#and then after a bit he just stops. and then it's something else

[sushirrrry]

READ PART ONE - CASA AMOR - HERE

PART TWO | CRASH OUT || a harry styles x you fic. word count: 4,935 content warning: tension & arguments & love island antics

summary: you and harry were the strongest couple in the villa, until the recoupling after casa amor. now, with some time to talk, you learn more things were happening in casa than what you had seen prior.

author's note: y'all loved this so much (which I did not think you would???) so I just had to write a little something today - this will ultimately be a short series because it's pretty easy to write once you get into it! I have another part that I cut from this one because I figured it's more fun to have more stories to post, so keep an eye out for that <3 I'm trying a few different ways to write it to make it feel like you're watching it but also feel a bit more story-like! also - wrote a character list at the top for your info!

hope you guys enjoy <3

Tonight on Love Island: Here is your breakdown after the recoupling...

You are Single | Luca is Single | Megan is Single | Tash and Harry | Ella and Johnny | Megan and Ronan | Tiana and Liam | Jess and Mitch

{In the Villa}

You go to sit with Luca on one of the low couches near the beanbags, your heels click together as you walk across the pavement. Your knees tucked up beneath you when you sat, a half-empty glass of water balanced between your palms. The night is thick with that strange, quiet buzz that happens when everyone’s pretending that they’re okay.

Luca watches you for a second before going to say anything; he pauses and gives you a reassuring smile.

“Y’alright?” he asks you, making conversation light.

You give him a small smile but nothing more, because you don’t really know how to feel but don’t want to show that to him immediately. “Don’t know really, just feel a bit betrayed.”

He nods in understanding. “Didn’t expect that, you know. Him walking back with her—like I was just under the impression that he was going to test it in Casa, but I figured that you would have had that conversation beforehand, y’know what I mean?”

You shrug, not having anything else to say, “Neither did I—and that’s why I’m fuming, Luca, it’s almost like he was waiting for the opportunity to leave.”

Silence hangs for a moment; you wonder if Luca knows something more, but isn’t saying it, so you allow there to be a space held for that conversation.

Harry and Luca are good mates, but you two have always had an open communication – he’s kind, he’s funny, he’s been choosing girls that aren’t choosing him back so you both feel relatively on the same page at the moment.

Tiana and Luca were coupled prior to Casa, but she had chosen Liam instead – it was for the best, seeming that they were getting along quite better than her and Luca had prior. That left you both single in the villa now, and given a certain opportunity, it may be best to try and explore the connection to make sure that you’re safe.

“I just thought…” Luca hesitates for a moment, shrugging as his arm gets placed around the seat where you’re sitting, “Like, if anyone was gonna make it through Casa, it was you two, so it’s a real twist in the villa now.”

You press your lips together, slowly letting your lower lip press further into your mouth as you start to gnaw on it softly. You know that your lip gloss is being smudged, but you’re not sure that you can just listen to Luca tell you all of the good parts about you and Harry.

You just respond with, “Yeah. Me too.”

“He talked about you a lot before he left, said you grounded him. Said it felt different with you—dunno, obviously he kept choosing you and you kept choosing him.”

You look over, surprised at Luca’s comments and allowing them to settle on you for a moment. “I mean it’s all talk though, isn’t it? He still brought her back.”

Luca nods, taking a sip of his drink before he adds, “I mean, but then… I dunno. Something changed. Tash walked into Casa and it was like—”

He stops himself for a minute, realizing he may have over-spoke. His voice got quiet, and he looked back up at you for a moment.

“Like what?” you ask, though you’re not sure you want the answer. You squint at him softly, trying to act like you don’t need the information that may be withheld. “Go on—I need to know if he’s still not being honest.”

Luca exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Like, I heard him make a comment where he wanted to remind himself that he could still pull, ‘cause I guess you two have been a thing since the beginning and it was just a game to him, or something. To pull Tash.”

“Did he say that?” You ask quickly, almost in awe of the fact that Luca would say that so openly, like he had been holding it in. The words slam into your chest at a frequency you weren’t aware of

Harry acted like what you had wasn’t real — just something to trade in for a quick ego boost and a pretty girl in Casa, which is exactly what he had been doing without you around.  Your hands start to tremble around your glass you had been holding, so you moved it between palms to ensure Luca didn’t see your shake.

Luca clocks the shift in your face, noticing immediately that your disappointment may have turned into a bit of anger now.

“Shit,” he says quickly. “I—I mean I don’t think he did it with bad intentions or anything,”

“No, it’s fine,” you cut in, standing up too fast. “You’re right. It makes sense now.”

Luca seems to have a bit of panic that he spoke far too much, “Hey—”

“I’m gonna pull him and clear some things up.”

You don’t wait for Luca to respond. You feel the walls closing in and you need answers — real ones, not just polite excuses and hollow regret that he tried to express. You find Harry near the outdoor kitchen, talking with Tash, who’s pretending not to glance at you every five seconds.

Your heart’s thudding so hard between your rubs that you barely hear your own voice speak out to him.

“Harry,” you say firmly, giving him a look, “can I pull you for a chat quickly?”

He looks up at you with a bit of surprise crossed over his features, maybe even hopeful, and nods without a word before following you.

He follows you toward the fire pit, where the embers are still burning. You take a seat at the benches and tuck your dress under your knees before you cross your legs and let him settle for a minute before you take in a deep breath before you say what you need to say.

“So, I hear that you had told some people in Casa,” you start, voice calm but breaking beneath, “that you felt different with me. That I grounded you. That what we had was real.”

He nods, a hesitant caution over him as he started to nod a bit in agreement. “Yeah, that’s true, I did.”

“But then I’m also told that you needed some reminder,” you say, looking him straight in the eyes, “why did you need to remind yourself that you could still pull?”

The color drains from his face when you keep speaking with a confidence; his eyes glance quickly away from you which is all that you need to know. You don’t even wait for his answer before continuing.

“Because that’s what you told the boys in Casa, isn’t it? That you walked into Casa, and you let yourself forget everything we had. Just so you could prove you still had game, and that pulling Tash was some kind of game to you. So, is it a connection or is it a game?”

Harry opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He licks over his lips and blinks a few times at the ground before he knits his brows together to try and come to a conclusion, but you can tell… he has nothing else to say.

You shake your head, blinking fast to keep the tears from falling.

“For the record, I was never holding you back, Harry. You didn’t need to pull. You just needed to stay.”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak again, trying to reach for your hand. You pull back almost like his hand was on fire.

“I need to know if this was ever real for you. Or if I was just something steady until someone shinier walked in, because if that’s the case, I’m not even mad—I’m just over it and done.”

Harry’s mouth opens like he wants to argue — like he’s searching for some excuse to protect himself.

“I can understand that what you’re hearing may be hurtful, but that’s not fair,” he says, voice clipped. “You’re twisting it into something different than what it was.”

You blink slowly. “Am I? That’s not what it sounds like from what I’m hearing—unless you’re just lying.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. His jaw is clenched, his chest rising and falling faster and you can tell that he’s trying to make sense of it all.

“I didn’t plan to connect with her, alright? It wasn’t like that. It was just—Casa messes with your head, and I was making a joke about the fact that I hadn’t really pulled girls in the villa since you and I were so strong—it had nothing to do with our connection or the fact that I was bored.”

“Well, you kissed her in the Hideaway,” you say flatly, arms folded across your stomach like you’re trying to hold yourself together. “You don’t just end up there by accident, and I think it sounds a lot more than just pulling for the game.”

He exhales sharply, turning back to you. His voice rises a little.

“I was trying to figure it out! Everyone was telling me to explore, test things. I didn’t want to look like an idiot if you’d cracked on, too, which I know you did.”

You laugh once, short and disbelieving as you squint at him. “So, you did it to protect yourself—called her naughty and trouble.”

He hesitates for a moment; you can tell that he doesn’t want to lie, but doesn’t want to make anything worse, and then, softer: “Yeah. Maybe I did. I don’t think it’s that big of a deal here. I always had the intention of coming back to you here.”

That silence after his words lands like a brick. You look at him, and for a second, just a second, he sees it. The way your lip trembles at his words, and the way that your eyes are glassy with the recognition that he had hurt you. The way you’re so tired of fighting for something he already threw away. You don’t even know if you want to fight for it anymore.

Harry softly closes his eyes as he shakes his head and rests his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t—I’m just sorry. What we had wasn’t made up or fake or whatever—these past weeks weren’t just thrown away.”

You nod once, solidified in his statement with a simple statement of your own. “It might not’ve been fake. But it stopped being real the second you let her kiss you.”

That hits him almost like a bullet, so he breathes in slowly. And something in him starts to fold.

“I didn’t stop thinking about you,” he says, voice is soft to keep it between you both as he shakes his head as if he can’t believe that you’re having this conversation. “Even when I was with her, even when I was doing all that stupid flirting —"

You look at him, and for a moment you’re not angry anymore.

“You knew it would hurt me,” you whisper staring at your hands, “and you did it anyway.”

Harry’s eyes shine. “I know. I know I did. And—and I was selfish.”

“I don’t even know how to be mad anymore,” you murmur, staring at the ground. “I feel stupid. And empty. And I don’t want to cry over someone who didn’t choose me.”

Harry moves towards you on the bench, looking down at you before he lets his shoulders drop.

“I did choose you—I always chose you, but” he says, quietly desperate. “I just… didn’t respect you, and I’m sorry.”

You look at him through blurred eyes, but you can’t let the tears fall because you don’t want to give it more energy than it’s worth anymore. “Then why does it feel like you didn’t?”

He doesn’t have an answer for you, so he looks away with his tail between his legs and wants to speak but decides against it. You press your fingers under your eyes to not ruin your makeup, swallowing a sob as you look away from him.

And neither of you says anything more. Because maybe for the first time since this whole thing began, he understands that he broke something he might not be able to put back together. The silence has stretched too long as you sit there.

Harry is still crouched next to you but keeps a look on his face that he still has more to say, lips parted like he might speak — but he doesn’t. You can feel it by the way that he rubs his palms over his pants and looks away. There’s still something he’s not saying. You blink slowly, jaw tight before you swallow.

“Did you sleep in the same bed as her?”

His eyes flick away for a split second, and that’s all you need. That was the confirmation that you needed.

“Harry,” you say, louder now, standing up. “Did you sleep in bed with her?”

Nothing-- there’s nothing for him to say because he’s not going to lie to you, which makes this feel even worse in the moment.

You let out a sharp breath and shake your head. “Right.”

And then, before he can move or follow or stop you, you stand quickly from your spot on the bench and walk across the patio, heels clicking against the pavement as you make your way back to where a smaller group sits.

The rest of the villa is scattered — Ella and Tiana are on some loungers by the pool, the boys are grouped near the kitchen, and Tash is sitting on the edge of a daybed, twisting her hair around her finger, laughing at something Mitch is saying.

She looks up just in time to see you walking straight for her. The air has a bit of a shift when you realize that the villa is watching you walk to her, angrily away from Harry. Harry starts to follow you when he realizes that you are going towards Tash, he stops in his tracks.

Tash’s smile towards Mitch drops when she sees you approaching.

“Hey,” she says, cautious. You don’t waste time; your time has been wasted enough these past few weeks.

“Did you and Harry sleep in the same bed in Casa?”

The villa goes dead silent, almost like everyone had been waiting for the ball to drop and for you to have some sort of crash out.

Tash blinks, sitting up softly like she’s trying to think about what she needs to say to make her not seem like the bad guy. “What?”

“It’s a simple question, Tash, really—I’m not here to bullshit you or be mad at you because I know you’re just coming into Casa, but I just have to know because while I was making connections in Casa I was being respectful and staying out of other men’s beds because I had already made a connection here, so I just want to know.”

Tash hesitates for a moment, glances past you — toward Harry, who’s now standing with Ella and Johnny near the kitchen. Then she lifts her chin with a confidence that you appreciate.

“Yeah,” she says, a bit meek but you disregard that. “We did—just the last two nights.”

You close your eyes for half a second before you realize that you have nothing to be mad about—he’s not yours anymore, and you don’t want him. The girls react instantly; Mitch looks between the two of you like he was just there to settle if something went down.

“What the fuck,” Ella mutters under her breath. She looks at Harry before he rolls his eyes and exhales like he couldn’t believe that this had become his life.

Mitch whistles, biting on his lip as he runs a hand down his face.

You nod once, like you’ve just confirmed something you already knew, “Cool—I appreciate the honesty.”

Then you turn to walk back to where Harry is standing with Ella and Johnny; Harry’s watching from a few feet away, face pale, jaw set. You meet his eyes with a hurt that you hadn’t really felt before.

“You couldn’t even say it,” you say, voice shaking. “You let her do it for you, you’re such a fucking bullshitter.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, muttering, “It wasn’t like that.”

You fold your arms, raising your voice at him. “It was exactly like that. You cuddled up with her at night and kissed her in the Hideaway like I wasn’t lying in bed alone thinking about you so you can get your dick up? Fucking prick.”

You can see the guilt and the remorse that crosses his face because he knows exactly what you were referring to; you two had been intimate together, and while it was still Love Island, it still hurt to know that he had decided to lay in another bed with another girl doing who knows what.

But it’s not enough to watch him feel guilty. Instead, you walk back across the villa, past every stunned face, every wide eye, and back to the daybed where Tiana’s already holding a space for you to sit down, where you can keep your shoulders back and your chin high.

You might be heartbroken, but you are not small.

{NARRATOR}

Well, that escalated quickly, didn’t it? One question turned into a full-blown villa bombshell — and it looks like Harry has finally realized what it means to fumble the bag in front of everyone. Looks like the only thing he can pull now is his hair out!

The girls are gathered in the dressing room, the air heavy and quiet with some sort of exhaustion from the sun and complete heartbreak from the fact that this could have happened to any of them. It was just a half-circle of crossed legs, red-rimmed eyes, and half-sipped glasses of water nobody really wanted.

You’re sitting on the edge of a chair, fingers clenched in your lap, hair still half-curled from earlier when you thought tonight might be fun or you might feel better about your connection.

Ella’s next to you; Tiana’s perched on the counter; Jess sits with her back against the vanity; Megan is sat at her vanity space. With another beat, all of you watch as Tash walks in last.

There’s a pause — thick enough to cut. She stands in front of the group, eyes flicking between everyone, but then settling on you.

“Can I sit?” she asks, gently, almost like she was hoping you would just yell at her instead of being nice; it may make her feel less shitty about her experience, but instead you just nod once.

She lowers herself onto the bench across from you, tucking her legs beneath her.

“I just wanna say something, okay? No drama, just… girl to girl,” She looks around at everyone, her voice a bit weary as she starts to speak again.

You don’t respond. You’re staring at the floor, jaw tight, heart pounding at what else she could reveal to you.

“I didn’t come in trying to wreck anything,” Tash continues, “Y’know, I liked Harry. He was flirty, yeah, but he never mentioned you in a way that made it feel closed off—like I knew he was in a connection, but I guess he just flirted with me more than he should have.”

Jess shifts uncomfortably. Tiana shoots a look toward Ella, but no one says anything.

“And I get it now,” Tash says. “I didn’t realize how deep it was with you two. I wouldn’t have gone there if I knew, truly.” She swallows and licks over her lips as she shakes her head. “But I didn’t kiss him thinking I was stealing someone’s boyfriend, you know what I mean?”

Still, you say nothing. The room is quiet as they’re waiting for you to speak.

Tiana shakes her head instead before taking the initiative, “It’s just muggy, innit? Like he knew that was going to humiliate Y/N and did it anyways, you know.”

“I just think the bed thing was mad disrespectful,” Ella says with no disregard, “Like, just knowing the context of it all—I don’t know.”

“I just feel like an idiot,” you say shrugging before you look up at Tash, “It’s fine. It’s not your fault—I get he wanted to test our connection, and he did it.”

You glance around the room, eyes darting like you’re trying to make sense of your own place here.

“I just feel stupid for trusting him so effortlessly. For sleeping alone every night, for saying no to other boys while he was cuddled up with you.”

Ella scoots closer, her hand brushing your back.

“I thought we were solid. I thought we were the couple people looked at and went, ‘Yeah, they’re real.’ And now?” Your voice catches as you start to take your makeup off with a wipe to try and hide the fact that tears are threatening, “I feel like a joke.”

Tash looks genuinely upset by the fact that she could have done something wrong. “You’re not. Honestly, I wouldn’t have—”

“I know,” you cut in, gently but firmly as you look at her. “I know you didn’t do it to hurt me—please don’t take it personally.”

You take a deep breath, but it doesn’t steady you. “It just hurts anyway.”

The girls all stay quiet as they begin to get ready for bed, and they know sometimes silence is safer than platitudes. Jess leans over and grabs a tissue, handing it to you.

“You don’t owe anyone forgiveness tonight,” Ella says softly, almost privately. “Not him. Not her. You just do what you need.” She glances toward Tash who’s started to look through her items to get ready for bed. “And to be fair, she showed up. That means something.”

You nod again, but your voice is barely there now.

“I just need to not feel like I got played.”

Tiana leans over from the counter, “Then don’t – you just need to feel like a girl who gave her heart to someone who didn’t know how to hold it because he’s a lad.”

You press the tissue to your face and smile, just slightly. The first honest thing you’ve felt in hours.

+++

The night’s gone quiet now, most of the girls have disappeared into the dressing room with Y/N when she started to walk off. Tash is nowhere to be seen, either, which gives Harry a bit of anxiety if he’s being honest. The fire pit crackles low in the background.

Harry sits on one of the beanbags, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, palms scrubbing over his face. Luca lounges next to him, arms behind his head, watching him with a slow, almost sympathetic blink.

Mitch and Ronan are there too, passing a bottle of water back and forth. No one says anything at first, the only thing heard is Harry exhaling loudly.

“You alright, bruv?” Luca asks quietly before glancing over at Harry.

Harry doesn’t look up. “No. Not really.”

Ronan whistles low. “Yeah… that was rough.”

Mitch nods, stretching out. “She looked gutted, man. Like properly heartbroken.”

Harry finally sits back, dragging his hands down his face, “I didn’t think it would get that bad—I’m honest to God, I didn’t think that the bed thing would come up.”

Luca shrugs, letting an arm rest behind his head. “I don’t think you were thinking at all.”

That lands to hurt him like a jab, and Harry is silent.

Ronan, trying to soften the blow, leans forward and shakes his head to try and make sense of what Harry did, “Look, Casa was a head-fuck. You get in your own head. Everyone’s buzzing around saying ‘test the connection,’ and you start convincing yourself it’s what you should do—and to be fair, Tash came onto you very strongly.”

Mitch chimes in, “Yeah. Like, I see both sides. You didn’t do anything that loads of lads haven’t done in there. But—”

He glances toward the villa. “It seemed that you had something real with her, like more than that sexual chemistry, you know.”

Harry nods slowly, contemplating what he had in front of him. “I know.”

Luca gestures vaguely. “And Tash? I mean… she’s sound. Not the one you’ve been sleeping next to since day one. Not the one who never cracked on, either.”

Harry’s eyes flick up. “That’s the part that’s killing me, you know? I kept thinking, what if she was moving mad on her end? What if I came back looking like a mug?”

The boys know that there was the potential to have this moment; there had to be communication, and they knew that Harry felt just as guilty, but scared that he was going to come back to Y/N also testing the connection and keeping another guy there.

Ronan spoke up, “Mate, you came back with a girl. You can’t be shocked she’s stepped back at bit.”

Harry slumps back again, rubbing his chest like it physically aches. “I messed it. And now she’s looking at me like she doesn’t even know me.”

Luca shifts, arms crossed. “That’s what happens when you break someone’s trust. You don’t just get to explain it away.”

Harry nods again, slower this time. “I know.”

The boys sit with that for a moment.

Then Ronan, a little softer: “You think you’ll pull her back?”

Harry lets out a shaky breath, “I don’t know. I want to. I’d drop everything with Tash tonight if it meant I could fix it with her. But… I think she’s already gone in her head so I’m like… I don’t want to mess shit up with Tash now if it’s really over for us. Because Tash is mad cool too.”

Mitch leans back, sighing. “Well, if you want to try — you better show her something real. No more flirting, no more excuses. Show her you mean it.”

Harry looks down at his hands, quiet. For once, he doesn’t have a comeback. There’s no jokes or smirks coming from him as he feels the sting in the back of his eyes. He’s just a boy who fumbled the one person who made this villa feel like something more than just a game.

The villa buzz has faded into soft rustling — hairbrushes against tangles, toothbrushes tapping against sinks, and the occasional low whisper between couples slipping under the duvet.

You’re in the dressing room with the girls, wiping off your makeup in silence while Ella hands you a clean face cloth. Tiana squeezes your shoulder on the way to the bedroom, but no one says much.

No one needs to say anything at all to excuse what’s happened and how it continues to move throughout the villa. There’s a dynamic switch that has happened, mostly because the individuals in the villa that saw a light in you both is now gone. The damage has already been done, and there is now a shift in the mood.

Cut to the main bedroom, where the lights are dimmed and the duvets are already turned down when the islanders start to move into the sheets. A few of the couples are climbing into bed, bare legs tangling beneath cool sheets.

Tash walks in quietly after putting on her pajamas and rinsing her face and taking off her makeup, pulling her long hair up into a bun. She pads over to her side of the bed, the bed that her and Harry will ultimately share tonight.

He’s already there, sitting on the edge, shirtless, elbows on knees as he faces away from her. She starts to lift the covers to move into her spot. He gently leans back and gives her a soft look as he rubs his hand down his jaw.

“Don’t take it personally, yeah? I’m gonna sleep alone in the Hideaway tonight.”

Tash blinks, confused at his words before he speaks again.

“Just for tonight. Think it’s better. Out of respect.”

She holds his stare for a second, then nods and doesn’t say anything more. She understand the consequences that sharing a bed tonight could have—also, it starts to affirm that she had come in at the wrong time.

You’re lying on your side, facing the room, back to Ella, eyes half-closed but not sleeping—you feel so exhausted but barely tired at all.

Harry’s sitting at the edge of his bed one minute, hoodie in hand, slides cover his feet as he just stands with a smooth and slow motion. He picks up his water bottle from the floor and walks toward the door. The click of it opening slices through the silence of the main bedroom.

A few heads lift instinctively at the sound, and seeing Harry leave the room without Tash. She covers herself back up in the blankets, but the other islanders watch.

Ella turns slightly in her bed; Luca glances over his shoulder to see the noise; Jess lifts her head halfway, brows furrowed.

Even you look up — just enough to track Harry’s silhouette slipping through the door.

You notice that Tash didn’t follow behind. But once he’s left there’s no awkward whispers or explanations or realizations. But everyone feels it, and no one says a word.

All you know is that he doesn’t want to share a bed with Tash tonight in front of you. The first respectful thing he’s done all night - you could argue.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Unlike the others, Connor wasnt very excited about having a new "brother".

He had only really truly started to get along with Clark (yes he refused to call the man anything else) a few months ago after years of emotional will tehy won't theying, and it was only now that Connor actually had a room at the Kents.

But as always, they were firmly still awkward around each other, usually needing another person there to be social lubricant to make sure neither of them said something random like "Why dont you love me" or "I never wanted you to exits but-"

Anyways...after the sudden outburst of swearing and cursing to flipping Batman of all people, Connor was looking forward to at least introducing Danny to Tim...not the other Bats or Birds just yet, no body needs that kinda attitudes or bullshittery without deserving it.

His eyes flicked between this Maddie lady and Clark, he could see the resignation on her face, along with guilt and a swiftly crushed hope.

('Wow, great job Clarkie, way to just harsh the vibe')

The boy, or really, teen was standing by his mother looking he would rather be anywhere else, and Connor could understand that too a T.

He was told that Danny had powers and a lab accident, so at least the usually Kryptonian suite of weirdness mixed with whatever kinda crazy science that the Fentons had cooked up (Clark had been tight lipped with just what exactly the woman and the husband she cheated on were doctors of, though he was sure a quick stop to Titans Tower or a YJ base to run a search)

What Connor was trying to get at was...Danny would 100% get a "Super" title and some blue spandex in a week tops, maybe sooner. Something about being around Clark just made perfectly sane people decide to be heros and vigilantes.

(For fucks sake he is sure he had caught Lois brainstorming a hero name out loud before she saw him and blushed harder than he had ever seen her do before telling him to go clean his room)

---

Clark stared into Madelines eyes, daring the woman to say something else, to try and insulate that he could have been cared the least bit about her still.

There was a time, years back, that he would have dropped everything in his life to see this woman again, he had built her up to be some sort of goddess in his mind and yet.

The second he actually saw her again all he could feel was apathy for her, and anger at being denied access to his son.

He watched as she nodded, eyes squeezed shut before letting out a long sigh, before finally turning away from Clark, and to the son he never knew he had.

"Daniel, I love you. More than you ever could know...Jack and I will fix this, we...it was our fault this is happening. I will call you when I can okay? Jazz will be coming up next week with some supplies and a few..." the woman turned to the Kents, then to the people milling in the street, it seemed the Fenton sized tank was gathering more attention the longer it stayed there on the busy city street.

"She'll have some vials, it should speed up the healing process, dont use any of *those* powers dont turn, anything with ecto can alert them, just..." the woman's eyes flicker to the Kents once more, "Learn from your...learn from Clark how to defend yourself, he will know a bit more than I do about what you can do."

The two, mother and son, shared a long hug before they pulled apart, and like that Madeline Fenton was out of his life once again.

---

Okay yeah Jon had so many questions and he was going to explode if he cant ask any of them.

But a quick look to his mom and- Yeah the clouds look great today, totally not going to just blurt stuff out, it would be...untactful.

He watched as the silver hulking beast actually crunched down the street, leaving some cracks on the pavement as it sped off...

Yeah the Mayor was so going to hear about that...at least this time it wasnt one of his family members that caused the destruction of public property!

Wait tho if it was Danny's mom then...technically it was...

"Dad can I show Daniel around the house! I want to give him the tour!" Jon decided that, it wanst worth worrying about the city's budget when he had a new brother to show around!

His Dad looked towards him, having stared after the silver tank as it left until he called out, and he only gave a small smile when Jon usually would have gotten a grin, "Of course kiddo, just go slow with him...Daniel is still healing."

Right, he was hurt...wait what even hurt him? Like he was a half Kryptonian right? Did this GIW group find Kryptonite? Ughhhhh that would totally, utterly suck dealing with...

But thats Later Jon's problem, right now he had something better to do!

"Come on! We're sharing a room since Kon is a jerk and didn't want to share! Mom and I built a bunk bed and I'll even let you get the top bunk if you want! Oh this is gonna be so cool!"

Grabbing his new brothers hand, Jon started to, carefully, drag him into the condo building.

---

After one awkward elevator ride up, filled with the youngest chattering away about anything that seemed to pop into his mind, Danny was very quickly realizing just how much the low ecto in Metropolis was affecting him.

Danny was usually pretty good with kids younger than him, having done his fair share of babysitting jobs and dealing with Young Blood, and hell, Jon wasnt even that much younger than him, barely a year and half younger (if Tuckers super secret technique of scrolling through Clark and Lois's Facebook accounts were correct)

But by the time the elevator stopped, and he was able to step out, Danny was utterly drained.

Maybe it was the cross country road trip at break neck speed, dodging their GIW tails and fighting anyone that they couldn't go around, plus the extra burden of healing...

Danny only wanted to eat a dozen Nasty Burgers, down a gallon of cola and hibernate till next spring.

Though, he didnt have the heart to phase through Jon's grip on his arm, and let himself be pulled along.

Once inside the apartment he would be staying in for an undisclosed period of time (about long enough for his mom and...yeah Jack is still his Dad, to dismantle the GIW), Danny could see that it was a pretty average place, nothing super fancy but still better than his house. Though not as fancy as Sam's mansion.

"Okay so this is the living room, Mom says we can watch what ever we want as long as it is pg-13 or keep it down if it's R, the dining room is over there, we only really eat then on Sundays." Danny nodded along, walking with yhe younger boy before pausing as he felt his phone vibrate in him.

Yes, inside of him.

He had lost the damn thing so many times between fights, extra dimensional hops and governmental black site medical exams that he had found it just so easy to keep inside of him for safe keeping.

Looking over to Jon to pull his hand away, he was met with a barely, pathetically hidden look of horror.

Then he felt a large hand on his shoulder and suddenly he was spun around, looking at his bio dad and oh shit he looks pissed...oh not pissed, okay many a bit angry but very concerned it seemed.

"Daniel...what is ringing inside of you?"

Ugh...he really didn't want to deal with this....

Maddie looked down at the floating, giggling baby boy in front of her, and felt old guilt bubble up inside of her.

It had been at first time Jack and her had fought, disagreeing on theories and neither of them left the arguments at the lab, Jazz had just been a little girl then, barely tottering around with a big gummy smile.

They had tried to patch it up, to pretend that the words they said in their rants didn't hurt, but in the end...Jack had taken Jazz up state, vist his family for the summer and leaving Maddy all alone.

It really was a moment of weakness, she had met Clark Kent and it was a whirlwind of emotions almost instantly.

She had a type, sue her, big nerdy farm boys that stuttered when they got kissed, who looked at her like she was the only thing that ever mattered...

She saw Jack in Clark's sky blue eyes, and the guilt built up.

The romance was wild and fast, like a runaway train hurtling towards a cliff. They moved fast, skipping through the long talks and planning that she had with Jack, and going right to the down and dirty.

Even though she loved it (even though she loved Him) Maddie knew that she couldn't keep it up, she admitted in the end, that she was married, that she had a child and neither of them wanted to tare that family apart.

She still remembered the betrayed look on Clark's face when she told him, when he found out that she was cheating on her husband, the kind of hurt that echoed in her mind, those sky blue eyes that she fell so hard for were like icy flakes as she held her head in her hands and cried.

She didn't know what she had wanted from.him then, to fight for her, perhaps to even comfort her at that time, even though she had spent the last months living a lie. In the end Clark just stood and left, his shoulders tight and back straight, walking out of the small apartment that Maddie rented in Metropolis to get away from it all.

It was for the best, she knew that. When Jack came back they managed to work the relationship out, Jazz had been young enough not to remember the fighting.

And by the time that the baby bump started to form, she didn't doubt that it couldn't have been Jacks child.

(A lingering in the back of her mind, a dark nothingness whispered, "its not his. It's the man you toyed with and threw away")

She had managed to push those thoughts aaway, convincing herself that it had to be Jacks, that the child (Daniel, after her grandfather) would bring them together, mend the cracks even more.

When the boy was born she could only see His eyes. Not Jacks cloudy, ocean blues, but Clark's stark sky colored ones, the same small curl in his downy baby hair.

She had never felt more in love, and never had felt more disgusted in herself.

Maddie let Jack think Danny was his, trying to keep the grimace off her face each time she saw her husband, the man she had spent so long building up a new branch of science with, coo and tickle the child that was proof of her infidelity.

When the boy started to float, that was when she felt a pang of panic, she didn't have the meta gene, she had tested and double tested to make sure, and came to the conclusion that it was Clark. That Clark had powers and never felt comfortable enough to tell her.

(Little did she know, that on the day she told him, Clark had a ring in his pocket, his mother's simple band that held a small diamond, he had planned to propose, to tell her his biggest secret, but the words died in his throat at her confession, and the box now sat, in the dark corner of his bedside table, only to be gazed at with a sorrowful heart in days he is reminded of the woman he thought he knew)

It was when the boy, Danny was age 14, bloody and delirious, with scars in a Y shape across his chest that oozed green instead of red, when she had to pull him out from a lab that used her own technology to torture her son that she finally pulled out her phone, with shaking hands she typed out the same number that even after all these years she still remembered.

"Hello Kent residency! How can I help ya?" A young voice answered, and she could hear the cheery sunshine smile through the line.

("He has a family now. Don't you dare feel jealous Madeline, you did this to yourself")

"Hi there, is Clark there? I-i need to speak to him about something." She managed to say with an even voice, even though her heart pounded in her chest.

"Uhhh...yeah I think Dad is around. Lemme-oop here he is" there was a rustling as the phone was passed between hands, a whispered conversation.

("Who is it Jon? *I dunno Dad, just some lady asking for you?* sigh, dont just answer my phone son, now go help your mother, it isnt fair that she does all the house work")

There was a shuffle of feet and then- "Hello, Clark speaking, may I ask who is calling?"

That voice. It was deep but gentle and caring, smooth like velvet with a hit of that country still in him.

"Clark...its been a while....I-its Madeline. Please dont hang up. I am just...I just need you help with something." She hears a sharp drawn in breath, the perfect stillness that she could have thought that he had hung up until-

"What do you need." It was clipped, words controlled and even, though there was something behind held back, old emotions and hurt dug back up with just a simple phone call.

"After...our-our relationship. I got back with Jack. I am not...not calling to get back together. It's just...Clark I was pregnant. It...he was yours."

There was another drawn in breath, then a sound closer to a whimper than a sigh "W-what?" (On the other side, the Man of Steel was hunching over the living room coffee table, glasses thrown to the side as he massaged the bridge of his nose, breath speeding up as his brain raced) "How...how can you be sure it is mine..."

She presses her back agaisnt a wall, her head leaning agaisnt it as her eyes closed, "Clark. He can fly. And lift cars. And...and lived when thousands of volts of electricity ran through his body...I dont have the meta gene, neither does my parents or Jack and his. The only conclusion i can come is that..."

"He's mine..." Clark's voice was limp, sounding far away yet all the same still there.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, both clearly going though the motions, before Clark finally spoke "Why did you never tell me till now." There was a longing in his voice, one that Maddie couldn't fully understand.

"It wasnt until he was born that I knew for certain Danny was yours Clark. I didn't want to...to risk everything that Jack and I had built again after it all just to call you...I knew how much you had wanted to be a father but i...I was scared Clark."

The mans stuttered breathing was the only way that Maddie knew that he hadn't hung up, "I am only reaching out now that...that Danny is in danger. Things have been happening and...he needs to get away from Amity Park, the GIW have been hunting him. I have managed to stem most of the attempts but they are getting annoyed at the lack of results. I dont ask you this lightly Clark...but I have no body else to ask."

The line was quiet for a while, before Clark breathed out slowly, "I would love to meet him...a-and if he is in danger...i-i would be honored to take care of him."

---

Danny clutches his bag as he stares up at the tall condo, his nose scrunching up as he makes a face, "...Y'know mom when I said I wanted to cosplay Percy Jackson for Halloween I was thinking, more letting me dye my hair silver for the stripe thing and getting an orange t-shirt and a sword, less finding out my dad isnt actually my dad and getting shipped to New York..."

Maddie sighs as she rubs at her eyes, "Daniel...please. this is hard for me enough already. I really do not have the patience for the sass...Clark is a good man, he will take care of you while Jack and I take care of the GIW..."

Neither of them get the chance to respond as a tall man with curly black hair steps out from the condos entrance, flanked by a dark haired woman, a young boy with a big smile and a punkish looking teen that seemed to want to be anywhere else.

"Here they are Danny, the Kents."

[mrseddisonwatts]

Heyy :3

Could I maybe ask for Eddie&Volt headcanons with a reader who is just too polite for their own good? Like they find it hard to say no, they refuse to raise their voice, they apologize a lot, etc.

(established relationship mayhaps? :3c)

Eddie & Volt with an overly polite/apologetic reader

Reader Pronouns: You

Warnings: Alcohol mentioned & a drunk guy being a creep? That’s it I think! Comment if I missed something.

At first, Volt is panicked that he’s a bad host or making you feel uncomfortable! He’s doing his best to be his regular, charming, flirty self, but you keep apologizing for yourself??

He tries to brush your side, or place a hand behind your back to guide you into The Breaker Box? You’re apologizing for bumping into him… Because that’s what you thought happened, apparently?

He takes that as a challenge to amp up his flirting, but it can backfire; you say yes to doing things with him, even when you don’t want to, and he can tell; he things he scares you, somehow.

Eddie is either the perfect match or the absolute worst.

On one hand, he’s appreciative when you come to help him out after hours, and once you get past the rough exterior he’s super sweet on you. He’s comfortable sitting in silence if you want, but he’s also engaged when you talk about yourself! Not polite small talk, or what you think people want to hear; you.

But on the other hand, if you start apologizing for something that wasn’t your fault, he flat out tells you to stop. He’s stern, but not necessarily outright mean.

“Stop that shit. If I have a problem I’ll tell you there’s a problem.”

If you do this around him enough he’ll start worrying about you; watching you like a hawk while you’re at The Breaker Box, or more accurately watching everyone else.

Some patron coming onto you a bit too strong, but you don’t feel comfortable telling them to go away?

“Hey, Drysdale? Yeah, go fuck yourself! Get out.” (sorry Drysdale you are an unfortunate casualty)

Volt is less direct in that regard; he’ll more likely redirect someone’s attention from you to the show, so he can take you away from them.

“Ah, hello Live-Wire! My, have you been seeing Johnny tonight? This is his best show yet…”

“As much as I appreciate you keeping our Live-Wire company, I must steal them away for a moment. Have you seen our seasonal drink menu? The feature is to die for…”

Once you get close enough with the two of them to start dating, they’re maybe a little too protective of you,

Always asking about your schedule, cancelling any plans you’d only agreed to out of politeness, etc.

There’s always one of them around the bar watching you; not stalking you or anything, but passively looking over every few minutes to make sure no one is bothering you!

Similarly, if you don’t show up to The Breaker Box, they’re begin to worry; usually questioning Dorian or the nearest object they know you talk to regularly.

One night, they notice you still aren’t there when the shows about to start, and call Dorian in to ask about you. As Dorian begins telling the pair that you’d been running late, humouring Amir a bit too much while picking out your outfit, they hear a commotion just outside.

Some drunk had started yelling at you for not reciprocating their advances, and with Dorian inside, no one was there to stop them…

Until the pair (and Dorian ofc but this isn’t about him) walk out to see you, quietly muttering apologies at the increasingly loud man.

Eddie wants to yell at the idiot, and almost does, but he’s not as fast and Volt.

Volt might as well have turned blue; he grabs the man, yelling something about disturbing his bar, and harassing his Live-Wire.

Dorian steps in, throwing the guy out, but Volt isn’t quick to calm down. It takes Eddie wrapping an arm around you and assuring him that you’re fine for him to calm the static electricity cracking around his whole body.

If you’re feeling too shaken up they’d close the bar in an instant; absolutely 0 hesitation. If you want them to go on as usually though, Volt would have Eddie sit with you while he did the show; he’d worry too much otherwise.

After that incident Eddie tries to coach you on “being mean” in order to help you set clearer boundaries with people, but he can only do so much.

But lucky you! You have two lovely boyfriends who are more than happy to fill in the blanks when needed.

…Do try to stay out of trouble though, for their sake.

A/N: I hope this is okay!! I tend to take requests in my own direction, so hopefully this is what you had in mind :,) Also Cam post soon I think he’s infected my brain… ALSO Also more Eddie/Volt!! I love them bad.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! I won’t do everyone, but it’s usually up to what inspires me so don’t be afraid to ask :3

[pitlanepeach]

White Mercedes | Chapter Seven

Oscar Piastri x Anneliese Wolff (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — It was just supposed to be a game. Once a month. No names. No questions. A few hours where she could surrender fully—because everywhere else in her life, she was drowning.

But Oscar Piastri was all quiet power and brutal precision. He didn’t ask who she was, and she didn’t offer. Not her name. Not the harsh reality of her past. Definitely not the part about being Toto Wolff’s daughter.

But it’s not a game anymore. It’s a secret with teeth. And when it all comes crashing down, she doesn’t know if it’s her heart or his career that’ll break first.

Warnings — BDSM themes, realistic and flawed characters, Dom!Oscar, Sub!OFC, slow burn romance, lots of smut (obviously), strong language, drug-addiction, suicidal thoughts/ideation, past-suicide attempts, vaguely mentioned past sexual assault.

Notes — Jack is the sweetest boy in the world, Anneliese is keeping secrets, and we have our first scene!<3

CHAPTER SEVEN

The air smelled like coffee and buttercream.

Ana held Jack’s hand as they walked up the steps of the little stone church, his other hand clutching a red plastic dinosaur. He tugged her gently to slow down, his eyes wide as they passed a cluster of colourful balloons tied to the handrails.

“So cool,” he whispered, like maybe he was expecting something much scarier.

“It is,” Ana said, squeezing his hand. “There’s gonna be lots of people, so we’ve gotta be smiley and make friends.”

He beamed, lips sticky from jam.

Inside, the room was nothing like the usual quiet, heavy space Ana knew. The circle of chairs was still there, but it was scattered with things that didn’t normally belong—blankets laid out in the corner with toy trains and puzzles, a folding table weighed down with cupcakes and juice boxes and paper plates stacked high.

Laughter, real and loose, filled the room.

There were kids curled up in their parents’ laps. Toddlers tugging on pant legs. Someone’s baby babbled near the back while an older man carefully iced a cupcake for a wide-eyed girl who called him “Granddad”.

Ana took a breath. It felt different. Lighter.

“Sit?” Jack asked, clutching the dinosaur closer.

She nodded and led him to a chair near the edge. He crawled into her lap like he used to when he was smaller, before he’d gotten too big for that kind of thing. But he did it now without a second thought, warm and wiggly and safe.

The meeting began like always—someone stood up, thanked everyone for coming, introduced the theme: new beginnings.

But the words felt different in this setting.

Like a garden instead of a grave.

People shared—some awkwardly, some openly. Stories about what brought them here, and what was keeping them going. It was notably more… child-friendly than usual, but the truth wasn’t hidden. 

There was laughter. Quiet tears. Clapping when one woman, in her sixties, celebrated being 11 months sober and announced she’d finally started taking piano lessons again. “Terribly,” she added, and everyone laughed with her.

Jack leaned up to whisper, “What does that mean?”

“Sober?” Ana asked carefully.

Jack nodded.

Ana paused. Then, softly whispered, “It means that they stopped doing something that was making them sick.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Are you sick?”

“No, little dragon,” she said. “Not anymore.”

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Good.”

She bit back the sting in her throat, hugged him a little tighter.

A man across the circle caught her eye. He was old, grey-bearded, wearing a T-shirt that said PROGRESS, NOT PERFECTION. He gave her a knowing smile. She returned it.

After a while, Jack slid off her lap and joined another kid near the toy blanket, two plastic dinosaurs clashing cheerfully as Ana leaned back, watching him. For a long moment, she just let herself feel the peace of it—the noise, the laughter, the strange beauty of kids and cupcakes and second chances.

This room, usually steeped in heaviness and unspoken grief, felt washed in light. The kind you fight for.

And maybe Jack wouldn’t remember the words people said today.

Maybe he wouldn’t understand the weight of it until years later.

But he’d remember the feeling.

She’d make sure he knew that healing didn’t have to be a hidden, shameful thing.

That broken people could laugh and play and bake too many cupcakes.

That joy could live in places people usually only whispered about.

Later, as they left with frosting on their fingers and a half-coloured dinosaur picture folded in his pocket, Jack looked up at her. “Can we come again next time?”

Ana blinked. “You want to?”

He nodded. “Yes please, ‘Nana. They were all happy!”

She smiled down at him, hand tucked tightly around his. “Yeah,” she said. “They were.”

—

The movie had ended twenty minutes ago, but neither of them had moved to start another. The room was dim, lit only by the soft spill of the kitchen light and the glow of the paused Netflix screen. Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows, rhythmic and quiet. The couch creaked every so often beneath them, worn-in and familiar.

Ana sat curled in the corner, hoodie sleeves tugged down over her fists, the fabric bunched and twisted in her lap. Jules was sprawled across her legs, head resting on a pillow, one socked foot slowly swaying back and forth like a metronome.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then Ana let out a sigh—sharp, restless. “I think he saw them.”

Jules turned her head, just slightly. “Who?”

“Oscar,” Ana said, eyes fixed on the untouched mug in her hands. “On FaceTime. A few nights ago. I—” She shook her head a little, like she could rattle the moment loose. “I got hot and took off my hoodie without thinking. Didn’t even realise until after the call ended.”

Jules sat up a little, the humour draining from her face. “Saw what?”

Ana didn’t answer right away. Just picked at the frayed hem of her sleeve. “My arms,” she said finally. “The old track marks. They’re not obvious unless you know what to look for, but... he definitely saw. He—I think he paused. Just for a second. You know that kind of pause? Like when someone sees something they weren’t supposed to?”

Jules nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Ana ran her thumb along the rim of the mug, pressing hard, like she could focus on the pressure instead of the rising dread. “But he didn’t say anything. Just kept talking like nothing happened. And he’s still texting me. Like everything’s fine. Like he didn’t see them. We’re still on for tomorrow. Valhalla. First Wednesday of the month, like we planned.” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. Just disbelief. “Like nothing’s changed.”

“Maybe,” Jules said gently, “nothing has changed. Maybe he saw and it didn’t scare him off. Maybe he just... didn’t think anything of it.”

“Or maybe he didn’t recognise what it was,” Ana muttered. “Maybe he thought it was a scratch. Or a scar from something else. Or maybe he has figured it out, and he’s just pretending everything’s fine because he’s a good guy and he wants to end this in person tomorrow. I wouldn’t blame him.”

Jules leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Ana. Come on. You’re not—he’s not doing that. And anyway, wouldn’t he already, like… Know? I mean... after you told him who you are? Toto Wolff’s daughter? There’s no way he didn’t Google you. Right?”

Ana froze.

Her grip on the mug tightened, knuckles going pale. The lie had felt so much smaller when she’d first told it. Just a thread. Now it was a web.

She forced a tight smile, hoping Jules didn’t notice how stiff it was. “Yeah—no. You’re right. He probably knows.”

But her stomach knotted, sharp and sick.

Because no, as far as she was aware, Oscar didn’t know.

He didn’t know that her full name—Anneliese Wolf—had been synonymous with disgrace, and still sometimes was. That it still echoed in certain corners of the internet like a cautionary tale.

And she was about to walk into Valhalla—into his world—on the foundation of a lie.

Jules reached over and gave her knee a light squeeze. “I mean, if he’s still texting you like normal, and he does know... then clearly he doesn’t care. Not about that. Not about the past.”

Ana nodded, but her throat was tight, her mouth sour with guilt.

She wanted to tell her. God, she wanted to say I lied. That she hadn’t told Oscar anything. That she’d been too afraid. That the idea of being seen—really seen—made her want to crawl out of her skin.

But she couldn’t. Because if she told Jules the truth, Jules would tell Lucian. And Lucian would tell Oscar. And then everything would unravel.

Oscar would find out all of it.

And then he'd know exactly how much of her wasn't worth the effort.

Maybe it would be easier that way—maybe it would be a relief to have him come to the conclusion that she was broken in ways not even time could smooth over. At least then it wouldn’t be her choice anymore. At least then she wouldn’t have to keep pretending, and making all of the wrong choices. 

But lying to Jules... that was worse somehow.

Because Jules had seen it all. The wreckage Ana had made of herself in every conceivable way. Jules had held her her hand and helped her get rid of the very ugliest side of herself. 

She deserved the truth.

And Ana still couldn’t give it.

Because she’d already committed to the lie. Already decided she couldn’t risk losing Oscar before she even got the chance to find out what this could be. If she told Jules now, Jules would try to fix it—and in trying to fix it, she’d blow it up.

So Ana swallowed the guilt and leaned her head back against the couch cushion, blinking up at the ceiling.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered.

“You won’t,” Jules said, without hesitation. “He’s not expecting you to be this perfect, trained submissive. He knows this is your first real experience with this. That’s the point. He’s meant to teach you. Guide you. That’s what mentorship is.”

Ana exhaled slowly, eyes closing. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple,” Jules said, tugging a blanket up over both of them. “Not easy. But simple.”

Ana let herself settle into the warmth of it. Of Jules, and the quiet, and the safety that came from being near someone who loved her anyway.

But in the back of her mind, the lie crackled like static.

It was already getting messy.

—

Ana kept her coat on longer than she needed to. Not for modesty, but for protection. A layer of fabric between her and the truth. Between her and him.

Oscar was already there.

Standing by the front desk, chatting with one of the door monitors. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, black shirt buttoned up, collar neat. He looked calm. At home. 

And when his eyes caught hers, they softened.

She felt it like a ripple across her chest.

He didn’t hesitate. Just gave her that gentle smile—the one that never quite reached his eyes but always felt real anyway—and came toward her.

She braced herself.

For the confrontation. For the letting-down-easy. For the careful phrasing of rejection. You seem lovely, Ana, but…

For the way he’d surely figured it out by now. Who she was. What she’d been.

But instead, he stopped in front of her and said, quietly, “Hey.”

That was it.

Hey.

She blinked. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” He nodded toward the coat rack behind her. “You want to stay a minute before we go in? It’s not too busy tonight. We’ve got time.”

She hesitated. Every instinct in her wanted to say no—get this over with, pull the bandage off and accept the inevitable. But his tone was easy. There was no warning in it. No edge.

“Okay,” she said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be.

They stepped into the side lounge—quiet, warm, intimate. Just a few leather chairs and a low table, a decanter of water and a bowl of mints. Oscar gestured for her to sit, then took the seat across from her, knees angled slightly toward hers.

He didn’t speak right away.

Just watched her for a moment. His gaze was never intrusive, never aggressive. But it was intentional. Like he wanted her to feel that he saw her—and that it was safe to be seen.

“You nervous?” he asked eventually, with a little lift of his brows.

She laughed under her breath. “Is it that obvious?”

He tilted his head. “You’re a little tense.”

Ana picked at the hem of her sleeve. “I just thought maybe... I don’t know.”

He waited.

She didn’t finish.

Instead, she muttered, “You FaceTimed me the other night.”

“I remember,” he said.

“And I… took my hoodie off. You might’ve seen…”

“I did.”

Her heart stopped.

His voice hadn’t changed. Not in pitch or tone or pace. Just I did.

Ana swallowed. “And you’re still—”

Oscar leaned forward.

Not suddenly. Not to startle. Just a shift. A gentle motion that brought him closer without collapsing the space entirely.

“Anneliese,” he said softly, “I won’t pretend to understand it. I don’t even know what I saw, exactly. Or why you seem so scared right now. Whether it’s about that… or just because of what tonight means.”

She stared at him.

His words felt like wind over raw skin—gentle, but so real they hurt.

“I just…” she whispered, “I don’t want you to think I’m—”

He reached out then, one hand finding her wrist, thumb brushing the bone there.

“I think you’re strong,” he said. “And complicated. And really, really beautiful.”

Her breath caught.

And then his hand moved—to her cheek. His palm cupped her jaw, thumb resting just beneath her eye. The touch was impossibly light, like he was asking permission with every inch.

Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his skin.

When she opened them again, he was still there. Still watching her like she hadn’t shattered anything. Like she wasn’t made of cracked glass and old mistakes and the weight of a past she was desperate to keep quiet.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said, quiet and certain. “Not with me.”

And then he tilted her face up—slow and reverent—as though giving her the chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

His mouth was close now. Not quite touching. Just there.

And Ana—tight-wound, panicked Ana—exhaled like she hadn’t in days.

The relief was bittersweet. Breathtaking.

Because he didn’t know. 

But somehow, in this moment, he knew enough.

And that—terrifyingly, achingly—was almost worse.

—

Valhalla’s playroom wasn’t what Ana expected.

It wasn’t red velvet and iron cages or chains on every wall. It wasn’t dark and oppressive or full of loud moaning and the clink of metal restraints.

It was quiet.

Warm-toned sconces lit the room like candlelight. Overhead dimmers turned the space into a low-simmering haze of amber and gold. The floor was padded, the furniture simple—black leather, polished wood. No spectacle. No theatrics.

Just breath. Stillness. Space.

And a hum in the air.

Ana stood near the door, her body wound too tight in a dress that suddenly felt like it didn’t belong on her skin. Black, simple, short enough to feel uncertain. Her hands twisted the hem until her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded in her throat.

She felt like she was standing in a temple with no idea how to pray.

Oscar was a few feet away, watching her. Not looming. Not leering. Just present—still and waiting.

He wasn’t dressed for a scene the way she’d imagined dominants might be. No black leather. No button-down shirt rolled to the elbows like in the photos. Just dark jeans. A plain black t-shirt. Leather cuffs wrapped neatly around his wrists like they were always there. Like this was nothing new.

But his eyes—they were new.

New in the way they searched her face. 

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded too fast. “Yeah. I’m—fine. Just…”

She didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

He didn’t make her. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. His presence warmed the space around her without invading it. “I know it’s your first time,” he said. “And I know you’re scared. That’s okay.”

His voice was like the room—soft, grounded, real.

Her breath hitched.

“I don’t expect you to know what to do,” he continued. “I don’t expect anything from you tonight except honesty. And trust.”

He looked at her like it was that simple. Like her trust would be enough to move mountains—to make this thing between them possible.

“If you can just give me that,” he said gently, “Those two things. I’ll be so, so proud of you.”

Ana’s throat tightened. The fear she’d been holding behind her ribs twisted into something messier. Something like ache. “What if I mess it up?” she asked, voice barely there.

Oscar’s mouth curved into a soft, lopsided smile. “Then you mess it up. And we laugh. Or we pause. Or we stop altogether.” He stepped closer again. “I’d be relieved, actually.”

She blinked. “Relieved?”

“Yes. Because that would mean that you trusted me enough to speak up.”

God, she could cry. And that terrified her more than anything. Instead, she whispered, “What happens now?”

“Now I ask for your safe-word,” he said, “and we agree on limits. And if you’re still sure, I help you let go—for a little while.”

She stared at him like the ground might shift. “How do I choose one? A safe-word?”

“Anything you’ll remember if you’re scared or flustered. Something that means stop. Not maybe. Not wait. Stop.”

Her mind flailed. “Uh… Scuderia?”

His grin widened. “Fitting.” He stepped a little closer, his voice low. “So, if you say Scuderia, I stop everything. Immediately. I step back, I listen, and I wait for you to tell me what you need from me. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

“And the colour system. You know it?”

“I—kind of. Maybe.”

Oscar looked vaguely amused. “Green is good. Yellow means slow down, check in. Red is a hard stop. Use any of them whenever you need to. Understand?”

“Yes. Okay. Understand.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Any hard limits today?”

Ana swallowed. “I… don’t know yet.”

“That’s okay.” His brow furrowed, like he was already adjusting the whole night in his head. “We’ll start slow. Really slow.”

Then he offered her his hand. Not like a command. Not like a test.

Just a quiet, open palm.

Ana stared at it for a heartbeat too long before she reached out.

His fingers closed around hers—warm, solid, grounding.

He led her to the padded bench against the far wall. No cuffs. No straps. Just a bench. She could stop anytime. She could walk away.

Oscar turned to face her, his eyes searching hers again. “Do you trust me?”

“I think so,” she whispered.

It was ridiculous. She barely knew him. They’d shared a handful of conversations and—and they hadn’t even kissed, yet. And now she was offering him her body, her mind, her fear—all of it—on some invisible platter.

And yet—

“I think so.”

“Good.” He stepped closer, brushed her hair behind her ear.

She hadn’t realised she was shaking until his hands found her waist and steadied her.

They moved carefully. Together.

Oscar talked her through everything. “I’m going to guide your hands here. — Let me know if this hurts. — Is this stance okay?”

He had her kneel on a small, red cushion.

His hand settled gently in her hair. Not pulling. Not controlling. Just… holding. 

His thumb brushed her temple when her breath started to falter. “Breathe, Anneliese,” he murmured.

“I’m trying,” she whispered, voice hitched.

“I know.” His forehead dropped to hers. His breath was warm. “You’re doing so well.”

Her eyes burned.

His hand left her hair and slid down her back, slow and reassuring.

“Can I touch you?” he asked.

She nodded instinctively.

“Words, Anneliese.”

“Yes,” she rasped. “Yes, you can touch me.”

“Colour?”

She froze—just for a second—before the memory returned. “Green,” she whispered. “Green.”

He coaxed her to stand. Turned her with care until her hands rested against the bench.

“Good. Just like that,” he said. “Can I lift your skirt? I won’t touch you where your panties are. Not unless you ask.”

She jerked her head.

His hand landed on her inner thigh and squeezed—not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make her gasp.

“Words, Anneliese. When I ask you a question, I expect to be able to hear your answer.”

“Yes. Yes. Green! Yes. You can. Please—”

She stopped herself. She didn’t know why the desperation surprised her.

“Oscar—”

“Sir. Master. Or just Oscar, if that’s what you want.” His voice was soft but precise. It didn’t sound like a man asserting power. It sounded like a man reminding her she had all the choice in the world.

It should’ve made her feel embarrassed.

It didn’t, though. 

Then his fingers brushed the back of her thighs—barely there. A whisper. Reverent.

She flinched when his touch moved higher.

He hesitated. “Colour?”

“Green.” She said it fast.

He waited another beat anyway. Then his palm smoothed up over her hip. Pressed lightly against the small of her back.

“You’re safe with me, aren’t you?” he murmured, voice thick with something she couldn’t name. “You’re doing so good, pretty girl. You’re doing so well.”

And something in her broke open at the sound of that.

The voice.

The praise.

The safety.

It hit her like a wave, and she let it. Her head dropped. Her breath came out in a shudder.

His hand never moved. Just stayed there, firm and grounding.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said.

Ana squeezed her eyes shut.

“But I do,” she whispered. “I do.”

Oscar stilled behind her. The weight of her words hit the air like a dropped glass, soft and shattering. And in the silence that followed, Ana could feel it—the part of herself that always spoke too quietly to be heard now echoing through the warm, amber-lit space.

Oscar’s hand left her hip. For a terrifying second, she thought that maybe this would be it. He was walking away. She’d ruined it. Said too much. 

But then—

He knelt behind her.

Not in front. Not towering above. But behind her, grounded, steady, level with her body—her insecurities, her confession.

His hands came to her thighs again. Not moving up this time. Not teasing. Just resting. Warm. Present.

She felt his breath against the back of her thigh as he said, gently, “Who told you that?”

She shook her head. “No one. I—I just—Everyone expects it.”

“Everyone?”

“The world. Me.” The words spilled out, bitter and hot and quiet. “If I’m not perfect, I’m nothing. Just… another useless girl who had all of this potential and did nothing with it.”

Oscar exhaled, low and steady. She felt the hum of it more than she heard the sound.

“That’s not true,” he whispered, his lips brushing the skin of her outer thigh as he spoke. The touch sent goosebumps racing over her skin—her arms, her legs, everywhere. “That sounds like something someone told you. Something that was said out of anger, or cruelty, or something close to it. And you’ve been holding it so tightly, for so long, you started to believe that it was true.”

Ana’s jaw clenched. Her throat burned. “My—my mother,” she said quietly, and she couldn’t believe she was confessing it. Saying it out loud. “She used to say that. Every time I messed up—even a little—then I didn’t deserve good things. That I had to be perfect, or… or everything would fall apart.”

Oscar’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “And you believed her.”

She nodded—barely. “Yeah… yes. I believed her.”

There was a pause.

Then she felt him.

His arms wrapped around her thighs, his forehead pressing gently to her hip. Not sexual. Not dominant. Just still. Steady. A silent kind of holding. Like he was building space around her body where none had ever existed before.

“Give it to me,” he murmured. “The hurt. The fear. Those words she left in you.”

Ana’s breath cracked in her chest on an inhale.

“I’m right here, Anneliese. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to hold onto that for a second longer.”

The sob came before she could stop it—sharp, raw, splitting open somewhere deep inside.

His arms tightened, just enough to anchor her.

“That’s it. Let it out, baby,” he said, quiet and soft. “You don’t have to be brave with me. You don’t have to put on any kind of performance.”

And somehow—impossibly—she let go. 

Her body shook. The tears came hot and fast, not neat. No restraint. No quiet. Ugly sobs, the kind that clawed their way out. The kind she’d been trained to bury. But here, with him—kneeling behind her like she was something sacred, like her pain wasn’t too much for him to handle—she let it happen.

In that moment, she didn’t care how it sounded. How she looked.

Oscar didn’t rush her. He didn’t fill the space with noise. He just held her—solid as breath, patient as time.

Eventually, the sobs began to quieten. Her shoulders stopped trembling. Her breathing levelled into something close to human.

She reached back, blindly.

And found his hand waiting.

Their fingers laced together.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Oscar stood slowly, giving her time to turn. She did—and her knees gave out. But he caught her, effortlessly, like he’d known she would fall. Like he’d been waiting for it.

“Don’t apologise,” he said, voice low but steady, like bedrock.

His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. Warm. Certain.

“I didn’t come here to fall apart,” Ana said, her voice breaking. “I—I’m sorry. I ruined it. I definitely ruined it, didn’t I?”

Oscar’s eyes softened—not with pity, but something stronger. Something sure.

“No,” he murmured. “No, baby. You didn’t ruin anything.” He cupped her face, firm and tender. “You did exactly what I wanted—you listened. You trusted me. And you were so brave.”

Then he leaned in—not kissing her, not yet. Just close enough to let the question hang in the space between them—“Can I kiss you?”

Ana’s breath caught. Her eyes went wide, like she couldn’t quite believe he was asking. Like she didn’t know how to say anything but—

“Yes. Please.”

His hand stayed at her cheek, anchoring her as he bent forward. He kissed her forehead first—then the tip of her nose, her left cheek, then the right, then each closed eyelid. She barely breathed. Her insides pulled tight, not with fear—but with something old and aching and yearning.

And then—finally—his lips met hers. Soft. Sure. Gentle.

A kiss like shelter. A kiss like stillness.

When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Let’s start again.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Start again,” he said, softer now. “Draw a line in the sand. You know now—I don’t need you to be perfect. Yeah?”

Ana exhaled, a long, trembling breath like something ancient inside her was finally loosening its grip.

She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Start again.”

Oscar smiled, small and proud. “Good girl.”

The praise didn’t sting—it soothed. It landed low in her chest, warm and deep. Her spine tingled. Her shoulders dropped. A breath she hadn’t realised she was holding escaped her lungs.

Oscar stepped back, eyes never leaving hers. “Are you okay to keep going?”

She looked down. Her hands were no longer clenched in the hem of her dress. She let them fall, trembling—not from fear.

From trust. From anticipation.

From the strange, weightless hum of being seen.

Her chin lifted. “Yes,” she said, voice clear. “Green.”

His expression shifted, darkening—not with hunger, but with focus. With reverence. “Good,” he said. “Stay just like that. Don’t move unless I tell you to, Anneliese.”

He didn’t reach for her.

He circled her.

Slow. Intentional.

His fingertips skimmed her skin like he was reading a language only she could teach him—down the slope of her shoulder, across the hollow of her collarbone, along the curve of her spine.

Her breath hitched. Her lashes fluttered.

“You’re already floating a little, aren’t you?” he murmured, a reverent smile in his voice.

Ana couldn’t answer. Her mouth parted, but no words came. Her body was light, her mind quiet. Her heart loud.

And he was still there.

His touch stayed featherlight. Barely there. He moved down the lines of her shoulder blades, brushed the nape of her neck, traced the dip of her waist.

Never too much. Never too fast.

Just enough.

Enough to remind her she was still—alive.

Enough to remind her she was taken care of.

“Stay with me, pretty girl,” he whispered. “I’m right here. I’m going to study you. Every inch. Every tiny, perfect reaction.”

His palm drifted over her ribs. Her belly. The back of her knee. She shivered—not from cold, but from being the blatant intimacy. 

“Breathe for me, Anneliese.”

And she did. A breath that reached down into her stomach. Deeper than she’d taken in days. Maybe longer.

Tears filled her eyes again. Not from pain.

From the relief of not feeling invisible for the first time in a long, long time.

Oscar didn’t rush. He watched her, listened to every flicker in her breath, every twitch beneath his fingers. He catalogued her. Revered her. When her breath caught near her navel, he didn’t push—he softened. When her pulse quickened under his touch, he soothed it with a quiet, “That’s it. Just like that.”

He knelt, slowly, carefully. 

“Can you speak?” he asked gently.

Ana looked down at him, lips parted. Her voice barely a breath. “I—I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “That’s okay. You’re doing so well.”

He rose again, slowly, brushing her hair back from her face.

And with every careful pass of his fingers, every word shaped by patience and presence, Ana slipped deeper. Into softness. Into quiet.

Into the space between surrender and safety.

Into him.

NEXT CHAPTER

[vxnillabxn]

hiii, I've been a really big fan of your work especially zaynies! I was wondering if you could do a main five with a reader who is like quite short for their age (I'm 19 and 4'7.... 😭) due to genetics or a disability and doesn't mind it when THEY tease you about your height, but how would they react if someone else did it? and it made the reader feel sad? sorry if this is waffley I'm terrible at explaining. 🤧

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x short gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluff, hurt/comfort! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚okay, i'm almost 5'9 and i struggled a little bit picturing this, but as always, i tried my very, very best! ♡ and i suddenly turned this into hurt/comfort in some parts, because... i love hurt/comfort —that's it. that's the excuse. i hope i got your idea right (you explained it very well, dw!) and thanks for requesting! (˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

caleb is quite the tease, but he knows when to do it, and when not to.  

he thinks you're adorable, but he also knows you're very strong —that won't stop him from carrying you in his arms whenever he can, though.  

you truly don't mind.  

in fact, you actually like it when he acts a bit more protective of you without even noticing, because you know he does it out of love, and not because he finds you incapable of protecting yourself.  

with that said, he hates it when someone else comments on your appearance.  

especially when they see you as a child, or worse.  

as weak.  

when he jokes about your height, it is always something cute and innocent like “i'll hide you in my backpack so i can bring you secretly with me,” which makes you feel good and even giggle a bit, because he would never actually comment on your height as something weird or make it feel objectifying.  

unlike other people.  

you told him it was fine, you were used to receiving comments that weren't exactly nice.  

but he saw red.  

“who?”  

you just look up at him, then avert your gaze.  

“lebbie, it doesn't matter anymore. it's fine—”  

“who?”  

he approaches and kneels before you, taking both your hands in his, repeating himself.  

you stay quiet.  

the truth is, it does hurt every time you feel diminished, seen as weak or as too small to defend yourself.  

and even when you know you'll probably receive more and more comments later on, and you insist you are used to it…  

deep down, you know you aren't.  

“...our neighbors.”  

that's all it takes for him to nod and stand up.  

“wait, lebbie—”  

he walks out of your shared apartment, and after a few hard knocks on your neighbors' door, there is silence.  

and you don't like silence.  

you stand by the door, and a few minutes later, your two young neighbors walk out of their apartment with caleb following suit.  

heads down —caleb told them to keep them like so, and they knew better than to disobey.  

“we… we are sorry if we offen—”  

caleb clears his throat, and the neighbor who was speaking soon corrects himself.  

“i— i mean, we are sorry for offending you. it will never happen again…”  

“y-yeah, never again.”  

the other one chimes in, and they both stand there, in front of you, looking like they've just seen a biblically accurate angel or worse.  

an angry caleb.  

the fact that he was still wearing the fleet uniform only added to his menacing aura.  

he had his arms crossed, a tilted head, and a dismissive look on his face.  

as if they were nothing but insects.  

you look up at caleb, and then at your neighbors, wanting this situation to stop and to return to your cozy shared home.  

“just… keep those mean comments to yourselves next time.”  

you softly answer, before stepping back into your apartment, waiting for your boyfriend to do so as well.  

back inside, he makes you forget the bitter moment by pulling you into his arms and embracing you.  

he kisses your forehead and then the tip of your nose, appreciating how precious you are.  

if it wasn't because you were still at home and close to your neighbors, something worse would've happened.  

no one disrespects his pipsqueak like that.  

and no one, absolutely no one, has the right to make you sad, especially not when he is trying to always make you happy, whatever the cost.  

at the end of the day, no matter how capable, strong, smart, or resilient you might be, he'll always want you to rely on him and trust him with your precious heart.  

so he'll start looking into new apartments.  

or maybe start looking for new, decent neighbors.  

he just wants the best for his sweet little pips.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

he has so much fun.  

he loves teasing, and with you? it comes naturally at this point.  

you can't reach a high spot? he'll help.  

but he'll make a light remark about it.  

you have to quite literally bend your neck to look up at his paintings?  

he'll lift you up.  

but… you guessed it, he'll make yet another remark about it too.  

you also tease him back, or take your chance to pull at his hair when he carries you, so it is a healthy dynamic of sorts.  

especially since you two always end up reassuring each other lovingly at night, with thousands of kisses and gentle words.  

now, you two were walking by the beach, enjoying the warm sun and the soft humming of the waves.  

it was another usual day, truthfully.  

he was holding your hand, you were happily taking pictures with the other, and, overall… it was a great spontaneous date.  

until it wasn't.  

you could feel weird and questioning glances your way, more so when you and rafayel kissed on the lips.  

you could almost guess what their thoughts were, and it made you feel awful.  

your face fell, and suddenly, the beach wasn't so fun anymore.  

why must your height ruin so many things for you?  

it's not like you could help it, either.  

you truly just wanted to be happy and take fun pictures with your boyfriend.  

rafayel noticed your sudden shift, and his grip on your hand tightened.  

“cutie, shall we go for some ice cream?”  

your eyes lit up briefly, but honestly? you wanted to go back home.  

“no, raf… i think we should go back soon. we have to think what to make for lunch.”  

he knows that tone too well, and it hurts him.  

it hurts him because he could almost hear your self-doubt and the sadness that lingered after the uncomfortable moment.  

to top it all off, a beach ball fell by your feet, and when you wanted to pick it up, a guy took it from your hands.  

“watch out, shorty. this huge thing might send you back flying.”  

rafayel tilts his head, before stepping in front of you with a neutral expression.  

“raf—”  

he takes —yanks— the beach ball away from the guy, before clenching it with enough force to make it pop.  

the guy soon reacts, eyes widening upon the silent yet threatening display.  

“hey dude, what is wrong with you?!”  

rafayel takes your hand again and softly pulls you away.  

“hey—”  

he keeps calling out for you two, picking up the rubber pieces and remains of the once colorful ball.  

you are both stunned by the exploding sound and rafayel's nonchalant attitude, but it all goes away once he takes you for some ice cream, because he knew you wanted some.  

you look back at the guy one last time before scooting closer to rafayel, pulling your hand away from him to now hug his arm tenderly.  

he leans down and kisses your head softly, and you know you're safe with him.  

even when he mostly lets you have all the fun and defend yourself when you feel like it, he also wants to remind you he can and will step in.  

he's not just a cute face, after all.  

he'll take care of you, and he will ensure every single one of your days feels like eating a fresh ice cream under the warm sun.  

—he's the only one allowed to tease you, too.—  

the sun feels warm once again, and you focus on your sweet prince charming, rather than anyone else.  

you will get your ice cream.  

and he will get you to smile again, and that's all he really needs.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

your relationship is explosive.  

in a good way.  

he teaches you how to throw punches.  

you jump on his back by surprise when he isn't looking —but he can definitely sense your presence—.  

you two sneakily attack, tease and play with each other all the time, and he now calls you his “feral kitten”.  

hell yeah you are.  

he absolutely knows you are strong.  

damn, he's felt your punches and shoves. he definitely is a victim of your hands, and that's exactly what he wanted to teach you.  

however, he still manages to treat you like his most delicate treasure.  

his gem, his love, his everything.  

and he always whispers everything he finds endearing about you; from your most valuable qualities to some of your physical aspects —your eyes, your hair, your hands.  

you never even question the height difference, because he never actually made it an issue or a constant reminder.  

you just know he's huge.  

he just knows you're not.  

and you spend most of the time either attached to his back like a koala or in his arms, so neither of you notice.  

that's why when someone comments or stares at the two of you, you proudly assume it's because you look like a royal couple.  

and sylus proudly shows you off, too.  

soon enough, you notice that might not be the case.  

in fact, all of the glances started for the wrong reasons.  

they were whispering, saying ugly things, assuming details about you, your body, your age.  

inventing possible conditions.  

it felt… dehumanizing.  

because they didn't even know you.  

you didn't feel so confident anymore. even when dressed impeccably after going with sylus to yet another charity event, and having his protective arm around yours.  

you wanted to leave.  

“sy—”  

before you could even look up at your boyfriend, a rather drunk and hiccuping woman approaches.  

“my, sweetheart! this isn't… hic! the place for a kiddo… hic! to be…”  

the blood drains from your face.  

do they… do people actually see you as a child, when you clearly are not?  

people around you and sylus tense up, mostly because the temperature seemed to drop.  

sylus simply tilted his head, jaw clenched in the slightest.  

the woman laughs and pats sylus' arm.  

“ah! i was just… hic! kidding! why so serious, love?”  

that was the last straw.  

sylus stepped back swiftly and took a deep breath, gun already in hand.  

however, he turned to look at you.  

sulking, doubting yourself, looking down at the clothes he chose carefully for both of you to match.  

you were far more important.  

he took your hand and took you away, not before doing a slight gesture with his hand that evoked a terrifying scream from the woman, followed by the screams of the guests.  

you didn't dare look back.  

you just knew he did what he had to, whatever it was.  

and that same night, he helped you undress and get ready for bed.  

he was still quiet, but his gaze was focused, loving, understanding.  

you didn't need for him to ask you to explain. you just felt like pouring your heart out, and you did, holding him as tight as he was holding you.  

he spent hours reassuring you, repeating over and over how much you were worth.  

and for being a man that hates to repeat himself…  

he sure told you a lot of times he loved you, until your heart finally felt at ease.  

his little display back at the event was only a mere warning for everyone else.  

shall they be so stupid to disrespect you —and touch him with their filthy hands—, then they simply don't deserve to keep making decisions.  

never again.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

he lives with his arms wrapped around you.  

literally.  

you can't pry his hands away from you, and even worse when you two snuggle.  

he'll hold you as if you were nothing but a small, fluffy plushie, and you can't even squirm, or his embrace will tighten.  

when you two go out and casually stroll around, he has to hug you.  

or have one arm around you.  

or have your hand secured in his.  

or give you a piggy ride.  

ah, he adores you so much it's not even funny.  

today, you convinced him to go out and try this new restaurant where you could make your own pancake art and have free drinks!  

sweets and cocktails? sounded like a cool plan.  

it was exciting, and you wanted to make cute figurines —and watch him struggle.  

after all, he likes to tease you for having small hands, and you tease him back by saying his are a bit clumsy, despite being so elegant.  

unlike lumie—  

wait, no. don't tell him that.  

anyway, when you two arrived at the restaurant, there was a rather big waiting line. they just opened a few days ago, so it was only natural.  

you didn't mind waiting, as long as xavier was there with you, hugging you from behind and kissing your head.  

when your turn finally arrived, an employee greeted you both without looking up from their tablet.  

“hi! welcome to—”  

they looked up, and their smile faltered.  

“oh! i'm sorry, you do know this isn't a child-friendly place, right?”  

you'd think they were joking.  

if it wasn't for the condescending tone in their voice.  

“we are aware.”  

xavier says, his voice muffled as his mouth is pressed against your hair.  

the employee looks at him, then down at you.  

“i'm sorry, i'll need an id.”  

you were about to take it out. you didn't want to make a big deal out of it, after all, you knew this could happen.  

though, it didn't make you less… sad.  

you really wanted to have a fun date. was it that weird?  

xavier stops your hand, and he softly pulls you away.  

“xav…?”  

he shakes his head and keeps walking, until he stops and lowers down.  

“come.”  

he pats his back.  

and you can't help but jump. he easily carries you, holding your thighs and looking determined.  

“...why did we leave? i could've just—”  

“no. you shouldn't have to explain yourself. you don't owe them anything.”  

you rest your cheek against his head.  

“yeah, but… i just had to show them my id, and that was it.”  

“we can have a cute date without that dumb restaurant anyway.”  

and he takes you back home, where thankfully enough, you had ingredients to prepare a bit of pancake batter and cocktails.  

not the best, but it was something.  

you can't lie, it was way more fun.  

and as you focused on trying to draw some shapes with the batter, xavier looked at you attentively.  

he hated the way they spoke to you.  

he hated the way your eyes turned dull.  

he hated how your excitement was replaced by disappointment and hurt, as if it was normal for you to just give in to disrespect.  

he hugged you, tighter.  

different from before, though you didn't notice, way too engrossed in your current task.  

but he was determined —to close down the restaurant or make that employee disappear mysteriously— to make you feel secure and confident enough so you never feel like justifying yourself again.  

he was also determined to make a cute bunny pancake, though.  

he has to beat the “clumsy-handed” allegations.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

his teasing is dangerous.  

because it is silent.  

you could be struggling with anything at all, and he'll help you with no issue.  

but there is always a small grin on his lips when you aren't looking.  

he also does some… questionable remarks here and there about your height.  

“maybe if you ate your vegetables…”  

you always backfire with your most trusted callback.  

“well, maybe you should eat carrots to stop having such poor eyesight!”  

wiped the grin off this man's face in seconds.  

he loves it, though. and you love it when he teases you, too, because it feels light, playful, and even loving, if you squint.  

either way, when he's not teasing, he's actually very gentle.  

if your short height was inherited, he wouldn't really mind.  

if it was because of a certain disability, he'll make sure to know everything. not to nag you or act as a doctor all the time, but just to be aware of how he can silently assist or support you, should you need it someday.  

still, you are the strongest person he knows, so he would never underestimate you or your skills.  

he is aware of the height difference, though. he secretly loves whenever he calls your name and you have to look up at him.  

or when you tug his tie to bring him closer to you.  

he's so in love.  

you usually wait for him at his office, but today, you decided to wait outside, wanting to talk to yvonne or just watch people pass by.  

however, you didn't expect such a professional and hectic environment to shelter a group of venomous people.  

or rather, nurses you don't usually see around.  

they were talking, gossiping, and making snarky remarks, seemingly on their lunch break.  

you didn't pay much attention until they mentioned your boyfriend.  

and then, they talked about you.  

making fun of your height, of your appearance, of how zayne probably is pitiful because he knows you since you were kids, and didn't want to leave you alone.  

it hurts, it stings… it feels horrible.  

how can people make such bold assumptions just by glancing at somebody?  

you couldn't really take it anymore, but… you needed to know.  

you needed to know what people usually thought when seeing you.  

maybe that's what everyone thinks?  

maybe—  

your thoughts are interrupted after you feel two hands shielding your ears from their hurtful words.  

zayne stands behind you, pulling you close to his chest while covering and protecting you from hearing more nonsense.  

you can't look at him, but you can sense his stern gaze; not towards you, but rather to the nurses.  

he guides you to his office, and when he closes the door, he turns to you.  

“liars. all of them.”  

he says, taking a step closer.  

you take a step back, noticing his serious tone and behavior.  

“zaynie—”  

“they spoke nothing but fallacies.”  

you look up at him, and he kneels in front of you.  

he wraps his arms around your waist.  

“my love, promise me you will never believe such cruel words. i do not share those outrageous opinions, nor will i do. ever.”  

he looks even more affected than you, and maybe it is because he caught a hint of doubt in your eyes.  

he can't let that happen, not when he loves you so much and always makes sure to reassure you, through gentle words or with intimate yet meaningful gestures.  

and seeing him so vulnerable upon sensing your own distress is more than enough for you to feel safe again.  

he could never think like those nurses implied.  

not your zayne.  

so you kneel too and nuzzle against him, finding comfort in his arms.  

and he holds you quietly, until every bad thought of yours disappears, and until those nurses' voices go away from your mind.  

he'll take care of them later, of course.  

but right now, —and always, really— he only cares about you.

[popcornpoppypop]

At The End Of The Day

Summary: Kit and Robby deal with having a newborn in the house. Robby notices changes with Kit. He'll keep her from drowning, no matter what.

Warnings: Postpartum depression, intrusive thoughts, bad moms, talks of birth

A/N: I have never had a baby nor postpartum. I did a lot of research for this one. I feel like there are a lot of fics that just end with the happy family and wanted to sprinkle a little reality in there. This is The Pitt after all.

The moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the bed and its inhabitants. The Robinavitch house was quiet; everyone was sleeping soundly. Michael and Kit were tangled in each other’s arms, Hawkeye snoring at their feet.

A cry crackles through the baby monitor on the nightstand.

The two stirred, Michael sitting up out of instinct and practically still unconscious. Kit groaned as she rolled over, pushing herself up.

“I got her.” Robby murmured.

“She needs to be fed.” Kit groaned.

“We have bottles in the fridge. Sleep.” He cleared his throat.

“And let my tits leak all over myself for no goddamn reason? Brilliant.” Kit snapped as she padded out of the room. Robby felt like he had whiplash, unsure what had just happened.

She’s tired, he thought. They both were. It had been only a week since they had brought Abby home. For the most part, they had adjusted. It was, however, evident that Kit was starting to feel the toll of their new responsibilities more than he was.

He got up and went to the nursery. He stood silent in the doorway, watching Kit. She sat in the rocking chair, the baby held to her breast. The shadows hid her face, the silhouette was still enough to take Robby’s breath away. He never would get used to the sight, something so intimate and beautiful about it. He had to choke back tears every time he saw her feed their baby.

The sound of sniffling made him tip his head in confusion.

He cleared his throat, a small warning that there was another person near, as he walked toward her.

Kit was in her own world, the baby suckling and her head bowed. She didn’t care that Robby was there.

He knelt in front of her, her face clearer, as were the tears falling down her cheeks. It took him by surprise.

“Kit?” His voice soft, afraid of startling her.

“Don’t.” She whispered. “I can’t do this right now.” Her voice was small and fragile.

“Alright. I’ll sit here then, that okay?” Robby put his hands on her knees. She nodded. They sat together in the moonlight as the baby finished feeding. Kit put Abby back in her crib, the baby settling back down.

Robby came up behind her, running his hands up and down her arms. The feeling had always calmed Kit, it was a small gesture that had saved her time and time again. Not this time. In this moment, it was closer to a cheese grater against her skin.

“Stop.” She bit and stomped off, back to the bedroom.

Robby stood staring at the doorway that Kit had just left through, a strange, dejected feeling washing over him.

The sun was streaming through the window, it beat against Kit’s eyelids. She groaned as she sat up. She looked over to see that Robby had woken up already.

The smell of coffee and food felt like a warm hug as she walked into the kitchen. Robby stood over the stove, the baby in her rocker on the floor near him. He looked up at the sound of Kit entering.

“Decaf is ready when you want it.” He smiled

“Great.” Kit forced a smile, he could tell.

“Do you want some eggs? I know they are hit or miss for you.” He observed her as she made her coffee. It was clinical more than romantic.

“That’s fine.” She shrugged.

“I can make something else, if you want.”

“That’s dumb, you’re already doing eggs, just make the damn eggs.” She sighed as she walked over to the table and set her mug down.

“O-kay.” Robby felt himself getting frustrated and did his best to stamp it out.

“When did she eat last?” Kit sipped her coffee.

“About an hour ago. She’s okay.” He smiled down at the baby as she gurgled in her rocker.

“Did you change her?”

“Yes. Honey, I’ve got her taken care of. Don’t worry about her right now.” He put the plate of eggs in front of her.

“Don’t be so patronizing. I’m just checking on my daughter.” Kit snapped.

“That’s not fair.” Robby looked down at her, his annoyance evident.

“Whatever.” She sighed. The baby started crying in her rocker. Kit moved to get up but Robby gestured for her to sit down. He gathered the baby up in his arms and cooed for her to settle.

“We’re going to go and play in the living room so you can have your breakfast.” Robby sighed as he walked off.

The day went on and Kit couldn’t shake the cloud over her head. Robby did his best to keep everything light.

Kit was sitting on the couch, watching some nonsense on the TV, Abby was lying on Robby’s chest. She watched as he rubbed gentle circles on her back. A thought flashed across her mind. It was terrifying and came out of nowhere.

He’s going to take her from you and you won’t care.

Kit shook her head, the tears burning her eyes.

He’s going to take her and you won’t see her again and you’ll be relieved.

She felt her chest tighten.

He’s going to take her because he knows what a bad mother you are, what a bad person you are.

She sat up straight in her seat, her hands rubbing up and down her thighs and breath picking up.

You’ll be so relieved when they aren’t here and you’ll get the confirmation that you’re no better than your mother.

Kit jumped up and rushed over to them.

“Give her to me.” She said, her voice panicked and shaky. She pried the baby off his chest.

“Kit, what the hell?” Robby looked up at her furious and confused.

“She’s my baby too. I’m allowed to hold her.” She snapped as she rushed out of the room. It was the first time Robby didn’t recognize his wife.

The tensions only grew worse over the next few weeks. Robby did his best to be understanding. He tried to give her space and let her work through whatever was going on.

“Can you just clean up after yourself, honestly!” Kit snapped as she tossed Robby’s coffee mug into the dishwasher that he had left in the sink.

“Kit, I put it down for a second. I was going back for it.” His shoulders were tensed.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Kit scoffed.

“I’m tired of this. Can you tell me what I can do right?” Robby snapped.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“You don’t stop yelling at me and I have no idea what is happening!” Robby through his hands in the air.

“Just leave me alone, right now.” Kit hissed.

“Right. I’ll just go spend every waking moment with our baby that can’t hold a conversation yet. Fine.” He knew he shouldn’t have said it. But he did it anyway.

“If you don’t want to spend time with your daughter, why did you knock me up then!?” Kit barked.

“I’m not doing this.” Robby turned and stomped off.

Robby was at his wits end. He was trying so hard to help her. Any time he broached the subject, Kit brushed him off or bit his head off.

Kit could feel herself slipping away. She felt herself turning into something different. It was dark and heavy and she couldn’t figure out how to fight it. She knew that this wasn’t rare, but she didn’t think it would happen to her.

The late nights and early mornings were getting to her. She just needed some sleep, she told herself.

She stood rocking the baby in the living room, standing by the window to get some sunlight. Abby was cooing and wriggling in her arms. Kit watched her face scrunch up and test it’s flexibility. She should be enthralled, Kit thought. But she was indifferent.

Robby walked into the room, watching her stare down at Abby. The look on her face was disconcerting. He walked up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“She’s getting so animated with her face.” He hummed.

“She’s supposed to by now.” Kit’s voice was monotone.

“It’s fun to watch it happen, though.” Robby rubbed her shoulder.

“I need a shower.” Kit passed the baby off to him.  

“Kit?” Robby called after her.

“What?” She snapped.

“I know it’s hard. But you’re doing really well.” Robby smiled. Kit watched him for a long, silent moment. Tears pricked behind her eyes. She shook her head and left.

The baby monitor crackled with soft sounds that lulled Robby awake. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked over to find himself alone in the bed. He was going to roll over and sleep when he heard the sounds again. It was soft, but the sobs of his wife had him up and out of the bedroom quick.

He walked into the nursery to find Kit in her rocking chair, the baby nursing in her arms. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

“Kitty, what’s wrong?” Robby fumbled his way over to her. “Is it painful? I can get that massage thing.” He moved to get up but Kit grabbed his wrist.

“I can’t do this, Michael.” She sobbed.

“What are you talking about?” Robby knelt down in front of her.

“I can’t…it’s too much. I might…I might hate her. I don’t want to hate her.” Kit sobbed. Robby’s heart stopped in his chest. The pain she’d been keeping to herself to spare them was breaking her.

“Honey. When…when did this start?” He brushed a stray hair from her face.

“I don’t know. I just keep having these thoughts, horrible thoughts. I hate who I am. It’s miserable.” Kit sobbed. The baby finished feeding and Robby took her and settled her in her crib.

“It’s okay. This happens. Everyone has scary thoughts, it doesn’t mean you hate her.” Robby put his hands on her knees.

“I-I’m turning into my mother.” Kit cried. Robby wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her head.

“You are not your mother. You’re not. We’re going to get through this. You just need some help. We’ll figure this out.” He promised and Kit sobbed, her hands clawing at his shirt, desperate for escape.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” her voice was raw. She wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to at this point. Maybe Robby, maybe the baby or perhaps herself.

“Shhh. You’re okay. You don’t need to apologize.” Robby held her tight to his chest. “Let’s go to bed. You need some sleep.” He pulled her to her feet, guiding her back to their bed. Her emotions taking their toll caused her to pass out the second her head hit the pillow.

Robby sat up all night looking up the best ways to help and the best therapists in Pittsburgh. He sent emails, pulling on every favor owed to him to get her in somewhere.

Dr. Robinavitch,

I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s struggles. This is very common and, unfortunately, rarely discussed. I want to ease some potential grief that you’re feeling and let you know that it’s hard to differentiate the signs of postpartum from exhaustion; you didn’t miss anything.

I would be more than willing to see Katherine this week. I understand the urgency this case has for you. I have personally dealt with postpartum myself and can understand how quickly it can escalate. If she is willing to come on Thursday, I have an opening at 1pm. I will tentatively schedule it for her.

Please let her know that this isn’t a failure or defect in her. That’s the most important thing you can do for her.

Sincerely,

Dr. Joanna Groff.

The morning light was harsh, unwelcome this morning. It felt nagging. Kit rolled over to find the bed empty. She groaned as she got up, her tits hurt, her head hurt, her body ached. She thought she would start to feel better once Abby was born, but she felt worse than ever.

She walked to the nursery, pulling her robe close to her to fight the cool air. She stood in the doorway, watching Robby hold their daughter. His big arms enveloped her tiny body. She looked so small in his embrace.

“Mama is so good to you. We just need to help her a little. We’re going to take care of her just like she takes care of us.” He hummed to the baby, bringing her close and kissing her soft hair.

Kit’s chest tightened and twisted. She felt so much from those words. She wanted to revel in the beauty of them. She wanted to be comforted by his care. But she couldn’t fight the feeling of failure. She couldn’t stop her mind from spiraling and her mother’s words ringing in her head.

“You think you can do better? Please! You’re no better than me, you’re just like me.”

She couldn’t stifle the sob. It echoed into the nursery. Robby whipped around, surprised to see her and the tears streaming down her face. He put the baby down and gathered her up in his arms.

“You’re okay.” He murmured into her hair.

“I’m just like her.” She whispered.

“Nope, not even a little. Come here,” Robby pulled her to the living room and sat her on the couch. He knelt in front of her, holding her face in his hands.

“She told me that I was no better than her, the day Abby was born. I fought her, but maybe she was right.” Kit shook her head.

“No, she’s never been right about you. Kitty, you are so much more than your mother could ever be.” Robby brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“I know you think you’re failing right now, but you’re not. Your mother would never be this upset; she wouldn’t care the way you do. You care so much, it’s too much for you right now. That’s okay. I’m not letting you drown.” He told her, holding her shaking hands in his.

“What if I can’t get out of this?” She couldn’t look at him.

“I’m not letting that happen. I pulled some favors, I got you in with Dr. Groff. She’s the best in the state. She’s gone through this too, she’s going to help us. I’m getting you whatever you need, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.” She shook her head; her body couldn’t stop shaking.

“I love you so much.” He wrapped her up in his arms, Kit clung on to him for dear life.

Kit hadn’t realized it until she was in the parking lot of Dr. Groff’s office, but that was the first time she had left the house for herself since Abby was born. The world felt foreign, scarier. Her hands shook as she opened the car door and made her way inside.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The receptionist’s bright smile didn’t help Kit’s nerves.

“I have an appointment at 1 pm with Dr. Groff. Should be under Robinavitch.” She cleared her throat.

“Of Course. She’s finishing up with her last appointment. I’ll let you know when she’s ready.” Kit nodded and sat in the plastic cushioned chair. The waiting room was sterile. The pictures on the wall were stock photos of plants. The magazines on the side table taunted her with headlines like; How to relearn self-love, 6 ways to a happier mindset, You steer the ship: how to take control of your decisions.

“Mrs. Robinavitch, she’s ready.” The Receptionist smiled. She got up and walked into the office. She was shocked to see how different Dr. Groff’s office was from the waiting room. There was a colorful rug on the floor, the furniture was soft and pillowy, and the walls were covered in beautiful art. There was a warmth to it.

“Mrs. Robinavtich, have a seat.” The woman was in her mid-fifties, her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her clothes were loose and airy. Her top was an earthy green and her pants a deep maroon. Her glasses sat on the tip of her nose, just above a kind smile.

“It’s Dr. Robinavitch, actually.” Kit cleared her throat as she sat on the couch.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were both doctors. I’ll make a note of that in your file.” She nodded as she scribbled something on her notebook.

“It gets confusing. Katherine is fine.” Her body was tense, and she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

“I bet. What is your specialty?”

“EM, like Michael. Same department at PTMC. I just go by Dr. R and he’s Dr. Robby. Still causes some confusion with the med students.”

“Well, it’s not hard to confuse them.” Groff chuckled.

“True.”

“Shall we get down to it?” Groff gave a soft smile, trying to encourage Kit.

“I guess. I’m not sure where to start?” Kit gave a nervous laugh.

“Wherever feels most comfortable for now.”

“Right.” Kit bit at her nails. “I guess, I started having these…thoughts about a week after Abby was born.”

“Abby is your daughter?”

“Yes. Abigail.”

“That’s a nice name. After anyone?”

“Michael’s grandmother. She raised him, it meant a lot to him.”

“What a wonderful memorial. How old is Abby?”

“She’s five weeks.”

“How long is your maternity leave?”

“Eleven weeks. Michael’s paternity leave is only eight.”

“So, he’ll be going back soon. That’s scary.”

“I guess. It’ll be different.”

“Do you want to tell me about your thoughts?”

“Want to? No. But I have to, I think.”

“Why do you have to?”

“Because they’re eating me alive and I feel like Michael just can’t understand. He tries, believe me. He’s a man at the end of the day.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well…he didn’t go through all of it, physically. I had carried her, I was so sick. The worst morning sickness, almost had to be hospitalized. But I never cared. I loved her so much from the moment I found out I was pregnant. Then I went through labor and birth, it was so hard.”

“Was it a traumatic birth?”

“No. Not any more than usual.”

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“All birth is trauma. It’s your insides being ripped apart. It’s your body changing violently against your will. It’s your child being ripped from you. It’s pain and fear and violence and too many emotions.”

“Some women find it to be beautiful. You don’t feel that way?”

“No. I don’t. There were moments during labor, at least. Michael holding me and keeping me safe. It was nice when we talked about the future. But once it reached a point when it was relentless, it wasn’t beautiful.”

“What about when you saw her for the first time?”

“I was scared.”

“Why?”

“Well, she didn’t cry at first. The doctor and nurses had to help her and she wasn’t on my chest like all the other mothers talked about. I thought something was wrong. I couldn’t move to help; I was in so much pain. But I was too scared to move.”

“That would be terrifying. But she was okay.”

“Yeah, it only lasted 20 seconds. They put her in my arms, and she was so beautiful. I loved her so much. But…” Kit couldn’t get the words out.

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

“I’ve never even told Michael this.” Her hands were shaking again.

“I’m not Michael. Everything you say to me stays with me.”

“I know. It’s a lot to say out loud.”

“I think you need to say it out loud.”

“When they put her in my arms, after a minute, I wasn’t interested in her at all. I wanted to push her off of me.” Kit couldn’t stop the sobs. Groff handed her a box of tissues.

“Katherine. It’s normal. Everything you’re feeling is normal.”

“I faked it. Every time someone came in the room, I plastered a smile on my face and pretended like I was beside myself with joy. But I was drowning and couldn’t find the words.”

“We’re going to find the words here, together.”

“I love her. I know I do. But I might hate her too.”

“Why do you think you hate her?”

“She cries and my body just gets so tense it hurts. I hold her and look at her, and half my brain thinks she is so beautiful, and the other half is annoyed at her presence. Sometimes, it’s just disinterest.”

“Katherine, what you’re feeling is just normal emotions. Do you have violent thoughts?”

“No. But…Michael was holding her once, and I thought how much better he was at this than me. How he was going to realize I’m a bad mother and leave, and I’d be relieved.”

“I see.”

“I’m crazy.”

“No one is crazy. You are exceptionally normal, I’m afraid.”

“I get it from my mother.”

“Tell me about your mother?”

“She hates me. She’s told me. She had kids because she thought she had to, not because she wanted to. Every time we talk, she tells me how disappointed in me she is. She doesn’t like my life.”

“How did your mother react when you told her you were pregnant?”

“She laughed at me, told me that I wasn’t mother material.”

“That must have hurt.”

“Yeah, but I’m used to it.”

“What do you do when your mother says these things to you?”

“I tell Michael. He counters her, talks me off the figurative ledge. Most of the time, her words just annoy me. I don’t hold much importance to them.”

“Okay. I want you to try something for me this week. When you have these thoughts that upset you, that feel bad, I want you to tell them to Michael like it’s your mother saying them. Take those thoughts and put them into your mother’s voice. Take the importance away from them, like you do with your mother. Do you think we can try that?”

“I can try.”

“You took a big step today, Katherine. It was a lot, you’re going to be tired. It’s okay. You need rest. Let yourself rest. Be kind to yourself as we figure this out. Healing is not linear; there will be good days and bad days. I want us to meet once a week for now. I’m going to keep this time for you.”

“Okay. Thank you. Thank you.” Kit wiped the tears from her face.

“I’m here if you need me. I’ll see you next week.” Groff smiled.

Kit sat in the driveway for a while. She lost track of time. Her mind felt lighter than it had in weeks, months, even. She took a deep breath before she moved to go into the house.

Michael was cooking, humming to the soft music playing, Abby strapped to his chest. He hadn’t heard her come in yet. She stood in the doorway, letting the sight sink in.

“You look good like that.” She smiled. Michael jumped, looking at her and softening as he saw how relaxed she looked, how she looked more like herself.

“Back at you.” He hummed. Kit walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around him and the baby.

“Thank you.” She kissed his shoulder.

“You don’t have to thank me for doing what’s needed.” He said as he stirred the pasta sauce.

“I know. But some men would have just let me drown. You didn’t. You took care of me, even when I didn’t make it easy.” She buried her face in his back.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Kitty. You are the love of my life. You’re my wife. You and Abby are all that matter.” He turned around and held her face in his hands.

“You’re all that matters.”  She pulled him down into a deep kiss. Abby started fussing between them.

“Valid, we were squishing you. Sorry, Babygirl.” He laughed and kissed her little head.

“After dinner, I need to tell you some things about therapy.”

“Big things?”

“Heavy, yeah.”

“Alright. Food, then feelings.” He kissed her cheek.

[ruinix]

https://www.tumblr.com/ruinix/782522598998376448/no-one-told-me-there-was-a-video-of-jack

thinking about car sex with Jack then being able to romantically cuddle & stargaze after through the insane roof windows ❤️

Connecting ask: prev ask just sent about Jack and his car i know you’re a quinn girlie i am too but his hair cut and the stubble had my eyes wandering a bit.

Hi, lovely!! Finally got to this request, 😔 are you still there? He looked so fine in that video, but i am still sobbing for his hair. YET I AGREE. He looked so scrumptious in that haircut too. 🫦 Stubble is INSANE. I love it. I am here for it. I wanna feel it on my p—WHAT. Anyway, here it is.

Underneath the Stars

18+. Whore thoughts. Smut and Fluff. Unprotected Sex. Car Sex.

Jack held you closer, shuddering and moaning breathily. It felt as though he was being electrified, his brain turning putty, his hands twitching and trembling as he gripped you tighter. One hand on your hip, guiding you, helping you. Another on your lower back, alternating between gripping and tracing circles on your skin. As he panted, he greedily inhaled the softness of your scent and the smell of sex.

He didn't plan this.

He only wanted to take you out of the city, let you see the stars you'd been raving about. He even packed sandwiches for snacks and steak in insulated containers for dinner. He even got your favorite wine. He only want to take you away so you could rest. Until you decided that wasn't enough.

The moment you two settled with sunroof open, with your seats reclined to wait for the stars to appear as the sun set, you were on him, kissing him, tugging at his shirt, climbing over the console so you could grind on him.

Jack couldn't do anything else, his mouth not working to remind you about food but kissing you, tearing at your clothes like he hadn't touched you for days. Now, you were both naked, stinking of sex and sweat, your skin slicked, your hair sticking to your skins, your discarded clothes were in piles in the passenger seat.

You were as desperate as him. You were whining and gasping with every thrust, almost screaming when he met them with his own, making sure to grind your clit against his lower abdomen.

"I love you, Jack," you panted for the hundredth time, your thrusts stuttering. "So much."

"I love you too, baby," he responded, capturing your lips into a seering kiss.

You two probably shouldn't do this in the car. Probably. But, fuck his life, he didn't fucking care. He fucked you harder, gritting his teeth, his vision getting splotchy, as your pussy convulsed one last time and you came, squeezing and trembling, pushing him over the cliff of his orgasm.

"You're the best," Jack panted, leaning back his head as he slowly thrust for every spurt of his cum, stopping when he could no longer give you anything. He exhaled, then again, "Love you."

You hummed, burying your face on his neck, murmuring something about a powernap. You were so adorable. The cutest even when you initiated the wonderful sex. It was always so good.

As your breaths slowed, he pressed tender kisses over your hair, one hand snatching his hoodie to cover your bareback so you wouldn't get cold.

Not minding the state of his hair, he focused on yours. He pried the free some of the tangles he could reach. His other hand still softly rubbed over your back. However, after a couple minutes, he was full on combing through your hair with two hands.

At that point, you suddenly sat up, jolting him so fucking much, because you were still connected. He silently cursed, getting so starstrucked when you yawned and stretched, all bare and fucking pretty. His cock twitched.

You smirked, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Later, Jack."

"Fine." Jack feigned a huff. Hesitantly, he said, "You should...get off me..."

"What if I don't want to?" You asked, grabbing his cheeks, pressing soft kisses on his lips. He groaned, making you giggle, the sound sounding so light in his ears. "Fine, do we have tissues?"

Jack wasn't sure. He couldn't think about it becaude every time you moved had him getting harder and fucking harder. He gritted his teeth, lifting you off.

"Just use my shirt." He snatched it harshly from the seat and tenderly cleaned you, not minding if some of his cum spilled on him. "There we go."

He was supposed to urge you to your seat, but you remained on his lap, snatching his shirt to wipe at the mess on his thighs, on his fucking cock, your touch lingering right there.

"Baby, you gotta stop." He panted as you jerked his sensitive cock.

"Just one more?" You asked, your eyes looking so wide and innocent.

Jack thought that you might be planning on killing him in this isolated spot. What a good way die though. So he just let you have whatever you want even if it was to kill him by making him come so much. He couldn't stop his whines, his hips jerking. It wasn't long until he was coming, spilling hot cum all over himself, then on your tummy and your tits. Fuck, what a sight.

Now, he was grumbling when he cleaned you. He wanted to see his cum dried on your tits, but he guessed that was an at-home kind of deal. He helped you dress in your comfortable hoodie, the one where he had your initials embroidered on the hem, and your shorts. Only then you climbed over to your seat again, handing him his own clothes that matched yours.

"The stars are really nice out here," you muttered, after you took your packed dinner from the back.

Jack gazed up, seeing clusters of stars—galaxies, maybe. "Not much pollution out here."

"Not much people too." You grinned, your eyes crinkling at the sides, your blush tinting your cheeks. "We can fuck some more."

"What's with you tonight? You're insatiable," Jack said in awe, gripping his plastic container because his cock painfully twitched. "I like it, but I'm worried," he truthfully said.

"Just happy," you hummed, your eyes watering, your lips trembling. "You remembered."

He reached and caught your tears. "I remembered what?"

"That I wanted to stargaze." You sniffled.

Of course, he remembered. Why wouldn't he? There were moments where you talked about it. You weren't an avid stargazer to know constellations—or maybe you did and you were holding back on him—but you clearly liked the stars. He would take anywhere to see your precious stars.

"Come here," he called, putting his dinner on the dash. You sat right back on his lap, so he held you, kissing your tears away. "You're important to me. I'll remember everything you said. I already have future dates planned."

Your eyes were twinkling more than the stars. "Really?"

He nodded, laying you both down, pointing at the stars. He did a bit of research. He pointed a few constellations that he could see. That earned him a look of wonder and even a little applause. He laughed at your antics. His Love was so silly. You genuinely acted like he knew a lot while you pointed at some patterns and explained them. Jack might not see them but he nodded, marveling your joy.

This was a good date, huh? He should be proud of himself but instead, he found himself feeling so full just because you were having fun. His arms hugged tighter and when you looked at him, he started telling you about a few of the dates he had planned.

His heart pounded in his chest when you smiled wider, your pretty eyes full of mirth. When you started including some of your ideas, he was mentally taking notes, because he would definitely include everything you said.

You two spend hours in each other's arms.

Just talking. Just stargazing. Just sharing a meal that should've been eaten immediately, and drinking wine straight from the bottle for you and water for him. Just being happy underneath the stars before you teo decided to kiss again that led to more.

Good night!! 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

Lovelies @dancerbailey3 @loser-pretty-girl @tiredallthetimex @quinnintheabyss @r0wdymaize86 @allyhughesy @macka @hughesmybaby @hockeygirlyyyy @siennaluvshcky @arty-anon @hodgepodge-musings

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[headcanon-everything]

hello! If you are okay writing for them can you do romantic headcanons for either Dante or Tony? I don't see that much content for them.

TONY MY HIMBO I LOVE HIM he's so fucking funny (I'm doing Dante in a different one so keep an eye out!)

Romantic Tony Headcanons

Okay so he's kinda a meathead but he's a cute meathead so we love him

may not be exactly... the best when it comes to certain things but he's earnest and takes it to heart when you say something upset you or want him to try something else

likes to feel needed!!! let him help you out, whether it be rearranging furniture, fixing random things here or there, or even carrying in groceries

will only accept payment in kisses

will demand a kiss down payment as well, depending on the job

bear hugs, every time. might pick you up a little if you don't stop him

thinks it's funny if he hugs you hard enough that you let out a little wheeze when he squeezes really hard

has such a contagious laugh, you just can't help but smile when hes laughing at something

likes to tease, but the second you look actually upset (even if it's crocodile tears to get back at him) he's backtracking and apologizing IMMEDIATELY

will try and hug you after a long day of work and he stinks :(

he knows he's stinky, he thinks it's funny and doesn't want to wait to get your affection

you'll have to shove him towards the shower to get clean

you'll have to stop him from naming his future kid Tony or Toni, per family tradition (probably will need a compromise of it being a middle name or a variant like Antony)

WHY does this man not have a full finger gun sprite

if you cook for him, he's instantly swooning, even before you're together

this man can't cook for SHIT I can feel it

hates when he has to pull overtime and can't see you, is calling on every break

you can usually hear him before you see him, he's not very sneaky even if he tries to be to spook you

snores. sorry not sorry but you canNOT tell me that he snores.

usually it's not too bad, but if his head is turned to the side (like if he's sitting in a chair instead of laying down) it sounds like a hammer drill

you'll have to keep an eye out for him shifting things about himself to be more of what he thinks you "like"

it's not as bad if you've done the talking with Rainey, but he may still do certain things

try styling his hair closer to a celebrity you mention you like, doing certain things more if you seem even the slightest bit envious of another couple

just a quick check with him and he stops it though, he knows you like him for himself, it's just that old habits die hard

will show up with flowers often and with no occasion, just that "I walked past 'em and thought about you"

[nuelles]

You’re the fast-talking, story-rambling, chaos-brained ray of sunshine. He's the quiet, soft-smiling, “just happy to be here” listener—who’s maybe not as chill as he looks when it comes to you.

You didn’t stop talking.

Not out of nerves. Not because you were trying to fill the silence. No, you just had a lot to say, and unfortunately— or fortunately, if you asked him—for Spencer Agnew, you’d decided he was going to hear every single bit of it.

“And I’m not saying Courtney went feral during the improv challenge, but when she climbed onto the table, screamed ‘I’M YOUR NEW GOD NOW,’ and tried to baptize Damien with a Capri Sun? That’s not ‘yes and’—that’s ‘arrest her.’”

Spencer snorted softly, curled up beside you on the Smosh green room couch.

He didn’t say anything. Just leaned his cheek on his knuckles and watched you with that tiny half-smile that meant he was enjoying this, even if his mouth didn’t move much. But his eyes—his eyes were soft, full of the kind of quiet love that didn’t need words. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than next to you, listening.

“And THEN,” you continued, shifting to face him better, “Emily tried to de-escalate with the puppy voice, which just made it worse, and honestly? At that point, we all deserved chaos.”

“You always choose violence,” Spencer murmured.

“I choose accuracy.” You sipped your drink. “Anyway. I haven’t even told you what happened after filming. Do you wanna guess how many times Shayne dropped his mic?”

Spencer tilted his head. “Three?”

“Five. Five. One of them bounced into a plant. It’s in the blooper reel.”

He grinned. Still quiet. Still watching.

And you knew this rhythm by now.

You yapped. You rambled. You ping-ponged from story to insult to theory, sometimes circling back like a walking Google rabbit hole, like if Wikipedia got caffeine and a personality. And Spencer? Spencer sat with you in it. Always listening and always nodding at just the right moment. Always smirking when you hit a particularly unhinged punchline, like he’d been waiting for it the whole time. He never interrupted. Never rushed you. Just watched you like you were his favorite show, soaking in every wild tangent like it made perfect sense. Like your voice was the best background noise the world had to offer—and maybe the main event, too.

You paused for a beat. “I talk too much.”

Spencer blinked. “No, you don’t.”

You gave him a look.

“Okay, you talk a lot,” he amended, eyes warm. “But it’s never too much.”

Your stomach flipped.

You tried to hide it with sass. “You know, most people would say ‘shut up’ by now.”

“I’m not most people,” he said simply.

And that… made something in your chest tug.

You softened. “You ever get tired of listening to me?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“Even when I rant about my neighbor’s emotional support chinchilla at 2 a.m.?”

“That was riveting.”

“Even when I psychoanalyze everyone’s childhood via their Starbucks orders?”

He smiled. “I still think about Shayne’s being a cry for help.”

You laughed, warm and caught off guard.

Spencer reached out—quietly, slowly—and brushed his fingers against yours on the couch. You blinked at him.

“I like your voice,” he said.

You stilled.

“It’s not just the stories or the jokes,” he went on, gaze focused, steady. “It’s you. You could read the back of a cereal box, and I’d still sit here like it was a movie.”

Your face heated. “...You’re literally in a room with trained comedians.”

“I’m aware.” He leaned in a little. “Still only listening to you.”

You bit your lip, heart stuttering.

“You gonna kiss me or just compliment me to death?”

His voice dropped, low and teasing. “You gonna let me?”

You didn’t answer. Just leaned in and kissed him like you’d been waiting through three seasons and two spin-offs.

His hand caught the side of your face halfway through, steady and careful, like he couldn’t believe this was real—but wasn’t about to let it go. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t clumsy. It was exactly right—warm and a little dizzying, like laughing too hard in the sun.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, eyes still half-lidded, Spencer just smiled.

That soft, crooked little smile like you’d just handed him the moon.

“You good?” you asked, voice low.

“Mm-hm,” he nodded, still looking at your mouth. “Gimme a sec. My brain's doing the Windows loading wheel thing.”

You laughed, giddy and flushed.

He tucked a hand behind your knee, squeezing gently. “Okay. Yeah. I'm fine. Great, actually. You kissed me. That's… illegal levels of cool.”

You grinned. “I’ll confess later.”

Spencer leaned in again, forehead pressed to yours. “No rush. I’m a patient man....You’re gonna have so much to say about this, huh?”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Buckle up.”

He nodded.

“Cool,” he said softly. “I’m listening.”

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[hitomisuzuya]

Famour scara got drugged with aphrodisiac by his stalker while we offer ourselves to him willingly, crossing the line of friends? Overstimulation and rough rough smut of courseeeee because his mind is already addicted

idol! scaramouche x fem!reader. rough smut. overstimulation. creampie. degradation. cunnilingus.

for the record, pineapple pizza is amazing😤 i had a lot of fun writing this.

scaramouche's rock band is very, very successful. he held audiences captive in the palm of his hand with his unique sound of alternative metal. however, with great success comes it's share of obsessive stalkers.

late one night after a concert, he called you with very specific instructions: "i don't want anyone bringing me a fucking thing tonight except for you," you are confused as to why his voice sounds clipped with anger, but also husky. like he is frustrated. "whatever food or drink i ask you to get me can't leave your sight. come straight to me, and make sure nobody fucking follows you.

once he transferred money into your account to pay for what he asked for, you stopped and got him quite a few bottles of expensive water, various sodas, and a pizza he further instructed you just to pick whatever you want for toppings. just not pineapple.

he opens the door the second you knock, and pulls you inside. "nobody followed you, right?" he hisses, locking the door and taking your bags from you.

"no, no one did. scaramouche, what's going on?" you ask, concerned seeing the state he is in. obviously angry, his breathing is labored and his cheeks are flushed.

he grits his teeth, quickly looking away as he tossed the stuff on the table. you are still wearing that cute, low cut top and jeans that rested on your hips. he remembers how frustratingly cute you looked watching him perform. as a childhood friend, you always came to his shows, and eventually, he just started paying for your expenses when you come to them.

"somebody on my security team is getting fucking fired," he is seething anger and something else you can't quite put your finger on. "i know who did this. it's that fucking bitch stalking me. she somehow got my room and dosed my water with aphrodisiacs," the way he glares when he looks at you again makes you shiver.

"i bet it was her you thought was following you the other day. what did she think, that she could claim me as some twisted prize later? like i'd ever fuck trash like that," he starts dumping bottles of water down the sink in the kitchen of his hotel suite, tossing them into the sink.

scaramouche was so horny he could barely think.

"scara, oh my god, are you okay? do you need me to call a doctor? did you call the police? we know her name so they could find her quick," he sighs seeing you panic a little. he watches you fumble with your phone, thinking your concern was quite frankly adorable in an infuriating way.

"stop no, i just need to calm down a bit before i do anything," he grits his teeth again. your pure hearted, genuine concern makes you look so innocent. innocence he wants to defile while he ruins you.

"let me help you," his breath catches in his throat at your words. "there is only way for you to calm down, right?" your cheeks flush as you look at him. "i wanna help you with this." there is absolutely no hesitation in your eyes.

he pins you against the kitchen counter, grasping your jaw as he leans his weight on you. "i don't think you understand what you are saying," he hisses, but the resolve in your eyes does not waver.

"i do understand what i said. if i need to be more clear about it," you look away shyly as the blush darkens on your cheeks, "i want you fuck me, scara. please, let me help you."

"i hope you know i am not going to be gentle," his lips hover over yours as he presses his hard cock against your thigh.

"i don't want you to be," no sooner had the words left your mouth, scaramouche stole your lips up in a kiss. your breath is stolen away as he pushes his tongue past your lips. his kisses are dominant and searing as he guides you towards the bed, feeling around on your body like you are a necessity he'd been deprived of for too long.

he swallows your soft moans, discarding everything but your panties as he pushes you down onto the bed. "you better fucking loud," he bites a back a groan feeling how wet your panties are against his hard cock. "if that bitch comes back, i want her to hear me fucking you."

resting his weight on you, he grinds against your panties, flicking his tongue hungrily over your nipples. "so fucking wet for me," he moans, scooping your nipple into his mouth to suck on.

you squirm as your nipple hardens on his tongue, the sensation of his mouth making you wetter as your clit swell and throbs. you bring a shaking hand to the back of his head, carding your fingers through his hair in encouragement.

"you've been thinking about this to, haven't you," he releases your nipple with a wet pop, hastily tugging at your panties. his cock pulses as you lift your hips to make it easier for him. "do you know how long i have waited to claim this pussy as mine?" for far too fucking long.

"you should've heard how my heart skipped a beat when you called," you rock your hips up into his cock, blushing as you realize you are completely naked underneath him as he tugs your panties off.

his teeth bite at your lips before he rolls you over. "ass up, slut. you'll take my cock like a good girl won't you?" he smacks his hand across your ass as you raise it, your pussy wet and ready for him.

lining his cock up with your entrance, he presses his fingers to your clit. you whimper, pushing back into his cock. he wastes no time pushing his cock inside, pushing down on your back as he rolls your clit between his fingers.

"i'll be good, i promise," you moan as he sets his pace. his thrusts are rough, but slow, reeling from how tight and wet you feel around his cock.

his cock assaults your sweet spot, drawing moans that sound louder than the last. his pace is so intense that you can barely keep yourself up, your fingers clawing at the sheets. your walls are squeezing his cock so perfectly that it's hard for him to even keep a modicum of self control, seeking to fuck his cock as deep as he could go.

"you feel so..so good," you sob between your moans, pushing back into his cock as best you could the tighter your orgasm coils in your core.

"fuck you are so good for my ego," he groans, his cock squelching in and out your cunt. "moaning like a total whore," you squeal in pleasure as he smacks your ass again, "your pussy sucking my cock in like it's begging for my cum."

his eyes roll into the back of his head feeling your pussy squeeze tighter hearing his degradation. "fuck i am cumming," he groans, pinching your clit as cum ribbons inside of you.

you are shaking by the time he pulls out. he feasts his eyes on the cum dripping from your puffy pussy before he rolls you over. just cumming inside you wasn't enough for him.

"i'm not finished. i want to taste what's mine now," parting your legs, he crawls between your thighs. you whimper as his lips find your clit.

"sc-scara," you moan as your thighs tremble. reaching down, you press his mouth onto your cunt as you weakly grind against it.

"fuck you sound so cute when you are overwhelmed," he scoops your clit into his mouth to suck on as the pain of overstimulation sets in. he smirks as you start to write, knowing it won't take long for you to cum on his tongue.

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 1

Two years had gone by since the portal was opened in the Fenton's basement. Two years since the portal opened, two years since the Ghosts started coming through, two years since Phantom made their debut.

Six months since they'd started calling him a hero.

One week since they'd turned back time. One week since everyone forgotten what he'd been through. One week since they escaped the G.I.W. One week since he'd escaped the Justice League.

Green Arrow and The Flash had been spotted around town. They had no crime to fight, so Phantom had no idea why they weren't leaving. Amity Park is a peaceful place. And when the peace is disturbed, he is more than enough to handle it.

The two heroes of the Justice League had been lurking around for two nights now. How they got into Amity Park was a mystery that no one cared to solve. They could be here if they wanted, but they'd have a hell of a time finding the town once they left.

Back when the town was new, way back turning the Witch Trials, some of the witches on trial cursed the town to never stay in one place. Horrible for tourism, wonderful for local businesses.

Phantom had caught the two heroes watching them for the hour they were out at night. The Witching Hour, when he was at his strongest. They'd made no attempt to approach, though, so they brushed it off.

He still had no idea why they were there.

On the third night, Green Arrow and The Flash were very obviously waiting for Phantom in Trial Park, right in the middle of the town.

If it was two years ago, Phantom would've been excited for the heroes to be here. He'd never met a hero before! But it wasn't two years ago. It was one week after they'd escaped the G.I.W. One week after he'd escaped the Justice League. One week after they'd reversed time and erased everyone's memories so that they could all relive summer without anything to taint the memories.

He joined them in the park, but didn't get close enough that they could grab him. There was no chance for the heroes to remember, but it wasn't a risk they were banking on.

"Green Arrow," Phantom greeted curtly, "Flash."

"Phantom," Green Arrow took the lead, stepping forward. Phantom stepped back as he did. "We've read a lot about you."

If they had a beating heart, it would've beat right out of his chest. "Oh?"

"You've made quite the name for yourself throughout history," The Flash said, "And yet you stay so young. What's your skin care routine? Asking for a friend."

Phantom didn't laugh or even smile. Instead, he asked, "What're two Justice League heroes doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

The Flash flinched back slightly. "Tough crowd."

Green Arrow said, "We've come to check on you. We clocked a Time Anomaly about a week ago and we wanted to make sure you were okay. We would've checked in earlier, but you're hard to get into contact with."

Phantom stared at them, letting their eyes glow in the eerie way they knew unsettled people. "I'm fine."

Obviously, that wasn't a proper answer. "We don't know what happened or where, but we wanted to make sure that nothing was missing."

"If something was missing, would I even know?"

"Um," The Flash said, "Good point, actually."

"Why've you never come before?" Phantom asked.

"Like I said, you're a tricky being to find," Green Arrow answered.

"That's by design." No it wasn't, but they didn't need to know that.

Having said his piece, Phantom flew a bit away, though he stopped when The Flash chased after him.

"Wait!" the speedster called, "We have a few more questions, if you're willing?"

"I'm not." Phantom said. "Goodnight." This time, he turned invisible and flew home. That was enough night stalking for one night, he figured.

***

Late in the morning, just after everyone else had left the house, there was a knock on the front door. Not too unusual, but Danny loathed that they had to get out of bed to shoo someone away.

Invisible, because he'd disabled the Ghost Traps last night, they peeked through the window by the door and spotted two men he'd never seen in Amity Park before.

Of course they recognized Oliver Queen, but who was they guy with him, and what were they doing in Amity Park of all places?

Obviously, they weren't here by accident. Someone had given them directions on how to get here. Directions that were followed perfectly.

Visitors weren't strange. Amity Park welcomed visitors with open arms. But finding her? That was an issue all on it's own. Only people born there can ever find their way back, and most don't ever move out of the city.

Again, horrible for tourism, wonderful for local businesses.

People don't come to Amity Park for fun. The gimmick on the Welcome To sign was overused even before it became true. And the Ghost attacks? Those normally drove people away, even if they weren't in any real danger compared to literally the rest of the country.

The people who did come to Amity Park for fun? They were bad people. People who spilled oil in the ocean and paid it off, people who laughed at the homeless and built hotels on their corpses, people who thought they were so much better because they worked at a desk instead of a restaurant. People who did vile things and were running because they were found out.

People like Freakshow, who wanted more power than he could ever hope to reliably control.

People like the G.I.W who do anything they want and attack anyone they want on baseless claims.

Oliver Queen and whomst-ever-the-fuck was with him shouldn't don't have a reason to be in Amity Park.

He opened the door with a yawn, just wide enough that they couldn't see in the house, but he could talk to them. "'Morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?"

The two didn't say anything for a long moment, prompting Danny to take a closer look at them.

Oliver Queen was the taller of the two by about half a foot. The brunet was obviously a runner, if his built and the way he stood was anything to go by. Oliver Queen's arm muscles were more defined than his leg muscles, so he likely used them more often than he ran.

Or, y'know, he could be an archer.

Danny swore in the privacy of his mind, forcing themself to stay as visibly unbothered as they could.

"I'm Barry Allen," the runner introduced, "And this is Oliver Queen. We're just passing through town and were wondering if you could answer a few questions for us?"

Danny raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms, much more awake than a few seconds ago. "Do you always knock on random doors to ask questions?"

"Well, no," Barry Allen said, "But we saw the sign and figured this would be a nice household to ask about the lay of the land. Anyone who advertises their family name like that should, theoretically, b pretty chill, right?"

"Or supervillains failing to lay low." He couldn't help teasing them, especially when they gave the reaction he was looking for. They huffed. "I'm kidding. My parent's are scientists, but they aren't evil. Manic, sure, but not evil." Holding the door open wider, they said, "Come on in, please excuse the mess." The two shared a look before walking in. Danny closed the door behind them. "So, questions?"

The two took a second before answering, taking seats on the couch after Danny prompted them to. "Yes," Oliver Queen said, "Why was it so hard to get into the town?"

"Startin' off easy?" Danny smirked, "Short answer is that the town was cursed by witches once upon a time."

"And the long answer?"

"Well, Amity Park was founded with the sole purpose of disposing of witches. When the pyres were lit in Trial Park, the witches cursed the two to never stay in one spot. People born here can always find their way back, like salmon, but outsiders need a guide to either tell them or escort them."

Barry Allen looked skeptical. "You really believe witches cursed this whole town?"

Danny nodded, amused by the man's disbelief. "Why wouldn't I? Though, they less cursed the two and more cursed the ground it was built upon. Either way, the way you took in won't be the way you take out."

Oliver Queen asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, the only entrance and exit is along the main road. You come in one side, leave through the other. One side opens in, say, Iowa, the other in Nevada."

The two took a second to absorb the information. Then, Barry asked, "Can you tell us about your town's hero?"

Danny tried not to show any tense reaction to the question, but he could tell by their faces that he'd failed at least a little. Maybe they could play it off? "What about 'em?"

"We were just wondering why he's not been seen anywhere else," Oliver Queen answered.

Okay, they could work with that. "Phantom doesn't really like to leave Amity Park."

"Why not?"

"Because they have no reason to?"

"But what if the rest of the world needs their help?"

"Why would Phantom go out and help the rest of the world when it would rather see them dead than accept even a bit of help?" Okay, so maybe Danny's holding a bit of a grudge. Can he be blamed, though? They escaped the G.I.W barely a week ago! A situation, mind, that they wouldn't've been in if the Justice League had just listened-!

They have very strong opinions on the matter.

"What do you mean?" Barry Allen asked.

Danny didn't look at either man. "I think it's time for you two to go."

"What? But-"

"You'll find, gentlemen, that Amity Park protects her own. Please, show yourselves out."

Reluctantly, they did. Danny didn't move until they heard the door click closed behind them. Sighing, he flopped belly first onto the floor. It had already been a long day and it wasn't even noon.

Part 3

[eufezco]

BUCKY'S SECOND FIRST TIME PT. 2

synopsis – the day after having sex with bucky and the next night.

a/n – this is a second part of this fic but i think you can also read it as a single fic.

smut. fluff

he did not sleep at all that night, fearing that he would not be able to control his nightmares and that he would end up waking you up, or even worse, hurting you. instead, he spend the time you were sleeping thinking about how things had gone between you to get to that point, with you asleep in his arms and him admiring how the sun's rays shone on your face.

bucky carefully got up from the couch and covered you with the blanket. you hummed, missing the feeling of his warm body against yours. he got dressed, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake you up and before leaving, he softly called your name. you hummed again, letting him know that you were listening.

—i gotta go, sam's waiting for me, but huh, i've made you some breakfast. you can stay as long as you want. my keys are in the kitchen, just lock the door when you leave and i'll stop by the bar tonight to pick them up.

you nodded, with your eyes closed, half asleep, and he nodded back. he had to leave now or else he'd be late. should he just say goodbye? leave without saying anything else to let you sleep? should he kiss you goodbye? would it be weird if he didn't after last night, right? and where should he kiss you? your cheek? your lips maybe?

bucky finally decided to plant a sweet kiss on your forehead and you curled up in the blanket. god, if only he could stay with you.

bucky would be lying if he said he didn't spend the whole day thinking about you and you'd be lying if you said that you had not waited all day for closing time to see him again. that day sam saw bucky distracted as ever which almost got them killed by those terrorists. and it is true that the super soldier often got lost in his thoughts and stared at a fixed point for a suspicious amount of time, but this time sam noticed something different, like a sparkle in bucky's eyes.

sam got to the bar first. there was no one left, just you and him. you two had a nice chat, he brought up bucky several times during your conversation and you giggled every time he did. maybe sam thought he wasn't being obvious but he was, he wanted to see your reaction every time he mentioned his friend. weren't you already too obvious about your feelings for him? didn't bucky told him about last night?

bucky arrived right at closing time but as usual, you kept the bar open just so you could spend time with him. sam was using the bathroom when bucky walked in and thank god, because you'd have been so embarrassed if anyone had seen your face when you saw bucky with a bunch of red roses in his hand.

—hi, —he said.

—hey, —you felt your cheeks burning hot.

—too old-fashioned?

you huffed a laugh and nodded. —very.

bucky walked to the bar counter and handed you the flowers.

—i hope you like roses. i didn't know your favorite flower so i picked roses because i think red roses suit you and everybody loves—

bucky was getting nervous and talking very fast.

—they are perfect, james, thank you, —you cut in gently. —roses are my favorite.

bucky slowly nodded and you showed him a small smile. the eye contact was so intense that if it hadn't been for sam coming out of the bathroom at that moment, you would have jumped over the counter and kissed him.

of course, the second sam laid eyes on the roses in your hands, he couldn’t help himself, he just wanted to mess with old bucky for a bit. probably said something like and nothing for me? damn, i thought we had something special, making you laugh and bucky roll his eyes.

—oh, this is yours, —you handed bucky his keys. —i'll get you something to drink, —and you went to the back to get a beer for him, leaving the two friends alone. it was at that moment that bucky noticed sam's face.

—what was that?

—what was what?

—she had your keys.

—apparently, yes.

—why did she have your keys, bucky?

—she was home last night.

—what do you mean she was home last night?

—she came home and when we knew, it was too late for her to leave. you know, it was dark and dangerous and stuff.

—too dangerous for a super soldier to walk her home?

they locked eyes in silence and bucky finally rolled his and mumbled a fine, giving up. sam exclaimed an oh my god and bucky had to shush him, panic flashing across his face. he knew sam well enough to recognize when a teasing storm was coming and he wasn't let it happen in front of you.

after you came back with bucky's drink, sam leaned back in the chair as he watched you and his friend. the glances you exchanged, the teasing smirks, the awkward pauses and the way bucky’s voice softened every time he spoke to you. sam sighed, trying to suppress a grin. this was entertaining at first but now? now it was just... painfully obvious.

after some fun conversation with the two of them, you locked the door of the bar behind you and when you stepped out, there they were. bucky offered to walk you home, well, offered wasn’t exactly the right word. it wasn’t up for debate. he wasn’t going to let you walk home alone, and it was clear by the way he stood there, hands in his pockets, already prepared to go with you. sam nodded slowly.

—alright, i’m heading out. you two kids behave, —sam teased, smirking as he looked between you and bucky.

you started walking together, your steps naturally falling in sync. the quiet between you wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable, maybe even a little shy after what happened last night. it was nice being with him like this, without the usual rush of the day. without thinking much of it, you slipped your hand through the crook of his arm, linking it with his as you walked. you didn’t even register that it was his metal arm.

bucky tensed for a second. you blinked, your fingers closing slightly to confirm it was, in fact, vibranium beneath your touch. —oh, —a small laugh escaped your lips. —i didn’t notice. does it bother you?

he shook his head quickly, his lips tugging into a faint smile. —no, it doesn’t bother me, —his voice softened. —i’m just not used to… people being okay with it. most people...

you tilted your head slightly, your hand still resting comfortably against his arm. —well, i’m not most people, —you said, your tone light but your meaning clear. the corner of bucky's mouth quirked up in the faintest of smiles, and for a moment, you thought you saw the shadow of a weight lift from him.

—no, —he murmured, his voice soft and warm. —you’re not.

when you arrived to your place, you stopped at the door. neither of you said anything for a moment, like there were too many thing hanging in the air and you didn't want to be the first to start. you let go of his arm slowly as you turned to unlock the door.

—so, —you said, —thanks for walking me home.

bucky nodded, hands in his pockets again. —anytime.

you smiled, heart beating a little too fast. you didn't want the night to end, not yet. and by the way bucky lingered on your doorstep, eyes moving from you to the ground and back again, he didn't seem ready to leave either.

—do you wanna come in?

bucky looked up and slowly nodded, —yeah. yeah, i do.

and trying not to smile to big, you stepped aside to let him in.

he noticed every detail, moving from the pictures on your walls to the small dining table by the window. it felt like someone actually lived there, nothing like his house. he looked at the little touches that made it undeniably yours: the thrown pillows on the couch that didn’t quite match, the stack of books on the coffee table... his hands shoved into his pockets as if he was afraid to touch anything.

you told him to wait for you on the couch as you moved to the kitchen to put the flowers in water and grab two glasses and the bottle of wine you kept on the fridge for those nights when you came home late from work, too wired to sleep but too tired to do much else.

you sat next to him on the couch, the two glasses on the small table in front of you as you filled them. you handed one to him.

—is this your i survived another shift wine? —bucky asked, taking a small sip.

you giggled, —something like that. but tonight i guess it's the i'm glad james barnes is here with me wine.

bucky shook his head, a little smile at his lips, clearly not quite used to how to handle flirting yet. —you can call me bucky.

you'd never called him that before. you thought it was a name reserved for people who'd earned their place in that small inner circle of his. so you always stuck with james but after last night and after having him in your place, thighs brushing against each other, it felt different.

—okay... bucky.

and one glass of wine turned into another. and the conversation flowed so easily with him. you started talking about each other's day, casually avoiding the fact that most of your thoughts had been occupied by him. and his, by you. and of course about what happened last night. then the conversation turned into funny stories that had nothing to do with saving the world or running a bar.

bucky talked like he didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing in front of you.

your elbow rested on the couch, your cheek against your hand and the wine glass forgotten on the coffee table. you watched him as he spoke. his blue eyes caught the soft light of your living room, moving from you to the glass of wine in his hands then back to you, and when they landed on you, they stayed a little longer than before.

you bit your lip, caught off guard by how handsome he was. you hated to admit it but his voice fell into a second place and your eyes and thoughts began to dissipate the curve of his pink lips, the thought of them trailing down your neck, the way his beard tickled your sensitive skin there, made you shift on the couch.

and in one of those moments, where his eyes landed on you, you leaned in and planted a kiss in the middle of his mouth, soft and quick, a hint of what'd been in your mind all day.

you pulled back slightly, just enough to see his reaction.

he looked almost shy, not used to this kind of sudden affection. you caught the way his eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there like he didn't mean to but couldn't help it. there was something so boyish in the way he shifted, like a man who hadn't yet figured out how to handle being wanted so openly.

—sorry, —bucky said under his breath though he didn't move away.

—what for? i kissed you.

his eyes moved back to yours, checking to make sure you weren't teasing him.

—for staring. sam says is creepy and...

you said nothing, just watched him.

—... my therapist says i've got some sort of staring problem, i don't know, i guess i just...

while he rambled, you reached out and took the glass of wine from his hand, careful not to interrupt him too abruptly. you leaned forward to place it on the coffee table. he continued talking and you nodded, as if you were paying attention to what he was saying.

then you moved closer to him on the couch, closing the last bit of space between your bodies. your hand slid up the side of his neck and you guided him to you, tilting his face until your lips met his again. and bucky finally responded like you wanted, like he'd been waiting for it all day, because he had, maybe longer.

one of his hands rested on your hip, squeezing you and trying to guide you onto his lap, but instead, with your hand on the back of his neck, you leaned back into the couch and gently pulled him with you. he followed your lead as you allowed him on top of you, your legs at both sides of body, making room for him.

his lips devoured yours, one of his knees came to press your pussy through your clothes, making pull a way from his lips to moan.

—is this okay? shit, sorry, should've asked...

you nodded, reaching for his lips again, your fingers deep into his hair, —more than okay.

bucky kept kissing you like a starving man. his lips moved with more confidence than last night, his hands slid down your sides to your waist, his knee still pressed in between your legs. you gasped softly against his lips as his fingers found the button of your jeans.

—wait, —you said against his lips, breathless but clear.

bucky froze immediately, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, —you okay? did i do something wrong?

you shook your head quickly, —no, no. you're perfect, i just... —you lifted your head from the couch to give a quick kiss to his lips to let him know that you wanted to keep going. —... don't want the couch again.

bucky let out a breathy laugh, relieved, and nodded. before you could even move, his hands slid beneath your thighs and lifted you off the couch. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your arms hugged his neck. and bucky held you with ease, like you weighed nothing at all. that damn super serum.

—i could've just walked, you know?

—yeah, but where's the fun in that?

you kissed him again as he walked to your room, his lips wet and plump. your hands stayed tangled in his hair as he pushed the door open with his leg and stepped inside like he belonged there. he stopped by the bed and lowered you onto the mattress.

as bucky lay on top of you and his lips met yours again, your hands found the hem of his tshirt, curling under it slowly, giving him a chance to stop you if he wanted to. you remembered the hesitation in his eyes last night, when your hands had first roamed over bare skin, how he'd instinctively turned slightly like shielding you from seeing too much. now, his body tensed, not with resistance, but in the way of someone not used to that kind of touch.

—you okay? it's okay if you need to stop.

he shook his head, his hands coming to hold both of your cheeks. bucky didn't even want the thought of stopping crossing your mind because it never crossed his, —i'm okay. i want you.

the words came out of his lips before he could stop them and a faint flush crept up his neck. before embarrassment swallowed him, your fingers threaded into the back of his head as you pulled him into a kiss, —i want you too, —you whispered.

you pushed the tshirt and he lifted his arms and let you take it off. "there's nothing she hadn't seen before, it's not going to scare her", bucky reminded himself. and you had to press your lips together to stop the small sound that nearly slipped out the second you threw his tshirt. your hands rested on his chest, hard and warm under your palms as you lifted your head from the mattress and caught his lips.

—you're beautiful, fuck, —you mumbled against his lips. your nails scratched his abdomen until they reached the button of his jeans. that did something to him. he let out a sound low in his throat and he kissed you harder, teeth almost clashing, his body pressing more firmly into yours.

oh, you thought, he likes that. a bit of sweet with the praise, a bit rough with your nails.

—wait, —bucky said. your fingers paused on the zipper of his jeans and your eyes searched his face for any sign of discomfort, but he didn't look scared, just nervous, like he was about to say something he wasn't sure he was allowed to want, —i wanna try something.

and you nodded, glad that he felt confident enough around you to try new things. bucky adjusted his position on the bed and you only took a couple of seconds to realize that he was moving down between your legs. he was focused, eyes dark, as he looked at you. your chest rose with anticipation, you sat up on your elbows so you could get a good look of him.

—is this okay? —bucky asked, face just above the zipper of your jeans. the look in his eyes told you he wanted this badly, but he also wanted to get it right.

you nodded, —more than okay, yeah, but are you sure about it?

—yeah, i just... need you to guide me.

bucky took care of your jeans and underwear fast. you lifted of your hips and he slid them down quickly. then his hands brushed over your thighs as he spread them gently. he settled between them, shoulders broad, fitting perfectly there like that's exactly where he was meant to be.

his lips attached to the inside of your thighs, placing open mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin there. god, not only was he a fast learner but now he'd also turned into a fucking tease. you closed your eyes and swallowed, trying to act as if you were not already clenching around nothing. bucky's beard pricked the inside of your legs as he kissed his way up.

—can i?

you nodded again, your eyes locked on his.

bucky dragged your panties down your hips. he kept his eyes on you the entire time and as they slipped past your knees and down your ankles, he leaned in again, placing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh. bucky looked at you with pure adoration. every part of you and your body the more he realized that he loved it.

he planted a first kiss on your clit. your body jerked at the sudden contact and your lips parted, a soft moan coming out of them. if this wasn't the most beautiful sound bucky had ever heard. he smiled and kissed your clit again, yet he didn't pull back this time and his lips attached to your bundles of nerves.

the more time he spent between your legs, the more you felt his confidence growing. bucky was learning you. and he did it fast. at first he didn't quite know what to do with his hands, he didn't want to grab you too hard or assume too much. you could also feel it in his lips, the way they kissed and licked you. careful and slow. it was nice the first few minutes, but then it started to get painful.

you rolled your hips against his mouth, trying to get more of him, as you cried out a "more, bucky... please". your hands clutched the sheets below you, you didn't want to overwhelm him. but listening to you beg for more awakened something inside him.

his hands came and pushed your legs even wider, pressing your thighs flat against the mattress. the movement spread you open more, exposing you completely to him and bucky's mouth devoured you. kissing and sucking on your clit, playing with his tongue. it was wet and messy, and you could hear him moan against you like he was enjoying this too himself.

and he was. he was having the time of his life between your legs. every sound you made, every shift of your hips against his mouth, every time you whispered his name, breathless and begging for more...

—i need... i need your... —you tried to say. bucky hummed against your clit, the vibrations making it even more difficult to finish the sentence. —you fingers, please...

he looked up to you, begging, head tilted back, lips parted with soft gasps, eyes closed shut, back arched, how could he deny you anything? his right hand came and teased your entrance. you whined in response and tried to speak again, but his mouth never stopped working on your clit.

his metal hand stayed firm, holding your left thigh but your right one was free now. you lifted it and placed it over his shoulder as bucky pushed one of his fingers inside you. you moaned, loud, when the movements of his finger matched with the ones of his mouth. and then he added another finger. the pleasure was too much, too constant. you couldn't escape it, you couldn't even breathe through it, just cry his name and grab at his hair, and hearing you fall apart made him more focused, more driven.

your right leg was freed when bucky felt you were close, when you were getting tighter around his fingers. your thighs squeezed his head. his fingers curled just right, his mouth never broke rhythm and you came with a cry of his name, back arching off the mattress and hands pulling from his hair. bucky stayed through all of it, letting you ride it out until your body finally began to soften beneath him.

as you tried to catch your breath, you looked down at him. still between your legs, hair was a little messy from your hands, cheeks flushed, lips wet and pink. what a view.

when you had recovered, you sat on the bed as you leaned in, finding him still laying. you cupped his jaw and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. bucky pushed himself up with his hands against the mattress, following your lead as you let yourself fall back on the bed.

bucky held his weight above you. his body was between your legs as you worked on the zipper of his jeans and he never stopped kissing you. your hands trailed down his abdomen and moved to waistband of his jeans, fingers at the zipper with urgency. as you finally slid the zipper down and your hand brushed against him through the fabric of his underwear, bucky moaned into the kiss. he was hard as a fucking rock.

he kicked off his jeans as you pulled your own tshirt over your head, tossing it aside. and he tried, but it was impossible not to stare. his eyes scanned you fast, like he didn't know where to look first, like he couldn't believe you were letting him see you like this.

you reached for him again. you felt his cock pressing against you and as your lips moved together, wet and messy, you wrapped your hand around it and lined him up and shifted your hips. the moment the tip slipped inside you, both of your mouths opened, a shared breath of surprise and relieve. your legs went quick around his body, pushing him deeper. his hands gripped the mattress on either side of your shoulders from the way he filled you so perfectly.

—now you're on top... —you murmured. his hands tightened, like he was barely holding back, —...fuck me the way you like it.

and he started slow, making sure his weight never pressed down too hard. his forehead dropped to yours as his hands moved to your hips with confidence, guiding the rhythm gently. you moaned and bit your lower lip as his thrust were long and deep.

then he picked up his own rhythm, each movement more confident than the last, the sound of skin slapping against each other finally filling the room. his body pressed yours completely into the mattress, hard chest brushing yours with every movement. you felt caged by him but never suffocated.

and when you were close, too close to think straight, you clung to bucky, hands tight on his back pulling him even closer if possible. you could feel it in him too, the tension in his body, the uneven thrusts, the desperate sounds he tried to hold back but couldn't. so you mumbled into his ear "i want you to... inside. please, bucky..." and he couldn't hold it anymore.

bucky tried to hide his face in the crook of your neck when it hit him, but your hand found his face as you guided him back to you and you held him there, watching as he came. his eyes squeezed shut, his lips parted letting out a moan. yet he didn't stop after that, because he knew you weren't done, so bucky fucked himself through his own overstimulation. his sensitive body still thrust into you, pushing his cum deeper inside you.

and when you finally reached your high, legs squeezing him, bucky held you through it, murmuring your name, pressing his lips to your forehead and whispering "i've got you".

bucky didn't move right away, he just stayed there, inside you, with your legs tangled together. your breathing was still slowing and syncing with his. he brushed the damp strands of fair from your forehead while your fingers slipped into his hair, gently curling them there with no plans of letting him go anytime soon.

—you okay? —you asked.

bucky nodded, —you?

you nodded back, —you damn sure know how to use that mouth, huh.

bucky huffed a breathed laugh, embarrassed, hiding himself in the crook your neck.

after cleaning yourselves up, you both went back to the bed, naked, feeling each other's warmth under the covers, skin against skin. you made your way into bucky's arm, one of his hands traced careful shapes along your spine while the other one held you close.

you talked for a little while, half whispered thoughts about everything and nothing, little stories, soft laughs and occasional kisses. but eventually your words grew slower and you shifted, curling closer, until you fell asleep. and his eyes stayed open, focused on you, not because he wasn't tired, he was exhausted, but the nightmares were still too real. bucky tried, like the night before, to stay awake, but this time it felt different. the weight of your body pressed against his, the soft mattress beneath him, nothing like the cold hard floor he'd grown used to...

he fight to keep his eyes open, his lids would droop only to snap back open, but then his muscles relaxed and his breath and his mind quieted and for the first time bucky fell asleep peacefully.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

frank castle with a girlfriend whose anger just overwhelms her. she gets mad all the time about every little thing- like a mission went bad and she comes home fuming. how does he deal with her considering they're two angry birds lol

A/N: As a girl with some anger problems, I've been thinking about this concept for a hot minute now! I have a bunch of different little fics in the works with a similar theme, if you'd like to be tagged let me know :) This is a longer post I did a headcanon and a fic but I hope you enjoy! Sorry if it's too long for one post I just got too excited <3

I full believe that having a girlfriend with anger problems would heal him in a sense. Like he'll see someone who he loves deeply who also sees the world as he does and...I don't know, he just feels a bit less broken. I do think it throws him off at first but quickly after the first time he witnessed the anger burning inside of you, he grows fond of it and he appreciates it in a sense because he has witnessed first-hand how he doesn't need to be with you constantly for you to be safe.

I think it's important to acknowledge that Frank would be a man that would never tell you to calm down, that you're overreacting, or that you're being too much. You're anger and reactions isn't something he tries to fix. It's something he tries to support you through. Saying that though, he does understand how taxing being so angry can be. It's exhausting to feel a constant anger just simmer inside of you and he does wish he can ease it more for you.

He listens constantly. He may not say much, but he listens to every word of your rants like they're gospel. If you say someone pissed you off, he mentally logs their name, face, and location. Ya’know…just in case. Saying that! He always, always has your back. It doesn't matter if you're in the wrong or not if you're throwing punches, he lets you have your turn but then he comes to help you out no matter what. There will be times where he holds you back but that's just because he doesn't want to bail you out again.

A thing about him is that he would be the thing that anchors you, you burn bright, and he’s becoming the iron furnace that holds your flame. When you’re spinning, snarling, and just over all breaking down, he pulls you in and holds you still; not to stop you, but to anchor you. He absorbs your rage like armor.

He's the only one who can calm you down—and you’re the only one who can pull him back from the edge. There is a mutual understanding of being explosive, of being feared, of being too much? It binds you two. No one else seems to have an understanding of how you balance each other out, they just see two fires and assume a bigger flame forms and while that is true, they miss the fact that those two fires just want to rest together.

And oh my god the pet names! Frank obviously uses tradition princess, doll/doll face, baby/babe/babydoll etc. But he loves using on theme ones. Firecracker, Hellcat, My little gun powder. All said with a reverence and a fucking smirk that’s borderline dangerous.

+++++++(FIC DOWN BELOW) +++++++++

It starts with a sarcastic joke.

A stupid, throwaway comment in the middle of mission debrief, barely a mutter—"Maybe next time we send her in after she takes her meds, huh?"

And you just… snap.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The room freezes. The lights don’t flicker, but the temperature does.

Frank—sitting in the corner, cleaning under his nails with a knife—doesn’t even look up…Yet.

The idiot (let’s call him Agent Dead Meat) doubles down. Fucking doubles down. “I’m just saying, your temper’s becoming a liability.”

“A liability?” you snarl, already standing, Frank winces from his corner, cringing just knowing how angry that had to make you. “I saved your ass twice last mission, and you’re lucky I didn’t throw you off the goddamn building after you botched recon!”

“Okay,” Matt says slowly from the side. “Let’s all take a breath—”

You lunge.

Frank catches you mid-air. Literally scoops you up like a growling feral cat. You’re kicking, fists flailing, eyes blazing murder. Frank adjusts his grip and lifts you bridal style, completely unfazed.

He sighs like this is the third time this week. “I got it. I got it. Let her scream it out. She’s fine.”

“Put me down, Frank!”

“Nope.”

“I’m gonna kill him!”

“I know you will but you ain’t today,” he says calmly, starting toward the hallway. “Because I like you in my bed, not in jail. And also, we talked about this—we can’t be doin’ no homicides before lunch.”

“Francis!” He tightens his hold. “You tryna get benched again?” he mutters against your hair. “You scream so pretty, baby, but you scare the damn rookies.” You seethed even brighter, “I want to scare the rookies!” He hums gently against you like he completely understands,“You already do.”

He carries you all the way out of the conference room, past stunned teammates and a deeply concerned therapist. You’re still writhing, muttering death threats under your breath. Frank doesn’t blink. You hiss, “You’re not even mad I tried to fight him?” Frank snorts. “Sweetheart, I nearly fucked you on the roof the first time you broke someone’s nose.”

That shuts you up.

Your pulse skips. Your squirming stills. “…Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

“…I love you so much it pisses me off.” He smirks. “Yeah, you’re real scary, baby.”

Later, when you're calm and curled up on his lap in the armory, sipping tea you pretend you don’t like, Frank kisses the top of your head and says: “Next time someone calls you a liability, I’ll hold them back and let you go.” You grin. “Aw. You do love me.” He just rolls his eyes, “Yeah yeah, fuckin God help me doll.”

+++++++++

Agent Dead Meat should’ve kept his damn mouth shut. But no. He starts smirking during sparring rotation.“You know, Castle,” he says, nodding in your direction, “she’d be a lot easier to work with if someone could get her to shut the hell up for five minutes.”

You pause mid-wrap, slowly flexing your fingers like you’re checking your grip—but really, you're picturing what part of his face would break first.

Frank—across the mat, holding a towel—doesn’t say a word…Yet.

Dead Meat just kept going. “I mean, we get it. She's hot when she's pissed. But someone should teach her to pick her battles.”

You don’t speak. You launch. And Frank just sucks his teeth trying to keep himself calm enough to let you have your time.

A blur of rage and speed—fist to jaw, foot to ribs, pure fury behind every blow. He tries to block. Fails. Tries to run. Fails even harder. You're on him like a damn storm. One hand in his collar, the other pulling back for a punch that’s gonna ruin his month.

That’s when Frank speaks. Calm. Even. Like he’s just narrating weather.

“I mean…She warned ya’.”

Dead Meat blinks up at him, nose already bleeding, confused and wheezing.

Frank shrugged off his pleading look,“Now I’m just her cleanup crew.”

You crack him across the mouth.

Frank sighs and walks over, towel still in hand, crouches next to the groaning body. “Broke his lip,” he notes casually. “You’re getting sloppy with your left hook, sweetheart.” You’re panting, eyes wild, crouched like an animal. “He insulted me.”

“I know, tiger I know,” Frank says, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek with the towel. “And you handled it.” He kisses your forehead. “Feel better princess?” You nod looking pissed still but pouty.  Frank leans a little further down and kisses your pout, “Want lunch?”

“…Yeah.”

“Come on firecracker.”

He stands, takes your hand, and steps over the twitching pile of what-used-to-be-Dead-Meat like it’s a speed bump.

Matt, standing from the side, just pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You two are psychotic.”

You grin. Frank just shrugs. “She bites, I bury. That’s the package deal red you know this. ”

Later, you're sitting on the kitchen counter, eating fries while Frank cleans your knuckles. “You really gonna keep letting me go feral on coworkers?” you ask, licking salt from your fingers. Frank doesn’t even look up. “Long as they keep talkin’ reckless? Hell yeah.” You smirk. “You’re a terrible influence.” He finally meets your eyes. And smiles. “You were unhinged before I got you, sweetheart. I’m just the one who knew how to love it.”

If you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open for Bob Reynolds, Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle, and Eddie Brock/Venom <3

Tagging:

@malfoys-demigod

@sweety18

@iamsofabulous

@luvrgirlsworld

@blackhawkfanatic

@methodgurl

@creptolli

@hellskitchens-whore

@confetti-cakemix

@awesompawsum

[spencersmopbucket]

Infidelity | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: How did you ever expect to get over Fred? Themes & Warnings: toxic exes, possessive!Fred, jealous!Fred, swearing, smut, situationship, cheating, angst kinda, reconciliation!!!

Your bed was cold. Unpleasant. The sheets didn't feel right, the pillows felt too lumpy, the air felt flat and dead. The man beside you had curled up on the other side, not facing you, not sparing any attention at all. Cormac had been able to get you to be his girlfriend, and after that, he stopped trying. Stopped paying attention.

You huffed, bunching the blankets up around your face, trying to keep warm.

Your mind immediately flicked to him. Just like it always did. Just like it had for years and years. Fred. He was an uttered secret in your mind, something you kept deep below the surface. Things hadn't ended kindly -- you didn't want people to know he was a constant thought.

You didn't want people to know that the two of you had slipped a couple times. Slept together, fell asleep in the same bed, then scrambled out of it the next morning pretending to hate each other. But the temptation was just too great. You loved Fred, you feared you always would. Your soul, your body, they were so thirsty for him that sometimes it made moving on seem absolutely impossible.

Sighing, your eyes flicked over to Cormac again before you slowly climbed out of the bed. Your feet hit the cold floor and you hissed quietly, biting your lip to keep from making any noise. If Cormac woke up, he’d ask where you were going. And you’d have to lie. Again. Not that he’d care much. He just hated being embarrassed. Hated the idea of you being anywhere else but here, in his bed, his room, his girlfriend. Even if he barely touched you anymore.

You pulled your jumper on over your thin sleep shirt, fingers trembling as you fumbled with the sleeves. The Gryffindor crest caught your eye in the dark -- a gift from Fred, once. You swallowed hard.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But you were already turning, already creeping to the door and easing it open with practiced silence. The corridor was empty. Quiet. You knew every step, every stair to take without creaking. How many times had you made this exact walk before?

A warm hand on your wrist made you help. A second hand quickly covered your mouth, swallowing the small noise, before familiar body heat and the scent of cologne enveloped you.

“We had the same idea then, love?” His husky voice said amusedly, voice low and borderline a whisper.

You froze for a breathless second, heart thudding in your chest so hard you thought it might give you away completely. His grip was firm but careful, like he didn’t want to hurt you -- just keep you quiet.

Fred.

Of course it was Fred.

He always seemed to know. Always seemed to be there, lurking in your shadows like some devil you couldn’t shake.

He pulled his hand slowly away from your mouth, fingers brushing your lips like he couldn’t help himself. You sucked in a sharp breath, dizzy from his closeness, from the heat radiating off him in the cold corridor.

“I nearly screamed,” you hissed, swatting at his arm half-heartedly.

Fred only smirked, not the least bit apologetic. “And wake McLaggen? Bit rude when you’re sneaking off to see another man.”

You glared at him, but the effect was lost given how your cheeks were already burning. “Shut up, Fred.”

He hummed, leaning closer, nose brushing your temple. His voice dropped even lower, raspy and intimate, the kind of sound that lived in your dreams.

“Make me.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse stuttering. You could feel the way he was looking at you -- even in the dark, his gaze felt heavy. Possessive. Like you were something he had every right to want.

“Fred…”

He reached down, fingers curling around your wrist again, thumb sweeping over your pulse point.

“Can’t sleep without you,” he admitted softly, voice losing some of that teasing edge. It was rawer now. Honest.

You exhaled shakily, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. That was the worst part about all of this. That was the reason you always came back.

Because he meant it.

And you did too.

You cracked your eyes open, finding his waiting for you, dark and glinting in the corridor’s shadows.

“Yours or mine?” you asked, voice small.

Fred’s mouth curved slowly into something dangerously pleased.

“Ours tonight.”

He tugged you gently, and you went willingly.

Because you always did.

The walk to his dorm was familiar. The whispering, his strong arms lifting you over creaky parts of the stairs because he knew you were too clumsy to get over them. Finally, he opened his door and nudged you inside, shutting it behind him. The door clicked shut, muffling the castle’s nighttime hush. Your heart beat loud in your ears as Fred’s shadow loomed behind you, tall and certain in the dim glow of the dying fireplace.

You took one step in and stopped, suddenly hyperaware of the space, the silence, the truth of what you were doing.

Of what you always did.

Fred’s hands found your hips from behind, warm and sure. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t speak. Just held you there for a second, thumbs sweeping slow circles through your clothes. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell behind you, steady and calm, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And for you both, it kind of was.

He leaned down, nose brushing the side of your neck, breath fanning hot across your skin. You shivered.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, voice half-rough, half-gentle.

You swallowed, words catching in your throat.

“I know.”

Fred let out a quiet hum of disapproval. His fingers tightened on your hips for a heartbeat before he pulled back just enough to tug you around to face him.

You didn’t fight him. You never did.

His gaze flicked over your face in the low light, taking you in with that intensity that made your knees feel weak. Like you were the only thing he saw.

“Gonna fix that for you,” he said simply.

And that was it. No question. No plea. Just a promise.

He tugged you closer until you were flush against him, and you pressed your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin and cologne -- smoke, cinnamon, and something that was unmistakably Fred.

His arms wrapped around you so tight it almost hurt, but you melted anyway. You always did.

One hand threaded into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. The other slid beneath your jumper, fingertips brushing the skin of your lower back. You flinched at the cold contrast, then relaxed when the heat of him chased it away.

“Fuckin' McLaggen. Letting you freeze,” he whispered, his voice getting lower just a little at the edges.

Your breath hitched.

“Fred…”

“Don’t go back there.” His voice was firmer now, that possessive tenseness creeping in. “Don’t let him touch you. Don’t even think about him when you’re in my bed.”

Your chest constricted painfully.

You nodded. Barely. But you did.

Fred let out a shuddering breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, voice low and raw. “My girl.”

Your heart broke and healed all at once.

Because you always were.

“What about Angelina?” You asked, trying to keep the jealousy from your voice.

Angelina was Fred's new girlfriend, similar to how Cormac was for you.

Fred tensed. Not all at once, just the kind of slow, creeping tension that stiffened the arm around your waist, made his breathing stutter for a second against your hair.

You pulled back slightly, enough to look up at him. Enough to see the way his jaw flexed.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

You searched his face. “I’m just--”

“Don’t say her name here.” His voice wasn’t angry. It was something worse: tired.

You blinked, caught off guard. “But she’s your girlfriend, Fred.”

He exhaled through his nose, stepping away from you just a little, just enough to scrub a hand through his hair in frustration. He looked like someone who was being held together by threads -- threads that you, unknowingly, just tugged on.

“Yeah,” he muttered, gaze flicking to the fire. “And McLaggen’s your boyfriend, right?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

It wasn’t the same and you both knew it.

Fred turned back to you, eyes a little shinier now, though he masked it well. “We do this every time, Y/N. You ask about her, I ask about him. Then we go quiet, pretend this didn’t happen, and crawl back to them.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Angelina,” he said, voice gentler now, broken in a different way. “I came here because I can’t sleep unless you’re next to me. I came here because I want to hold you until the sun comes up and pretend like we’re not fucking everything up.”

His voice cracked. “Because for a few hours, you’re mine again. And I’m yours. And it’s the only time I ever feel like I’m doing something right.”

You stared at him, heart aching, eyes burning.

“Do you love her?” you asked quietly.

Fred looked at you for a long, excruciating beat. Then:

“No. You know I don't.”

You didn't respond. Fred stepped closer again, hands framing your face, forcing you to look up into his eyes. He searched yours, looking for answers to questions that you didn't quite know.

“But you love that ridiculous git. Even though he treats you like rubbish.”

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a sob and a scoff. “Don’t talk about him.”

Fred’s thumbs brushed your cheeks, rough but gentle. He tilted your face, refusing to let you look away.

“Someone has to,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “He doesn’t see you. He doesn’t hear you. I do.”

Your lip trembled. “Fred--”

His voice cracked again, rawer than before. “I always do. He doesn't even try.”

Silence fell like a heavy blanket. His forehead pressed against yours, and you both stood there, breathing hard, your tears mixing with his breath.

Your hands fisted in his shirt without thinking, clutching him like he was the only solid thing left.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I hate that I can’t hate you for this. I hate that you keep going back. I hate him for getting to hold you in the mornings when you’re warm and sleepy. I hate him so fuckin' much. The bastard has everything I want and everything I couldn't keep.”

“Fred, please…”

“Just tell me.” His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Tell me to be done. Or tell me to fight for you. Just fucking tell me what you want.”

He shook slightly. Your nose bumped his.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because you didn’t know.

Fred let out a pained, broken laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his watery ones. He was gorgeous in this light -- red hair illuminated by the moon, eyes staring at you intensely, yearning on every inch of his face. Pink lips, flushed cheeks.

You couldn't help it. You did this every single time.

You kissed him.

Your lips crashed into his so suddenly it knocked the breath from both of you. For a heartbeat Fred didn’t move, stunned by the raw desperation of it. Then he groaned, low and guttural, and kissed you back like a man starved.

His hands fisted in your hair, dragging you closer until your chest pressed tight to his. Your fingers scrambled at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head with shaking urgency. He barely broke the kiss to help, mouth returning to yours hungrily, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a heated, messy battle.

Fred pulled back just enough to gasp, voice wrecked. “Bed. Now.”

You let out something between a whimper and a laugh as he all but hauled you backward, half-lifting, half-dragging you to his mattress. You fell onto it in a tangled heap of limbs, giggling breathlessly until he followed you down, weight pinning you deliciously.

He kissed you again, slower for a moment, savoring, like he needed to memorize your taste. Then his mouth moved, jaw, neck, collarbone, biting, sucking, soothing with hot, open-mouthed kisses that left marks he didn’t even try to hide.

“Fred--” you gasped, arching as his teeth scraped your pulse point.

He smirked against your throat. “That’s it, love. Say my name. Scream it if you want. He won’t hear.”

You shoved at his chest playfully, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one strong hand. The other trailed down, slow and deliberate, over your ribs, your waist, your hips -- making you shiver.

“Prettiest girl. I don't deserve you.. But McLaggen does even less.” He sneered, voice low and filthy.

He kissed you again, harder, teeth tugging at your lip before soothing it with his tongue. His free hand slid under your shirt, pushing it up until you had to help him get it off. His eyes devoured you, hands mapping every inch like he couldn’t believe you were real.

He didn’t bother being gentle now -- he didn’t have it in him. You didn’t want gentle. You wanted him.

His fingers dipped into your waistband, tugging your bottoms down with a smirk. He cursed when he saw you, eyes darkening further.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice reverent and wrecked all at once. “So fucking perfect.”

You squirmed under his gaze, biting your lip, whining when he didn’t touch you right away.

“Fred,” you breathed, needy and ruined.

That did it.

He slid his hand between your thighs, fingers teasing before finally pressing where you needed him most. You cried out, hips bucking, and he grinned, lips red and swollen from kissing you raw.

“I know, love,” he murmured, watching you intently as his fingers worked you open. “That’s my girl.”

Fred’s thumb brushed maddening circles over your clit while two fingers curled inside you, slow at first, exploring. Your hips bucked, a strangled sound leaving you, but he just pinned you harder with his free arm, refusing to let you shy away.

“Easy,” he murmured against your neck, voice dark, low. “Let me feel you. Just relax.”

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He shuddered at the bite of pain.

“God, Fred, please.”

He pressed in deeper, fingers crooking deliberately to find that spot inside you that made your legs shake. Your mouth fell open on a sharp cry.

“There it is,” he rasped, lips dragging hot and wet along your collarbone. His teeth grazed your skin. “Fuck -- look at you. Look how you fall apart. Got my name all over ya.”

You writhed against him, shame and want and relief mixing into something molten. He watched your face the entire time, eyes so dark they were nearly black, blown with lust and something deeper, something greedy.

“You gonna cum for me, love?” he asked, breathless, tone that perfect blend of cruel and desperate. “Right on my fingers? Gonna soak me like a good girl?”

You whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to sting. He didn’t like that -- he brought his thumb up to tug your lip free, smearing your spit.

“None of that,” he scolded. “Let me hear you.”

You let go of the broken moan you’d been swallowing, back arching. He rewarded you with faster thrusts, fingers driving in and out of you, thumb working your clit in tight, filthy circles.

“Fred, I--fuck--I’m--”

“Cum,” he cooed, voice cracking with how badly he needed you to. “I got you. Let me have it.”

You broke with a sob, body seizing as pleasure tore through you. Your walls clamped down on his fingers so tight he swore, forehead dropping to yours. He watched you come undone like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“That’s it,” he groaned, breath fanning your lips. “Good fucking girl. That’s my girl.”

He didn’t stop right away. He kept fingering you through it, gentle but relentless, dragging every last tremor out of you until you were boneless, whimpering, clutching at him for mercy.

Finally he slowed, pressing his soaked fingers against your clit one last time, making you twitch. He grinned, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Sensitive?” he mocked softly. He pulled his hand back and studied his fingers glistening with you.

He sucked them clean, staring you dead in the eyes the whole time.

“Taste better than I remembered,” he said hoarsely. “And I remembered everything.”

You let out a choked laugh, half mortified, half ruined with desire.

Fred kissed you slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before pulling back just enough to breathe:

“Not done with you yet, love. Not even close.”

Fred pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling over his forehead, cheeks flushed. His breath was ragged as he studied you, like he was barely holding it together.

“On your knees,” he rasped. It wasn’t a question.

Your stomach flipped, heat surging at the command. He waited, eyes locked on yours, giving you the barest nod of permission. You slid off the bed, settling between his legs on the floor. The cold stone bit into your knees, but you barely felt it. Your whole body thrummed with the need to please him, to have him.

Fred let out a shaky breath, leaning back a little to give you room. His voice dropped, rough as gravel:

“Fuck, look at you. Prettiest thing I ever seen. Always were.”

He palmed himself through his boxers, already hard as a rock, the thick outline straining the fabric. Your mouth watered at the sight.

“Go on,” he urged, voice teeming with want. “Get me out, love.”

Your fingers trembled as you hooked them in the waistband, tugging them down. His cock sprang free, flushed dark, already leaking.

Fred hissed when the cold air hit him, then moaned outright when your hand wrapped around the base.

“Jesus -- yeah. Just like that.”

You stroked him slow at first, savoring the weight, the heat, the way he twitched in your grip. Fred watched you with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling fast.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he ordered, voice lower than you’d ever heard it.

You obeyed, lips parting, eyes locked on his. His jaw flexed.

“Good,” he praised.

You flattened your tongue against the tip, tasting him, licking away the salty pre-cum. Fred swore, one hand shooting out to tangle in your hair.

“Don’t tease. Take it.”

You slid down further, mouth stretching to accommodate him, your tongue slick against the underside. Fred’s breath hitched, fingers tightening in your hair hard enough to make your scalp sting.

“Fuck -- just like that. Mhm.”

Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked harder, bobbing your head, feeling him hit the back of your throat. He let out a strangled moan, hips bucking up.

“Ah,shit. Easy, love. Or we're gonna have a mess on our hands, yeah?”

You only sucked harder, moaning around him just to feel the way he jerked in your mouth. His head fell back, a vein standing out in his throat as he tried to hold on.

Your hands came up to his thighs, nails biting in, pulling him closer. Fred looked down at you then, eyes wild, voice broken.

“Look at you,” he choked. “On your knees for me. Wish that nasty git could see you.”

He thrust shallowly into your mouth, controlling the pace, panting. His thumb brushed your cheek as if to soothe you even while he used you.

Before you knew it, he pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop.

Fred didn’t give you time to question why he’d stopped. He hauled you up by your arms so fast you nearly stumbled. Before you could catch your breath, he was handling you and shoving you forward onto the mattress.

Your cheek pressed against the cool sheets, heart hammering. You felt him behind you, the hot, heavy weight of his cock dragging between your thighs as he kicked your legs farther apart.

“Look at you,” he hummed, voice low and wrecked. “Dripping for it.”

You gasped when he dragged the swollen head through your folds, smearing wetness all over you. A rough palm landed on your ass, squeezing hard.

“Bet you’ve been thinking about this every time he fucked you,” Fred sneered, lining himself up. “Bet you wished it was me stuffing this pretty cunt instead.”

You barely managed a whimper before he pushed in, slow but unrelenting. Inch by thick inch, stretching you so wide you saw stars.

“Oh--fuck--” you choked out, fingers fisting the blanket.

Fred just groaned, sinking to the hilt. He didn’t give you time to adjust, he drew back almost all the way and snapped his hips forward, making you yelp.

“Listen to you,” he panted, leaning over your back so his chest pressed to your spine. His hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head to the side so he could nip at your neck. “Making all these little sounds. He never made you this loud, did he?”

He pulled out again and slammed back in, harder this time. The force made the bed frame creak.

“Tell me,” he demanded, punctuating each word with a thrust that made your knees tremble. “Tell me how he can't do this. How disappointing McLaggen is.”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a ragged moan.

“Yeah,” Fred breathed, teeth scraping your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Can’t even form a fucking sentence. 'S alright,” he chuckled, raspy with effort. “I know my girl. I can take care of her. He can't.” He whispered roughly.

One hand slipped between your thighs, finding your clit and circling it just enough to make your whole body jerk. You were so close it was humiliating.

“Already about to come? Christ. Missed me, then.”

His hips snapped into yours again and again, deep, punishing strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside you. His fingers worked your clit mercilessly, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

“Take it,” he ordered, voice gone hoarse. “Take every fucking inch. 'S all yours anyways.”

You cried out when he bottomed out again, the angle so deep it stole your breath.

“Merlin, you feel good,” Fred groaned against your shoulder, rutting into you faster now, the rhythm filthy and relentless. “Missed you so bad.”

Your thighs started to shake, pleasure winding tight and electric. You knew you weren’t going to last.

“Go on,” he rasped, feeling you clamp around him. “Make a mess of yourself. Gonna send you back to your boyfriend with it all over you.”

Your orgasm ripped through you so hard you saw white, your whole body clenching around him as you wailed into the sheets.

Fred cursed under his breath, hips stuttering. He pulled out just enough to see his cock shining with your release before slamming back in, chasing his own end.

“Fuck -- gonna fill you up,” he snarled, voice almost sounding punishing. “Gonna watch it drip out of you when I’m done.”

A few more rough thrusts and he was coming, grinding deep as he spilled inside you, breathing ragged in your ear.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the only sound your mingled gasps. Fred’s hand smoothed over your spine as he finally pulled out, a hot, wet ache spreading between your thighs.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Fred stayed pressed against you for a long moment, his breath still uneven against your skin. Then, with a groan, he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were sprawled half on top of him. His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine, his other hand pushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

“Christ,” he muttered, voice still rough but slipping back into that familiar, teasing lilt. “McLaggen could never.”

You snorted, though the sound was muffled against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” he corrected, squeezing your hip. “Bet the tosser doesn’t even know where the clit is.”

“Fred!” You swatted his arm, but he only grinned, unrepentant.

“What? Just stating facts, love.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, his smirk softening into something warmer. “And since we’re being honest, you’re far too brilliant to waste on someone who probably still pisses the bed.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught your chin, tilting your face up to his. His expression was suddenly serious, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something deeper.

“Come back,” he said quietly. “Properly.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t need to elaborate -- you knew what he meant.

Fred’s mouth curved, just a little. “I’ll even share my Chocolate Frogs.”

“Now that’s true love,” you deadpanned.

He barked a laugh, pulling you tighter against him. “Damn right it is.”

You snuggled into his chest, the thought of getting back together flickering through your head. The questions, the doubts, the possibilities. You and Fred had been in this weird situationship and cheating on your relationships with others for months, but you'd never actually come close to reconciling. Before now.

“... What about Ang--”

Fred cut you off, an honest look on his face.

"Over," he said simply, fingers tightening ever so slightly on your hip.

“But she--”

Fred rolled his eyes.

“I don't care. I'll break up with her tomorrow. Merlin's sake, I'll knock on her dorm door tonight if it means you'll come back to me, love.”

Your breath caught. That was the thing about Fred -- when he was serious, really serious, there was no mistaking it. No jokes, no deflection. Just this, his hands on your skin, his gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

A beat. Then, quieter:

“Stay.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a plea. It was a promise, one he’d been waiting months to make.

You swallowed. “What if we’re just… bad for each other?”

Fred barked a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Lovey, we’re terrible for each other. But I’d rather set myself on fire than watch you pretend to be happy with someone else.”

“That’s--”

“Dramatic? Probably.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “Also true.”

You stared at him. He stared back, unflinching.

“I love you, Name. I don't even care to keep pretending that Angelina means bollocks to me.”

Your breath hitched. Fred never said it first. Never this plainly. Not since before everything went wrong.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The usual mischief in his brown eyes had burned away, leaving something terrifyingly vulnerable.

"Say something," he murmured. "Preferably that you're dumping McLaggen's sorry arse tomorrow."

A hysterical laugh bubbled in your throat. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet," his thumb brushed your lower lip, "you're still here. In my bed. Again."

The unspoken question hung between you.

“You're the only thing that's ever been real for me. Real, serious, and not a joke,” Fred said, his voice only slightly higher than a whisper. “I fucked it all up, I did. But I'll be different. I'll be better, yeah?”

The words hung between you, fragile as spun glass. You could count on one hand the times Fred Weasley had admitted to being wrong - and never like this. Never with his hands shaking against your skin.

Your throat tightened. "You don't have to be better. Just... be here."

Fred's breath left him in a rush, his forehead dropping to yours. "Christ, you can't just say things like that," he muttered, but his arms were already pulling you closer, his lips pressing desperate kisses along your jaw. "Makes it bloody impossible to pretend I'm not completely gone for you."

You carded your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "When have you ever pretended?"

"Point," he conceded with a shaky laugh. Then, softer: "Stay?"

It wasn't the first time he'd asked. But it was the first time you let yourself believe it.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Yeah, I'm staying."

Fred's smile could've lit up the whole of Hogwarts.

He pulled you tighter, wanting you closer in his arms, as if making sure this moment was real and not a dream. He peppered kisses along the crown of your head, lips still stretched into a grin.

"Gonna be insufferable about this, you know," he murmured against your hair. "Properly obnoxious. Flowers at breakfast. Notes in your textbooks. Might even start attending Charms on time just to stare at you."

You snorted, pressing your smile into his chest. "Now I'm reconsidering."

Fred's arms locked around you like iron. "Too late, love. You're stuck with me." A beat. Then, with a wicked chuckle: "Though if you wanted to get unstuck and then stuck again--"

“Fred.” Your tone was warning.

The silence again. Comfortable silence. His body was warm, so much warmer than the lonely shared bed with Cormac. He was like walking sunshine, always had been, and still lit your world up even at night. He held you gently, like fragile treasure, but tightly, as if you'd slip away.

The silence only lasted another five minutes before he broke it again.

"So," he said, fingers drumming excitedly against your hip. "This means I can finally crack McLaggen in his big, dumb lug of a head then?"

You groaned into his chest. "Merlin, give it rest."

"I will!" Fred protested, rolling to pin you beneath him, his grin wild in the moonlight. "Right after I--"

"No."

"--just one little hex--"

"Fred."

"--maybe just a Bat-Bogey to start--"

You silenced him the only way that ever worked, kissing the smirk right off his face. Fred melted into it with a happy sigh, his hands sliding up to cradle your face like you were something precious.

"Fine," he murmured when you broke apart. "I'll only maim him slightly."

You thumped his shoulder, but you were laughing. And when he gathered you back against him, his laughter vibrating through your chest, you realized with startling clarity:

You'd missed this. Missed him.

The thought should have terrified you.

Instead, you only burrowed closer.

And just like that, it was settled. No more hiding. No more McLaggen.

(Thank fuck for that.)

Fred did get him though. Detention for two weeks and bruised knuckles.

[threadbearsweater]

if she calls, i'll be right there | megumi fushiguro x reader

He's quiet. He's helpful. He's good with your kids. He's handsome and smart and totally not living up to his potential. He's younger than you. Months after your divorce is final, you find yourself entangled with your next door neighbor in more ways than one. At first it's just a casual thing, a way to blow off steam. But you realize after some time has passed, you're both in far deeper than you ever meant to be.

a/n: 5.7k words. aged up megumi, kissing, alcohol, slightly obsessive behavior, vanilla sex, fingering, family dynamics (reader is divorced and has children) this is a repost.

You met Megumi on a cold, rainy November afternoon in the parking lot outside your townhouse. You'd just dropped off your kids to their dad for the weekend and stopped to pick up a few groceries on your way home. Weary and stressed from a busy week of work, playing taxi, helping with homework and hairstyles and extra-curricular activities, you were looking forward to a quiet weekend alone to decompress and try to remember yourself.

Your divorce was still fresh, still raw. Your ex husband made it difficult for you to be civil, but you did your best to be polite in front of your children. They seemed to be adjusting to the custody arrangement as well as could be expected, but you found that working full time and being a single parent was far more taxing than you had anticipated. There was little time to connect with friends or to fit in any sort of leisure time. So when weekends rolled around and you had a bit of a break, you often found yourself overwhelmed and lacking direction. Do you catch up on laundry and mow the lawn, or do you meet friends for drinks and indulge in a night of fun? Though you didn't yet consider yourself old, you certainly didn't feel young and desirable these days. Dating wasn't an option just yet, either. You knew that the baggage you carried around was too heavy to ask anyone else to bear, so most weekends, you preferred to tidy up around the house enough so that you wouldn't feel guilty about lazing around, then you'd open a bottle of wine and order takeout and binge a few episodes of your favorite series. 

For a few minutes, you sat in the car, hoping the rain would lighten up and the wind would die down just a little. You drummed your fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio, humming quietly, running through your mental list of restaurants that would deliver dinner. The song ended, the rain still came down in sheets, and you sighed. "Here goes nothing," you muttered, putting up the hood of your raincoat and ducking your head under the deluge. You ran to the back of your car and lifted the hatch, only for one of the bags of groceries to topple out onto the asphalt. A glass jar of marinara hit the ground and shattered on impact, and the loaf of sourdough you'd been looking forward to–wrapped in a flimsy paper sack– slipped directly into a puddle. 

With a heavy, tearful sigh, you put back into the bag what hadn't hit the ground and hoisted it up on your hip, then grabbed the second bag. You'd have to come back out when the rain stopped to sweep up the glass. As you turned to hurry up to your porch, you heard someone call out to you from a few doors down, footsteps splashing quickly through the puddles.

"Hey! You need help?"

A slender hand reached toward one of the bags at your hip and you reflexively recoiled, turning yourself away. "I got it, thanks," you said, eyeing the stranger warily. He looked a little offended, then hooked his thumb in the direction of your car. 

"Looks like you dropped something back there. Sure you don't need me to help?"

Something in the way he looked at you made you soften a little, and the cold, driving rain only furthered your decision that yes, you did need help, so you thrust one of the bags into his arms and dug your keys from your pocket.

"Hold that for just a sec so I can–" 

The bottom of the other paper bag in your arm gave out, spilling the rest of your purchases onto the sidewalk; suddenly, you were thankful for the rain, because it hid your frustrated tears.

"Got it," he said quietly, bending to scoop up your goods before they could be further ruined. You quickly unlocked your door and directed him inside.

"Just put it there," you said, motioning to a side table in the front hallway of your home. He did so, carefully, making sure not to drop anything else. The two of you stood on the rug while you shrugged out of your coat with a disgruntled sniffle. "Thanks, uh–" 

"Megumi. I, um, live a few doors down." He pushed back the hood of his jacket and ruffled his hair, peering at you through long, dark lashes. 

"Oh, Megumi! Yeah, we've met once before!" You told him your name, and he nodded. Said he remembered you, too. You smirked at him, toeing off your shoes and setting them over the vent to dry. "Well thanks for helping me." With a weary sigh, you started gathering up your groceries. "I really appreciate it."

He nodded again, looking a little unsure of himself. "No problem. I should probably go now." He looked out to survey the rain and found that it was beginning to let up just a little. "Unless you need some help putting that away."

"I think I can manage from here, but thank you." You really didn't want to be rude, but the day had already taken its toll, and you really just wanted to take a warm bath and curl up in front of the TV with some comfort food and your favorite blanket. "But if I ever need help again, I know who to call on," you say with a wink.

Megumi ducked his head and lifted his hood so you didn't see the blush that flooded to his cheeks, then shoved his hands into his pockets, using his shoulder to open the door. "Sure, yeah. Anytime." With a short nod, he steps outside. "See ya."

"Bye," you said, watching him go. 

You lingered so long in the doorway that the glass began to fog over with your breath.

Life stayed busy, as it tends to do when you're a single parent, and you didn’t see Megumi again for several weeks. In fact, it was nearly Christmas before you ran into him again. 

The days turned cold quickly, and when the snow began to fall, your daughters wanted nothing more than to spend time outside playing in it. So you bundled them up, snug and warm, and ventured out into your front yard to teach them the art of building a snowman. 

Megumi watched you from his second story window for a little while, and when you struggled to lift the middle portion of your snowman onto the base, he thought maybe he ought to help. It was also an opportunity to talk to you again.

"Use your muscles, mama!" your oldest daughter instructed. "We'll help!"

The three of you tried your best to hoist it off the ground. You giggled so much that your strength left your body entirely, and you all fell to the ground in a giddy fit of laughter and decided to make snow angels instead. Eyes closed against the fluffy flakes of snow that continued to float down from the sky, you didn't notice Megumi walk out onto the lawn and lift the large ball onto the base. He packed in a little more snow to close the seam, then began rolling what would become the head.

"Ok, girls, let's try again," you said, pushing yourself off the ground. Once you were upright, you came face to face with Megumi, his cheeks rosy, breathing out gentle white puffs of air. "Oh!"

This close, you could see the intense green of his eyes, the snowflakes that gathered in his long lashes. He stared back at you for a second, surprised at the close proximity of you. "Hey." 

You laughed sheepishly, taking a step back, then brushing the snow from your bottom. "Hi!" you said, a little too loud. "You scared me!"

Megumi bent down to continue rolling the head of the snowman, and your youngest daughter hugged you around the hips, watching him curiously. "Who's that, mama?"

You draped your arm over her shoulders and hugged her close. "That's our neighbor, Megumi. Go on, say hello," you encouraged. 

With a tiny, mitten-covered hand, she waved to him. "Hi 'gumi."

"This is gonna be the best snowman ever!" your oldest daughter chimed in, dashing over to help Megumi push the ever-growing ball of snow around. 

He offered her a comfortable smile and let her take over for a minute. "I think so, too. You guys are good at this."

The four of you worked together until the assembly was complete. You gathered some stones from a neighboring driveway to add eyes and a mouth, and a carrot from your kitchen made a fine nose. Two sticks gave the snowman arms, and an old, knit hat covered his head.

"He needs a scarf!" your oldest cried, tugging at your jacket. "He looks cold!"

You looked around, trying to remember if you had an extra, old scarf laying around anywhere inside. "I don't think we have one," you said.

Seeing the girls look a little crestfallen, Megumi took it upon himself to unwind the plaid scarf tied around his own neck, and held it out to them "How about this?" 

Their squeals of laughter made him smile, and he looked at you as if seeking approval. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that," you said. 

He shrugged, even as the girls had accepted his offer and were tying the scarf onto its new owner. "I've got another one. I don't mind."

You looked at him, and for a moment, you saw more than just the guy next door. Your heartbeat kicked into a faster rhythm as he held your gaze, and it wasn't until your daughter had cried Mama, mama look! a handful of times that you tore your gaze from him, shaking your head, a little dizzy.

"I see, baby! He's perfect!" 

Megumi stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets, watching as you adjusted the snowman’s limbs. And when your youngest whined about being too cold, her little teeth chattering in a sudden gust of wind, you began to herd both girls toward the house. You turned back to Megumi and gave him a gentle smile.

"Um, do you want to come in for hot chocolate?" When his eyes widened and your girls cheered, you added, "We have mini marshmallows."

He chuckled– warm and deep, ducking his chin down into the collar of his coat. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

You made small talk in the kitchen while you sent your girls upstairs to change into their pajamas. The sun was setting, and you didn't plan on going out anywhere else that evening, so you figured it would save a step later to have them go ahead and change. 

Megumi offered to help with the hot chocolate, but you wouldn't have it. He sat at your kitchen table, tearing a napkin into neat little squares while you chatted idly about work. You learned that he worked at a call center for a health insurance company. And though you meant no offense, you laughed a little. 

He raised a curious brow and blew over the top of his mug before taking a tentative sip. "What's so funny?" He asked.

You shrugged and dropped an ice cube into each of your girls' mugs, then gave them a stir. "You don't seem like an insurance salesman, I guess."

"I don't sell. I just field questions about policies and stuff."

"But you don't, like, get commission or anything when you try and upsell someone?"

He shook his head. "I don't upsell. We're not allowed. I literally just talk to people about their claims and usually end up sending them off to someone else who can handle it."

You leaned against the kitchen counter with your hip, fingers interlaced around your own warm mug of hot chocolate. "Aren't you bored?"

Megumi looked at you for a moment, tilting his head to the side. "I mean, yeah, but the pay is decent."

"I dunno. A smart, good looking guy like you? I bet you could get any job you wanted."

It took you a moment to realize what you said, and how it must have sounded to Megumi. You stuttered a little and called your girls into the kitchen. "Hot chocolate's ready!" 

The girls bounced into the room and sat down at the table, instantly dominating the conversation. Truth be told, you didn't mind one bit. The last words you spoke echoed around in your mind and you kept stealing glances at Megumi while your daughters chatted about school and classmates and their favorite cartoon characters. He was good at asking them questions about their interests, staying just interested enough to keep them chattering away while still being able to turn his attention to you now and then, sharing a secret smile with you that spoke volumes.

Once their mugs were empty, you shooed them off to their room to play. Megumi stood and helped you clear away some of the mess, then said he should go, too.

"Thanks for the invite," he said, lingering near the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders rounded. 

"I hope I didn't make this awkward," you breathed, putting away the last of the spoons. "I didn't mean…" What did you mean?

He lifted a hand and made a dismissive gesture. "Tch. No worries. I didn't take it badly. I know I can do better." He sighed, looking at you meaningfully. "You know what they say– money makes the world go 'round. Or…something." He laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks tinted pink. "I'd better stop before I say something else dumb."

You smiled sympathetically. "Let me walk you to the door."

He slipped on his coat and stepped into his boots that were now warm and dry. "Thanks again for having me."

"Sure, no problem, honestly. The girls really liked you. I haven't heard them talk that much to someone that's not me or their dad in…well, in a really long time."

Megumi's eyes widened considerably, and he took a step back, zipping up his coat. "Dad? Oh. Are you–?"

"Divorced," you blurted out, pointing to the lack of ring on your finger. "Recent. Um, actually. Final! Not tied up in court or anything anymore. Nope, I'm single!" Shut up, shut up!

Poor Megumi had no idea what to say or how to say it. He wanted to say he was glad to know you weren't married, because it would have made him feel terribly guilty for being attracted to you. In fact, he already felt guilty enough for the thoughts he'd been wrestling with, considering the fact that you were at least 5 years older than him (he guessed) if not more. There was no way a beautiful woman like you– with two kids and a rich life of your own– would ever consider getting involved with a younger, directionless guy. 

He swallowed. "Me. Uh, me too." He showed you his own, ringless finger, and you felt your cheeks flood with heat. "Uh, goodnight. Thanks again for the hot chocolate." 

"Goodnight, Megumi. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

He scratched the back of his neck and smiled at you– shy, unsure. God, you were beautiful. "Okay, yeah. See ya later." 

He found little ways to ease into your life after that snowy, December afternoon. He learned your routine, memorizing when you left for work and when you got home, what days the girls stayed with you and which weekends they spent at their dad's. He made sure your sidewalk stayed clear of ice and snow and even woke to scrape the frost from your car once the frigid temperatures of January and early February took hold. He helped you carry in groceries more than once, helped you juggle backpacks and dance bags and even a coffee table you salvaged once from a flea market. He was a good friend to you, one whose company you cherished. You never really considered Megumi someone who would want more than just a casual friendship with you. 

The day he found you crying in your car was the day things changed.

It wasn't that you were still in love with your ex husband. What he did to you– the very reason for your divorce– made certain that you'd never be able to look at him with love in your eyes again. And it wasn't that you didn't think he deserved to find happiness with someone in your stead. But when you ran into him on your lunch break and saw his arm around the waist of another woman, your stomach lurched and your vision blurred, and you had to excuse yourself. Your coworkers had murmured quietly as you darted to the restroom and locked yourself inside while your thoughts spiraled.

It wasn't fair. Of course you didn't want him back. Of course, you'd never be able to reconcile and have the relationship you'd once thought would last forever. Till death do you part, right? In sickness and in health? Your vows didn't account for him being a compulsive liar, though. A man who could look you dead in the eyes and tell the most convoluted stories and expect you to believe every word. You did for years, though. Excuses for why your savings gradually disappeared, for being late coming home from work time and time again. For missing dance recitals and holiday dinners. For so many reasons, so many times you lost count. He left you with no choice but to leave.

His happiness (or lack thereof) was no longer your concern. So why did it bother you so much to witness him touch another woman the way he used to touch you? You knew in your heart that their relationship would flounder, just like yours did. You knew he couldn't be faithful or truthful with anyone, including himself. Where was your happiness? Why couldn't you find it within yourself, as so many people promised you would?

A gentle tapping on your window startled you so much that you yelped and jolted, your heart kicking into overdrive. You swiped a hand through the fog on the glass to find Megumi, staring back at you with concern etched into his pretty features. Hurriedly, you wiped your tears away and rolled down the window, faking a tight-lipped smile. 

"Don't," he said, fingers closing around the top edge of the window.

You scoffed, then sniffled. "Don't what?"

"Smile. I know you don't mean it." 

You tucked your chin into your chest and squeezed your eyes shut; a couple more tears spilled free, and Megumi reached in to catch them on his cold fingertips. "Go inside. It’s cold out here."

Sighing, you killed the engine. Megumi stepped away from your car to allow you room to step out, then walked you to your door, hand hovering just above the small of your back to guide you. You were trembling so much that you couldn't even get the key in the door, and it caused a fresh wave of sadness to wrack your body, so you leaned your forehead into the wood and sobbed. Megumi gingerly took your keys from your hand and did it for you, ushering you gently inside. He took your coat and hung it, bent down to slide your shoes off your feet, set your purse on the table. "Come on," he said, helping you to the couch.

"You don't have to do this," you whispered, watching him as he grabbed the blanket you kept on the back of the couch and draped it over your lap. "You…you should go. I'm not good company right now."

He looked as if you'd slapped him across the face. Standing before you, eyes full of disbelief, of tenderness, he ran his fingers through his hair and looked off to the side. "I've never seen you cry," he murmured. "I just got worried."

"That's really sweet of you," you say, pulling the blanket up to your chin while you tuck your legs under your bottom, curling into the side of your couch. "I just need to be alone right now." Please don't leave me, you wanted to say. You felt incredibly vulnerable, and you knew if he stayed…

"I mean, if you want to talk about it, I'm right here." Something in his voice made him sound a little offended, as if he thought you didn't find him trustworthy. The weeks you'd spend making idle small talk with him didn't add up to much; in that moment, however, you realized you'd shared much more with him than just the little details about your life. "Was it him?"

Your eyes welled with fresh, burning tears, and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, nodded, then buried your face in the blanket. "I'm so pathetic."

Megumi sat down beside you then, laying a tentative hand on your knee. You could feel his warmth even through the blanket, and you sucked in a breath, trying to calm yourself. "No, you're not," he implored. "I think you're amazing."

You laughed in spite of yourself, swiping at your runny nose with the sleeve of your sweater. "I don't feel amazing," you argued.

Megumi's hand pressed a little harder on your knee, and he shifted closer, reaching over to touch your chin. You gasped and turned your head at his gentle insistence, meeting his intense stare.

You'd touched him before. Accidental brushes against his shoulder in your kitchen. Bumping into him when you, he, and your daughters all crowded through your front door at once, carrying bags and hanging up coats. A playful nudge when he made you laugh at something silly. This felt new, though. Different in a way you didn't want to admit. Your intense sorrow gave way to something else, something you had been pushing down for weeks now.

“Megumi…”

The next few moments passed in a dreamy blur. You weren’t sure who kissed who first, who took that initial leap, but the next thing you knew, he was leaning into you, pressing your back against the couch. Your hands threaded through his hair and you held him against you while he licked into your mouth– hungry, passionate, all-consuming. For one tender, quiet moment, he pulled back and kissed your tear-stained cheeks, thumbing at the moisture collected in your eyelashes. “So beautiful…” he breathed, soft lips bumping against your own.

You grabbed his wrist and pressed your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Down the column of your neck Megumi dropped featherlight kisses and you moaned softly, eyes swung toward the ceiling. He shifted his weight against you, fingers spread around your ear, tilting your chin so his mouth could explore further, down to your collarbone. “Tell me to stop.” 

You couldn’t. You should, but the more he kissed you, the more you relaxed into him, the more you kissed him back with the same eagerness he showed you. Soon, his hands were beneath your sweater, thumbs grazing over the satin cups of your bra. You drug your nails up the back of his neck and he moaned so beautifully into your mouth that you felt a surge of arousal between your legs. When he tugged at the hem of your shirt, you leaned back and lifted your arms to allow him to pull it off, then crawled over him, into his lap, kissing him with a hungry intensity that he met in kind. You weren’t surprised to feel the bulge between his legs when you rolled your hips down into him. You wanted to devour and be devoured.

Once his own shirt was off, he took great care in unclasping your bra, lifting it away to reveal your breasts. For one reverent, quiet moment, he cupped them in his warm hands, tracing the outline of your areolas, thumbing over your nipples. You’re sure he’d seen breasts much younger than yours, not deflated from breastfeeding and fluctuations in your weight over the years, but the way he looked at them made you less insecure, more proud of how your body had aged. You wanted to say something, to ask him what he was thinking, but when his tongue laved over your nipple before his lips closed around it, all coherent thought flew out the window along with your sense of self-preservation. “Oh my god–”

“Want you so bad,” he whispered, hands kneading the fat of your thighs to pull you further down into his lap. You linked your arms around his shoulders as your hips found a rhythm, grinding yourself against him, desperate to ease the ache in your gut. You worked your hands between your bodies to unfasten his jeans, taking care to pull down the zipper so it didn’t catch. Megumi pulled away from your kisses to watch, breathing through his open mouth as you freed his cock, smoothing your hand over its heavy, velvety warmth. “Please,” he whimpered. 

You smiled, eyes hooded, clouded with lust, and leaned in so your lips touched his ear. “Please, what?”

“Need you,” he said, rutting against your hand, head laid against the back of your couch, fingers toying with the waist of your pants.

“Not here,” you said, pulling him off the couch. He stumbled to his feet and straight into your arms. He couldn’t bear to stop kissing you, to not be able to touch you. Out of the living room and up the stairs to your bedroom, you bumped into walls, you tripped over stairs. You giggled against his neck and he nipped at your shoulders as you discarded your pants in the doorway before crawling backwards onto your bed. Megumi stood before you, skin flushed pink, chest heaving, staring down at you with awe. “Come,” you commanded, letting your legs fall open. You watched as he swallowed, his throat bobbing before he climbed over you. Another kiss, and he trailed warm, soft fingers up the inside of your thigh, then swiped them lightly through your folds. You keened as your back arched off the bed and Megumi shuddered. He was fascinated with you. On one hand, he wanted to take his time, to map out every curve, every freckle and mole, every dip and scar. He wanted to know what every inch of you felt like against his lips, what kinds of sounds you’d make when he kissed your most intimate places. He wanted to know what it felt like to be inside you, to feel your ankles hooked at his waist, to whisper his devotion against your ear while you gripped his hair with a trembling fist and cried out his name.

“Hey, you ok in there?” you asked. He’d been still for a few moments, tracing idle patterns across your belly, the hand between your legs resting comfortably, fingertip just inside. You stroked his hair from where his head laid against your breasts and his ear caught your heartbeat. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

You kissed his hair and scratched lightly across his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” he said, a little louder. He hooked his finger inside you a little deeper and found your clit, rubbing small circles against it. Your breath caught and you gripped his hair a little tighter, closing your eyes.

“I know. I know you do, Megumi. You make me feel that way.” 

He pressed in further and murmured something about how wet you were, then shifted himself over you, pushing your thighs apart with a strength that surprised you, thumbs pressing hard into your flesh. You moaned in tandem when he finally entered you, meeting in a messy, filthy kiss as you arched off the bed to meet him.

You made slow, sleepy love, moving in the way people who have been together for years do. No rush, no daring positions or fast, hard fucking. Megumi worshiped you, all soft kisses and breathy moans, careful hands and tender affirmations. Your body bloomed in response, and for the first time in forever, you felt alive. Every nerve ending felt warm, blood rushing to your fingertips, your toes, to your head; you were drunk with pleasure and let yourself get swept away in his affection. And when you came, it wasn’t earth shattering. It began as embers in a fire, warm and stirring before it spread outward and consumed you with its overwhelming heat. You felt it everywhere– every beat of your heart only drove it deeper into your veins. You clung to him as you rode out your high and he reached his own, face buried in the space between your neck and shoulder, panting open-mouthed against your skin.

For a long time, you held him, tears sliding across your temples as you lay on your pillow, heart thumping against your chest. Megumi closed his eyes, one arm slung across your abdomen. His opposite hand laced with yours and he squeezed, subtle and quiet, breathing softly against your shoulder with his head tucked beneath your chin.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but you woke several hours later, covered in a knit blanket from your bedroom closet. Blinking slowly, you stretched your arm out across the bed in search of Megumi. Somewhat disappointed (but not surprised) to find only cold, empty space where he had been, you got up, dressed in panties and an oversized t-shirt, and wandered down the stairs.

The clock on the wall told you it was past two in the morning, and the soft glow from the nightlight in the kitchen made you smile. Leaning against the counter was Megumi, nursing a cup of something you assumed was hot chocolate based on his preferences. You turned on the tap to get yourself a glass of water and tucked yourself into his side.

“I thought you went home,” you said.

“I probably should.”

You pressed into him further, sliding your arm around his waist. “You don’t have to.”

He slid a warm hand behind your head and held you against his chest, leaning to kiss your hair. “Good. I didn’t want to.”

From that point forward, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You restrained yourself when your daughters were with you, playing it cool and making sure they never saw you kissing or otherwise showing affection. Megumi found ways, though. He’d hook his pinky with yours while you sat on a park bench watching the girls play. He’d corner you in the kitchen to kiss you when they ran outside to get the mail, or rest a hand on your thigh while you watched a movie. It became a habit for him to spend the night in your bed when your daughters went to their father’s for a weekend, and when you weren’t fucking like rabbits on every surface of your house, you’d stay up late with a few bottles of beer and a cozy little fire on your patio, resting comfortably together while you talked and learned about each other. You couldn’t get enough of him, and he worshiped the ground you walked upon. You were in deep. Infatuated. Obsessed with each other. If it was unhealthy, you didn’t care. You felt vibrant, relaxed, beautiful. Ready to conquer the world.

What you had with Megumi wasn’t defined as anything specific. And though you weren’t explicitly together, you also hadn’t dated other men. A well meaning coworker had asked you if you’d tried a dating app, and you politely told her you weren’t ready to put yourself out there just yet. You told Megumi one evening, a few days after it happened, and felt him stiffen at your side. He reached for his beer and took a long drink, then remained sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you wanna date other guys?”

You huffed a short laugh and bumped him with your shoulder. “Do you think I want to date other guys?”

He looked…irritated. “Answer my question.” You watched his jaw clench and felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“I thought– no, nevermind.” You shook your head and poked at the fire with a long stick, not daring to look him in the eye.

“You thought what?” The air was thick around you, even as a cool breeze blew through the trees. You shivered involuntarily, gathering your cardigan tighter around you.

“I mean, aren’t we dating? I guess we never really defined it, but…” You dared a peek at him, how the flames from the fire reflected in his eyes, how he looked at you with such devoted reverence it took your breath away. Quietly, you admitted, “I don’t want anyone else.”

“Neither do I,” he whispered, visibly relaxing. 

“I’m…a lot older than you, Megumi.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I don’t want to have any more kids.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, a little more tense than before. He squeezed your thigh and scooted closer, ducking in to kiss your forehead. “Still want you.”

“I don’t even know if I want to get married again.”

He kissed your brow. “Don’t care. I’ll wait. And if you decide you don’t want to, I’ll still be here.” He hooked his finger under your chin and turned your face toward his, nudging his nose against yours. “I’ll still be in love with you.”

You breathed a little sigh and averted your eyes. “Megumi…”

“I’m serious. I do love you. And…” he tilted his head trying to meet your eyes again. “I think you love me, too.”

You kissed him. A distraction, a way to buy time before you said the words out loud. The words you’d rolled around on your tongue since the night you first slept together. It terrified you, the possibility of loving someone new, of giving your heart over to someone again. Megumi was nothing like your ex husband, but the hurt he caused made it nearly impossible for you to trust someone not to do it all over again. 

But for Megumi, you thought you could try. You wanted to give him that chance, to ease into something beautiful that you’d already been building. 

He cupped your face in his hands and gently pulled out of the kiss. “I love you,” he repeated. Expectant. Hopeful.

“I love you, too.”

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

She Doesn’t Care

A/n: I wanted to hurt you all just a little bit

Warnings: Angst, cheating, drugs and alcohol, yelling, reader is Dave Mustaine’s younger sister, James hits reader, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

After working in the studio all day the band often went out for drinks. They spent their budget on booze and weed and spent their nights giggling and fucking groupies at the bar.

James came home, wasted as per usual. You were in the kitchen cooking up a storm. You weren’t oblivious to what he was doing, in fact you knew exactly what he was doing, you just never said anything about it because things were good between you. He held you at night, kissed you so sweetly, gave you everything you needed.

You went over to him as he flopped down on the couch, hugging him from behind and kissing his cheek. He smiled and leaned back against the couch. “Jamie, can you do me a favour?” You started innocently.

James tilted his head back, looking up at you with a lazy smile and tired eyes. “Anything for you, love.” He purred.

“My birthdays in a week,” you started. James waited, expecting the next ask for a restaurant or a fancy jewelry store. “Just don’t cheat on me on my birthday.” You stated casually. James’s whole body went rigid.

He sat up straighter, twisting his body to look at you. “What?” He asked, voice firm, he was now fully sober. “I didn’t- I don’t- what are you talking about?” He was panicking.

You shook your head, leaning closer to kiss his forehead. “No, don’t worry about it, I get it, Jamie, I don’t care.” You assured, though he tried to argue again. “I know what you do out there, Jamie, I’m not stupid, just don’t do it on my birthday.” James watched you walk back to the kitchen like nothing happened.

“Excuse me?” He asked, standing up and moving closer to the kitchen. “You-you want to say that again? I think I’m going deaf or crazy or something.” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew he hadn’t exactly been amazing at hiding what he’d been doing but he still didn’t expect you to know, never mind that, he didn’t expect you to ask him something like that, ever.

He didn’t expect you to be so calm and casual about it. When he met you, you were so head strong. You knew what you wanted and you took it, you held your head high, you were supportive of his dreams in a ‘I’ll go to work, you do the dishes and have your thing on the side’ sort of way, and he loved that, you both got what you wanted. Cheating, he was cheating on you with multiple people, anyone who would take it, and you were just ok with it..?

“Just not on my birthday, that’s all I ask.” You repeated simply, smiling at him over your shoulder as you focused on cooking. James blinked, unable to stop staring at you.

“Just not on your birthday.” He repeated softly before heading back to the couch. He was at a loss for words, you were just ok with him cheating on you? What happened to you? “You’re not gonna hit me?” He asked, staring blankly at the turned off TV. “Or, like, yell?”

“Why would I?” You asked, mixing the food. “It’s just something you’re doing, helps you get it out.” You were just ok.

That week leading up to your birthday nothing changed, James went to the studio for the day, afterwards he went out with everyone else to the bars, get it on with some girls, and then head back to you to be the perfect boyfriend.

“So, she doesn’t care?” Lars asked, a joint between his fingers.

“No, she doesn’t care, just said not on her birthday.” James said, reaching for the joint.

“Dude,” Cliff mused, blowing smoke out his mouth. “You hit the jackpot, an open relationship? And she’s happy? She knows?” James nodded. Cliff laughed and shook his head. “Just not on her birthday.” He said, taking another hit.

The next day was your birthday, you called Kirk at lunch to see how things were going and he said it was fine, giving you some hope. You went out with your friends, just for a lunch so you could have some fun. You didn’t tell them what James was doing, you knew they wouldn’t get it, it would just stay like this and it would be fine.

“Jamie! I’m home!” You called enthusiastically as you entered your shared home. It only took you a minute to find James; he was in the backyard beside the pool, a girl squeezed on the chair with him, his arm around her. They weren’t doing anything, really. James had a beer on the table next to him. You walked out to the sliding glass door. “Jamie?” You called, getting his attention. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “I’m just going to be upstairs, ok?” You didn’t wait for a response before walking away.

After regaining his composure, James was chasing after you. “Wait, wait! Sweetheart, hold-hold on a second, let’s talk-“ he spun you around once he caught up to you, freezing when he saw tears streaming down your cheeks. James had seen you cry before, when your fish died, after bad days, more intimate settings which was the only time he made you cry. It was never something like this. “Oh my god.” He sighed. “Sweetheart, I- say something, yell, hit me, just do something, please?” He pleaded, squeezing your shoulder. “I-I’m begging, here.”

You sniffled, breathing lost all rhythm as you stared up at him. “I-I just wanted my birthday.” You muttered. “I just wanted my day, Jamie… my day…” His heart broke with every shaky word, every quiver of your lip. “What-what do they give you that I can’t? Not even for one day?”

He shook his head. “No, don’t-don’t think like that, love, they don’t give me anything you can’t, you-you give me more, so much more!” He said, turning you to face him completely. “I love you, ok? I love you.” You couldn’t stop your tears, eyes puffy and red and watery, cheeks wet, you couldn’t breathe. “Sweetheart, please… do something.”

You stared longer, opening your mouth to speak but nothing came out, the words lagging. “I-I’m going to go to bed.” You said with a weak attempt at a smile.

James watched you walk up the stairs, standing there frozen. How could he do this to you? How did he break you, you, your soul, everything you were? You’d hit him before, you were mad and he deserved it, you never did any real damage and you always apologized after your anger, James loved you because you weren’t afraid to be yourself and even less afraid to fight for yourself.

You were ok with him cheating on you, the one thing you asked was for your day, he couldn’t do that, so you just… moved on. No fight.

James followed you to your shared room, finding you just about to crawl into bed with your day clothes still on. “Sweetheart? What’re you doing?” He asked, nearing you faster, catching you before you could make it to the bed. “Sweetheart, please, stop crying.” He pleaded, cupping your face in his hands, thumbing away your tears. “Please… I can’t see this anymore, stop crying.” He was getting more desperate and it was evident in his tone.

“I-I’m sorry, Jamie-Jamie.” Your shoulders bounced with every sob you choked back down.

“I don’t want your apologies, I want you to stop crying!” He was begging but his tone was aggressive, only making you cry more. “What happened to you? What happened to my girlfriend?! I miss her, I miss my girlfriend and I want her back, not this fucking pushover, where’s my fucking girlfriend?!” He didn’t mean to shake you when he yelled, he didn’t mean to yell when he spoke, that’s just what came out. He saw the effect his panicked anger had on you, he didn’t know what to do anymore, he’d lost the love of his life for a couple quick lays. “Stop fucking crying!” He yelled.

Without thinking his hand came up and went across your face hard, a loud clap echoing off the walls, followed by a yelp and the thud of your body on the floor. Everything went still.

You held yourself up on your elbows, a hand on your cheek, holding the stinging spot James had hit. James stared down at you, eyes wide with regret and shock at what he’d just done.

Without another word he went to the closet and pulled out a bag, immediately throwing as many of your clothes in it as he could. He needed to get you out of the house, he needed to get you somewhere safe so you could find yourself again. He wanted you back, not whoever this was.

“Jamie, please.” Your voice was weak, barely there, James almost missed it. “Please, don’t go.” Now he wished he had. “Don’t leave me, I-I can do better, I promise.” His hands were clenched on two shirts of yours, eyes filling with tears at your pleading tone. “Just-just tell me what I did wrong, I can fix it.”

His hands fell to his sides and he slowly turned to face you again. His head shook slow, his feet dragged on the floor as he walked over to you. “I’m packing your things, sweetheart, not mine.” He said. “I’m getting you out of here.”

A new sense of panic flashed across your face and you shook your head vigorously. “No, Jamie, please! I-I’ll do better, just tell me what I did wrong! I can fix it!” You were getting desperate, scrambling to your feet, however wobbly your legs were. “I don’t know what I did, Jamie, just tell me!”

His hands met your sides, holding you steady in front of him. “No, sweetheart, I’m getting you out of here, ok? Let’s go see Dave.” You also hadn’t told Dave of any of this, you started dating James after he kicked Dave out of the band but you met while he was in the band. Obviously, Dave hated him, and he hated your relationship more, you didn’t need to give him any more reason to hate James.

You wrapped your arms around him and held on tight, not wanting to let go in fear of being kicked out. This was your house with your life, no matter how much you changed when you found out about him cheating. It broke you, completely shattered you into a million pieces, and you were doing everything to put them back together; including letting him cheat on you.

“Please, Jamie… just-just let me stay…” you mumbled, burying your face in his chest. “Please.” You repeated the word like a mantra as he held you back, holding your tighter and lifting you up to carry you downstairs and out to his car. The word grew louder until you were crying in his ear. “Please! Jamie, please! I- Jamie!” He swallowed thickly, holding back his own tears.

James got you buckled into the passenger seat and then went around to the drivers side, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. You did your best to stop crying, he wanted you to stop so you’d stop. Halfway there you were just sniffling now, having wiped away all your tears.

“Jamie..?” You asked, voice weak and so soft.

“Yeah?” He responded, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Did you plan anything..?” James paused a moment.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Well,” you started. “It’s my birthday.” Realization hit him like a freight train. “Did you plan anything? A-a dinner, or something?” He stared on in silence. “I’d still like to go, did you remember?” You waited, and waited, longer than you should’ve.

You looked towards the road ahead, Dave’s house coming into view. “Oh.” Just the one word, and your voice cracked, and with it something in James did as well.