you not to." You turned to Max.

"He'd kill me if I hadn't." He argued back.

"He's right...if he wasn't like family he'd be dead already." Lando replied so nonchalantly it made a shiver run through your body. Lando walked towards you, a frown on his face as he looked at the bandage around your head. 

"Baby it wasn't his-" you were gonna speak.

"Who did this?" He looked at Max, you could see the ridiculous amount of anger in his eyes, his lips in a slight pout as he tried to keep it together and his breath incredibly heavy as if he'd just ran a marathon.

"Lan-" you tried calling him again.

"WHO?!!" He repeated himself to Max.

"They left this." Max handed him the note that was left beside you.

You saw Lando's eyes darken as he read the words. "Gather the men. Call 3, 16, 33, and 81. I want them dead." He instructed Max.

"Yes." Max didn't argue as he left the room, his phone already dialing.

"Lando-" another failed attempt.

"Did you see their faces?" He turned back to you.

"LANDO!" You raised your voice finally getting him to stop.

You grabbed your head, the volume and sudden jerk of your neck making it soar.

"Darling" Lando panicked when he saw your grabbing your head. "I'll call the nurse-"

You cupped his cheek before he could turn back around. You made him look at you. "Baby I'm okay." You spoke softly.

Lando let out a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding, his shoulders visibly relaxing. It appeared that his efforts to keep it together were expiring.

His breathing started becoming irregular as he tried his best not to break down in front of you. He tried to quietly grasp for air that he didn't seem to be able to find.

"Lando take a deep breath." Your hands moved to his once you realized he was shaking, you gave them a tight squeeze.

"I can't..." he tried to suck in air. "I can't breathe" you could see him starting to panic.

"Lando breathe with me, baby." I grabbed one of his hands placing it on my chest, my hand tightly over his as I placed the other on his own chest. "Breath in."

He did as I told him.

"Breathe out." His breaths began matching mine.

We repeated this a few times.

"You're okay baby...I'm okay." Once I saw him calm enough I pulled his face closer to mine leaning his forehead against mine. "I'm okay."

He closed the space kissing you softly. 

"This is my worst nightmare-" a few tears escaped his eyes.

"I know baby...I know..." I pulled him into a much-needed hug from both of us. His embrace was tight against me but still not as tight as it normally would be, like he was afraid to break me.

"I can't..." his voice broke. "I can't lose you." He whispered to you.

This time you placed a kiss on his lips. "You're not going to. I'm okay I promise." 

"I won't let them touch you ever again," Lando promised as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb lovingly. 

"I know." You didn't doubt him one bit. 

[yandere-wishes]

Okay just Tim’s cat!darling having absolute orange cat energy, like the most feral thing ever, like she has actually bitten him before and hissed at him, like she absolutely doesn’t like him

Or like one time Tim was tracking her after a heist they think she or Catwoman committed and she sees him spying through the window, it’s three in the morning and she got up to get fruit snacks and she gives him a back the hell off look before just going back to bed.

Like these videos are her

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJmwbL/

And just replace this one with her and Tim

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJnV4w/

OMG I did not know orange cat energy was a thing 🤣🤣I always thought stereotypical orange cat was just Garfield that's it lol!!

I can totally see reader getting more and more aggressive with Tim/Red Robin as time goes on. Sure she may still have a crush on him and thank him for her obsession with masked vigilantes and cat burglars.

But the more Tim forcefully steals kisses and hovers by her window at the most unholiest of hours. The more aggressive Reader becomes. She's not above just opening that window and trying to claw his eyes out!!

Worst is when she actually pieces together who he is, simply from the fact that he's liked all her videos and posts.

He's even left comments on her fics like 'Maybe Red Robin isn't that bad of a guy and he's just doing all these things 'cause he loves you.'

or

'my friend was saved by Red Robin once and they say he's absolutely the coolest and would be so gentle and kind to his lover.'

Reader has to bite herself to stop from writing the most graphic profanities in the reply!!

Your claws are raking over his muscles, digging into the curves and veins. Suffer, suffer, suffer. But the pain won't deter him, he still has your lips between his teeth, one hand wrapped around your neck while the other leaves bruises on your hips. Tim deepens the kiss swallowing your screams and pushing his bittersweet love down your throat.

Your knee finally finds an opening going to kick him in the stomach. But Tim only throws his head back and laughs, relishing in the pain. You scramble to crawl away, only for Tim to grab your leg and pull you back.

Your teeth are biting into his neck trying to bleed him, while he buries his face in your hair, high off your ethereal fragrance. In a swift motion, Tim straddles you using his knee to pin your hand to the hard ground. He picks up your other hand, admiring the glimmer of your claws under the moon's pale rays.

"You know kitty, it's not fair that you keep getting my blood under your claws." you stiffen, fear gleaming in your big doe eyes.

"I think it's time I get a taste of yours too, what do you say." "HELL NO" you scream, but it's too late, he drags your claws across your abdomen, moving his head to lick the stream of blood that blooms.

You utterly despise the all too pure look of satisfaction on his face. How your blood trickles from his lips. He offers you his golden boy smile and you wish you could impale yourself thoroughly.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Selina are watching from a higher rooftop. Having the most awkward and rage-filled conversation.

Batman: So, thinking of adopting any more kids? Catwoman: Only if your Robins stop driving them insane!!

Not to mention reader wakes up every day to a random present left in her room. How the hell does he keep getting in here?? Your mentor just paid for new locks and the best security system. Although you will admit you do kinda like the new perfume he got you and those strawberry chocolates were divine.

And ever since word got out that THE Tim Drake adopted son of Bruce Wayne, follows your accounts, your subscriber count has doubled! So maybe there are -unfortunately- some benefits to Tim's obsession with you. Even though you'll never admit it.

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part two)

tutor!jayce talis x reader college au

content: reader recently decided to get a physics tutor...it's time for the first session with jayce talis

notes: walk with me and suspend ur disbelief in the actual physics talk...i have to make it somewhat believable that they're actually having tutoring sessions so i dug into the crevices of my brain for old physics topics that aren't too hard if you know them...if you don't..hopefully jayce makes sense LMAOOOO. but i will try not to do too much physics that it takes you out of it, i just want to build the tension and relationship. just trust me.

again mentions of neurodivergence/adhd references but that’s it really

word count: 1.9k

series masterlist

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Ekko was your longest friend—the closest one you had. He understood your brain even more than Viktor did, which was saying something. Since the day the two of you met in middle school, you became accustomed to one another. You knew each other like the back of your hands—which is why you knew he’d be so upset right now.

Immediately after leaving the student center, you scrambled to the dining hall. You and Ekko had a standing lunch date every day unless one of you said otherwise. There wasn’t always anything to say, but the idea of each other’s company comforted you—comforted him. He had been adamant that even if you two sat in silence, worked on classwork, or simply watched something on your phones, that the time was well spent.

Ekko valued these meetings in particular after his last girlfriend. You didn’t talk about Powder much…but he was devastated when she left town. The three of you had been friends for a long time…she’d abandoned you too. Acknowledging how much harder it may have been for Ekko was hard. You were forced to pick up the pieces and it started with daily check-ins over lunch. They stuck. 

You spotted him sitting alone, sipping on his drink through the glass. You tapped on it softly, getting his attention, waving.

He lit up when you approached the table, “Funny seeing you here.” Ekko looked at his watch dramatically, “Almost thought you couldn’t tell time for a second there.” 

“I am so sorry.” You moved to sit, pulling out the chair across from him. “I got caught up at the student center, needed a tutor for physics.” 

Ekko watched you reach and grab his bag on the table. He rolled his eyes knowingly—you were going for the fries of course. 

You continued, “Viktor recommended this guy, his lab partner.” 

Ekko nodded, “Thats great…but I’m also good at physics ya know?” 

“Oh yes, I totally forgot to ask my best friend to be my tutor. My best friend who knows I cannot stay on topic to save my life…wants me to ask him to be my tutor…so we can definitely not work on physics for the entire session.” You paused, a fry just on your lip, “Besides, I didn’t really have a choice.” 

“Okay first, I would be a great tutor! And second, what do you mean, didn’t have a choice?” 

“Viktor kinda just…led me there?” 

“So you didn’t have a chance to get yourself worked up and find a way to not go…great tactic on Viktor’s part.” 

There was a silence, but never uncomfortable when you were with Ekko. You smiled to yourself at that, and then about how surprisingly well the first meeting went. 

“He seemed nice…Jayce…my tutor.” 

Ekko reached into his bag, grabbing his sandwich. “Am I sensing a but?” 

“No, actually. He just seemed genuinely invested in me not feeling bad when it comes to sucking at school.” You paused, rubbing your hands in a napkin. “He said we could work on making it all seem more interesting…which I liked.” Ekko still hadn’t unraveled his sandwich, listening intently. You watched him observe you, but not speak up. “What?” 

He shook his head, “Nothing…that’s great.” 

The rest of your lunch was spent quietly recounting your days, not much of note happening otherwise. Eventually, you parted ways with an unspoken yet understood promise that you would see each other tomorrow. 

Your first session with Jayce was also tomorrow. That was on top of everything else you had to do. So much to be done…such little time, you thought. 

The following day came just as quickly as the previous had ended. You woke in a frenzy, almost always rushing to and from one class and toward the next. Then, to tutoring. 

You stumbled in, looking for any familiar face. You were met with only one, Jayce’s. He stood quickly, grabbing a folder and his bag before approaching you. 

“Right on time.” He turned, walking you toward a room off to the side. “This will be the office we use, I requested one with a white board.” He glanced back at you for affirmation before speaking again. “If you ever come for our meetings and don’t see me in the lobby, you can just come in here.” 

“Sounds good.” Your lip curled at your voice coming out more weak than you expected. You had to admire your own consistent ability to embarrass yourself, truly. 

He stepped back, allowing you to walk in first, again. “So…I printed these forms out for you.” He opened the folder, taking out some of the pages and spreading them on the table. “This is the basis for everything you’ll need to know about physics. There’s legends here, conversion charts, some of the greek symbols you’ll need to know, circuit diagrams, acronyms…everything.” You slowly sat in your chair, observing the filled pages. Jayce noticed you looking between the table and him with wide eyes. 

“This is a lot of information…” 

He finally sat down. “It is…but we have time to get you up to speed.” 

“But there’s these quizzes.” You looked down at the table, tapping a finger lightly against the wood. “Every week we have to prove we understood the concept and I am already weeks behind so it just keeps building on things I didn’t even understand to begin with. I don’t have time, I have to pass the quizzes so I can pass the class and keep my scholarship. If I lose my scholarship, I can’t pay for school and I’ll have to drop out. And all of this over stupid fucking physics and a professor who seems to want to ruin my life specifically.” You finally took a breath, “I can’t do this.” 

“I think you can.” 

Your eyes snapped up, meeting his. The look on his face seemed sincere—as if he truly believed in the statement. Hardly knowing you at all, he had enough faith that you could, in fact, do this.

“So,” he clasped his hands together. “What’s this next quiz on? What’s the topic for the week?” He got up, grabbing a marker from the white board’s small shelf. He looked at you expectantly, a brow arching as if to ask you again. 

“Vectors.” 

He nodded, “Okay, and what confuses you about vectors?” 

“Well, I feel like I’m pretty good at understanding angles. But as soon as we add in speed or velocity I am just…confused.” 

“Let’s start there.” He wrote the words speed and velocity on the white board in broad strokes, leaving space beneath each. “What is speed? Don’t think about it too hard.” 

“How fast something is going?” 

“Exactly, like a car.” He drew a makeshift car, and an indicator of both miles and kilometers. “Velocity is different.” He sketched a quick graph, a simple y and x axis and an arrow. “Velocity indicates the direction of an object.” His hand followed the trail of the arrow he drew, emphasizing that it was in motion. “So, velocity is the only one that actually would be considered when you look at vectors. Speed is just a number…velocity represents a change in position…which is what vectors do.” 

You grimaced at his attempt to make it make sense for you. The effort was appreciated, truly, but it didn’t stick. You feigned understanding, nodding your head in an attempt to get him to move on and explain more. This was common for you. Something wouldn’t make sense, but you wouldn’t want to hold everyone up, to be a burden. So you would sit in class, half listening, half in another world. After class, you’d be forced to scour videos about the very subject the teacher had spent class time explaining. Unfortunately that was a rabbit hole, too, as you would always end up on videos that had nothing to do with school. 

His eyes narrowed, not believing that your nod was enough of an indicator that you understood. “Come with me.” He moved to grab the papers for you, stuffing them in the folder and sliding them to you. You followed without a thought, trying to match his steady pace. He lead you to a nearby park down the street and sat his bag underneath a tree. You copied, placing your bag down beside his. It was impossible to not feel awkward, and yet, he persisted. 

“Okay stand here,” he pointed a finger to a random spot on the ground. Your feet stood perfect on the space where the asphalt and grass met, one foot on each side. “So just imagine that standing here, you are the bottom of a line graph along the x-axis. He moved his hand side-to-side, palm down, reminding you that this would be the horizontal line. Hotdogs and hamburgers. You remembered the silly phrase from elementary school. 

“Okay, standing here…x-axis.” 

He walked over to the grass side, “Okay, over here…in the nice green grass…this is positive.” He walked over to the asphalt, “I’m on your left now, on the asphalt…this is negative.” 

“…Okay.” 

He walked to mirror your position, one foot on each terrain. Then, he slowly stepped on the grass. “Without thinking about numbers, how would you describe what I just did.” 

“You…” Your brows furrowed, “You walked to the grass?” 

“Right, and that is-“ 

“Positive?” 

“Exactly.” 

In a split second, he darted over to the asphalt. “How bout now?” 

“You ran to the…to the negative?” 

He nodded, meeting you back at center again. He smirked at how quickly he’d even come up with this demonstration. “This is an example of how vectors work. When you think of me running somewhere, picking up my speed, but moving to the quote unquote ‘negative,’ this could also mean that from my original position-“ 

Your eyes lit up, “You moved backwards?” 

“Yup, or even down. On a graph, I mean.” He smiled with each word, amused by how you caught on to his unorthodox teachings. “But if I move slowly and to the ‘positive’ side?” He waited for you to answer.

“You…moved up or to the right.” 

“Just like a point on a graph.” He stood, hands on his hips. 

You were on the edge of every word he spoke, analyzing his every movement. You knew it was inopportune, but it was rather characteristic for you to lose focus right then. Jayce’s eyes were…interesting. Your first instinct was to say that they were yellow. When you looked closer you noticed the border of dark brown, the flecks of hazel and copper. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen. You got so caught up, you missed his hand coming up—leaving it lingering in the air. 

“What,” he questioned, “Do you not like high-fives as encouragement?” 

You chuckled, finally meeting his hand with yours. “I actually prefer snacks as encouragement, but this works.” 

It was his turn to laugh, then. It was short-lived. You followed his line of sight to see the same woman from the resource center, the one he’d been so enraptured by. Rightfully so; she was even more beautiful than you thought. The sunlight hit her skin just right, almost glistening. You gulped, somewhat intimidated by her presence alone. 

She reached you both, immediately giving Jayce a hug before turning to greet you. 

“Hey, how’s the tutoring going?” She nudged the man beside her, looking to you for an answer. 

“It’s going well,” you glanced at your phone screen, shit. “I actually should get going, but today was really helpful, thank you Jayce, bye.” 

You shuffled to grab your things as quickly as possible, avoiding the look of surprise on Jayce’s face. It didn’t really matter, though. 

Ekko was going to be pissed, again. 

part three

[hellfirecvnt]

Don't Piss me Off (Pt. 2)

John Q. (Simon) X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, oral (female receiving), "public" sex, unprotected sex (don't do that), poor life choices.

Summary: You still can't stand sticking around your parents for too long, but you stay in town for a while longer just to see him play. PART ONE IS HERE!!

Notes: I love him. I'm gonna write a million versions of the same story I stg. I didn't proof read. I got like 6 ideas at once and they're all getting written at the same time.

In the basement of a warehouse you'd assume abandoned, Simon and his band consisting of a handful of less ill-tempered, but just as dirty and dead-looking men set up for their performance. They're all spitting insults at each other as they scramble to plug in each meticulous piece of shoddy equipment they've acquired.

Simon's preoccupied. Clearly stuck on the thought of you. He realized hours ago that he never told you about the show tonight. He's wrapping the wire of the mic around his fist when he overhears the stagehands. "I didn't make it to Y/N's last party, I figured there would at least be one more before she bolted."

"She went back home?" Simon interrupts.

"Yeah, man. She left today, I'm pretty sure." The stagehands hoist a large amp to its spot, leaving Simon in the silence of realizing you two have no way of contacting each other. That's it. He shrugs his shoulders, brushing off any disappointment, as he's used to things falling through. Nothing's special to someone like him, or that's what he tells himself. He reaches into his back pocket and reveals a pair of underwear that had gotten tangled with his clothes when you did his laundry. He chuckles at the thought of how he would've made you think he stole them on purpose. He stuffs them back into his pocket and gets ready to perform as people start piling in the small venue.

You're nearly flooring it back to that gas station. Once inside, you leap over the counter and snatch the poster from the wall. "God damn! You could've just asked for the fucking flyer, man!" The cashier exclaims, certain you were attempting to rob the store.

"I don't have time!" You yell behind you as you sprint out the door. "Old fuckin' Mill building? Where the fuck is that?" You mumble to yourself, frustrated. You read that Psyops isn't set to play for another 30 minutes, so you speed around town to every old and decrepit site you can find. Four failures before you find the warehouse hosting the show tonight. "Finally!" You slam the van in park before bolting to the door.

"It's $10 to get in," a nonchalant man at the door huffs. You shove the money into his hand and he opens the large, black, graffitied door behind him. You're not shy in a crowd, so when you hear the boisterous speakers blasting the sound of guitar riffs through the building, you start shoving. The vibration sends the decently sized crowd into a wave of cheers and you finally make your way toward the front. You can hear a voice over the speakers, Simon. It's hard to make out what he's saying, but once the song starts, the crowd starts moving.

You're being jostled around for most of the set. Song after song, you try to force yourself to the front, but to no avail. Finally, once Simon takes one step off the slightly raised platform on which they're performing, you can reach him. His grip is white-knuckled around the microphone, now's your chance. You lunge forward and wrap a hand around the mic, pulling yourself forward. Confused and annoyed by the sudden tugging, Simon pulls back, effectively breaking through the wall of people blocking you. The moment your eyes meet his, under his ski mask, he grins. In the moment bringing you before him, he'd missed a few bars of the song, but effortlessly picks back up once you're front and center.

It feels like his eyes are locked on you for the rest of their set. You hate to admit it, but it's a hell of a show. The energy of the crowd, their presence on stage. No wonder Simon feels so strongly about it. He's a different person when he's John Q. An alias you found out about when you were seniors, and you hoped staying quiet about it would've shown him you weren't the snitch, but instead it took a coke bender several, several years later. Plus, he wasn't much less of a loser than you were. Who fucking cared back then that he has a stage name?

After Psyops' set, you and Simon slip outside for a smoke. Riled up from the show, he's too abuzz to make sure his face matches the angry stare he usually wears. "Someone said you were headed home already, didn't think I'd see you at a show any time soon," he says, lighting a cigarette.

"Said I would," you echo his words from his promise to back you up next time you got yourself into an altercation. "Can't let fucking John Q. be more trustworthy than me." Simon laughs at the mention of his stage persona. "I like the mask, though."

"Oh, yeah? That do somethin' for you?" He teases, reaching into his pocket for the mask, but pulling out a different wad of fabric. "Oops," he laughs, dangling your panties in front of you.

"Is that my fuckin' underwear, you god damn pervert?" You curl your lip, put off by the invasive behavior.

"They might be yours, I don't know. I get a lot pussy." Simon smirks with his eyes darkened on you.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck-" you're ready to lay into him, too violated to make any excuses despite how attractive he looks with messy hair and drying sweat.

"Calm the fuck down, they got mixed up with my shit when you washed my clothes at your house," he laughs. You roll your eyes and jump to grab them, but he's too quick. You miss the swipe and are now a great deal closer to him. "I'm gonna hold on to these," he says with a low voice as he scoops you against him with a hand placed on the small of your back. A second passes like an eternity and the two of you lock lips as he stuffs your underwear into his pocket again, allowing some of the silk and lace detail to hang out. As the kiss deepens, his hands move down your body, to your thighs before he grips your ass roughly. Soft moans escape against his lips as he gropes various parts of your curves.

"Do you know how worked up you get me?" He whispers between the press of your kiss. "Thought you left before I could get a taste." He reaches for your eyelet belt, but you stop him.

"Someone's gonna see us."

"Call it an encore," he mumbles before going back at your belt, but you swat him away again.

"At least take me around back, dumbass." You grab a fistful of his shirt and nearly drag him around the corner. It's dark and concealed from any passerby. He lifts you up onto a pad-mounted transformer and wraps your legs around him, still moving his head in sync with yours as each of your tongues explore each other's mouths.

"I guess I was kind of a prick to you back in the day, huh?" He whispers, running his hand through your hair.

"You were an angry piece of shit, yeah. We fuckin' or having a breakthrough?"

"Shut the fuck up for a second," he snaps. "I'm trying to apologize." He slips your denim shorts off your legs and all but falls to his knees in front of the large metal, green box you're sat on. His nimble index finger hooks around your thong and pulls it to the side. You barely have time to process what his "apology" will be before he plunges his head between your thighs. You fight to stifle a surprised moan as he conducts his skillful movements against your sensitive skin.

"Simon, oh, my God!" You whine, arching your back against the friction. He laughs against your skin sending waves of vibrations through your legs. One of his hands is occupied holding your panties to the side, the other is hooked around your hip, holding you securely in place as he meticulously works you over the edge.

"You want me to stop?" He asks, lips framed with drenched facial hair.

"No! No, I-" he cuts off your plea, resuming his position.

"Then stop fighting me," he snaps, harshly pinning you to the metal with the hand he had hooked on your hip. The stimulation quickly builds up, becoming too much, too quickly. You throw your head back and tangle a fist in his hair as he guides you through the high. Your legs shake and threaten to close around him, but his grip is too strong. You remain exactly where he wants you until you've ridden out your orgasm. You're slumped back on your elbows with your head down, breathing heavily as you return to reality.

Simon towers over you where you lay, staring down at you with his dark-circled eyes. You look up and watch him teasingly wipe his mouth, licking his lips like you're the first thing he's devoured in months. He slips your shorts halfway up your legs for you, leaving the rest of the work for whenever you can feel your legs again. "Um," you sigh. "Apology accepted."

"Tits."

"Is 'tits' good?" You furrow your eyebrows. He sighs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"You're leaving tonight, huh?" Simon lights a cigarette.

"Well... That's the plan." You feel a pit in your stomach when you think about going back home. The place is nice, it's far away. It's what you wanted, but life is full and meaningless. You don't have friends out there, it didn't strike you how hard it'd be to meet people in your mid 20s.

"You don't sound so sure about that plan, Y/N." He exhales a cloud that illuminates under the street lamp's orange glow.

"It's boring out there, but it's quiet. It's peaceful. My parents aren't in my ear telling me trying something new could kill me." You shrug.

"That's why you're running? Because of your frigid bitch mom and dad?" Simon laughs as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

"Okay, well. You know, maybe don't call them that or I'll lay you the fuck out, but yeah." You stand and fasten your shorts and belt, knees still threatening to buckle. "You had a hand in me leaving too."

"I know, I apologized!" He gestures to your trembling legs and you laugh.

"Yeah, yeah," you wave your hand at him. "Where'd you go? I was in town for weeks. I thought you were in the pin."

"I didn't want to overstay my welcome," he chuckles. "Or watch another fuckin' 80s movie with the volume on ten." He turns to look at you and he smirks.

"Well, my parents are in town now. I still have the rest of this week off. I was gonna spend it getting unpacked, but-"

"Fuck that. Let's go, you're driving." He walks off around the building toward the parking lot and you're dumbfounded for a moment.

"Of course I'm driving, it's my van!" You scramble after him. He hops in your passenger seat and you pull out of the lot, leaving his disgruntled band mates to pack up their own equipment. "You're not gonna help them?"

"What for? My shit's in the van. It's a microphone."

"Yeesh, sorry. Forgot you're actually kind of the worst when your head's not between my legs," you tease and Simon can't suppress a smile. As you cruise down the dark road, bright blue lights ignite in your mirrors. "Fuck. Get it the back." Simon wastes no time, he throws himself in the spacious rear area of the van as you pull over. You both wait anxiously for the cop to approach the window. Everything feels silent, until you finally hear the footsteps.

"I'm gonna run," Simon whispers, hand on the rear door latch.

"Don't." You demand sharply, rolling down your window for the cop. The air feels still and tight. It seems like it takes hours for the cop to speak, but when he does it's a routine traffic stop. He asks you if you knew how fast you were going and you innocently explain the floating nature of your speedometer. The officer laughs when he reads your ID and sees your last name.

"You're Frank's kid, right?"

"Yeah, his one and only." You beam, proudly. Happy to name drop your wealthy family.

"You just try to slow it down and tell your dad I said hello, alright?" The cop taps your door twice and sends you on your way. As you pull off, Simon peeks out from under the blankets and sighs with relief.

"Holy shit, with the way this thing looks, you should've been strip searched." Simon tosses himself back into the passenger seat.

"Don't shit-talk my van," you hiss. Simon proceeds to tell you where to go, each turn and shortcut, until you reach a large white house, almost as status defining as your parents'.

"My parents are out of town." He points to a concealed area to park and leads you to a basement door. He fights with a key for a moment before leading you inside. It's a messy basement room with red walls and posters from ceiling to floor. Instruments take up most of the space, aside from the bed.

"Do you avoid your parents like me, or do your parents avoid you?" You ask, bluntly, not considering the weight of that question.

"Both, I guess." He says after a long pause.

"You... Wanna smoke?" You ask, unsure how to navigate the silence.

"Can't. Fucks with my motivation," he grins. You shrug, rolling and smoking a joint by yourself while Simon works on some songs. He's got an ear for every instrument in his room, and he layers them over each other, creating complex instrumentals. It's nice to listen to while you lie on his bed and watch the swirling tendrils of smoke twist into the light and air above you.

"It sounds nice," you hum, settling into the cozy divot in the center of his mattress-on-the-floor.

"Write something for it," he commands, tossing a notepad and pen at you.

"Like lyrics? Why?" You stare at the blank page, unable to read the layers and layers of writing indented into it from Simon's heavy, angry hand.

"You need an out, I'm giving you one." He leans back in the rolling chair he resides in, staring me down like a hawk.

"I don't think I'm a very musical person. I think I'm more of a doodler, really," you argue, scribbling in the corner of the paper.

"Just fuckin' write something down and stop being a pussy." He snatches the pen from you and tosses it onto the pad.

"Bitch- How does that make me a pussy?" Your eyes narrow at him.

"It'd be too vulnerable. You're no tougher than that kid you were in high school. It's all fake now." It's clear he's taunting you. Making a fair attempt at reverse psychology.

"Fuck you, give me a minute," you huff, writing a line or two to start with. "Play your shit again." And he does. Restarting the instrumental he put together just for you. After a while, you've written something and you sling the notepad at Simon. He takes a moment to read through it a few times, almost trying to decode the melody of how I'd sang it in my head.

"Perfect. Now sing it." He nods toward his microphone stand.

"Fuck's sake, dude. Are you serious?" You whine, pushed further and further out of your comfort zone.

"Come on, let's see what you got," he says in a tone that lets me know I've already lost the argument.

"It doesn't feel good to be vulnerable to you."

"Tough it out." You roll your eyes at his demand, but you do it. You tough it out and recite your song over the music he provided. He hits 'restart,' and then 'record,' and then he points to you. After a measure you begin to sing. Low effort, but still angelic. Your song is about the feeling of being homesick no matter where you end up. It's about running and putting up a face as a defense mechanism. It's about wearing a mask.

When you're done singing and the music fades out, Simon slides the headphones off his ears. "That... Was tits." He looks elated. Like a poor painter with a new pallet.

"Is 'tits' good?" You ask again, emphasizing the lack of answer last time you asked.

"Yeah, 'tits' is good." He grins. "That was good."

"Fuck you. Who's not vulnerable?" You curl your lip, clearly more moved by the challenge than the release he was offering. Simon just shakes his head.

"Let's mix it." He beelines for the computer and begins fine tuning the song. You're watching in awe of his quick skill at this craft. As if watching him play all those instruments wasn't impressive enough. The night grows older. Simon offers you your favorite party favor, but you're over it. So the two of you share a joint.

"You don't ever get tired of living in a circle?" You ask through a cloud of smoke.

"A fuckin' circle?" He looks at you.

"Just, still in this town, still avoiding your parents, still making music alone in your room."

"Fuck," he huffs, offended but acknowledging the truth in your words. "Do you ever get tired of running from it?"

"Touché." You bring the joint to your lips as you lie in his disheveled bed. His arm snaked around you ages ago, slowly pulling you closer and closer to him. Like he's worried you'll float away.

"If our only two options are run away or get sucked into this shit hole of a town, I think we're a little fucked, don't you?" He chuckles to himself.

"Maybe those aren't the only options. We just don't have all the answers yet. I don't think anyone does." Your voice is wistful and quiet. You can feel Simon's eyes on you, but you stare at his dark ceiling. He rolls his eyes at your corny words, but he knows you're right. "It's funny, because if I could run from the uncertainty too, I would." You giggle, aware of your vices and poor coping skills.

"Yeah, you would," Simon mocks.

"And you? You're just going to live with it? Sit right beside the discomfort and accept that for yourself? Have you ever tried to give yourself more, even if it meant running?" You're slowly building up a sense of passion behind your words and Simon just listens, staring deeply into your eyes as you speak. Suddenly, you're cut off when he wraps a hand around the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. His lips crash into yours and the two of you melt into each other.

You can't even remember what you were saying, you just know you don't want to stop touching him. The heat of the kiss begins to swell as Simon's hands trail up and down your body. He's grabbing at you in a specific order, like he's been waiting to get his hands on it. Really get his hands on it. You grasp at the hem of his shirt, tugging in semblance to take it the fuck off, and he does.

His broad, pale chest rises and falls with anticipation as you strip off the same article of clothing. "Jesus Christ," he moans, pulling you to him to shove his face directly between your breasts. He breathes deeply, taking you in. With one swift motion, he's hoisted you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist. Simon unfastens the button on your jeans before tossing you to the side to undress you.

You're both naked and greatly anticipating the next moment your skin will touch. Seconds feel like hours until you're pressed against each other again. Simon buries his face in the crook of your neck as he guides his throbbing erection to your entrance. You're squirming and arching beneath him, and he releases a breathy laugh as he watches you writhe. "You're aching for it," he groans.

"Fuck you," you hiss, pulling him closer to you by his shoulders. All he does is chuckle before slowly slipping inside you. You moan loudly as you adjust to his size. Something about a lanky, dead-eyed man. His pace is steady as he rocks his hips against yours, picking up speed as you gush around him. Soon his thrusts are hard and rough, and your loud, vulgar moans echo off his bedroom walls.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he huffs, pulling out of you and tossing you aside. Simon quickly repositions you in front of him, on all fours. You let your back arch naturally, putting on a bit of a show for him as he watches you. His eyes are darkened and his smirk sends chills down your spine. You can't help but smile wide in excitement. With two round hands, he grabs your waist and positions you at the perfect height. His hands wander the soft flesh of your ass as you press up against him. "You drive me fucking crazy..." He sighs as he slips inside you.

Simon digs the tips of his fingers into your skin, pulling you against him with every violent thrust. You do everything you can to contort your body to give him more of you. He throws his head back, falling into a sloppy, unsteady pace. His breathing is wild and primal all the way up until the point of climax. You release a loud, fluttering moan as he fucks you through your high, quickly withdrawing to finish on your back and ass. You're both breathless for a while, the room is silent but for the sound of your lungs filling and deflating.

Simon climbs off the bed, but you're too fucked out to even raise your head up to watch where he's going. Moments later, he returns, towel in hand. He cleans you up and lands a hard smack on your right ass cheek. The sound is thunderous against the silence. You yelp and break into quiet chuckles.

Finally, you have the strength to roll over. You sit up against the mess of pillows that became a sort of headboard for his bed, feeling beautiful and bare before him. It's a nice feeling that you're not used to. Sure you've had your flings, but it's never occurred to you how quickly you tend to leave or cover up after. Not this time. You're both fully exposed and Simon's eyes drink you in, one last time before he speaks. "Don't go back." You stare at him for a long while, silent.

"I won't," you gasp, surprised by your own promise. As soon as the words leave your mouth, his lips are on yours. In the next few days, you quit your job and Simon rides with you to go back and get the most important of your shit. The rest goes with the trailer when you sell it. You don't run a single thing past your parents and you don't tell them you're coming back to town. It's a new sense of peace and adventure, though it feels like abandoning your old life.

After a month of van living, you and Simon get an apartment and constantly receive complaints about the noise, but nothing stops the music overflowing from your floor of the building. A new sense of bliss. It's comfortable now.

[athenaluthor]

Living Daylights ~ Darth Vader.

summary: Husband!Vader comes home angry and he needs to let out some anger.

warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, SMUT, Unburnt!Vader, Dubcon, Creampie, Rough, PiV, Domestic Vader, mentions of kids.

Word count - 1.6k

masterlist

Comfortably sat on the living room sofa, she waited for her husband. Though he would never admit it, he enjoyed having someone greet him after a long day. A familiar face to wash away the troubles of the day right when he walks through the door.

Truth be told, she needed it too. Working from home while taking care of two incredibly restless boys was exhausting, especially when both were terribly ill from a flu being passed around at school. Between runny noses, high fevers and tears; she clearly needed a break from being pulled in a million different directions.

The attendants scurry to open the door for him, quickly scrambling away right after, none wanting to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

The sound of Vader's ship landing snaps her out her trance rather abruptly. Looking out, she sees him storming out of it the moment the ship is secured on the landing pad. He was infuriated, his footsteps echoing loudly, a clear show of his anger.

Testing the waters, she gently calls out to him “Vader..?”.

She receives no reply. His body is unusually rigid, making the hairs on her body rise. Days like this would usually end with her laying on her back, legs spread and him mercilessly pounding away at her. Not that she minds, but tonight she prays that it wouldn't be the case, she barely had any energy left. Vader undeniably enjoyed fucking the living daylights out of his wife.

Usually, he would give her a chaste kiss on the lips or cheek before grabbing her hand to retire to their bedroom. He wouldn't ask for much, just some help with his suit and sometimes a bath. On some occasions, he'd ask her to help with his strained muscles or injuries.

Today, he was nothing of that sort. Vader grabs her arm and pulls her roughly towards their shared quarters. A chill runs down her spine. The last time this occurred, she could barely walk after. Vader had taken her so many times and so hard that night that she blacked out several times. Thank the Maker that their bedroom had been soundproofed. She prayed that their children would never see what Vader would do to her. Vader's was insatiable especially when he was angry.

“Vader? What's wrong?” she asks again only to receive a low grunt from him.

Admittedly, the past few months had been hectic, Vader had been engulfed and utterly preoccupied with work, while she tried to wrangle two young boys at home. They've barely seen one another without being interrupted by work or their children. She didn't need to see his face to know he was angry and frustrated.

The moment they make it through the door, Vader tosses her onto the bed. He was mostly careful with her in bed, save for the occasions where he was angry. The rough act earned a rather terrified whimper from her, surprised by his abruptness.

Then, he unclasps his helmet, dropping it to the floor with a loud clang. Wasting no time, he pounces on top of her, roughly kissing her with vigor. His hands were roaming her body as if he was mapping her out. Taken aback, she places her hands on his chest, trying to make him slow down and to let her breathe.

Within no time, Vader managed to tear off her clothes off her body. Judging by his acts, he was in no mood to play and jest. His eyes were filled with rage and lust, he looked every bit the Sith Lord people feared.

Vader begins to strip himself of his suit, each piece thrown aside without a thought. He would pick them up later once he was done fucking his wife, his beautiful wife.

Then, Vader buries his face in her neck, beginning his assault of kisses and leaving a trail of red spots in his wake. He adored marking her skin, letting the galaxy know she was his.

Vader's hand moves down to her clit, pinching it. She lets out a small noise, surprised at the action. Vader toys with her clit and runs his tongue across her nipples.

“Vader! Gods, slow down!” she begs him.

Without warning, he inserts two of his large fingers in her. Earning a moan of both pleasure and pain escapes me at the sudden intrusion. She wasn't wet enough for it yet, and he knew it. Vader thrusts his fingers in and out of her without care, sending a sharp pain through her. He knew she liked it when he was rough, how wet she would get when he had his way with her.

Vader's mouth is now on her clit, his tongue flicking the bundle of nerves while his fingers violate her. Vader knew how to make me pliable, bending to his every command. He knew how to turn her to a pile of moans, to have her pussy leaking for him.

He begins to toy between flicking his tongue on her clit and sucking it, making her so,so wet. Her hands reach down to his head, grabbing the head of soft blonde curls as he made her head spin.

Vader then curls his fingers towards my sweet spot, earning a rather loud moan from her. His cock was so hard by now, he needed to fuck her soon.

She could feel the pressure build in her lower belly, taut and dizzying. Vader knew how to read her cues. How her walls would clench when her orgasm was building or how cunt would be dripping wet, soaking his fingers and the sheets. His pace was relentless, pistoning his fingers in and out of her so quickly.

Trying to hold herself together, she grasped at anything she could. Feeling the pressure grow tauter and tauter until it eventually snaps, sending her body into blind pleasure. Moaning and tossing around as her body came.

Vader drank up her moans, reveling in how her back would arch and how she clenched down on his fingers as she came. He did not stop, continuing to finger her through it, his mouth also continued its assault on her. He loved overstimulating his wife.

“Va-vader! It's too much! Give me a break, please!” she begs, back arching from pleasure.

“You can take it. Even if you can't, I'll make sure you do.”

The second orgasm builds up so quickly, the pleasure made her body shake. Her clit was overstimulated and her hole was sore from his fingers. She tries to close my legs together but Vader quickly pins them down.

“Try that again and you'll regret it, wife.”

Her second orgasm hits and her mind is empty. Only thoughts of her husband having his way with her remained. The pleasure was too much all at once, earning incoherent moans and screams from her. She can't seem to catch her breath,her body wildly thrashes on the bed. As Vader slips his fingers out of her, her body is limp, tired from the overstimulation.

Vader positions his hard cock between her legs and she had no energy to resist. Vader's lust was insatiable at times. Regardless of what she wanted, he would fuck her when he wanted to fuck me.

Vader slides his cock inside her, her cunt was dripping, making it easier for him to fuck her. Her walls were so warm and tight, Vader had to resist the urge to come immediately like a teenage boy.

Despite being wet enough, the stretch still stung. Vader's cock was long and girthy and a few months without sex made it even harder to take.

It didn't help that Vader was not gentle, he thrusted his whole length in without hesitation, bottoming out in her. She let out a pained groaned while he moans loudly.

He wasted no time. Vader began thrusting in and out of her roughly, his pace unwavering. He needed to fuck her, he needed to bury himself so deep inside his wife. The head of his cock hit her cervix repeatedly, making her scream. She hoped he wouldn't fuck her all night, she didn't think she could take it.

Vader was sure she would be so sore in the morning. He hadn't fucked her in so long, her pussy was so tight.

“God, you're so deep. Just, slow down.” she pants.

“I can't. I kriffing can't! You feel too good wrapped around me.” he says, sounding breathless.

Vader buries his face in her neck as he continues to pound into his wife. Grunting into her neck with each thrust, shaking the bed as he does so. The sharp pain his rough pounding caused made her head spin, reducing her to moans and whimpers of pain and pleasure.

Vader pins her hands above her head, while he kisses her lips roughly. Vader loved to kiss her while she moaned, her moans drive him crazy. So crazy that he'd fuck her for hours just to hear them.

As he fucked her hard, her third orgasm approaches. This time, the pleasure builds so quickly she could barely think. Her body hadn't felt this much pleasure in months.

One of Vader's hands reaches down to rub her clit, he knew by the way she tightened around his cock. He knew she was close. So, Vader's fingers reach down and plays with her clit. Vader's fingers on her clit pushed over the edge.

She screams into their kiss as she came around his cock. Vader grunts in reply as her walls clamped down on his cock. Vader loved the way her legs shook, overwhelmed by pleasure. He loved how fucked out she looked under him.

Vader pulls away from their kiss and says“You’re so tight when you come on my cock. I can barely move, fuck! You love it when I fuck the living daylights out of you, huh?”.

Vader's pace does not falter even after she came. By this point, she could barely process what was happening. His thrusts, his grunts and his kisses all pushed me to edge of her limits. Her body was riddled with pleasure and exhaustion as he fucked her.

Vader pinches her nipples and slaps her breasts and he fucks her. His roughness made her breathless. His grunts only spurred her on. Fueling the pleasure in her veins and she could feel his thrusts becoming more and more frantic, he was close. He would come soon and he would fill her with his come, stuff her so full of him.

She loved being filled by him, having his seed in her. She loved it when he treated her like this.

Suddenly, Vader grips her hips and lifts them slightly. He increased his speed, pounding her like his life depended on it. Anyone watching would think Vader had gone insane.

His pace was relentless and his grunts echoed through their bedroom. Vader wraps one of his hands around her throat, putting slight pressure on it.

She moaned his name repeatedly, trying to hold on to the edges of her consciousness as her Vader fucks her. The lack of air making it harder for her to stay conscious.

Vader comes with a loud groans and grunts, rutting wildly into her. Vader shoots his seed deep inside her womb, painting her insides.

The feel of his seed her was euphoric. It pushed another orgasm through her body. Her body shook as he continued to thrust into her softly through both of their climax. Vader lets go of her throat right as she was about to faint.

Her vision darkens for a few moments, her body unable to handle the pleasure and exhaustion. Laying there limp and satiated with her husband buried deep inside her, where he belongs.

Vader softly strokes her cheek, trying to rouse her back to reality. She opens her eyes to the sight of him looking at her with worried eyes.

“You still there?” He softly asks.

Too weak to answer, she merely nods. Her skin was sticky, her heart was beating wildly and she was barely able to catch her breath.

Vader slides himself out of her slowly, his seed dripping out of her and soaking the sheets. Vader's cock hardens slightly at the sight. His seed coming out her hole was enough to make him want to fuck her again.

Worried about over exhausting her, he refrains. He slowly lifts her up and sets her on the bed properly. Laying her limp body down, head on the pillow and comfortable.

Somewhere in her daze, he cleaned her up with a damp towel and tucked her in. The room was warm and cozy which made her smile. He adjusted the temperature so they both would be comfortable.

When she woke, he had just came out of the shower and dressed only in long pants. Sliding into bed, his skin was cool against hers. He pulled her into his arms, allowing her head to be resting on his chest.

“I heard the boys were sick today. You stayed home with them?” He asks.

“They were. Some flu has been going around at school. Their fevers have broke so they should be better in a few days.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“Not much. Gave them medicine and advised they rest. Told me to monitor their temperatures and coughs, and call him if they get worse."

“I'm sorry.”

“Hmm? About what?”

“I came home and fucked the living daylights out of you without even greeting you.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Was it too much?”

“A little. What was it about, hm? You don't usually come home that angry.” I ask, tracing patterns on his chest.

“Nothing you should concern your pretty little head about. You should sleep. I can tell you're tired.” He replies while rubbing my arms softly.

He's avoiding telling her about it. She's learned not to prod when he's not ready to talk, he's Vader. He won't talk until he wants to.

Once she's asleep on his chest, Vader's mind wanders off. He would not include her in his plans, it was too dangerous. But soon, very soon, they would be free.

Free from the Emperor.

He slips out of bed and heads to his children's bedroom. Vader couldn't sleep anyways, he might as well check on his children. Seeing them would help him ground himself and calm down.

He slips inside their rooms quietly, not wanting to wake them up. He checks on each of the boys' temperature, making sure their fevers weren't too high. He stood there for a while watching them peacefully sleep. They were pure and untainted by the world around them, unlike him.

He would make sure Palpatine would never touch any of them again. Not his wife, not his children.

His youngest stirred awake, the bluest sleepy eyes staring back at him. He could tell the little boy was on the verge of tears, probably uncomfortable from being sick.

He gently picks up the boy and soothes him. His wife and eldest were sound asleep, he didn't want them to wake up as well. Vader's youngest son melts in his arms, and so does he. His son buries his tiny face into Vader's neck.

The little boy still had a slight fever and was probably still uncomfortable. Vader could feel the little boy's tears on his neck. Vader couldn't resist loving his two boys. He would much rather die before letting Palpatine dig his claws into them as well.

So, he'll fight. Palpatine will be gone and defeated. He swears it.

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Epilogue

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: That marks the end of this series :( thank you guys so much for all the love and feedback! I’m so proud of this series and I hope u guys love it as much as I do.

Masterlist: Here

It had been a year since the custody battle, since Rafe and you had found yourselves standing side by side, figuring out this whole "family" thing. A year since both of you issued a restraining order against Ward, and the judge granted it. A year since you stopped pretending you didn’t feel something for him, and he stopped acting like he was too good for anyone, especially you. Now, the chaos of life had settled into a strange, beautiful rhythm. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was yours.

And, somehow, against all odds, the three of you had made it work.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, where you stood trying to assemble breakfast. You had learned, over time, that cooking for Willa was an Olympic sport. Every time you managed to whip together a simple meal, she somehow managed to flip the situation on its head—literally.

"Willa, no!" you heard Rafe call out from the living room. You looked up just in time to see him frantically trying to stop her from scaling the couch like some sort of tiny, diaper-clad Spider-Man. “You can’t climb up there!”

But Willa was undeterred. She gave a small shriek of triumph, her baby legs scrabbling up the cushions like she was born to conquer furniture. You had to admit, you were impressed.

"I swear she’s part monkey," you muttered under your breath, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand.

Rafe stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking out at odd angles, the look of a man who had given up on ever having a decent morning.

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” he deadpanned, rubbing his face. “We’ve had this conversation a hundred times. No more couch climbing. She’s already an inch away from that giant coffee table, which, let me remind you, is made of solid oak. And do you know what happens when Willa decides gravity is optional?”

You snorted. “We end up on the floor with her holding a half-empty juice box like she’s just conquered the world, while you scramble to pick up the pieces of your dignity.”

He shot you a pointed look. “Exactly.”

You set the pancakes aside and wandered over to rescue Willa, who was now attempting to climb up the back of the couch like a small, determined mountain goat. Scooping her up with one hand, you held her up in front of you. “You know, kid, you’re lucky you’re so cute, because if I had to stop doing my work every time you decided to do a backflip off a chair, I’d be in therapy by now.”

Willa gurgled, her eyes wide and innocent, as though she didn’t have a single rebellious bone in her tiny body.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I’m just saying, if she’d stop doing that, maybe I could get ten minutes of peace. But no. We live in a house of chaos.”

You smirked, watching as Willa grabbed his shirt and yanked. “If she’s chaos, you’re the tornado that hits right after,” you teased, making Rafe roll his eyes dramatically. “Just admit it—you love it.”

He groaned but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I love the chaos. But you have to admit it’s a lot of work. I mean, who’s going to put together her tiny little rocking horse without accidentally breaking something?”

“Not me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I broke that rocking horse three times already.”

At that, Rafe laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ll take that as my cue to fix it. You keep trying to make breakfast, and I’ll figure out what’s going on with the toy horse that’s apparently haunted.”

Willa babbled in your arms, and you kissed the top of her head. “I’m not saying this to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure she is a secret agent in training. I’ve seen her figure out how to break into places she’s not supposed to be like she’s in a spy movie.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Spy movie? She’s more like a tiny burglar who knows how to manipulate you with her big eyes and unstoppable giggle.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Fair. But I still think she could make a killing in espionage. Maybe we should start saving for her college fund in case she ends up needing a fake passport.”

Rafe grinned, his mood visibly lightened by your banter. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to need therapy more than we need a college fund. But I’ll get started on that fake passport idea, just in case.”

You grinned back at him, feeling that familiar warmth settle in your chest. There was a time—just a year ago—when you had no idea what your future would look like. Now, here you were, a family, even if it didn’t look like any family you had ever imagined.

“Well,” you said, turning back to the pancakes, “we better get our act together before she eats all the syrup by herself.”

Rafe snorted and shot you a grin. “You think she’s not going to try that already?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Later that day, after Willa’s nap (which, let’s be honest, was more of a battle than an actual nap), you and Rafe found yourselves in the backyard, taking a breather after the chaotic lunch you’d just survived. Willa was happily playing in her little sandbox, tossing sand like it was confetti at a New Year’s party, while you and Rafe collapsed onto the porch swing, exhausted but content.

"How the hell did we get here?" you asked, your voice quiet, more to yourself than to him.

Rafe leaned back with a sigh, staring up at the sky. "I’m pretty sure we got here because you’re too stubborn to admit you love me," he said with a grin.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Excuse me, but it’s not just me that’s stubborn. Have you seen the way you try to resist her puppy-dog eyes? You can’t even handle Willa when she does her sad little face, and you know it."

He groaned. “It’s my kryptonite. I’m weak. I’ll admit it.”

“Good. Because that means you’re finally accepting that she’s the boss around here. We’re just along for the ride.”

Rafe chuckled, nudging you back. “If that’s true, then I’m okay with it. Besides, she has the best team behind her, right?”

You smiled softly, watching Willa scoop up a handful of sand and drop it like a tiny little sandstorm. “Right. And we’re the best team for her.”

There was a pause, a quiet moment where both of you watched Willa. The future was still uncertain—life always was—but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem so scary.

“Well,” Rafe said, standing up and stretching, “I guess we better go make sure our future crime boss doesn’t eat the sand. You know, for her health.”

You snorted, laughing as you stood too. “You mean for the safety of our sanity?”

“That too,” Rafe said, laughing as he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a warm hug.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And for once, that was enough.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

And so, life continued. Chaotic. Messy. Full of love. Your newfound family was far from conventional, but it was undeniably theirs—and somehow, that made it all the more beautiful.

Plus, Willa? She’d definitely grow up to be a world-class agent of chaos, and Rafe and you would have to learn to live with that.

But at least you’d be together.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Brand New

A/N- This is my very first fully written fic for Bill and i couldn’t be more excited to post it 🤭 i’ve struggled a little bit with writing something in full for him, I’m still trying to get a grasp on his character, but i hope that my interpretation goes along with how others interpret him too 🥰 i personally have a little bit of experience with nerd culture, horror movies specifically, so i used some of my knowledge to help this one go along a little more smoothly 😅 i’m trying to get the comics read through, but for now all ive watched for the last month is the Eltingville Club pilot and i’m OBSESSED

Summary- Bill isn’t too enthusiastic about the new neighbors moving in, but his mind changes as he watches the movers bringing in a few pieces of memorabilia he recognizes. He gets confused, however, when he sees just one pretty girl wander in after the owners.

Genre- Fluff (?)

Warnings- Normal vulgar thoughts of super nerdy guys who have never felt the touch of a woman

Tag List- No tag list yet! Please let me know if you’d like to be added 🖤

Word Count- 3.1k

Bill yawned at the breakfast table in the kitchen, picking at the leftover scraps of scrambled eggs on his plate.

The night before was a long one, as always. Another club meeting, another series of arguments over who actually won during their game of Street Fighter, another rewatch of Return of the Jedi just to see Carrie Fisher in that metal bikini they can never get out of their heads. It was always how he spent his Friday nights, he just wished the Saturday mornings would be a bit more interesting.

They were always the same. He’d wake up, do his normal morning routine, and sit at the breakfast table waiting for a call from one of the guys to see if they were still up for going out after nearly killing each other the night before.

Bill enjoyed how routine everything was, but every now and then he’d hope that something, anything, could interrupt their normal schedule and give them something else to sneak into their routine. And when he heard the loud screeching of a moving truck stopping outside, he perked up almost immediately.

“Bill!” His mother called from the living room, “I’m taking Jane to the mall with her friends, keep the noise down and don’t bother the new people next door!” She shouted, just before the front door slammed shut.

At least he’d be able to watch the new people move in by himself and get a good read on them.

He tossed his plate into the sink and ran upstairs, ignoring the phone ringing downstairs and waiting to finally pick it up until he made it to his room.

“Hello?” He said as he picked up the phone from the handset on his nightstand, shutting his bedroom door and watching out the window for whoever could be moving in next door.

“Hey, are we still up for today?” It was Pete, calling to confirm wether or not Josh threatening to burn Bills comic collection was a deal breaker for them going to the movies to see whatever sci-fi flick came out that week.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Bill said, half listening as he watched the movers lift up the back of the truck.

“You sure?” Pete asked on the other end, “You sound a little distracted.”

“Yeah…” Bill trailed off as the movers began lifting out the boxes to one another and bringing them into the house next door, doing his best to read the sharpie labels written on the sides, “Yeah, sure. Just uhh…” He glanced over at the clock, 11:57 am, “Why don’t you guys get here in an hour and we’ll go, alright?” Bill kept watching the boxes get lugged inside and his attention was grabbed by the car that pulled into the driveway. He saw the two front doors open and an older couple stepped out, the new owners he figured. He was just about to finish his spying until you caught his attention.

He watched as the back drivers side door opened, and as you stepped out of the car to stretch, Bills eyes widened.

You were breathtaking.

Even in your comfies, no doubt from the long drive, and with your hair done messily, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He’d be forever grateful to finally live next to someone of your beauty. Stuck under your trance, he had completely forgotten about the phone in his hand.

“Bill!” Pete shouted, finally grabbing his attention back.

“Yes?! What?!” Bill shouted back as he kept watching you, gasping and reeling back from his window as his shouts caught your attention. Your eyes met for a nanosecond, but it was longer than he wanted. If he could manage to go the entire length of you living in that house without so much as a wave to one another he’d be in bliss. Watching you from afar and admiring everything you did from the confines of his bedroom or basement. But now you knew he was there. And he was fucked.

“We’ll be there in an hour, alright? See you then.” Pete hung up the phone, but Bill didn’t even notice.

He was too caught up in the fact that this was probably the closest he’ll get to a girl as pretty as you, and that’s only because you’d be living right next door. His mind was wandering to all those same places it would go to any time he had a new muse.

So far this month it had been Jade from Mortal Kombat, Terri from Anaconda, and now you. And he knew you’d be the one on his mind the longest.

He couldn’t help himself.

Hell, he didn’t even know your name, but he wanted to so badly. He knew he could never let himself get that close to you.

Bill sighed to himself, setting the phone onto the floor next to him as he thought of you. Being on of his beautiful ensigns in his Captain Kirk fantasies, dressed up in Leia’s metal bikini as you begged him to rescue you from Jabba, trapped in the chains of an evil sorcerer with a tattered and revealing princess dress while he and the rest of his D&D party came to your aid. He couldn’t stop.

Bill shook his head, trying to get those thoughts out of his head, but the sudden sound of a few boxes dropping and your shouts were definitely able to help. He turned his head back to carefully peek out the window and saw you next to what looked like a dropped box, a few of the contents fallen out, still wrapped up on bubble wrap.

“Be careful!” You shouted to the movers, “This stuff was expensive…”

Bills eyes widened as he saw what he thought was a few recognizable slasher masks, mint condition, wrapped up in vintage plastic packaging as you unwrapped the bubble wrap to see if they had broken.

Bill watched closer, his hands up on his windowsill to prop himself up as he watched you put the last of the called objects into the box and pick it up, carrying it inside the house yourself. As he watched you walk inside, he tried to make out the name on the side of the box,

“(y/n)‘s room…” He whispered to himself as he stared out at the spot you walked from, hoping to see you once more.

Bill was caught off guard at the sound of footsteps making their way inside the room across from his, and when he saw you enter with the box he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Even with getting a closer look at you, he knew it would be hard to not keep his eyes on that window to get a peek at you every chance he could.

He watched as you set the box down onto the floor, a few movers following in behind you, lugging in bigger and heavier boxes and setting them hard onto the floor. Bill could hear your frustrated groans and did his best to keep himself hidden, but the stack of comics next to him had other plans.

As Bill leaned himself up further to get a quick peek inside your room, they had fallen over onto the floor, knocking down the plastic bin filled with various half painted mini figurines for their D&D board. He dove to the ground to keep the sound from grabbing your attention, but when he heard your shouts he knew he was done for.

“Hey!” You shouted to him from outside your window, “I know you’re there, don’t ignore me.”

Bill cursed at himself for his stupidity before slowly standing up, his cheeks flushed knowing he was caught.

“You know,” You said as you stepped back from the open window, “If you’re going to spy, you can at least try to not get yourself caught. I could see you watching us in the driveway.”

Bill wasn’t sure what to say.

He was caught red handed, and he had never had someone call him out on his behavior so quickly. He felt compelled to apologize but it felt so foreign to him. He managed to muster out a quick and quiet,

“Sorry…” as he stood there before his open window.

“It’s fine…” You said, an audible eye roll in your tone, “Don’t do it too often, ok? You’re not going to be one of those perverts that tries to watch me change through the window, are you?” You crossed your arms over your chest, and though the thought definitely had crossed Bill’s mind, he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance now. It was almost like you knew his every move.

All he could do was stand there quietly, shaking his head.

“Good.” You closed your window halfway, going back to the boxes on your floor to begin unpacking as a few more of the movers bought in a couple more boxes.

Bill couldn’t help himself from watching you carefully unpack the boxes after slamming the bedroom door behind the movers.

One of them was flatter than the others, and he watched you place it on top of one of the bigger boxes before peeling the tape off and opening the top flaps. It was full of posters and prints of various sizes, each one of them had a different horror movie monster or scene on it.

Bill sat at the edge of his bed, watching you take out one of the rolls of tape the movers left with the boxes and begin placing them all over the walls.

He couldn’t believe a few of the ones he saw you put up.

A vintage Jaws poster with black sharpie scribbled over the title, no doubt the autographs of Richard Dreyfuss, Roy Scheider and Robert Shaw. The one next to it was a printed scene from Night of The Living Dead, Barbara being chased through the cemetery by Johnny. The last one he watched you put up was unmistakable, and he was shocked such a pretty girl would be into something like it…

It was a black light poster for Cannibal Holocaust, and it was more graphic than the movie poster itself. He could see the scene of the impaled girl in his head as he looked at the poster, shaking his head to get his thoughts together, but not before blurting out,

“Is that Cannibal Holocaust?” Out the window to you.

it was loud enough to catch your attention, and just as you had found the perfect spot for your Toxic Avenger poster. You wandered back over towards the window, lifting it up the rest of the way and poking your head out,

“What did you say?”

“Is that…” Bill asked, his voice quiet as he pointed out the poster behind you, “Is that from Cannibal Holocaust?”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, quickly looking back at the poster behind you to confirm his suspicions,

“Oh. Yeah, it is.” You nod to him, “Why?”

Bill shrugged, not expecting his sudden outburst to turn into a conversation with you,

“I just… recognized it.” He said with a nervous quiver, “Didn’t know girls liked that stuff…”

“Yeah, well, I like that stuff.” You said with a shrug, keeping the window open as you went back to hanging up your posters and prints.

Bill nodded to himself, trying so hard to take his eyes off of you, but the revelation that this gorgeous girl next door could be into the same cheesy gory horror movies as him was too interesting for him to not want to know more.

He kept his distance, sensing a bit of hostility in your tone, but his curiosity was getting the best of him. He tried to get a decent look at the other things you had been unpacking.

Clothes, books, a few VHS tapes, but what really caught his eye was when you opened up the box that had been dropped outside.

He watched you carefully unwrap each piece of memorabilia from its bubble wrap, and he was surprised to see a few of the things that were inside.

A few vintage halloween masks still in their plastic packaging, along with Jason’s hockey mask, Freddy’s finger knives, and what looked to be an exact replica of the Book of the Dead from The Evil Dead. So many things from so many different movies and he was still so surprised that such a pretty girl would be interested in things like that. Things that are dark and grotesque, things that are terrifying to most people, things that he figured only him and the guys liked until you came along. Bill was so used to having girls turn the other way at the sight of these kinds of things, and yet you embraced them. It only made him more and more interested in seeing what else you had hidden away in those boxes. Wether it was more memorabilia, or hopefully you’d stumble upon a box filled with intimates for him to fantasize about later. Either way, he was intrigued.

“You stare a lot, you know that?” You said as you kept unpacking in your bedroom.

Bill realized that he hadn’t even noticed how long he had been peering into your room,

“Oh. Sorry.” He reeled back slightly as he felt the blood rush to his face.

Why was he acting this way?

He had never felt so intrigued by a girl without even knowing her name. He had his fair share of crushes before, not being able to stop himself from staring whoever he saw them out and about and he tried so hard to make himself seem confident in front of them and it never worked. He knew he would scare them off without as much as a ‘Hi’ from them, and yet you were still talking to him. He was hoping it wasn’t just from the forced proximity.

“I don’t mean to stare. I just don’t think i’ve seen that much horror memorabilia in one place…” He stepped further to the window for a closer peek into your room, excited to see some clothes starting to be laid out onto the mattress of your bed, but seeing a wide variety of movies, books and merchandise scattered around as you unpacked caught his attention in a way that nothing else could. It felt as if he was being drawn to it by a force he could only describe as ‘want’.

“Oh…” You turned and looked around your still somewhat empty room, seeing all the different pieces of your personality from a different perspective, “I guess i do have a lot of stuff. I’ve been collecting for a while, I guess i just didn’t notice.”

“Not that it’s a bad thing!” Bill said quickly, almost shouting as he finally found common ground to explore. It wasn’t something huge, but it was better than nothing, “I’ve been building a collection of my own for quite a while.” Bill chuckled nervously before stepping back from the window to give you a better view of the inside of his room.

You slowly stepped up to the glass, lifting it back up all the way as you peeked inside of his bedroom. And it was a lot more than you were expecting.

Walls completely covered with video game and comic book posters, a few older horror movie prints alongside them, shelves covered in comics and action figures still in their packaging from god knows how long ago, and you could see the boxes of mini D&D figurines and various VHS tapes all strewn along the floor of his room. Even the tossed aside bedding that was halfway on the floor was themed. You’ve met some super-fan nerds back at home but this was like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

“Wow.” You said with wide eyes, “I don’t think i’ve seen so much stuff in one place before. That’s pretty cool.” You said with a kind smile.

Bills heart was beating faster than it ever had before. Not only was he have a conversation with a girl, a face to face conversation, but you didn’t think it was weird for his room to be completely covered in trinkets and memorabilia.

“Thanks.” He said with a trembling smile, “I’ve got shelves of stuff down in the basement too!”

“You’ve got more of that stuff?” You asked with a giggle, “You must be pretty committed to collecting all that stuff.”

Just as Bill opened his mouth to respond, his attention was pulled to the rapid loud banging on his front door,

“Bill!” He glanced over at his clock and hadn’t noticed that the last hour had passed by so quickly, his anger growing as he heard Josh’s shouts from outside, “We don’t have all day! Hurry up!”

Bill growled, and quickly changed his demeanor as he turned back to you,

“Sorry,” He nervously chuckled, “I didn’t mean to distract you.” His hands reached up to finally shut the window and lock it, but stopped just before closed as he heard your voice.

“Bill?” You asked curiously, “That’s your name?” He nodded as he lifted the window halfway, eager to hear what would come next. He had never once heard a girl other than his mother say his name, and it was so soothing to hear your voice finally say it. “I’m (y/n).” You said with a smile, “I’ll see you around.”

Your kindness was almost overwhelming. Never in his life had he gotten to being on a first name basis with a girl, and yet somehow it felt like it came so easily. You gave him a little wave as you closed your window, flipping the little lock at the top as you went down to grab a few more boxes to bring inside the new empty home.

You were lucky enough to catch Bill running out his front door and into a car filled with three other boys, each of them seeming like they’d probably he just the same as him.

You watched as he climbed inside the back passenger seat, and for just a moment his eyes caught yours. You picked up a box from the movers and gave him a quick smile, your fingers waving from where they were holding the box as you lifted it. You thought you saw him wave back as the car quickly sped out of the driveway.

You smiled to yourself as you made your way back into the house, placing the box onto the kitchen counter as your parents were putting away the various things they could gather from the boxes into their respective rooms. As unenthusiastic as you were to make the move, it was nice to know that at least there was someone to talk to.

Maybe once everything was unpacked, you’d let Bill see the rest of your collection.

Just maybe.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲

(dad!eddie munson x mom!reader)

Summary: . . . You and your kids wake Eddie up with a surprise for Father's Day. warnings: fluff and Eddie being down bad for Reader 🤭, implications of baby making.

word count: 2k

more dad!eddie here

“'Shhh', mama?” Your four year old asked as she trailed behind you in the hallway.

  “Yeah, we have to be quiet so you can wake daddy up with a surprise.” You were trying not to make too much noise with the flowers, wrapped in apparently the world’s loudest brown paper, hitching your nine-month old up higher on your hip.

  Thank goodness neither of your kids were in a fussy mood, especially considering you’d gotten them up early after the terrible night before. Wayne had a new tooth coming in, he was absolutely miserable and your poor baby made sure to let everyone know. He’d been wailing most of the night and Eddie took it upon himself to soothe him, rubbing some baby friendly orajel along his gums, massaging them with fingers dipped in cool water, and offering frozen teething rings and plenty of comfort in the form of nonstop cuddles.

  He hadn’t joined you in bed until the early hours of the morning, which worked out perfectly. Eddie had been dead asleep when you got up, squishing a pillow you’d planted in place of yourself to his chest.

  Next came getting the kids ready, which was also surprisingly easy. Penny was pliant with sleep, letting you dress her without whining (she kept trying to lean forward so she could rest on you and go back to sleep—it was the cutest thing) and your baby was still soothed by Eddie’s remedies, letting out content coos as you changed his diaper and also got him ready.

  After a quick trip to a music store downtown (and by quick you meant 45 minutes, Penny took delicate care in picking out another final gift for her daddy and told you not to rush her every time you’d ask her to hurry) and a stop at the flower shop, you arrived back home and it looked like Eddie still hadn’t stirred, which gave you time to make breakfast.

  You’d sat Waynie in his high chair, gave him some cut up pieces of banana to gnaw on—which he did so as aggressively as possible—and went about making pancakes, eggs and bacon (which Eddie liked to devour until he felt ill).

  Penny was of course your little helper, sitting on your lap while you assisted her with whisking the eggs in a bowl for Waynie’s scrambled eggs, and then perched on your hip to help you flip the pancakes. She’d insisted that Eddie’s pancakes all be heart shaped and you loved the idea, so after a couple of failed ones that would be on your plate, you eventually got it down and she wrapped her arms tightly around you in a hug for it.

  Once breakfast was plated and the table was set, you gathered Wayne and the flowers while Penny carried Eddie’s decoy gift towards your bedroom.

  Quietly, you opened the door and peaked in, smiling  at Eddie’s sleeping form.

  “Okay, let’s go wake him up. Shh.” You propped the door open for Penny to slip in before you and she grinned up at you, using her free hand to hold her finger to her lips, she’d be quiet.

  She set the rectangular box on the end of the bed and then climbed on top while you sat Wayne down on the bed.

  He was just starting to crawl, so he very shakily made his way towards Eddie—face planting quite a few times but it didn’t deter your baby.

  Penny looked back at you for confirmation and you nodded in encouragement. That was all the permission she needed.

  “Daddy! Daddy, wake up! It’s daddy’s day! Wakey, wakey!” 

  She poked and prodded at his side when he groaned and shifted onto his back, eyes squinting open. That wasn’t good enough for her, she moved to sit on him and Wayne finally reached him, using his dad’s shoulder to prop himself up enough to sit back on his bum while he let out a happy shriek, chunky little palms slapping eagerly at his dad’s face to do the trick.

  Eddie made a face, nose scrunching up but you could see the smile curling on his lips, dimples appearing.

  “Okay, okay! I’m awake! Stop the assault!” 

  Penny laughed as he sat up, which almost sent her sprawling on the bed but she caught herself on his leg. Eddie tutted, that wouldn’t do.

  Eddie reached out and pushed her off of him and she laughed hysterically as she bounced against the mattress which made the two of you chuckle. For some reason your daughter loved to rough house with him. 

  Penny didn’t stay down for long, quickly crawling back up to lay down along the side of his pillow and Eddie turned his head to look at her after he’d gathered Wayne and sat him on his chest.

  “Happy Fodder’s Day, daddy. You aw the best daddy in the whole wide everywhere.” She whispered to him, very seriously, and he leaned in to give her a smacking kiss on the nose.

  “Thank you, baby.” His voice was raspy but you could detect the emotion under it. Eddie was so gonna choke up.

  “You wanna give him his present?” You prompted her, and Eddie’s head darted in your direction, grin widening at the sight of you in his favorite dress.

  “Oh, yeah!” Penny scurried to the end of the bed and knee-crawled back to Eddie, hands outstretched to offer him the rectangular box.

  “What’s this?” He asked, tucking Wayne into his side so he could grab the box.

  “You gots to open it, daddy.” Penny demanded, eagerly leaning in to stare at the box while he did.

  “Sorry,” you both traded looks of amusement before he took off the lid and moved the tissue paper aside to reveal a new guitar strap; black and decorated with crossbone skulls. “This is for me?”

  “Yeah!” Penny nodded her head ecstatically. “Mommy lemme pickeded it out!”

  “Thank you so much, little pretty one.” Eddie moved his hand to the back of his daughter’s curly little head to bring it in so he could press a kiss to her forehead, then he turned to the baby at his side. “And you, too!”

  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the sweet smelling curls on his baby’s head. In return, Waynie started gnawing on his arm.

  You sat on the side of the bed and pulled him away from Eddie’s arm. Your son looked at you, affronted,  like you’d committed the ultimate crime until you held a pacifier to his lips. He eagerly gobbled it up and relaxed back against Eddie, once more content as he suckled.

  “Penny, do you wanna go get the other thing?”

  “Wha─?” She looked at you, confused for only a moment before her big brown eyes lit up. “YES, YES, YES!”

  Penny quickly climbed off the bed and ran to her room, where you’d hidden it.

  “What are you up to, trouble?” Eddie asked and you turned your head away from the doorway to find him looking at you, sleepy eyes clouded with love and affection as he reached a hand out to stroke along your exposed thigh.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

  “You’re trying to make me cry again, aren’t you?”

  “Not me, no way. No how.” 

  “I GOS IT, MOMMY!” Penny ran back in, chin raised to peak over the box she carried. It wasn’t too heavy for her, just big.

  She brought it over to you and you handed it to Eddie before pulling her up onto your lap as you watched him unbox it.

  “I wonder what it could b—.” Eddie’s mouth parted just slightly as he pulled a small amp from the box. It wasn’t just any amp. It was an amp you’d sneakily picked up from the music store last week—he had a ton of amps sprawled around the apartment but Eddie’s favorite portable one had recently gone out on him. 

  The amp itself would have been a fantastic gift alone, but you’d taken a few extra steps to personalize it for him. You’d painted the black amp with a solid red background and then let Penny and Wayne paint whatever they wanted on it. 

  Penny had gone all out, making sure to paint her family holding hands on it, along with plenty of depictions of her dad, one of which was him wearing a cape because he was her hero and since Wayne was too little to use a paintbrush, his little hand and foot prints were on it. 

  On one of the sides was your initials (last name replaced with an ‘M’ to represent the Munson name you’d taken on when you’d married him) + EM 4Ever, tucked into a heart with Cupid’s bow shot through it. 

  “SUPISE! D’ya like it, daddy? I drews on it, and it got Waynie’s feets and hans.” Penny looked so proud of herself, smile nearly taking up her entire face.

  Eddie sniffled and you hid your grin in Penny’s hair. You got him.

  He licked his lips and cleared his throat to try and keep himself together but you could see the shine in his eyes when he raised them.

  “I love it so much, baby girl.” He choked out, holding Wayne a little tighter to his side.

  “You wanna give daddy a hug?” You whispered into her ear and she crawled off your lap to throw herself at Eddie, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

  Eddie was careful to make sure Penny didn’t squish Wayne as he held her to his chest, eyes squeezing shut and his freehand cradling the back of her head.

  “I luh you, daddy.” Penny mumbled, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

  “I love you, pretty Penny.” He pressed a multitude of kisses to her curls as he basked in the moment before his eyes shot open and over to you. “What are you doing all the way over there? Get over here and give me some love.”

  You affectionately rolled your eyes before you complied, lifting Wayne out of his arms and into yours to take his place tucked into Eddie’s side. Eddie demanded kisses the moment you were near, and because you loved him, you ignored his god awful morning breath and let him have his way.

  His lips remained pressed to your temple, an arm slipped around your waist so he could lift the skirt of your dress, fingers tracing the words I love you along your thigh as Penny explained all her paintings in great, excessive detail.

  Later, when you were all at the table eating the breakfast you and Penny had made, Eddie could barely get a bite in without staring at you. Wayne was in your arms, face pressed against your breast as he nursed (always did it before he ate solids), while Penny babbled to you about how fun cooking with you had been and how yummy it was as you helped her scoop up her food on her little fork.

  Eddie knew Father’s Day was a day meant to celebrate him and essentially all the other fathers of the world, but he’d much rather appreciate you. You’d given him Penny and Wayne; his sweet (usually) little girl and his baby boy. Without you, he wouldn’t be able to be a part of this day, really.

  Eventually, you felt the weight of his stare and looked up at him, gaze inquisitive.

  “What?” 

  He just huffed out a gentle laugh, brown eyes warm and making a certain feeling stir in your belly, “Nothing. Thank you. For them.”

  Eddie nods towards Wayne and Penny.

  “Well, you definitely played a part in getting them here.” You mused, reaching a hand out to stroke over Penny’s curls. 

  Sure, you made them but it wouldn’t have been possible had Eddie not finished inside of you on a regular basis. 

  When you looked back at him, Eddie was smirking, his eyes were heavily lidded and darkening–his bedroom eyes. The warmth in them was simmering into something much more intense as he leered at you with absolutely no shame. Lustful.

  You could feel yourself heating up, bashful nature hitting you full force as he nearly ate you alive with his gaze alone. You knew what was coming next, what he was about to say.

  “Wanna make another one during nap time?”

[gloomysoup]

home is where you are

@steddiebingo prompts: hurt/comfort (main card) and home (christmas card)

rating: Teen+ | word count: 2400 | tags: omegaverse, alpha eddie, omega steve, mpreg, insecure steve harrington, hurt/comfort, fluff | ao3

Eddie came home from work to absolute chaos. Addie and Violet were sitting on the living room floor, arguing over whether to put the white lights or the colored lights on the Christmas tree, which he had put up the night before. Addie wanted white, but Violet wanted colored. Eddie was almost certain none of their lights from last year were even going to work, so they'd have to buy new ones anyway. James and Lucy were fighting over an orange crayon at the coffee table, two blank pieces of paper and a whole assortment of other colored crayons in front of them. Steve and their youngest, Grace, were nowhere to be seen, but Eddie could hear movement in the kitchen. Eddie quickly slipped his boots off at the door and swooped in to de-escalate all the arguing.

He started by grabbing a second, emergency, box of crayons from the cabinet that held the art supplies. He pulled out an orange one and handed it to Lucy, so she would stop trying to take the other one from her brother. Then he moved to the older two girls, squatting down in front of them and picking up two strings of lights.

“Why don't we put the lights away for now, my loves? They probably don't even work. I’ll take you both to the store this week and we can pick some new ones out together. How does that sound?”

They easily agreed, and Eddie was incredibly grateful that everything was solved quickly tonight. Once all of the pups were settled and occupied, not a single argument left to be had, Eddie moved to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway to smile at what he found. Steve was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of boiling macaroni noodles with Grace on his hip. He was swaying back and forth, softly humming a lullaby as he did.

Eddie slid up behind him, leaning in with a hand on Steve’s other hip to kiss his cheek. “Evenin', beautiful,” he whispered. Steve smiled and turned his head to get a proper kiss.

“Hey, baby. How was work?” Steve asked after they had separated.

Grace was grinning, trying to scramble from Steve’s hold while saying, “Da!”

Eddie shrugged, taking Grace into his own arms. “Nothin’ new. Missed you, though. How was your day? Pups drive you too crazy?”

Steve hummed in consideration. “Hectic. Lots of arguments today. Oh, Lucy broke one of the nice glasses that Joyce got us. She was trying to be like Addie and Violet and help put the dishes away, but she dropped it and it shattered. Everyone was okay, though, and I’m pretty sure I got all the glass cleaned up.”

Eddie’s hand looped around further to rest on Steve’s swollen belly. “And how was the little one today? Not causing too much trouble, I hope?”

Steve huffed a small laugh. “Not letting me actually get anything done today.” He put down his spoon and leaned back into Eddie’s chest. “Every time I finally got the rest of the pups settled down enough to do something, I either had to pee or sit down for a little bit. By the time I was done, someone else needed something, and the cycle repeated.”

“That's okay,” Eddie murmured, nuzzling his nose against the shell of Steve’s ear and taking a deep breath of his scent. He always loved how much sweeter his mate smelled during pregnancy. It was one of his favorite parts of the experience. “I'll finish the chores for you after dinner. You just worry about relaxing.”

“Eddie, no,” Steve argued, moving to stir the pasta again. “You just worked a ten-hour shift. You shouldn't have to come home and do everything here too. I'll take care of it.”

“You will do no such thing.” Eddie adjusted his hold on Grace, who was snuggled against his chest after not seeing him since the night before. She had been the only one still asleep when Eddie left for work that morning. “You chased our little pack of hooligans around all day while growing a pup. You deserve to put your feet up and relax for the evening. I'll take care of everything else. Don't worry about anything.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder with a frown. “At least let me help. Then we can get everything done faster.”

Eddie smiled and kissed Steve’s cheek again. “Whatever makes you feel better, my love.”

Dinner in the Munson household that night was quite the affair, as it usually was with five kids under the age of eight. Afterwards, Eddie corralled all the pups upstairs for baths and pajamas while Steve cleaned up in the kitchen. By the time everyone was clean, clothed, and settled on the couch for one last movie before bedtime, Eddie was wrecked. He loved his children more than anything in his life (except maybe Steve), but they were exhausting. He had no idea how his mate did it all day long.

Finally, he started the movie and went to track down his superhero of a partner. It didn't take him long at all. Steve was in the laundry room, loading the washer to get one more in for the evening. Eddie came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his husband and kissing his cheek. He pulled Steve back into his chest and swayed gently. He reveled in the way Steve instantly sank into his hold, body going lax and a sigh of contentment leaving his lips.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Eddie whispered.

“Mmmm, tell me again?” Steve replied just as softly.

“I love you so so so much, my love.” Eddie gently tightened his arms around him. “You are an absolute wonder. I don't know how you deal with our little gremlins all day and not just completely lose your mind.”

Steve hummed, a soft smile on his lips. “They're not so bad. Most days. It helps that Addie, Violet, and James go to school five days a week.”

“A saint,” Eddie said, slowly releasing his hold on Steve to dramatically collapse to his knees in front of him. “I worship on my knees in your holy presence.” As Steve laughed, Eddie leaned forward with his hands on Steve’s sides to press a kiss to his belly. Their pup moved beneath his touch. Eddie would never get tired of the feeling. It always amazed him, just what Steve’s body was capable of, especially when it came to creating life.

“Come on, up off the floor,” Steve finally said, grabbing Eddie’s hand and starting to pull him up. The alpha went easily, rarely one to say no to his omega.

With the pups suitably distracted for at least a little bit longer, Steve and Eddie set about the quiet routine of getting evening chores done. They didn't speak much, just moved around each other in a comfortable silence. Eddie did the day’s dishes and wiped down the countertops while Steve folded laundry at the table. The movie in the living room was still going when Grace started getting fussy. It wasn't long before Violet was calling for them to make her stop.

“I'll get her,” Eddie said softly, not wanting to break the calming atmosphere in the kitchen. Steve nodded, still folding laundry, while Eddie headed for the living room.

Grace was pushing at Lucy when Eddie walked in, and Lucy was quickly losing patience with her little sister. Eddie picked Grace up, trying to remedy the situation, but that just caused a full blown tantrum. She kicked and screamed, fighting against Eddie and her own exhaustion. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. No matter how hard he tried to put out a calming scent to soothe her, it was all for naught. She just kept screaming and kicking and writhing. Steve quickly appeared in the doorway, looking a little worried. As soon as Grace saw him, she reached her arms out.

“Give her here,” he said gently, coming over to take the screaming toddler from Eddie’s arms. “I'll sit with her.”

Eddie nodded and passed her off to Steve, watching as Grace instantly began to calm down. He made sure Steve was comfortable on the couch with Grace curled into his body before leaving to finish cleaning up the kitchen and folding laundry. By the time he was done, the movie was over. All five of their pups were fast asleep on the couch. Grace was curled up on Steve’s lap, her head pillowed on his chest. Lucy was situated firmly in Steve’s side, while the older three were piled up and stretched out across the other cushions.

Eddie was extremely careful in his extraction. He took Addie and Violet upstairs to the room they shared first, then James to his room. When he came back, he slowly picked up Lucy and let her burrow into his neck while Steve carefully tried to stand up with Grace. It was a lot harder the further along this pregnancy got, but Steve was nothing if not determined. He never let anything slow him down; not even being nearly eight months pregnant. Again, superhero. Eddie was obsessed with him.

After a very long, very chaotic night, all of the pups were finally tucked away in their beds. Eddie and Steve could actually take a minute to breathe without someone needing something. As they did every night, once the children were tucked in and sound asleep, they curled up on the couch together with some random movie they'd seen a hundred times before. It was more for the noise and familiarity than the movie itself. Steve was tucked against Eddie’s side, his head resting where he could hear Eddie’s heartbeat, just like every night. Eddie held him close, breathing in Steve’s scent and letting himself finally relax for the first time all day. They both remained quiet for a while.

Something deep down in his gut was telling Eddie that something was wrong. Something was bothering Steve, festering in his mind. Before he got the chance to ask, Steve was opening his mouth to speak.

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?” he asked so softly, Eddie almost didn't catch it. If their house hadn't been so quiet, he might not have heard him.

“What do you mean?” Eddie tightened his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve shrugged as best he could from under Eddie’s arm. “I just- Do you think all of this is just a big mistake?” Eddie’s heart shattered at the broken lilt to Steve’s voice, the tremble of his words. “Is having another baby a mistake?”

Eddie frowned, trying so hard to control his scent. “Of course not. What's wrong, baby? Where is this coming from?”

Steve sniffled a little, pressing his cheek a little more firmly into Eddie’s chest. “I don't know. I just- We already have five kids, Eddie. Our- our house isn't that nice. We don't really have a whole lot of extra money. And with Grace’s medical bills… maybe- maybe we should have just stopped after James, or Lucy. Maybe everyone was right, and this is all just a big mistake.”

Eddie shook his head, feeling the fabric of his t-shirt start to dampen. “Absolutely not,” he said. He pulled away, shifting so he could fully look at Steve. “Baby, this is not a mistake. I don't know who’s putting these ideas in your head, but they're wrong. So what if we don't have the nicest house in Hawkins? That's never mattered. Not to me, not to the pups. It's just a house, Stevie. And so what if we don't have all the money in the world? Our family has a roof over their heads, clothes on their bodies, and they never have to worry about going hungry. Our pups are loved. Why should anything else matter?”

Fat tears rolled down Steve’s cheeks. Eddie caught them with his thumbs as he cradled Steve’s face in his hands.

“I love you, Steve Munson,” he continued, unable to stop now that he was on a roll. “I love you, and I love our pups, and I love our life. I don't care about money, or our house. All I care about is our family. Our five little pups, who bring me so much joy every single day. Sweet little Sophia, who is going to be so loved, just like her siblings. You, the love of my absolute life, who has given me so much to be grateful for.”

Tears were welling up in Eddie’s eyes against his permission. He just loved Steve so much, and he hated seeing him so upset.

“Eddie,” Steve whispered, voice shaking with his emotions.

“Stevie, honey, I cannot even begin to tell you just how amazing I think you are. How strong, capable, loving, and wonderful. The greatest gift of my life is getting to be a dad, and you have given that to me six times now. I am so deeply in love with you, and our big family. I would never trade any of our pups for anything in the entire world. I don't need a fancy house or money, because you and our babies are my home. I don't care what anyone else has to say about it. I am obsessed with you and our six little pups, this house with its scattered Christmas decorations that we haven't had the time to put up yet, and every single other thing about this little life we’ve built for ourselves. Fuck everyone else. This is the only thing that matters.”

Eddie held Steve to his chest as he cried, rubbing his back and whispering all of his love into Steve’s ear in the hope that it would sink beneath his skin and stay there forever.

Later, Grace will wake up and need Eddie to put her back to sleep. Later, Lucy will crawl into bed with them and cuddle up to Steve. Later, Eddie will help Steve make breakfast before going to work. Later, they’ll put up decorations and stick the Christmas presents under the tree. Later, they’ll have a newborn in the house, someone else for Eddie to love with everything he has.

Later, Eddie will still be deeply in love with the home that he and Steve have built together, regardless of what anyone else has to say about it.

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 7

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28 @kurowvie@vaugarkel@marikittt @angelfrombeneth @undeniableadrenaline @persiar9 @ss28 @sage-burrow @ripleyswife @kikiay

Also available on Wattpad.

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As it turns out, peace never lasts in a place just like the Glade.

It's a few days after Chuck's arrival and the Runners have been out since dawn to map out more areas of the Maze, but when Minho and Ben had made it back during the midday break, the other two Runners — Wesley and Kai — had still been missing. This only led Mai to pick at her fingers as she gazed anxiously at the maze entrance. She hadn't spoken much to the two, considering that Gally's presence by her side always deterred Gladers from striking up conversation, but she'd always served them breakfast first. She knows their faces, can hear their voices at the dining table if she squeezed her eyes hard enough. And the thought of not seeing these familiar faces causes a knot to form in her stomach.

"What if they don't make it back in time?" She asks Frypan as they are preparing dinner. Tonight is stewed beans and rice with a side of omelet and tomatoes from the gardens. The flavorful aromas are already simmering in the pot, whistling softly in the background and not helping Mai's nervous fingers tapping onto her chopping board.

"They will," Frypan's voice is filled with certainty. He clearly doesn't seem all too stressed about them not making it.

But the hour comes up and still there's no sign of them. Mai's heart starts thudding like a crazy horse and unconsciously her teeth starts gnawing on her bottom lip so hard that she draws blood. So worried she is that she decides to abandon Frypan for a moment so that she can find Minho.

He's by the Keeper's huts, poring over what seems to be scribbles onto pieces of scrap paper with Alby by his side. They both look up and the asian young man quickly crumples up the sheets in his grip.

"Hey Greenie," Minho says with forced joviality, "what's up?"

"Your Runners are missing," Mai states plainly, "why aren't you looking for them?"

There's a distinctive glance that occurs between the two Gladers standing before her and something niggles at the back of Mai's mind. They're not telling her the whole truth, she feels it like an ache in her bones. Something about the shifty way Minho's eyes avoids hers and how Alby lets out a sigh of what seems to be exasperation.

Or exhaustion. Either way, it's clear that there's more than what they're offering to tell her.

"They'll be back." Minho finally says with a jerk of his chin, "they'll make it."

"What if they don't? Why can't we send out a search for them?" Mai gestures towards the Maze with impatience, "You know this Maze by heart, you--"

"It's not that simple Mai," Alby cuts her off before she can continue. His mouth presses down into a thin line, "they'll be back. Just trust them a little, yeah?"

In the end, it hadn't mattered. Two minutes before the doors are due to close, Mai's ears pick up on the sound of shouts. Or more specifically, a desperate yell that echoes across the whole Glade and causes all Gladers to drop whatever they're doing in favor of sprinting towards the Maze doors, where the sound is coming from.

Mai rushes forward, trying her best to see through the throng of tall bodies that surround her as she hears Kai shout out, "Call the Med-jacks! We've got a Runner down!"

"What's wrong with him?" one of the gladers ask as some come to the rescue, lifting his limbs to carry him towards the hut. Mai tries to follow, scrambling and stumbling over rocks as she does.

"He's been stung," Kai's voice shakes with emotion and Mai's heart crumbles. She stops dead in her tracks, gazing at the backs of the group as they carry the injured boy towards the Med-Jacks. She can still see the traces of blood in the grassy path that had been stomped over by boots in the process. It's salty and metallic, the smell making her want to vomit the contents of her lunch.

Later on that evening finds her sitting alone at a nearby table after everyone's had their fill of dinner, scooping up the contents of her stew before dropping it back into her bowl. She has no appetite, she finds. Not after having witnessed such a scene earlier on. Her stomach twists and bile rises to the back of her throat just by thinking about it.

Her thoughts keep running a mile an hour; Is Wesley okay? What does that mean if he's stung? Can he be cured? If not, will he--

"Hey Greenie?"

Mai's head shoots up just in time to blink at Gally's curious gaze. He looks down at her, eyebrows raised as he takes in her countenance, before sliding into the seat opposite her.

"What's wrong?" he tilts his head with a frown as his hands come up to his lips. He's just showered, blonde locks licking across his forehead and cheeks flushed from warmth.

When she doesn't respond, Gally presses his lips together and looks away, "it's Wesley, isn't it?"

Mai nods, not trusting herself to speak. She scoops another spoonful of stew before swallowing thickly, only to murmur out, "what happened to Wesley?"

She hasn't wanted her voice to come out so tiny, like a murmured whisper barely above a breath, but the tremor in her voice gives her away and Gally's expression softens slightly.

He takes a breath, "he's been stung," he states it as bluntly as he can, knowing that it won't do any good to hide anything from her, "that's what happens when a Griever gets to you."

"Are they--Is it--" Mai can't find it in herself to ask that question aloud and thankfully, Gally understands and quickly finishes it for her, "deadly?"

The girl nods, eyes dimming when the Builder merely nods in return. When he speaks next, his voice has softened to a murmur, "I don't think I've heard of anyone who survived the Sting."

"What will happen to him?"

Gally's hand goes up to rub at his chin, "he's going to get banished." he finally says without meeting her eyes.

"What?" Mai shoots up in her seat, "why would they do that?! He's one of our own. He belongs to the Glade--"

"Not anymore Mai," Gally interrupts firmly, "Gladers that are stung are dangerous. They go crazy, they can kill you. And we can't take that risk."

"But that's--that's illegal, that's not human--"

"It's what makes it safe here."

Disgust coils in her stomach. Mai shoves her seat back, suddenly not hungry and with the need to scream, to shout, to rip out her own hair in frustration, "you guys make me sick," she spits out in a hiss, "I can't do this."

"Mai, wait--"

But it's too late. The girl storms away after having dumped her entire food tray into the kitchen sink and disappearing into the darkness before Gally can do anything else. The Builder sinks down into his seat with another sigh, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck in tiredness.

He can understand where she's coming from. It's a shock at the very beginning, to learn about such drastic measures. But it's necessary and Gally believes in them.

"I suspect the princess she-bean isn't too happy to learn about the way we do stuff around here?" comes an accented voice and Gally can't help but let out a small smile when Newt slides into the seat once occupied by the said girl in question. Newt shoves a spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he gazes at his friend, "she'll get round to it eventually. Like everyone else does I suppose."

"It's the rules, she'll get over it," Gally replies, "she just doesn't like violence."

"Neither do I Gal," Newt responds quietly, "but we don't have a choice there, do we?"

"No," Gally says, "I suppose not."

------

Knock knock knock.

Gally's eyes fly open. His head turns towards the door, frowning as he realizes it's still dark outside. Probably early morning. Whatever shank deciding to wake him had better be worth it.

He's more than surprised when he opens the door to be greeted by none other than the she-bean herself.

"Greenie?" A small yawn escapes him, "what're you doing here?"

"I—I can't sleep," she shuffles her feet looking like a lost puppy and when her eyes flit up to his he swears he feels his heart squeeze in his chest. God she's cute when she wants to be, "can I come in?"

Gally steps back silently for her to duck through the door before closing it behind her. The girl looks around uncertainly, not quite knowing where to place herself in Gally's space.

Adorable. He clears his throat and shakes his head, "sit."

He motions towards the bed and after a few seconds of hesitation, Mai does as told. He follows soon after, making sure to leave some space in-between.

The way Mai is picking at her fingers with a sudden bout of nervousness has him thinking that maybe there's something about the Banishment and the stung glader that's running around in her head like clockwork. It's etched across her features, the worry and the apprehension of having to come to terms with the reality of the situation. Gally knows it all too well, he's spent months grappling over what is right and what is wrong, and what he needs to let go to a certain extent. Mai is just starting to discover the ugly truth behind the Glade. 

"What's wrong?" he prompts when the girl says nothing still. Her eyes are fixed on the door before her, gaze blank and in a daze. 

She blinks back to reality upon hearing his voice, turning her head to face him. In his bed she looks even tinier in comparison and part of him wishes to engulf her in a hug at the uncertainty, the hopelessness flickering across her face. 

"I--I can't sleep," her teeth find purchase onto her lower lip that she chews on, "I keep thinking about Wesley and how he didn't have to get stung. How he could've been alive if he hadn't gone into the Maze." 

"That's why the Maze is off limits to Gladers," Gally replies, "only the Runners get to go in there." 

"But what if these creatures--" she frowns in thought and he prompts, "grievers?" 

"Yeah. Grievers. What if these grievers walk through the Maze doors? Have they ever done that?" 

"The grievers stay in the Maze. No one's seen 'em apart from the Runners. We hear 'em though." 

The girl shivers, "I don't like this," she admits softly, "I don't like that we have to banish people." 

"That's how we're kept safe," Gally lets out a sigh, "it shuckin' sucks but it keeps us alive." 

"Would you banish me?" she looks him straight in the eye then, "If I got Stung?" 

It takes Gally a moment to reply. Surprise comes first, follows by a rush of grief and desperation to keep her safe. Just the thought of her in the Maze makes him edgy. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it once more to say: 

"You won't get Stung Greenie," his words are soft and tender, the tenderest she's ever heard him be, "I won't let you." 

"But that's not your choice to make Gally." her gaze is determined and firm, unblinking on his figure, "so would you?" 

He leans forward with a frown, "would you?" he asks instead, "what if I'm the one that got Stung? What then?" 

"I wouldn't." 

Her answer is straightforward. Simple. Yet, it causes something to stir in his chest. Gally swallows, exhales a soft breath as he looks away, unable to keep on gazing at Mai without wanting to do something to appease her or just make the situation better. 

"So you'd rather I kill you then?" he shakes his head, a grim look taking over his features, "you don't know what you're talkin' about Greenie. It's not that simple." 

"I'd never Banish you Gally," Mai says with sudden ferocity as she leans closer to his face, hands pressing down onto his bedspread, "you're my friend. I could never do that." 

Gally can't help but blink at her like he's seeing her for the first time. Her words ring out between them like a promise, a beacon of light that rams into him so unexpectedly that his chest aches with the sudden rush of emotion that courses through him. A wave of warmth trickles into his stomach, making heat rise through his cheeks at Mai's sudden confession.

Shuck. He could kiss her. 

The thought rams into him with such force it makes it hard to breathe. No!, he yells at himself, he's just being emotional. That's all! Nothing else to it! 

Which is probably why he says: 

"It's late," he quickly turns away from her and tries his best not to stutter, "we have to sleep."

He plops down onto his side, not caring about whether Mai is going to share is space or not, and turning away from her in order to wrap his arms over his chest, hoping and praying that she can't hear how his heart is pounding through it like a set of drums. 

"Gally," He can sense Mai peering over his shoulder with that confused, doe-eyed look she always gives him whenever she's clueless about something. It makes his fingers ache to pinch her cheek, "did I--did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I offended you, it's just--"

"No," he cuts her of abruptly, "nothing's wrong. Just go to sleep, Greenie. We have a long day tomorrow."

Another sigh is heard. A second later, he feels Mai's warmth brushing against his back and squeezes his eyes shut. It's fine, he tells himself, it's fine. You've done this before. She's a friend, just like anyone else in the Glade. 

But he knows himself better than this. Who is he kidding? The feeling is there, pulsing underneath his skin and filling his veins up with want. He doesn't want to admit it to himself, had tried denying it for the longest time. The thing is, it had been easier when he thought of Mai as a guy. He could easily dismissive it for brotherly affection, or just a passing urge. But everything changed once Mai confessed about her true identity. 

Now, Gally can't even keep her out of his thoughts even if he wanted to. She's just there, forever waiting, forever plaguing his brain like an echo of a poem that Gally knows off by heart even if he doesn't want to.

In other words, he's shucked. 

[ayyy-pee]

hii lexi!!! hope you’re doing well :)) would you be interested in writing a suguru first date kinda thing? i thought it might be cute ^_^ (also i love your pfp!! it looks so good!)

AHHH THANK YOU NONNIE! <3 I'm so late, but I imagine Suguru would be exactly like this for a first date when he's really into reader lmaooo it's short but i'm trying to flex my brain with little drabbles. i appreciate you sending this request in! i hope you like it! <3

𝐹𝐼𝑅𝒮𝒯 𝒟𝒜𝒯𝐸

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Female Reader

Warnings: Cutiepie sweetie face nervous Suguru Geto!, downbad Suguru, Gojo being an annoying shithead, fluff and cuteness <3

It's so hot here.

Is it hot in here?

Has to be. Or else Suguru wouldn't be sweating so much. He can’t even hold his drink, the damn glass keeps slipping from his hands.

Maybe it’s the lights making his palms so moist?

Are the lights too bright? Too hot?

Was this restaurant the right choice? If it’s making him this uncomfortable, surely you’ll be uncomfortable, too.

Maybe he should have chosen another place. Do you even like Italian? Fuck, he should have asked you before making a reservation. What if you’re allergic to…pasta or like…tomatoes? He didn’t even think about that. Maybe it's not too late to change plans.

The soft buzz in Suguru’s pocket pulls him from his scrambled thoughts, and he takes his phone out to see a text sitting at the top of his notifications.

Beauty: Pulling up now. See you soon :) <3

Fuck! It's too late to change plans!

Okay. Okay, this is fine. It will be fine! He’s got this. What’s there to be nervous about? Nothing, because Suguru doesn’t get nervous. He asked you out, anyway. Not the other way around! There’s no reason he should be reduced to this clammy, sticky mess he’s become. 

And yet, it seems that’s all Suguru ever is when he’s in your presence. Although, it’s only been one other time.

It's been an entire week since Suguru first laid eyes on you coming down the aisle at his best friend's wedding. You would have thought he was the one getting married, the way his face grew red watching you smile, so stunning in that gown the bride had picked for you. The way his heart practically tried to punch its way through his ribcage when you’d graced him with a glance, aiming your beauty right at him. How you watched, teary eyed as your very best friend married his very best friend and it’s so insane of him, he knows. But Suguru thought he could see himself in this exact position one day…with you. And he didn’t even know your name.

It's so cliche, truly; a groomsman and a bridesmaid getting together at a wedding? It’s a romcom waiting to happen, but Suguru couldn't help himself.

You were the epitome of beauty. Your eyes, your lips, your smile, everything about you. They were all things Suguru could not get out of his head after you'd danced with him at the reception. With that cheesy love ballad playing way too loudly, you slipped perfectly into his embrace, like the missing piece of a puzzle, and he had to get to know you.

"Fuck your honeymoon," he'd told Satoru, rolling his eyes as his best friend panned his camera across the beautiful powdery sands of Turks and Caicos. “Can you ask your wife for her number?”

“Hmm…” Satoru flipped the phone back around and Suguru could see him pretending to think about it, tapping his chin just to irritate Suguru. “Beg me.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Beg…me…”

That stupid grin on that long limbed bastard’s face. If Suguru could, he’d reach through the phone and smack it right off of him. Why would he beg for your number? He’d get connected with you some other way. Suguru is not a beggar. Nothing in this world could make him open his mouth and plead for something.

“No.”

“Then I’m not asking. Good luck finding her! Gorgeous girl. Hope she doesn’t find someone else because there were quite a few people asking about her at the wedding…”

Suguru knows what he’s doing. And he fixes his friend with a deadpan stare as he says, “Nice try. Not begging.” 

And Satoru chuckles. “Okay! See you in three weeks!” He sings on the other end.

“Wait!”

And so Suguru…begged for your number. Not his proudest moment, but as he sees you slip through the doors of the restaurant, grinning and waving excitedly when you spot him…well, it makes every bit of groveling worth it. He just saw you exactly one week ago. A full 7 days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. And you look just as breathtaking, if possible.

This feeling is familiar, the heat radiating from his cheeks and the intense pounding of his heart and this sensation to get on his knees before you and offer you the world.

“Hi,” you greet him, out of breath as you approach.

Suguru stands quickly, stealthily wiping his damp palms on his pants. And it’s a little awkward at first, but you hug him, slipping into his hold like you just…belong there. It’s driving him insane, the way you just seem to fit him so perfectly.

You take your seat on the other side of the booth, all smiles and god, if it doesn’t send Suguru spiraling. You’re just so cute. You almost seem as excited to be here with him as he is to be here with you.

“I meant to get your number at the wedding, but honestly, I was just too nervous to ask.” You confess, giggling, a bubbly and airy sound that makes Suguru want to hear it more, maybe set it as his ringtone then piss Satoru off so he’ll blow his phone up. Then Suguru can hear it over and over. 

He chuckles, smoothing his hands over his pants again, trying his damndest to stop the sweating. “Yeah?”

You nod, picking up the menu and gracing him with a sweet, shy smile before hiding behind the sheet of paper. “Yeah, so I’m really happy you called.”

Suguru’s heart races and he can’t help the goofy grin that’s now formed on his lips as he picks up his menu. “Me too.”

[veilsofroses]

Heyy, can i request for aizen cuddling/comforting f! Reader after she had an anxiety attack? From during his time as a lieutenant or during hueco mundo. Thank you ❤️💕

Sosuke Aizen x f!reader

warnings: descriptions of an anxiety/panic attack, abandonment anxiety author’s note: thank you for the request! i hope i did aizen justice and that you find this comforting <3 aizen being soft is lowkey hard to write yall 😔 word count: 651

‎ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Boom, boom, boom.

Your heart is pounding rapidly like it’s trying to break through your chest. Your ears are ringing, a never-ending, deafening nose. 

You stumble through the Las Noches palace, trying to find a place to sit down, lie down, a place just to rest and compose yourself but your head is scrambled. 

You lean, your sweaty hands clutching the marble wall, fear threatening to rise up your throat. You swallow hard as you slowly slide down the wall until you’re sat on the floor. Heavy breathing echoes through the room and all you can do is wish *he* was here right now. 

Everyone was gone. Aizen, Gin, Tosen, the arrancars. You ran through the entire palace searching for anyone, but you found no one. Had they abandoned you? After you stayed loyal and by their side. Did he leave you?

Tears begin to blur your vision, your heavy breathing replaced by sobs as you curl yourself up, hugging your knees, burying your face into them. He couldn’t have. 

You had no idea how long had passed, emotional and physical fatigue wearing you down. So much so that you didn’t notice the immense spiritual pressure that approached, didn’t react when strong arms wrapped around your waist and under your knees, effortlessly picking you up. 

Your breathing, wrecked from your sobs, was still labored. His arms held you a little tighter, “Hush.”

The man holding you took you to his bedroom, sitting you down on his silky soft sheets. Your eyes remained shut, afraid that if you opened them, you’d realize this was all a dream and you’d go back to your lonely reality. 

Rough hands caress your hair, “Open your eyes, let me see you.” It was his voice, commanding but gentle. 

You’re reluctant to open your eyes, but you finally do. Your vision still blurred, eyes slightly stinging, but when finally clear, Aizen’s chiseled face is all that takes up your view. A light chuckle escapes his lips at your disheveled appearance. 

You let out a mix of a sigh of relief and a broken sob as you lunge forward into him. Without a second thought, he catches you and holds you tight. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was certain we’d return before you noticed our absence, but nothing gets past you, it seems” he muses, his voice silky smooth. 

You don’t say anything in return. You can’t yet, your emotions are still heightened and chaotic. But he knows that, he doesn’t expect an answer right now. 

With you still in his arms, he moves to lay you down, following suit. He pulls you tightly, your head against his strong chest. He continues to caress your hair softly. 

“Did you truly believe I would leave you behind? I have always returned, haven’t I?” He snakes his hand under your chin, slowly lifting your head from his chest, your watery eyes meeting his gaze. His usual carefree expression painted his face, his eyes studying you, and he wore that smile that never reached his eyes. 

Aizen tucks a stray piece of your hair behind your ear and you lean into his touch. “You have nothing to fear. You are a part of this now, a part of me..” 

You grip his sleeve. “Do you understand?” he asks you, this time expecting a response. 

You nod your head. “Good,” he drags it out ever-so-slightly, his voice flowing through you, making you shiver. 

“I expect you to remember that. You follow me because you have faith in me, do you not?” You nod again. He grabs your chin in his hand to ensure you look directly at him. “Then do not have fear. No matter where I go, you will never be without me.” 

And you would follow him until the ends of the earth. He watched you fall asleep in his arms that night, and he didn’t leave again.