#but this is like my uneven picture in a room with a with moment

[kissmefriendly]

Being a reenactor and being a big fan of Monstrous Regiment is so hard because I love every single piece of fan art but also. The uniforms. The epaulets. Why’s bunch of privates have double epaulets. I implore. I beg. I love you all so much. Kissing all MR artists with tears in my eyes.

[girlrotterr]

✩ ⁺ ∿ oh baby, can you hear me moan? ◦　 ♩

roommate!ellie x reader Summary: You come home earlier than usual to find your roommates door slightly ajar. You can’t help but peek inside.

You’re home earlier than usual, and the place is eerily quiet—no random guitar strumming or the faint hum of a video game in the background. Ellie’s always got something going on, whether it’s tinkering with her beat-up acoustic guitar or completely failing at some cooking experiment that leaves the kitchen smelling like burned regret. 

You shrug off your jacket, the familiar scent of scorched food hits you—a sure sign Ellie’s been at it again. 

You can almost picture the disaster waiting in the kitchen. 

Maybe she attempted a stir-fry or tried to get fancy with eggs, which, for some reason, she consistently messes up. You remember the last time: the pan had been abandoned in the sink, its bottom crusted with what could only be described as scrambled cement, and Ellie had offered you an apologetic grin as she flicked at her guitar strings, mumbling something like, my bad…

Still smirking at the thought, you head toward the kitchen, but surprisingly, the mess isn’t as bad as you expected. A single burnt toast sits abandoned on a plate, and beside it, a bottle of peanut butter left open, its lid placed on the edge of the counter. You grab a spoon to clean up, noticing that Ellie’s nowhere in sight. Usually, she’s hovering near her messes, trying to fix it or making self-deprecating jokes to play off the mess.

Curious, you wander down the narrow hallway toward her room, your steps thudding along  the old wood floor. You pass by her door, which is slightly ajar, and immediately slow your pace. 

It’s not like Ellie to leave her door cracked. 

Your hand pauses on the doorframe, a soft click as your knuckles accidentally tap against it. 

You hesitate, thinking maybe you should leave her be, but then—before you can make the decision—a faint noise escapes from inside, followed by a sharp, quick breath. 

Your brow furrows as you inch closer, pushing the door open a little more.

Ellie was sprawled across her bed, her head thrown back against the pillows, messy hair fanning out in every direction. Her breath came in uneven gasps, wet, squelching sounds filling the room. 

Fuck, she was too desperate to even bother taking off her clothes. 

Her brown jacket hung loosely off her shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and tugged from her movements. Her half-unbuttoned flannel exposed her perky nipples, her jeans were pushed down just past her thighs, the belt hanging loosely, the metal buckle clinking against her skin as her hips rocked. 

Your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you take in the sight of her hand pumping beneath her boxers, her movements quick, almost frantic. Heat floods your body, cheeks burning as your eyes lock onto her. 

"Oh fuck, yes," she breathes, her voice low and rough. 

You can’t tear your eyes away. 

Ellie spread her legs wider, her right thigh twitching slightly as her fingers pump deeper inside.  Your cunt began to ache as your eyes caught on what she was holding. It was your panties—your favorite pair—clutched tightly in her fist, the soft lace crumpled and wrinkled between her fingers. You swallowed hard, eyes tracing the wet patch staining the fabric, the glistening spot a clear sign that she had been grinding against them. 

“Just a little more…” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the moment, her lips parting slightly. “God, I needed this…” 

“Come on, don’t stop,” she murmurs, biting her lip, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Just a bit more… just like that.” There’s desperation in her voice, a plea.

“Fuck, why is this so good?” she gasps, her voice whining with need, eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of her aching cunt“Why does it feel so much better when I think of you?” 

“Ellie…” you breathe, barely a whisper, but she doesn’t hear you.

She’s too lost in her own fantasy. 

"God, I love this," she moaned softly, her voice husky, as her hand moved frantically between her legs. Her fingers pumped faster and faster, her perky tits bouncing with each thrust, the bed beneath her squeaking. "Can’t get fucking enough."

You knew you should turn away, that you’d crossed a line simply by staying. 

Your breath hitched, the air suddenly too hot, as your hand slipped beneath your waistband, trembling fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You shifted them to the side, biting your lip as your fingers found your aching clit, tracing small circles. 

You tried to keep your breathing shallow, hoping she wouldn’t hear you over her own sounds. Your soft moans mingled with the wet, squelching sounds filling the room. The heat between your legs became unbearable, a pulse that only grew stronger with each passing second. 

“Need you to fucking take it," Ellie breathed, her voice low and ragged. Her hips bucking harder, the pace of her fingers desperate. 

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, your voice shaky as the ache in your hole pulasated. The need was overwhelming, your hole throbbing with a desperate hunger you couldn’t ignore, your fingers moving faster to keep up with ellie’s pace. 

Ellie’s eyes narrowed, her brows furrowing together as her movements slowed. You watched, breathless, as she pulled her fingers out of her drenched hole, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Without hesitation, she pressed your panties against her soaked pussy, the lace clothing her cunt as her slickness coated the fabric.

With a low groan, she began to grind against it, her hips bucking, pressing harder and faster into the softness of the fabric. Her lips parted, a ragged breath escaping as her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the pillows. The wet lace clung to her, the friction of it only making her grind harder.

"Love this... fuck, your panties... can’t get enough..." Her head fell back again, and she let out a deep groan, her fingers pressing the lace even harder against her aching clit.

A moan escapes your lips, quiet at first, but growing louder as the pleasure builds inside you. 

But in your desperation, you leaned a little too close to the door, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. 

You and Ellie freeze, eyes locking in a moment of shock. 

Ellie’s eyes widen, her mouth agape.Her gaze drops slowly, lingering on your body, taking in the sight of your drenched pussy, your panties pushed to the side, the fabric clinging to your trembling thighs. 

You can hardly breathe. 

Oh fuuck.

You try to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escapes your lips is a breathless, “I…” 

Heat floods your cheeks, mingling with the aching throb of your pussy, pulsing with an urgent need. God— the way she’s staring at you, with that raw hunger in her eyes.

“Come here,” Ellie whispered, her chest heaving, struggling to catch her breath. 

You couldn’t resist it.

Ellie shuddered as you slid your hand between her trembling thighs. Shuddering as your fingertip circled her dripping entrance, her soft folds parting easily under your touch. With a needy moan, she guided your finger deeper, gasping as you penetrated her hole. The slick walls of her cunt clenched greedily around your fingers as Ellie bucked her hips, fucking herself on your hand with desperation.

"Fuuuck.." *she groaned, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Her cunt was absolutely drenched, leaking down her thighs as she rutted against you shamelessly. Ellie's needy whimpers filled the room, growing louder and more frenzied by the second.

"Fuck, just like that!" Ellie gasped, her hips bucking wildly. She gripped your shoulders tightly, her nails digging into your skin as she rode your fingers. Her juices flowed freely, coating your fingers and dripping down your wrist.

“Ohh fuckk mee…” She groaned as your fingers slipped out of her dripping hole. 

Without wasting a second, she quickly positioned herself above you, her slick folds hovering mere inches from your own. With a swift movement, Ellie slammed her cunt down onto yours, your aching clits rubbing together as your slick juices mixed. 

“ellie! please please please!" you moaned, tightening your grip onto her wrinkled bedsheets. 

"That's it, baby," she groaned, grinding her hips in tight circles.

She gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoed, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Ellie's perky breats bounced with each thrust, her hardened nipples grazing against yours. She gripped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, which she attacked with biting kisses and sensual licks.

"Atta girl," Ellie whsipered, "Take what I give you."

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warnings: Simon’s past, PTSD request(s): a first, some hard truths

Simon is a professional at quiet.

It's ingrained in him, a piece of his brain rewired from training to make his mass nearly invisible, depending on silence to stay alive.

Sometimes, he thinks he should make more of an effort to make noise at home. He should drag his heel, just barely, enough for a scuff or imbalance of his weight, to make a floorboard creak or groan. He should open doors in a rush, allowing locks and jams to click and clack, alerting whoever is on the other side to his presence.

But if he did, he wouldn't be able to do this, wouldn't be able to stand just outside Orion's room and watch you play peek-a-boo with him, hiding your face with your hands and then sliding them open, smiling so wide it makes his heart skip a beat.

"Where did he go?" You laugh from behind your palms, and reach down to tickle his belly, giggling. "There he is!" Ry is on a changing pad, on the floor (too big now for the changing table) naked except for a fresh nappy, beaming up at you like you're everything.

He and his son are in love with the same woman, he's afraid.

"Where did he go?" You make a show of looking for him, hiding behind your hands, unable to see the way Orion's eyes widen and dart around, clearly seeking your eye contact, before you squeal "there he is!" again and match him smile for smile.

He leans against the door frame, fully aware you still have no idea he's there, and pulls out his phone, desperate to immortalize as many moments as he can, filling his camera roll with pictures and videos of you and the baby so he'll have something to cling to when he's torn away by the next op.

"Where's my baby? Where did he go?" You feign looking around, turning your head from left to right, finally catching Simon out of the corner of your eye, looking from him to the camera, still smiling, sun shining across your face from the window. He smiles back, he can't help it. Once a foreign feeling on his face, now feels so natural when it comes to you. Orion kicks his feet impatiently, and you turn back with a gasp. "There he is!" You tickle him, again, and this time, when you giggle, he does too.

Your mouth drops open in shock, and you look at Simon wide eyed. "Oh my god. Did you hear that?" He practically drops his phone and goes to his knees at your side as you lean forward and blow a raspberry on the baby's belly, Orion giggling the whole time.

It hits him like a truck. He feels faint. The floor is uneven. His baby is laughing. The world tilts, and for the thousandth time since he ran into you on the sidewalk, everything looks different. He blinks back the burn behind his eyes as you pull Orion to your chest, kissing his cheek, cupping the back of his head.

"Say, daddy did you hear me? Did you hear me laughing?" You use a smaller voice, one trying to imitate a baby's, peals of bells ringing inside his head. He wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to Orion's head, breathing him in, and you lay your head against his chest with a thunk and a sigh. "I can't believe that just happened."

"I know." Orion gazes up at the two of you, eyes flicking back and forth, and you slide your fingers through his wispy hair. The lump in his throat dissipates, and he kisses your forehead. "Thank you." Thank you for this. For everything. For giving him a chance to have a family, for giving him a chance to show his son what a healthy home looks like, what love looks like. For it all.

Your draw back, finding him open and vulnerable, soft parts on display, unguarded. Your free hand cups his cheek, just as he's done countless of times to you. "For what?"

"For giving me everything."

Later, he’s on his back, lazily watching you in the bathroom from your bed as you brush your teeth and talk to your sister.

It’s been a week since you asked him to stay, since he held you through the night, and he’s hardly been back to his short term rental since.

You asked him about it, a few nights ago. Asked how close he lived, since he was back and forth so often, or if he had been making a trek. Wondered how never found him, if he was in the area. The guilt was rife on your face, and anxious to alleviate it, he told you the truth.

“Got a short term flat down the street after I ran into you. Wanted to be close.” You jerk back in his grasp, unbelieving. “My… friend, a bloke I work with, lives in this neighborhood. That’s how I ended up at the bar that night. Sometimes I would crash at his place.”

“You rented a place, to be close to us?”

“Of course I did, mama. Y’really think I was just going to leave you here all alone?”

“I miss her.” You roll into bed from your knee, and he hooks an arm over your waist to tug you into his chest, closing the gap. There’s something soothing about covering the back of your head, your skull, with his palm, fingers splayed in every direction like he’s holding a ball.

He tells himself it’s not because of the dreams. The ones he has where he finds you dead face down in a scarlet red puddle, shot execution style, and Orion missing. Certainly not.

“Who?”

“My little sister.” You snuggle closer, nose to his neck, and he closes his eyes, reveling in each second, counting them slowly.

“Where is she?” You sigh.

“Seville.” Spain? “I used to live there, and she visited once. Fell in love with it. It’s where she goes for school.”

“You lived in Spain?” You nod, sleepily. Feeding Orion always wrings you out, and it was the last thing you did before getting ready for bed.

"Yeah, I used to kind of, float around. Lived in Venezuela briefly too, once. Morocco, Cameroon, Berlin-" Your name is a shredded ribbon from his lips, confused and curious, wrapped up into a jumble of syllables.

“For… fun?”

"I got antsy after uni. Didn't want to just stick around where I grew up, I wanted to do stuff. See stuff. So, I kind of... took off." Of course you did. You might be a kitten, but you're still curious, smart. Bright eyed and enchanted by the world. You probably had a wonderful time running around across the globe. "I'd like to take Orion traveling, you know? Make sure he sees the world, or some of it at least. I'm trying to believe you can still experience life even though you have a baby. Like you can experience life... with your child, right?" His jaw clenches so tight his ears pop. You had big, beautiful wings-

how was he going to clip them?

“Simon?” His name brings him back to earth, to where you're curled up in his arms, warm and soft and safe. He sighs. The conversation looms like a reaper over him, a big, ugly storm brewing on the horizon.

"Let's talk about the travel for when he can at least eat solid food, alright?" The placation burns like acid in his stomach, and you press a kiss to his neck.

“Alright.” He takes a very deep breath.

“But… we do need to talk about something, mama.” Your brow furrows.

“Talk about what?” He doesn’t like the way his heart feels in his chest, a rock sinking to his stomach.

“There’s a lot… you don’t know, honey. A lot about me, and my job.” You stay loose, but pull away to get a better look at him in the glow your bedside table.

“Okay…” It’s meant to prompt him, to lead him to the next step, the one where he starts talking, but the words are frozen in his throat. “Hey,” you dip into his line of sight. “Simon. What is it?” The truth starts to burn. It smolders until it becomes a full flame, spilling out of his mouth, scorching everything in his path. You.

“My family was killed because of me.” You jerk away like he’s slapped you, eyes wide.

“W-what?” Your voice shakes, and he doesn’t blame you.

“My mother, my brother, his son and his wife, they… they died. Because of me.”

“I don’t understand.” Of course you don’t. Why would you?

“It… it doesn’t make sense to start from the middle, so I’d like to tell you… about my life, and my… experiences, if you’re open to listening.” He wanted to hold you for this, wanted to feel your pulse beating beneath his thumb, but you��ve created physical distance, and he doesn’t want to push you. He has to believe he won’t lose you. He doesn’t even want to think about what he might do if you tried to leave. “Please.” His voice cracks, and you nod, timidly.

“Okay, Simon.”

At the end of it all, you’re silent. Shell shocked. Sitting up in bed, sheets pooled around your waist, you stare him, your breathing short and staccato. He reaches for you, trying to bring you comfort, trying to pull you into himself where you would be safe, and loved and held, but Orion starts to cry, fussy, hungry sharp wail piercing the silence, and you tumble out of bed for the door-

leaving him alone in the dark.

[chexnluv]

COZY VIBES ONLY: CUDDLING WITH ENHYPEN , (💤)

pairing: boyfriend ! enhypen × girlfriend ! afab reader, genre: fluff, kisses, pet names, headcanon, [NAV] [MASTERLIST]

LEE HEESEUNG ,

Laughter filled the room as you and Heeseung draped another blanket over the chairs, the two of you tangled in fabric like giddy middle schoolers. The fort was uneven and a little lopsided, but it didn’t matter—every mishap only made it more special. Heeseung peeked at you from under the half-finished canopy, a playful grin on his face as his hair flopped into his eyes. “This is definitely not Pinterest-worthy,” you teased, nudging his arm. Heeseung laughed, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Who cares? It’s perfect because we made it.” Once the final pillow was tossed inside, you both crawled into the cozy fortress, collapsing in a heap of blankets and laughter. You snuggled close to Heeseung, his arms wrapping around you as you nestled into his warmth. “Look at us,” he whispered, his voice soft, “professional fort builders.” You giggled, pressing your cheek against his chest. “I think we missed our calling.” Heeseung smiled, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but this is the best career move I’ve made.”

rest of the members below !!

PARK JONGSEONG ,

You were sprawled on top of Jay, your body sinking into the comforting warmth of his as you slept soundly, completely unaware of the soft drool pooling on his chest. Jay glanced down, chuckling quietly to himself. Your hair was tousled, your mouth slightly open, and your peaceful expression made his heart flutter. “Really?” he whispered, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. He carefully reached for his phone, making sure not to disturb you too much. With a soft click, he captured the adorable scene, your drool glistening on his shirt like a badge of honor. At the sound, you stirred, your nose scrunching up in confusion as you blinked your eyes open groggily. “Did you just take a picture?” Jay bit his lip to stifle a laugh. “How could I not? You’re drooling on me. It’s a moment to remember.” You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Delete it.” He kissed the top of your head, his chest shaking with laughter. “Not a chance.”

SIM JAEYUN ,

Your head rested comfortably on Jake’s chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear as the glow of the TV flickered across the room. Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you felt safe, the softness of his hoodie brushing against your cheek. The action movie played on, explosions lighting up the screen, but you were too focused on the way Jake absentmindedly traced small circles on your back. “Are you even watching, or did I lose you after the first car chase?” he teased, his voice a low hum that rumbled through his chest. You tilted your head up, meeting his amused gaze. “Maybe I’m more interested in cuddling my personal heater,” you quipped with a grin. Jake chuckled, tightening his hold on you. “Well, if I’m your heater, I’ll need some compensation,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Hmm, you’re overpaid already,” you murmured, smiling.

PARK SUNGHOON ,

Sunghoon’s soft voice filled the room, his arm wrapped securely around you as you nestled into his side. The melody he hummed was gentle, sweet, and soothing, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He leaned his cheek against your head, his lips brushing your hair as he sang quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’re supposed to be sleeping by now,” he teased in a low whisper, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Your voice is too good,” you murmured, half-asleep but fighting the urge to drift off. “How am I supposed to sleep when I just want to listen?” He chuckled softly, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “You’re impossible, you know that?” His fingers lightly traced patterns on your arm, the motion lulling you further into a peaceful daze. “Sing me another,” you mumbled, eyes closed, and Sunghoon smiled, his heart melting as he softly began the next song. “Anything for you.”

KIM SUNOO ,

Sunoo had practically ambushed you with an armful of skincare products, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Before you knew it, you were sprawled out on the bed, face covered in a cooling mask as he gently patted his own in place, a look of pure satisfaction on his face. “Admit it, you feel refreshed already,” he grinned, snuggling closer to you, his legs tangled with yours under the covers. You gave a playful groan, fighting back a smile. “I don’t know… maybe I just wanted to cuddle without feeling like I’m wrapped in seaweed.” Sunoo laughed, the sound soft and warm, his eyes crinkling behind his own mask. “Beauty is pain, darling.” You rolled your eyes but melted into his embrace, the scent of the masks filling the air as his arm draped over your waist. “Fine, but you’re washing this off when I fall asleep.” “Deal,” Sunoo whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “if you don’t fall in love with the glow first.”

YANG JUNGWON ,

Jungwon’s lips fluttered against your skin like butterfly wings, peppering your face with kisses as he giggled with every one he planted. You squirmed, half-laughing and half-melting under the playful assault. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could feel the warmth of his smile radiating as he leaned back for a moment, admiring his handiwork. “Okay, okay, you win, but why so many kisses?” you asked, trying to catch your breath between giggles. He grinned, his dimples deepening. “Because you’re too cute not to kiss.” Then, without warning, he snuggled down, resting his head on your chest, his hair tickling your chin as he sighed in contentment. “Now, this is the perfect spot,” he mumbled, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm. You smiled, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re like a kitten,” you teased. He chuckled softly, looking up at you with that adorable smile. “And you’re my favorite pillow.”

NISHIMURA RIKI ,

Niki and you lay cuddled up on the couch, completely spent after your wild karaoke session. “Can you believe we actually tried to hit that high note?” Niki chuckled, his voice still breathy as he tucked you closer against him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. You giggled, looking up at him. “I think the neighbors are still recovering from our rendition! I’m surprised they didn’t call the cops!” “Or ask for an encore,” he teased, a wide grin spreading across his face. The sound of his laughter sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You nudged his side playfully, feeling cozy against his chest. “Next time, let’s leave the high notes to the pros.” “Agreed,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “But I wouldn’t trade our crazy performances for anything.” You smiled, nestling deeper into his embrace, feeling perfectly content in your little bubble of warmth and laughter.

taglist: @iconchae @enreveriee

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[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 3)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, canon typical violence (mostly all off screen), descriptions of dead/dismembered bodies, reader is injured (leg injury and slapped), the kidnapper emotionally manipulates the reader, on page murder. Author's note: Thank you so much for all the support it's been crazy!!! This chapter is a bit intense, I'm not going to lie. We just need to hold hands and get through this. But I swear, the next part of this will be sooo tooth rottingly sweet. It's so long that I actually had to make this five parts lmao. I could not stop with the comfort and softness. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o  @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararoseblog @harryshousewhore

The first thing I felt was rough rope as it scraped against my skin. I worked my eyes open, the task feeling too great. I was strapped to an old chair. Nausea swirled in my head as I tried to take in my surroundings. It was a plain, nondescript gray room. The walls were concrete. In the middle of the room, directly in front of me, was a large iron door. It looked like something you would find in a bomb shelter. Around my chair were shafts of moonlight provided by a skylight above. There was a bite in the air that made me shiver. My breathing was uneven as I weakly struggled against the ropes. 

“I see you’re awake. Wonderful.” The man with ice cold eyes appeared from the corner of my vision, a folder in his hand. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.” He lugged a metal chair in front of me and I cringed at the horrible screech as it echoed around the room. “Where is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett?” I blinked, my brain foggy. 

“I don't know who those people are.” The man tsked. There was a flash of anger across his calm face before it was replaced by cool indifference. 

“Bullshit, we see you coming in and out of their apartment.” My stomach churned, either from whatever they shot me with or from the creeping anxiety.

“Oh you mean Al’s roommates? I work for social services for her. I don’t know anything about them.” The man grinned. It was vicious and predatory. 

“You are a bad liar.”He sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do we have photos of you with both men? What? One not enough for you?” He flicked open the folder and pulled out two pictures. One was of Logan and I on the fire escape. It had been captured at the perfect moment to have clear shots of our profiles in it. The other was of Wade and I at the bar. No, not just the bar, the bathroom. I was half exposed, Wade’s face against my bare breast. The woman who interrupted us had worked for him. Now I was actually going to throw up. I had been followed for months at this point. “Now, I’m going to ask again. Where are they?” 

“They don’t tell me about their jobs, I swear. Please just let me go.” The man shook his head with a hum, sounding like a disappointed teacher, sliding the photos back into the folder. 

“I’ll leave you here for a couple days, see if that jogs your memory.” Days? 

“Wait no! Please!” But he had already disappeared through the metal door. In the doorway, I saw a woman waiting. I blinked in shock. The woman, the one from the dingy bar bathroom. She was the one who had taken our picture.  My kidnapper nodded at her before the heavy door thudded shut. Days did pass, the skylight allowing me to count by the motion of the sun. My body soon grew stiff and achy as I sat on the chair. I wanted to sleep, anything to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to calm my mind enough. The shadow of the woman never moved from the small window. I could feel her watching me, my arm hair standing up at the feeling. To distract myself, I thought of Wade and Logan, of them bursting in here and rescuing me in a blaze of glory. But as the days bled into one another, hope started to fade. 

The man reappeared after four days. He removed the chair from in front of me, opting to just stand. “Have you thought about your answer?” 

“I don’t know where they are.” It was the truth. They didn’t give me any information about their jobs. They could be on Everest for all I knew. 

“I don’t believe you!” He began to pace, wearing a line into the concrete floor. 

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, it’s the truth.” He rushed at me suddenly, fingers digging brutally into my cheeks as he gripped me. My fists clenched as I forced myself not to jerk away. 

“Stop bullshitting me,” his voice was a venomous hiss. “Tell me now.”

“Do you not understand me?” My voice had lowered too, anger boiling inside me. “Get it through your fucking head that I. Don’t. Know. You are wasting your time. Let me go. Do it before they find me here. They’ll kill you before you can even try to fight back.” 

“Oh is that right?” I knew he was toying with me, but I fell stupidly into his trap anyways. I was angry and tired and so fucking scared. My brain was barely functioning. 

“Wade’s gonna make a necklace of your intestines.” 

The slap made a stomach churning crack. My mouth filled instantly with blood from my split lip. My cheek throbbed in the aftershocks. Tears pooled and trickled down my pulsating cheek. Another thunderous slap caught my other side. Blood splattered across my sweats. It was so hot, it practically burned through to my skin. 

“What a shame.” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, neck stretched too far. The warm blood rushed down my throat and I gagged. “You had such a pretty face. I see why those two kept you around. It’s so nice to have some stress relief. But it seems that they’ve moved on to a better piece of meat now.” He winced when I spat at him, the saliva and blood sticking to his cheek. He touched it like he couldn’t believe it, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. 

“When they get here they’re gonna eat you fucking alive!!” His face twisted in rage. His grip tore at my hair as he ripped my head to the side. Something pricked my neck, cool liquid rushing through my veins. My vision began to fog, body feeling too dense, brain going fuzzy. 

“Sleep well.” 

It had been days. 

I watched the sun beams make their slow progression across the dusty floor, only to be replaced by the darkness of night. My face still stung and my lip kept dripping blood. I called to the woman who was still standing there, hoping that she would take mercy and help me. But I might as well have been shouting at the wall. No one came. No one helped. All I could do was wallow in my pain and loneliness. Maybe they had really abandoned me. What was I to them anyways? Exactly what he said, stress relief. Nothing more than a convenient body. Something to pass the time. If I was worth anything, they would have been here.

My eyes had just slipped shut, head lolling to my shoulder, when the door opened. “Good morning!” It was him. My shoulders slumped, hoping I could just ignore him, that he was just some hallucination. “Your saviors haven’t appeared. So we have come up with a solution.” I opened my bleary eyes when I heard the chair in front of me creak. He clutched my phone in one hand and a wickedly sharp knife in the other. He swiped my phone open before clicking on the screen. I could hear ringing and then someone picked it up on the second one. My eyes were fixated on the knife as he flipped it, catching the hilt each time. 

“Baby cakes?! Where are you? What happened?” Wade’s voice was horrifyingly panicked. 

“Aw baby cakes?” The tip of his knife traced my cheekbone and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't flinch and cut myself. “What a cute name.” 

“It’s not as cute when you say it,” I grumbled. My voice was thick through my swollen lip. 

“What happened? Why do you sound like you have cotton in your mouth?” The man pinched my busted lip, fresh blood bursting forward, and I whined in pain. My nails bit into my palms. Over the line, I heard a growl, letting me know Logan was also listening in. 

“Sometimes I just don’t know how to handle myself around such a pretty lady.” Wade let off a string of choice swears and Logan snarled. “She has such a naughty mouth. I see why you keep her around. But it seems you’ve left her for good, huh? She won’t be too pretty once I’m done with her.” 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Logan was spitting in rage. “If you do I swear I’ll rip that worm you call a dick and ram it down your throat.” I smiled despite myself, something warm unfurling in my chest. They were still trying to find me. After over a week, they were still hunting. 

“I told you,” I hissed, “they are going to eat you alive.” 

There was a split moment where I knew I had fucked up. His eyes snapped to me, lips pulled back in a horrifying smile.

Then the knife flashed.

The pain in my leg was indescribable. I thrashed, desperate to escape the blade stuck through my thigh. I knew I was screaming but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my ears. Fresh blood from my lip and tears traveled down my chin. More blood pooled under my thigh, soaking into my ruined pants. I was only faintly aware that others were shouting and someone was laughing. 

His hand hammered the knife in deeper, the wood seat cracking under me, the hilt flush with my leg. I wailed, pleading sobs of mercy clogging my throat. “Stop moving so much.” There was more shouting. My head knocked against the back of my chair. The corners of my vision grew dark. “Do you want to say goodbye? Who knows if you’ll make it to see them.” All I could do was weakly whimper. “She seems preoccupied. I’ll see you two soon.” He tapped my face, the force just under another slap. “You sound so nice screaming. Maybe I will actually keep you around.” 

He left me like this, bleeding, trembling, pinned to the chair like a piece of meat. More days passed and the bleeding didn’t stop. It wasn’t normal. I should have died like this. Cold was lingering on my skin and small shivers racked my body. My bare feet had long gone numb. Someone, my foggy vision only registered them as a blob of white, entered the room. They carefully removed the knife and then eased me out of my pants. They methodically stitched my skin together, the haze of shock covered the pain of the stitches. Once a thick white bandage covered the wound, they turned and left. 

On the fourteenth day, I heard shouting. Then gunshots. My head jerked from where I had been sleeping. Panic spiked. I needed to run. “Fuck,” I mumbled, looking around desperately for something, anything, to save me. The room was mostly bare besides a table against the opposite wall. Then I saw it. 

The knife. 

I tried to wiggle closer, but failed to move an inch. “Fuck,” I repeated, desperate now. More shouting and gunshots, closer this time. The more I fidgeted, the more of the seat fell away from under me. Think think think. I continued to sway, lifting the chair onto its sides before it cracked against the floor as it fell. Then I heard a splinter in one of the legs. I took a breath to steel myself before I tipped myself completely over. I nearly sobbed in relief when the chair leg connected to my uninjured leg was the one that snapped off. I awkwardly propelled myself across the scratchy ground, the exposed skin on my left side becoming ragged. The rope on my left wrist began to fray, just enough that when I got to the table, I was able to yank my hand off and reach blindly for the knife. The blade caught my palm but I gripped it tightly, ignoring the bite of pain. 

I made quick work of my other binds, the knife almost slipping from my wet grip, and rose to my freezing feet. My injured leg protested instantly, nearly giving out when I put weight down. But I had to run, had to escape. I limped toward the door, and looked through the small window. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard screaming. I had to yank hard on the door to get it open. There was a dead end to the right and a long twisty hallway to my left. I took a few tentative steps out. When no alarm sounded, I sprinted. 

The stitches in my thigh ripped right away. I couldn’t think about the pain. Only escape. I clutched my stolen knife close and ducked into any small nook I could when I heard people thundering by. I should have followed them, maybe found an exit, but the squelching sounds of limbs being severed launched me forward. I turned left, left, right, middle at a fork, up a flight of stairs. I was hopelessly lost but all I could think of was escape, running on pure instinct to find it.  

The smell of blood hit me first as I turned a corner. Body parts were strewn across the wide room. Intestines dangled from the ceiling beams. Heads, half crushed, lolled away from their torsos. I wretched, nothing came up besides bile. But I could see outside through large bay windows. My legs were like water under me as I moved to the door. I stepped on an eyeball, the firm jelly bursting between my toes. Just keep going. My head was swimming, nausea from the gore around me mingling with the searing pain in my leg. 

I collapsed. I could barely feel the pain as my hands slammed down on broken glass. Then I heard two men’s voices. I scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes, jamming my sore body into the smallest crack I could find. “I know she’s in here, can smell her.” My knuckles turned white around the knife. My breath was weak, I had lost too much blood. 

“Could you maybe sound less like a pervy vampire?” I heard boots lightly hitting the floor as they spread out. “Do you think this scared her?” He sounded timid, maybe even a little afraid. The first man laughed. 

“What do you think? You pulled this guy’s entire spine out! Of course she’s fucking scared!” The shout made me jump, huddling deeper into my hiding spot. “Fucking idiot.” A pair of red boots passed my hiding spot, then planted back in front of me. I sucked in a breath as fear rippled through me. My eyes closed tight.

“Hey,” the voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “There you are.” I was so on edge, so terrified, that the hand with the knife whipped out on pure impulse. The tip pushed through something firm, before that gave way to softness. It sunk deep, blood rapidly flowing over my hand. I couldn’t open my eyes. I had attacked someone and they were bleeding all over me. My victim barely made a noise when I stabbed them. 

“You can let go of the knife, you're okay.” A hand caressed my face and my teeth sunk into the leather glove, jaw latched tight. I felt like a cornered animal, ready to tear into anything that came near. “Sweetheart,” the name, the voice, pulled me back. I released the hand and opened my blurry eyes. Logan and Wade were squatted down in front of me. Their faces were covered but I recognized the suits. 

My knife was stuck through Wade’s neck. 

“Wade,” my voice shattered, tears welling. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see it was you.” He pulled the blade out with a little grunt. There was a hole straight through his throat. My stomach churned again but I held it back. The muscles and tendons laced together rapidly before the skin closed over it completely. 

“Don’t apologize. I said the height of romance was stabbing, didn't I?” Logan reached out again and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. A frown drew down his lips when he saw the bruises on my cheeks. “What do you say we get you out of here, yeah? I don’t think extreme violence is really your scene.” 

Logan was examining my leg the best he could without touching me. I could hear him sniffing as he leaned closer. “We need to take her to a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“They stitched me up but I think all of them have ripped now.” My head felt so heavy. “My fingers are cold…is that normal?” 

“We have to carry you out, is that okay?” As Logan asked, Wade was already reaching for me. He scooped me into his arms and clutched me tight to him. I hissed as my thigh stretched, head falling heavily against Wade’s chest. Logan walked beside us and I reached blindly for his hand. He gave it a small kiss, but didn’t hold it. 

After two weeks, I was safe. 

I was safe. 

But we had to get out of this building first. Logan walked a head to peer down corners before signaling we could move forward. Wade moved slowly, keeping a firm hold on me. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet. I felt limp and weak in his arms, ready to sink into sleep as soon as I could. To keep myself conscious, I tried to remember all our turns, but it felt like there was an impossible amount. There was a round of clicking and the shuffle of feet as we rounded a corner. 

“Ah shit.” 

“Fuck.” 

My sore eyes opened to find rows and rows of armed men. In front of them was him. There was a cruel smile on his face as he took me in. The woman was tucked behind him, her eyes pinned on me. “I see you pulled your stitches. You should have waited for me to get you instead of trying to run off on your own.” Logan snarled as his claws extended. 

“Listen here bub. I don’t make idle threats. So best believe I’m going to follow through with skinning you alive.” Wade moved suddenly, his back to the men. He moved far quicker than he had before. I heard men readjusting their guns, their anxiousness clear.

“And where are you going Mister Wilson?” 

“First off, Mister Wilson is my father.” I groaned as Wade placed me on the hard concrete floor, safely tucked behind a stack of boxes. He stood, “you can call me Marvel Jesus.” I watched with an unfocused gaze as his hand snapped open a holster and handed me the gun that it held. “Just dropping off special cargo.” I took it, my hands shook at the light weight. There was a flash of gold along the black metal but my hazy brain couldn’t make out the text. I carefully tucked it under my leg to hide it from view. Once that was done, Wade traveled back to Logan’s side. “What do you say darling?”

“Let’s fucking go.” My hands slapped over my ears at the thunderous noise of all those guns firing. I was desperate to drown out the screams, the wet slap of limbs falling to the floor. My first instinct was to take deep, calming breaths, but my nose was too full of the scent of iron. The time stretched, the fight going for hours. 

Just as a sense of shaky calm fell over me, hands grabbed me. I recoiled instantly. “Don’t be difficult.” It was him. He was trying to pick me up, trying to move me. But my body was dead weight and he struggled to lift me. Something cool pressed under my thigh. 

Now don’t be afraid of it. If you show fear around guns, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot. 

Okay, see this little switch? No, not me you insatiable minx. This. Get a feel for it. If you are ever in danger you have to know where it is right away. 

He was distracted, watching something over the boxes next to me, his arms suspended in mid air. A female scream cut through the rest of the deep shouts. That rush of time, the feeling that wasn’t easy to explain, snapped. I blinked in confusion. With the man’s focus somewhere else, I put every ounce of concentration into my hands, willing them to stay still, as I lifted the gun. I found the safety and flicked it back.

Now don’t get any big action hero dreams of just pulling this trigger and letting bullets fly. It requires a lot of force, so you have to pull the hammer back first. Make sure you hold it with both hands, okay? Last thing you need is a concussion from it flying back and hitting you in the head. 

My sweaty thumb slipped from the hammer. The movement seemed to catch the man’s attention. There was a split moment where neither of us moved. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for his own gun. I raised mine and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Both of my index fingers wrapped around the trigger. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left. 

You can’t look away, pumpkin. 

You gotta make sure anyone who is trying to hurt you is dead. 

I didn’t. 

One second his head was there, eyes bulging in fear. The next, just a cloud of red remained. Squishy chunks of brain, shards of skull, and a splatter of blood went everywhere. It was in my mouth, in my hair, across my bare legs. All sound died and was replaced by a dull ringing. His body slumped before it fell. I stared at it, dark red spluttering from the exposed veins of his neck, the liquid pooling on the floor. The concrete was quick to drink it up. Logan was the first to appear at my feet. He took me in, his face unreadable under his mask. I saw his mouth move but it was jumbled, words half broken. I shook my head, tapping my ears. It was like a dial slowly moving up on the radio. The sound of bullet casings hitting the ground, screams of pain, the thud of bodies. 

“You alright?” Logan sounded panicked, his loud gruff voice cutting through the renewed sound. I nodded. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry sweetheart.” I nodded again. There was one last shout of agony before silence fell again. Logan maneuvered the dead man off me, throwing the body carelessly away. He slipped the gun from my sticky hands before hoisting me into his arms. I buried my face in his neck, taking in his scent. Sweet, earthy, the tang of sweat. 

“We got you. I got you, sweetheart. Always will.” 

[knoepfl]

Perfectly Imperfect Love

Here we are again this time with our lovely Dottore! I noticed there seem to be a lot of people who like him (including myself) so this was a must! If you enjoy this and/or want to see other characters check out the Masterlist or/and write a comment or request for a character and I will be happy to do them!^^ Again the inspiration and the picture was from @devotion-disorder so check them out!!! Have fun^^

Masterlist

---

The sterile walls of the lab seemed colder than usual. At first, Il Dottore—the infamous Harbinger—was amused. His sharp gaze scanned the room filled with photos plastered from wall to wall. Dozens of them. Every picture contained your smiling face, radiating warmth and joy.

It wasn’t unusual for Dottore to obsess over things that intrigued him—and you were one of them. But then his expression stiffened. You weren’t alone in these photos. Another figure stood beside you in each one, arms draped over your shoulder, fingers intertwined with yours. They smiled down at you like they owned you.

The corners of Dottore’s mouth twitched as irritation boiled beneath his skin.

How interesting… What kind of experiment is this?

5 Minutes in:

He stood there, silent, his gaze dragging across each photo in unnerving detail. At first, he tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his red, glinting eyes.

“Hm… Strange,” he muttered. “How perfectly inconvenient.”

Dottore chuckled, a sound both sharp and dangerous. “A foolish attempt to get under my skin, is that it? How quaint.” He tapped his gloved finger against his chin, observing the way your head leaned against the stranger’s shoulder in one image, your hand caught in theirs in another.

“Sloppy work… But I can’t deny, it’s convincing.” His voice dropped to a whisper, a smile still gracing his face. “I wonder if you’d let them touch you like this.”

The mask of indifference cracked for just a moment as something vile flickered in his gaze—something possessive.

1 Hour in:

He was still standing in the same spot, staring at the photos with an unsettling intensity. The small grin on his lips had twisted into a sneer.

“Did you think you could run from me?” His voice dripped with venom, though he directed it more toward the photos than you.

He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently against his bicep. “These are fake… They must be. You wouldn’t betray me. Not after everything.”

His heart pounded beneath the cold exterior, irritation morphing into something more dangerous—doubt. And he hated it.

Dottore pulled one of the photos off the wall, his hands tightening until the paper crumpled under his grasp. Why does it bother me? Why does this stranger in the photo seem more real with each passing second?

A low, bitter chuckle escaped him. “What a fascinating experiment,” he muttered to himself, though his eyes betrayed his growing frustration. “I wonder… how much longer until I break?”

3 Hours in:

Dottore’s breathing was uneven now, each exhale coming in short bursts.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls closing in as his mind spiraled. His hands tugged at the mask over his face, as if trying to stop the intrusive thoughts that gnawed at him. He muttered your name under his breath—again and again—like a mantra to keep himself sane.

“It isn’t real,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “It can’t be. You would never leave me… You wouldn’t.”

He dragged his gloved hands down his face, nails biting into his skin through the material. His grin was wide, teeth bared like a wolf, but his eyes were wild—unfocused.

“And if it were real…” His voice dipped into a low, dangerous hum. “Then I’ll simply… correct it. Remove the imperfection. Yes… I could fix it.”

He laughed quietly, the sound brittle and laced with mania. He would find a way to erase whoever thought they could take you from him. He was the only one worthy of having you. Not them.

Never them.

6+ Hours in:

By now, the Dottore standing in that room was a different creature entirely.

He sat in the corner, legs sprawled out as he gazed at the photos on the walls, his mask lying discarded beside him. His grin stretched too wide, teeth gleaming beneath the dim light, and his red eyes shimmered with twisted delight.

“It’s not real…” he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. “Not real. Not real. Not real.”

But even if it was a lie, Dottore didn’t care anymore. His obsession had consumed him whole, leaving no room for rational thought. He pressed a hand to one of the photos, tracing your image with unsettling tenderness.

“Mine,” he murmured, his voice soft but unwavering. “You are mine. You’ve always been mine.” His words felt like a promise—and a threat.

He sat still for a moment longer, before his smile widened. “Ah… but I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

He stood abruptly, brushing off his coat with a calmness that didn’t match the crazed look in his eyes. “We’ll have to fix this. You won’t need them when you have me.”

He tilted his head, as if imagining your face when you saw him next—saw the mess he would make to bring you back to his side. “I’ll erase this blemish… and you’ll love me. Like you always should have.”

The Aftermath:

When the door to the room finally creaked open, you barely had a second to react.

Dottore was on you instantly, his gloved hands grasping your arms with a firm but oddly gentle grip. His eyes shimmered with a mixture of glee and relief, the madness beneath them bubbling just below the surface.

“Ah, there you are,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “I knew you’d come back to me.” He pressed closer, ignoring the way your body stiffened under his touch.

Before you could say a word, his hands moved to cup your face, his smile a cruel mockery of affection. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Those photos… they don’t mean anything. They were a mistake—an… illusion.”

His laugh was soft, but it held an edge sharp enough to cut. “You won’t need anyone else. Not anymore.”

And in that moment, you realized just how deeply you had fallen into Dottore’s web.

There was no escape from him now—no way to free yourself from the twisted obsession that bound you to him. Because in his mind, you were his.

Forever.

---

[l4ndonorizz]

like a prayer / carlos sainz x reader

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

song:madonna - like a prayer

summary: overwhelmed by panic in the paddock, you seek refuge in Carlos’ driver’s room, where his calming presence helps you find peace again

wc: 900

The noise of the paddock was overwhelming. The crowd, the cameras, the endless stream of voices—normally, you could handle it. But today, it felt like everything was closing in. Your chest tightened and your breathing grew shallow as panic crept in. You needed to escape, to find somewhere—anywhere—quiet. Somewhere you could breathe.

Without thinking, your legs carried you away from the chaos, leading you to the only place you knew would feel safe: Carlos’ driver’s room. You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you and pressing your back against it, your heart racing. The room was cool, dimly lit, and blessedly silent. But your body wouldn’t relax. Your breathing was still erratic, your chest heavy with anxiety.

You stumbled to the bed, curling up under the blanket, pulling it tight as if the soft fabric could shield you from the panic. You tried to focus on your breathing, but the pounding in your chest wouldn’t let you calm down.

That’s when you heard it. The door clicked softly as it opened, and you felt Carlos’ presence fill the room before you even saw him. He must have noticed you were missing in the paddock, and his first instinct was to find you. Without a word, he crossed the room, his footsteps light and careful, as if not wanting to disturb the fragile calm you had tried to create.

“Hey, cariño,” he said softly, his voice a balm against the storm raging in your mind. “What’s going on?”

You stayed silent, your face buried in the pillow, trying to catch your breath. Carlos didn’t push. He knew. Instead, he sat down on the bed beside you, gently running his fingers through your hair. The touch was grounding, and you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to melt just a little.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice soothing and warm. “Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breathing remained uneven, shallow gasps that barely seemed to fill your lungs, but you focused on his voice—his calm, steady presence. Carlos shifted closer, one arm wrapping around you protectively, pulling you closer against his chest. “Shhh,” he soothed, brushing your hair back. “Take it slow, baby. No rush, no pressure.”

His words, the sound of his heart beating steadily under your ear, were slowly working their way through the haze of panic that had taken hold of you. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm of his breathing guide yours, even if it still felt like an uphill battle.

“I know it feels like the world’s closing in,” Carlos continued, his voice low and gentle. “But right now, it’s just us. Just you and me. Nothing else matters.”

His fingers drew slow, soothing patterns along your arm, and with every pass, it felt like he was pulling you further from the edge. “Focus on my voice,” he whispered, “just me. You don’t have to do anything else right now.”

You nodded slightly, still unable to speak, but Carlos didn’t mind. He kept talking, his voice soft but persistent, always there, always bringing you back. “Remember that time in the mountains? When we sat by the fire and watched the stars?” His lips curved into a gentle smile as he recalled the memory. “That night, it was so quiet, wasn’t it? Just the two of us. No noise, no distractions. I remember how peaceful you looked.”

His words painted pictures in your mind, pulling you back to a moment of stillness, of calm. The tension in your chest slowly began to unravel as you focused on the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured. “With me, always.”

You felt the weight of his words sinking into your bones, bringing with them a peace you hadn’t thought possible in the middle of a panic attack. Your breathing was finally beginning to slow, each inhale coming a little easier, each exhale no longer feeling like a battle.

Carlos noticed the change, his hand resting gently on your back. “That’s it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “You’re doing so well. Just breathe with me, okay?”

He continued speaking, his voice steady and comforting as he reminded you of all the quiet, beautiful moments you’d shared together. The day you watched the sunset on the beach, the rainy afternoons spent tangled up in each other’s arms, the mornings when the world didn’t exist beyond your shared space.

“Whenever it gets too much,” Carlos said softly, “just remember those moments. They’re always here, waiting for you. And I’m always here.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink fully into his embrace, the last remnants of panic finally loosening their grip on you. The world outside faded, leaving only his soft voice, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his arms around you.

After what felt like forever, you finally lifted your head, your eyes still glassy with the remnants of tears. Carlos met your gaze, his eyes full of concern but also so much love.

For a moment, the words stuck in your throat, but when you finally found your voice, it was quiet, raw. “Your voice…” you whispered, “it’s like a prayer. Every time I hear it… it brings me back.”

Carlos’ expression softened as he cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll keep talking then,” he whispered against your skin, “for as long as you need.”

And in that moment, with Carlos holding you so close, you knew you didn’t need anything else. His voice, his presence—it was your safe space. It always had been.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five Six

The car’s gone. Lets go now.

Eddie sighs, but at least this is still the trailer park and at least it’s dark, so they stand a chance of not getting caught.

Max says her room is around back.

“I am aware,” Eddie huffs under his breath, “I was there for the conversation, if you recall.”

Eddie finds the right window and sort of shimmies it until it gives, just like Max said it would. Eddie’s still not one hundred percent healed up, so pulling himself up and then flopping through the window is a little painful and not his best moment.

At least he lands right on Max’s bed.

He looks around to orientate himself, then heads for the wardrobe, right at the bottom there are two scrunched up paper grocery bags, right where Max said they would be. Eddie checks real quick; yeah, clothes. Not much, just a few of Billy’s things Max managed to salvage before they downsized to move to the trailer.

Eddie hits the bathroom next, bottom shelf of the cabinet, right at the back, a half bottle of Billy’s preferred cologne and a couple of half used bottles of fancy shampoo and conditioner, “you’re so fucking vain.”

You will thank me later.

Eddie looks at Billy. The bathroom in the trailer is still pretty small, so Billy is currently standing in the shower cubicle, watching Eddie brush his teeth. He looks perfect; perfect hair, perfect tanned skin, shiny earring dangling from one ear, chain flashing at his throat. He’s wearing a white button down, undone to between his pecs. And Billy actually has pecs, because Billy also has a perfect muscled body.

Take a picture, it’ll last longer.

Ha Ha.

“Right,” Eddie spits and rinses, “lets go.”

What. You’re not ready.

“Errr….yeah I am,” Eddie looks down at himself, he even got out the nice jeans for this. It’s his first real proper date with Steve, just Steve, and he is not going to fuck this up. They’re having dinner at Steve’s, and then going to catch a movie, and then maybe milkshakes after.

Perfect.

Absolutely not. You are not going out looking like that.

“But I did the fancy hair stuff. I even dried it the way you said.”

And it looks like, a million percent better, but you gotta’ change. We can’t go looking like this. You want to bag Harrington, don’t you?

“I...alright, fine. Make your suggestions.”

You’re going to ditch those dumb fucking white sneakers for a start.

“Billy, man, I’m not sure about this.”

Eddie eyes himself in the mirror, same jeans, but now with a belt cinching his waist in tight, and tucked into a beat up pair of black boots. His leather jacket over top of a tee shirt that Billy had insisted he cut the arms off of and around six inches off the bottom.

You look good.

Eddie wraps an arm around himself, the scarring is still pink and shiny in places, raised and uneven...ugly looking. The tee shirt gives a couple of inches clearance for bare skin to show above Eddie’s belt.

Trust me, you need to show off those ridiculous hips.

“I don’t have any hips!” Eddie says desperately.

Exactly, stand up straight. Turn side ways, look in the mirror. See how the jacket hangs, it makes your waist look even tinier. He’s going to want to get his hands on that, trust me.

“You can’t know that.”

Yeah I can.

“How?”

Because I want to get my hands on it. Trust me.

Eddie frowns at himself in the mirror, “the scars look fucking terrible. I’m just. Billy man, I don’t think I can do this...”

And then Billy’s there, sliding in behind him, turn, Eddie does, goes where Billy wants him, watches as Billy’s fingers creep around his hips.

“That’s...that’s so weird,” Eddie breathes, it’s like a tingle. Like the ghost of a touch, “I think I can feel you.”

Billy smirks, good, because I can definitely feel you.

One hand creeps further around, Billy watching them both in the mirror over Eddie’s shoulder, his fingers tracing softly across the visible scars on Eddie’s tummy, finding his belly button under his shirt and then moving on. It makes Eddie shiver. He watches, unsure where this is going, but too quickly it’s over, Billy stepping back, and Eddie finding he immediately misses the feeling of Billy’s hands on him.

Billy clears his throat, looking away, come on, lets go bag you your guy.

Okay, so this is about the millionth time Eddie has caught Steve starring at his bare middle and he’s only been in the house for twenty minutes...so I guess you were right.

I’m never wrong about shit like this. Ask him if he sees something he likes.

“See something you like Stevie?”

Steve splutters, going pink to the tips of his ears, “yeah, I, sorry, I’ll just. Sauce.”

In his head, Billy is absolutely braying like a donkey. Wild, joyful laughter that Eddie didn’t even think Billy was capable of. It’s beautiful, and weirdly charming, making Eddie smile at him. But he’s watching Steve turn away with his shoulders hunched up around his ears with embarrassment, and he shouldn’t leave that.

“This okay?” Eddie asks quietly, carefully hugging Steve from behind as he stirs sauce on the stove.

Steve sighs and relaxes back into him, “yeah, yeah it’s good.”

It’s dark as they stand shoulder to shoulder, doing the dishes. Eddie had taken off his jacket, and even though Eddie thinks his arms are stick thin and pale as fuck, that doesn’t seem to stop Steve from looking at them.

He’s so into you.

“What?”

“What?” Eddie grins at Steve, with it dark out and the lights on, he can clearly see their reflections in the windows over the sink.

“You’re grinning.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m enjoying myself.”

“Doing dishes?”

“Doing dishes with you,” Eddie amends, hip checking Steve and handing him another dish to dry.

Steve leans over and flicks some suds at him before giggling and moving to put the dish away. Eddie just might be in love. They had decided to skip the movies, staying in and watching something instead. Eddie was immediately up for the change in plans simply because it means he can hold Steve’s hand.

He’s not really expecting Steve to kiss him, not right now. Not lent up against the kitchen counter, and definitely not with his hands still a little wet with sudsy water.

But that’s exactly what happens. It’s a soft press of lips, at first, uncertain. Gentle. And then Steve sighs through his nose, relaxes, and they move together. Steve’s mouth is soft and, when it slides open, damp. Then wet. Eddie finds himself pressing Steve into the counter without really thinking about it, and Steve goes easily.

It’s so good. So fucking good. It’s slow and sweet and gentle, everything Eddie ever dreamed it would be. They part, but Eddie just wants to kiss him again. Wants to kiss him forever. Steve presses in with his tongue first and Eddie’s never been kissed before today, never mind this, and reflexively sucks on Steve’s tongue before he can even think about it.

Steve moans.

Okay then.

Steve’s fingers are squeezing at Eddie’s waist, and he can’t help but shiver, thinking for a moment about Billy’s hands on him. The tingly feeling he felt when Billy touched him and...Eddie blinks, pulling back to look at Steve.

Steve’s beautiful, his lips shiny and a little kiss bitten pink, his cheeks are rosy and he might be the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. He's probably the only person on the planet who's on a par with Billy.

Steve kisses him, but over Steve’s shoulder, on the other side of the kitchen, Eddie can see Billy. He’s watching them, arms crossed over his chest. Glaring.

He looks...angry. Sad. Fucking furious and fucking devastated in turn and-

“Eddie?” Eddie blinks again, looks back to Steve. “You okay, you kind of...zoned out. That wasn’t like, too much was it?” Sorry if I…”

“No. No it, was great it was. Shit. It’s the best Steve, it was great it was just...”

Steve seems to curls up into himself, pulling his hands back and wrapping himself up instead. “Right. Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll just uhm…” And Eddie’s getting his jacket before he can even think it through, putting it on on autopilot.

What are you doing?

I can’t do this.

Why the fuck not, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?

But is it what you want?

Billy goes silent as Eddie climbs into the van. Steve’s standing at the front door, and jesus, he looks devastated. Fuck.

Eddie can’t do that either.

He angles his mirror, finds Billy hunched moodily in the passenger seat, glaring out of the window. His eyes look suspiciously pink and shiny.

Shit.

Eddie scrambles back out of the van, jogging up to Steve on the porch.

Now what the fuck are you doing?

“Steve, I’m really sorry…”

Oh Munson don’t you fucking dare.

“...but I really have to tell you something.”

Part Eight

[writingforstraykids]

Letters Of Love - Jisung🖤

Pairing: Jisung x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 896

Summary: Your next message is for Jisung, about a day where all he needed was some rest in your lap.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, comfort

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Your gaze lands on a photo that makes your heart ache in the softest way possible. It’s a picture of Jisung, curled up on your lap, his face completely relaxed in sleep, his body almost melting into yours as if seeking comfort. His cheek is smushed adorably against your thigh, one hand curled loosely over your knee, the other hidden beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. The angle of the photo captures just the side of your face, a gentle smile on your lips as you gaze down at him. His hair falls messily across his forehead, still slightly damp with sweat, and there’s a faint pink tinge to his cheeks, as if he’s finally let go of the tension he’d been carrying all day.

The living room around you is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp beside the sofa. The evening light outside filters through the curtains, casting a golden sheen over everything. You can almost hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, the way it had been so shallow and uneven at first before it slowly evened out, settling into a steady, comforting beat. In the picture, his expression is completely peaceful—no trace of the exhaustion and strain that had marked his features just a few hours earlier.

That day had started off as a whirlwind for him. He’d had to attend several social events—all of which required him to be “on” for hours, smiling and interacting with people. It wasn’t until he came home, his shoulders tense and his smile strained, that you realized just how overwhelmed he really was.

You’d noticed it the moment he walked through the door, his gaze dropping almost instantly as if even making eye contact felt too much. You hadn’t said a word, just opened your arms, and he’d melted into you, his face buried in your shoulder as he released a long, shuddering sigh. Without a second thought, you’d guided him to the sofa, coaxing him to lie down with his head in your lap. It took a while for him to settle, to stop fidgeting as if he couldn’t let go of the day’s weight. But you ran your fingers softly through his hair, whispering soothing words, letting him know it was okay to rest. That he didn’t have to keep up the act with you.

Gradually, he’d relaxed, the tension bleeding away from his body until his breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering closed. It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep, the worry lines on his forehead smoothing out, leaving him looking so young and vulnerable. You’d stayed like that for a long time, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his scalp, marveling at how someone who shines so brightly on stage could look so fragile, so in need of shelter.

You smile softly as you attach the photo, already imagining the way Jisung’s cheeks will flush when he sees it. Fingers poised over the keyboard, you let your thoughts pour out, the love and admiration you feel for him filling each word.

---

Message to Hannie🐿️🩷:

Hannie,

I found this picture of you from the other night, when you fell asleep in my lap after that crazy long day. I know how hard it is for you to be around people for so long, even when you put on that brave smile. You always push yourself so much, and I just… I want you to know that it’s okay to rest. You don’t have to be the beloved ace all the time.

Seeing you like this, finally relaxed and at peace, made me realize something. I love every side of you—the bright, energetic Sungie who lights up every room, but also the quiet, overwhelmed Sungie who needs to just hide away for a little while. I love that you trust me enough to show me both. You don’t always have to be strong, you know? I want to be the place where you can let it all go and just… breathe.

Thank you for letting me be that for you. For choosing to lean on me, even when you’re too tired to say a word. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know, and I hope you never feel like you have to carry it all alone.

Happy anniversary, my little quokka. Here’s to more naps, more quiet moments, and more nights when you don’t have to be anything but yourself.

Love you forever,

One of your safe places

---

You read over the message again, feeling the words settle deep in your heart. You know Jisung will probably get flustered when he reads it, that he might grumble something about how he didn’t want you to see him so drained, but you also know that he’ll treasure it. Because that’s who he is—someone who loves fiercely, who feels deeply, and who sometimes just needs to be reminded that he’s loved for everything he is, even on the days when he feels like he’s not enough.

You hit send and lean back, closing your eyes as you remember the way he looked in your lap, so small and tired, but so beautifully at peace. Because even though he always says he doesn’t want to be a burden, he’s never been one to you. He never could be. He’s your dear Hannie - bright, beautiful, and perfect just as he is.

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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[maccaronimassacre]

Going to a haunted house with them <3

Ada Wong

Can tell when something is about to happen moments before it does.

A slightly uneven floorboard? A prop is going to drop from the ceiling.

A small hole in the wall? A scare actor is going to jumpscare the two of you.

Would she tell you though? Absolutely not.

She finds your reactions too adorable and makes a mental note to take some pictures for later down the road.

Ada isn’t a screamer though. She’d either gasp very loudly or stiffen up like a tree.

She enjoyed it though and decides to search for more horror attractions around the area to go to with you.

Chris Redfield

You constantly had to remind him that nothing bad will happen and it’s all staged.

That doesn’t stop Chris from being over protective anyway by constantly shielding you whenever a prop would pop up to jumpscare you.

Even a sudden loud noise and Chris has his arms wrapped around you like a bear.

That is until he sees how shitty all the props and costumes are and he starts to roast them.

“Who made zombies green? Are you seeing this shit, babe? You know I used to punch through these like they were cardboard-”

He ends up rambling about how inaccurate the monsters are but overall has a good time.

Claire Redfield

Would be screaming with you most likely.

The type to spend most of it laughing out of fear but also enjoyment. Mostly fear though.

Claire would definitely hype you up if you got too freaked out and would drag you along the whole journey.

Or similarly to Chris she would be roasting the shit out of all the props in the house.

With Claire’s track record the two of you end up in a completely different part of the house that you definitely should not be in.

She tried to climb through the windows and gaps the scare actors are in.

Probably ends in the two of you getting kicked out but Claire manages to steal one of the props as a souvenir.

Ethan Winters

Considering this man looked at spider Maguerite and said “well that’s special” I feel like he wouldn’t be fazed at all.

Would also find your reactions amusing and occasionally tease you for it.

Tries to touch everything or figure out the mechanics of each room

He’d give the scare actors his iconic 500 yard stare whenever they would try to jumpscare him.

He would hold your hand through out the whole thing though.

But as soon as Ethan hears a chainsaw he is bolting and screaming like his life depends on it.

Also bugs.

And with bugs means lots of swearing.

Leon Kennedy

Would pretend to be unfazed for the most part but internally he is screaming.

He promises to protect you from the spooky ghosts and zombies.

He would tease you constantly whenever you got spooked but would immediately eat shit afterwards.

“Aww did that scare you? Honestly you wouldn't last a day at my-”

He’s immediately cut off by his own scream after someone grabs his shoulder.

Holds your hand to ‘make sure you don’t get lost by wandering off’ but really he needs you for support.

Leon really hates clowns though.

If he spots one its either getting roundhouse kicked or he’s turning around and never coming back.

[sluttysanemi]

Hiiii I wanted to ask if I could get a nude sending fanfic cause I rarely see any like Giyuu x reader sending nudes please!! I would be on my knees begging 😞

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

PHOTOS

c/w: suggestive / smut ,, subtle masturbation, sending nudes, established relationship

a/n: ok slut nation. i lied. there was no sanemi snippet. I WAS TIRED!!! and it was my birthday on the 20th, so sorry 4 the late post!

a quick clear-up as well, because someone else had asked, i dont think i'll do nsfw of minors, even aged up. it's jst a bit.. iffy? you know what i mean? cuz u know, what's the age in which its wrong to write nsfw 4 the character, even if its aged up? its sort of hard to explain.. sorry!

An unexpected notification in the midst of silence. Giyuu glances upwards, along his phone, pleased to see your note. 

You and Tomioka had recently engaged in a long-distance romance, whilst you had traveled to visit family. Despite the physical distance, the connection with Giyuu stood tightly, as you both took effort to communicate regularly. The prospect of rejoining swelled his heart with delight. 

He swiftly taps the rectangular frame of the notification, opening your conversation. 

Your intimacy was potent, with many rekindling sceneries of passion within the sheets. This distance had interrupted their romantic endeavors, which rationally irked you both.

You missed one another- both sensually yet emotionally. You wanted little else than to relive those driven moments again.

Your ravenous instincts had triumphed across your thoughts, and you had craved the surge of dopamine that Giyuu delivered. 

He was surprised, as he witnessed the content you had sent.

In the dank silence of his room, with his phone a single dimly lit source of light, an energy of lust envelopes his senses, as he gazes at your picture.

His mind becomes graphic, with erotic detail, as he stares at your nude body. His eyes trail over, his thoughts recalling the sensation of your physique whilst you had been together. 

He watches your breast, your delicate nipple pointed. The curved shape of your ass, the soft plush of your skin addictive to knead. 

His eyes scanned over your text, as you detailed how you had missed him. He knew. 

His cheeks tinge in color, as his shaft begins to thicken within the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

His hands carefully trail to his stiffening bulge, palming and caressing in a forlorn attempt to relieve himself. His brows knit closely, as his breath began to stream in uneven layers.

You'd caused something to him. You struck him harshly. You always could. It was the influence you had over him. Despite his best initiatives, he could never withstand your effect. Your impact on him was undeniable and yet so pleasurable. 

He gently tugs on the waistband of his clothing, allowing his cock to spring upwards eagerly. 

He needed to show your lasting effects on him. 

He holds the base of his shaft, his lips quivering as his fingertips grasp the pulsing veins of his eager dick.

Angling his phone near it, he captures a picture of his spilling shaft, illustrating its eager state.

He promptly sends it to you, as he had clarified how much he misses you. Needs you.

He expresses a longing for your presence, desiring deeply, lecherously, to see you once more. His message conveys an urgent desire for your company.

And God, he couldn’t wait to feel your cunt around him again. 

To watch your gentle face retort in thrill as he would please you over and over, endlessly.

It tortured him.

[hd-junglebook]

Its Always Been You

Part 4 / Word Count 5816

Masterlist

Summary: And so, the trip to Michigan begins with a little surprise guest.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, Jack's world felt like it was crumbling around him. The shadows danced across the walls, mirroring the chaos within his mind.  Jack's hands trembled as he held the phone to his ear, his breathing uneven and his heart racing.

"Luke, I don't know what to do with myself," Jack's voice trembled, a mix of anguish and vulnerability. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and his free hand clenched into a tight fist.  

"I've acted like a complete fool all week. Y/n hates me. I'm feeling… I'm feeling things I never felt before for y/n, and I think I've finally lost my mind."

Luke's harsh tone cut through the silence, his confusion evident. "Jack, what the hell are you talking about?" There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line, as if Luke was sitting up in bed, suddenly alert.

Jack's pacing resumed, his frustration palpable. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, his footsteps heavy against the carpeted floor.

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on him as he struggled to contain his emotions.

"I told y/n I knew how she felt about me, and then I broke her heart. She left me all alone for three days. Jesus, I just saw her locking lips with some loser in the hallway. It's taking everything in me not to go out there and drag him outside."

"Jack…" Luke barely got out before he was interrupted again.

Before Luke could respond, Jack's voice rose again, defiant and emotional. "I'm not done." He halted his pacing, standing in front of his dresser where a picture of y/n and him sat.

It was from the night of his draft party, a snapshot of happier times. Jack's fingers traced the edges of the frame, his eyes fixated on y/n's smiling face. The photograph seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of what he had thrown away.

He thought back to that night, his emotions, how he begged her to leave her life behind and move to New Jersey. The memory was vivid, the excitement and hope he felt then now replaced by a crushing sense of regret.

The scent of her perfume, the warmth of her hand in his, the sparkle in her eyes—it all came flooding back, intensifying the ache in his chest.

Rustling came through the speaker of Jack's phone. "I ruined us, Luke. I've ruined the best thing I've ever had." Jack's voice cracked, a single tear escaping and rolling down his cheek.

"Dude, it's almost 12am, and you're babbling about something everyone and their mom knew already. How long did you think you could fight your feelings?" Luke's tone softened, a mix of exasperation and concern.

"I don't know, Luke." Jack stayed still for a moment, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The door of their apartment closed, and he hung up on Luke when he heard footsteps approaching.

Jack perked up, holding his breath as he listened to them get closer. His heart raced, a glimmer of hope sparking in his chest.

Another door closed, leading Jack to swing open his door. Y/n had already closed her door, the click of her lock reverberating through the silent apartment.

Jack's hand hovered over her doorknob, his fingers trembling. He wanted to knock, to apologize, to pour his heart out, but fear and uncertainty held him back.

…

The sound of her alarm woke her from her restless sleep, the shrill beeping cutting through the stillness of the early morning. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the darkness around her.

The room was bathed in a deep, melancholic blue, the shadows clinging to the corners and casting an air of despair. The curtains, a soft, sheer fabric, billowed gently in the breeze from the slightly open window, allowing a sliver of pale moonlight to penetrate the gloom.

"Here we go again," she mumbled groggily, her voice heavy with exhaustion and resignation. The words felt thick on her tongue.

She sat up in her bed, allowing the blanket to fall in a heap on her waist. The sheets, once a comforting embrace, now felt suffocating, tangled around her legs like the thoughts that consumed her mind.

y/n looked around the room with despair, her gaze lingering on the familiar objects that held countless memories—the framed photographs on the dresser, the stack of well-worn books on the nightstand, the discarded clothing strewn across the floor.

Y/n sighed again, the sound echoing in the emptiness of the room. She pushed the blanket off of herself fully, the cool air of the apartment sending a shiver down her spine.

Her steps were light as she dressed herself, opting for comfort over style for the plane ride back to Michigan. She pulled on a soft, oversized sweater, the fabric enveloping her like a comforting hug, and a pair of well-worn leggings that had seen better days.

As she moved about the room, gathering her belongings, the floorboards creaked beneath her feet, the sound amplified by the silence that hung heavy in the air. The scent of stale coffee and the lingering aroma of chocolate chip cookies wafted through the apartment.

Jack's door opened across from her room, his yawning loud against the stark silence of the world outside their little apartment. The sound made her flinch, her body tensing as she braced herself for the inevitable encounter.

She could hear his footsteps, the shuffling of his feet against the hardwood floor, and the rustling of his clothing as he moved about his room.

Y/n rolled her eyes, not ready to interact with Jack just yet. The thought of facing him, of seeing the guilt and regret in his eyes, made her stomach churn. She focused on the task at hand, pulling her suitcase up to the door, the wheels squeaking against the floor.

Her eyes landed on the corkboard that hung on the wall beside the door, the pictures of their innocent smiles and young faces causing her heart to break even more.

In one picture, they were grinning broadly, their arms wrapped around each other's waists as they posed in front of a sunset on the beach. In another, they were dressed in formal attire, attending a friend's wedding, their eyes sparkling with happiness and love.

Y/n's fingers traced the edges of the photographs, the glossy paper cool beneath her touch. A lump formed in her throat as she studied each image. She could feel the sting of tears behind her eyes, the emotions she had been trying so hard to suppress threatening to spill over.

She pulled the door open, rushing past the open bathroom where Jack stood in the mirror, his toothbrush dangling from his mouth and a look of surprise etched on his face.

Y/n moved with the speed of a cheetah, her feet pounding against the floor as she made a beeline for the safety of the kitchen.

Just as she thought she had escaped the awkwardness, the front door jingled, keys rattling against the metal knob like a mischievous poltergeist trying to gain entry.

Y/N stood frozen in place, her body rigid with shock as the door to the apartment swung open. The sudden intrusion had caught her completely off guard, and she felt as if she had been turned to stone, unable to move or speak.

As she watched, a tuft of blonde hair bounced into view, the golden locks reminding her of the fairy tale character Goldilocks. But this was no innocent child stumbling upon a bear's cottage; this was a full-grown woman barging into her home uninvited.

"Daphne? What the hell are you doing here?" Y/N managed to choke out, her voice rising in pitch with each word until it reached a near-shriek. The disbelief and anger dripped from her tongue like bitter honey, leaving a foul taste in her mouth.

Jack's girlfriend fully entered the apartment, dragging a garishly pink suitcase behind her. It was as if she had packed her entire life into that one piece of luggage, ready to move in and stake her claim.

The suitcase was so bright it hurt Y/N's eyes, a beacon of chaos signaling the impending doom that was about to unfold.

From the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Jack emerge from the bathroom, toothbrush still dangling from his mouth. White foam dripped down his chin, making him look like a rabid dog caught in the act.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him, darting back and forth between the two women as if trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation he had found himself in.

Daphne's gaze flicked between Jack and Y/N, her initial smile slowly fading as realization dawned on her face. "We planned this months ago, silly," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"Non-refundable ticket. We talked about this, Jack. It's only been three months; you can't get rid of me that easily."

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a witch's cackle, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief and something darker, more possessive. It was clear that she had no intention of leaving, no matter how unwelcome her presence might be.

Y/N felt her heart sink into her stomach, a wave of nausea washing over her as the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. Daphne was here, in their home, and it seemed that Jack had been keeping even more secrets than she had realized.

The air in the apartment suddenly felt thick and suffocating, the tension so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Y/N's mind raced with a million questions, a million accusations, but she couldn't seem to form the words.

All she could do was stand there, frozen in place, as the world she had built with Jack came crashing down around her like a house of cards.

Jack let out a heavy sigh, his hand rubbing the front of his scalp as if trying to erase the memory of ever agreeing to this disastrous plan. His face scrunched up like he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon, the bitterness of the situation leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

He glanced sheepishly at Y/N, his eyes darting between the two women like a puppy who had been caught chewing on his owner's favorite pair of shoes.

"Can you give us a sec? Please?" he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid that speaking any louder would cause the fragile peace to shatter.

Y/N scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest as she fixed Jack with a withering stare. "No, we have to leave soon, and if I don't have my coffee, I just might jump off the plane dealing with you both," she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline, the thought of being trapped on a plane with these two making her seriously consider grabbing a parachute and taking her chances with gravity.

Jack's face reddened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "We need privacy though!" he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

He threw his hands up in the air, as if he were trying to physically push away the awkwardness that had settled over the room like a thick fog. "Could you give us some time?"

Y/N let out a humorless laugh, the sound harsh and grating in the tense silence of the apartment. "Oh, you need privacy? That's rich, coming from the guy who couldn't even bother to tell his best friend that his girlfriend was coming to visit."

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing as she fixed Jack with a look that could have melted steel. "You know what? Fine. You two lovebirds enjoy your little reunion. I'll be in my room, packing my bags and booking a one-way ticket to anywhere but here."

With that, she spun on her heel and stalked off towards her bedroom, her footsteps echoing like gunshots in the stillness of the apartment. She could feel Daphne's eyes boring into her back, could sense the smug satisfaction radiating off the other woman in waves.

But Y/N refused to let it get to her, refused to let the hurt and betrayal show on her face. She had always prided herself on being strong, on being able to handle whatever life threw her way. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let Jack or his girlfriend see her crumble.

As she reached her bedroom door, Y/N paused, her hand resting on the knob. For a moment, she was tempted to turn back, to march right up to Jack and demand an explanation.

But she knew that it would be pointless, knew that whatever he had to say would only make the pain worse.

So instead, she took a deep breath and stepped inside, slamming the door behind her with a resounding thud. And as she sank down onto her bed, her head in her hands and her heart in pieces, Y/N couldn't help but wonder how everything had gone so wrong, so fast.

…

Y/N walked back out into the living room, Daphne turned to her with an expression of exaggerated surprise. Her eyes were wide, and a cute smile was plastered on her face, the kind of smile that made you want to pinch her cheeks but also question the sincerity behind it.

"This is your best friend, right? She's a lot shorter than I remember," Daphne said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. It was clear that she was trying to get under Y/N's skin, to establish her dominance in the situation.

Y/N couldn't help but scoff, her eyes rolling so far back in her head that she nearly caught a glimpse of her own brain. "And you're the EX-girlfriend, right?" she retorted, putting extra emphasis on the "ex" part. Two could play at this game, and Y/N wasn't about to let Daphne win.

Jack let out a groan, his head falling back in frustration. "God, just my luck," he grumbled, his eyes rolling so hard they nearly got stuck in the back of his head.

He knew that he was in for a long and uncomfortable conversation with Daphne, and the thought of it made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Y/N took a deep breath grabbing her coffee, the warm liquid providing a momentary comfort before made her way back out to the kitchen. Y/N grasped the cold metal handle, the chill sending a shiver down her spine.

"Let's go before I change my mind," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn't want to give Jack or Daphne the satisfaction of seeing how much this situation was affecting her, didn't want to let them see the cracks in her carefully constructed façade.

…

The journey to the airport had been a tense affair, with Y/N pointedly ignoring Jack's attempts at conversation and Daphne chattering away obliviously in the background.

Y/N could feel Jack's eyes on her, his gaze heavy with unspoken apologies and explanations, but she refused to meet his eye, focusing instead on the passing scenery outside the car window.

they made their way through the bustling terminal, Jack tried once more to pull Y/N aside, his hand gently grasping her elbow. "Y/N, please, can we just talk about this?" he pleaded, his voice low and urgent.

Y/N yanked her arm away, her eyes flashing with barely contained anger. "There's nothing to talk about, Jack," she hissed, her voice sharp as a knife. "You made your choice, and now we all have to live with the consequences."

Jack's face fell, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's not like that, Y/N. If you would just let me explain..."

But Y/N cut him off with a bitter laugh, her head shaking in disbelief. "Explain what, Jack? How you don’t like me? How you play this stupid hot and cold game with me? No, I think I've heard enough explanations to last a lifetime."

She turned to walk away, but Jack's hand shot out once more, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Please, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe that."

For a moment, Y/N wavered, her resolve crumbling in the face of Jack's obvious distress. But then she caught sight of Daphne waiting impatiently by the gate, her foot tapping, and her arms crossed, and the anger came rushing back in full force.

"I don't have to believe anything, Jack," she said, her voice cold and distant. "You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. I just want to forget about all of this and move on with my life. So please, just leave me alone."

With that, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and strode towards the gate, her head held high and her heart shattered into a million pieces.

The seating arrangement on the plane felt like a cruel joke, a twisted game of fate that had placed Y/N in the middle of the very chaos she had been trying to escape.

She found herself sandwiched between Jack and Daphne, her body pressed against the cool glass of the window as if she could somehow merge with the clouds and drift away from the awkwardness that permeated the air.

Jack sat rigidly in the middle seat, his body a tense barrier between Y/N and Daphne. Y/N could feel the heat of his skin, could smell the familiar scent of his cologne, and it made her heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite suppress.

On Jack's other side, Daphne slept peacefully, her head lolling against his shoulder and her soft snores filling the space between them. She seemed blissfully unaware of the silent war raging within Y/N's mind, the turmoil that threatened to consume her from the inside out.

Y/N's foot tapped incessantly against the floor, a nervous habit that betrayed the inner chaos she was desperately trying to conceal. Each tap was like a metronome, counting down the seconds until she could escape the confines of the plane and the suffocating proximity to Jack.

She could feel his eyes on her once more, could sense the weight of his gaze boring into the side of her head. But she refused to look at him. Instead, she focused on the clouds outside the window, on the endless expanse of blue sky that stretched out before her.

Y/N was lost in thought, her mind a whirlwind of emotions and memories, when Jack's hand suddenly shot out, startling her back to reality. Before she could react, he had shoved a headphone into her ear, ignoring the sputtered questions and the look of indignation that flashed across her face.

His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. It was a reminder of the connection they once shared, the easy intimacy that had defined their friendship for so many years. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as she tried to process the unexpected gesture.

As the familiar opening credits of her favorite episode of Game of Thrones filled her ear, Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at Jack, searching his face for an explanation, but he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen in front of him, as if the answers to all of life's questions could be found in the flickering images.

Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Jack, her eyes tracing the contours of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

Each glance was a silent question, a plea for him to acknowledge the unspoken words that hung between them. But Jack remained stoic, his attention unwavering, as if he had erected an impenetrable wall around himself.

Even as she tried to immerse herself in the show, Y/N couldn't shake the awareness of Jack's presence beside her. The warmth of his body seemed to seep into her skin, igniting a longing that she had tried so hard to suppress.

She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, could hear the soft whisper of his breath, and it made her heart ache with a bittersweet mixture of love and loss.

Beside her, Jack remained a silent presence, his body so close and yet so far away. Y/N couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

…

Y/N stepped out of the airport, the crisp Michigan air filling her lungs and invigorating her senses. She took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of pine and freshly cut grass that always seemed to linger in the air.

The sun peeked through the scattered clouds, casting a warm glow on her surroundings and making the world seem a little brighter, a little more hopeful.

She scanned the crowd of people waiting outside the terminal, her eyes searching for a familiar face. And then, like a beacon in the chaos, she spotted him.

There, leaning against a sleek black car, was Luke. A grin spread across his face as he caught sight of her, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that had always made her heart skip a beat. "Y/N!" he called out, pushing himself off the car and striding towards her with open arms.

Without hesitation, Y/N dropped her bags and ran to meet him halfway. She threw her arms around his neck, feeling the solid warmth of his body as he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground in a spirited hug. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, and all that mattered was the comfort and familiarity of Luke's embrace.

"I missed you so much," Y/N mumbled into his shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. She breathed in the scent of him, a mixture of cologne and something uniquely Luke, and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her.

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her own. "I missed you too, shorty. It's good to have you back."

He set her back down on the ground, but kept his arms around her, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. Y/N couldn't help but smile up at him, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Behind them, the sound of footsteps on the pavement broke the spell. Y/N turned to see Jack and Daphne approaching, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and something else, something harder to define. Jack's eyes met hers for a brief moment, a flash of emotion passing between them before he looked away, his jaw clenching.

Luke's arms tightened around Y/N, a silent show of support and protection. "Hey Jack, Daphne," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Glad you could make it."

Daphne smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "Thanks for picking us up, Luke. It's been a long flight."

Y/N could feel the tension crackling in the air, the unspoken words and unresolved issues hanging between them like a thick fog. But for now, she pushed them aside, focusing instead on the feeling of Luke's arms around her and the promise of a few days away from the chaos of her life in New Jersey.

Jack moved forward, his arms open wide and a grin plastered on his face, Y/N felt a flicker of hesitation. There was something about his expression that seemed forced, as if he was trying too hard to appear casual and unaffected by the tension that hung thick in the air.

But before Jack could reach them, Luke's hand shot out, smacking the side of his head with a resounding thwack. The sound echoed through the parking lot, drawing the attention of a few curious onlookers. Jack stumbled back, a bewildered look on his face as he rubbed the spot where Luke's hand had made contact.

"Ow, what was that for?" Jack asked, his voice a mix of surprise and mock indignation. His brows furrowed as he looked at Luke, trying to decipher the reason behind the sudden attack. Y/N could see the gears turning in his head, the confusion and hurt flickering behind his eyes.

Luke lowered his voice, his tone stern yet laced with underlying concern. He leaned in closer to Jack, his eyes locked on his brother's, as if he was trying to convey a message that went beyond words.

"For being an idiot and for bringing her here. Did you forget about what you said on the phone?"

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, her mind racing with the implications of Luke's words. What had Jack said on the phone? What secrets had he been keeping from her, even as he tried to bridge the gap between them?

Jack's face flushed with guilt, the color rising in his cheeks like a crimson tide. His eyes darted to Y/N, then back to Luke, a silent plea for understanding.

For a moment, no one spoke. Y/N could feel Daphne's eyes on her, could sense the other woman's curiosity and suspicion. But she refused to meet her gaze.

Finally, Luke broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Come on," Luke said, releasing Y/N and grabbing her bags. "Mom's waiting at home with lunch. She's been cooking up a storm all morning."

Y/N grinned, the thought of Luke's mother's cooking making her mouth water. "Lead the way," she said, falling into step beside him as they made their way to the car.

As they walked, Y/N could feel Jack's eyes on her back, could sense the weight of his gaze boring into her. But she refused to look back, refused to acknowledge the part of her that still longed for his touch, his presence, his love.

Instead, she focused on the warmth of Luke's hand in hers, on the promise of a few days of respite and healing. And as they drove away from the airport, the skyline of Detroit rising up in the distance, Y/N couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope igniting in her chest.

Maybe, just maybe, this trip would be the start of something new, a chance to leave behind the pain and heartache of the past and find a way forward, one step at a time. And with Luke by her side, and the love of her family to guide her, Y/N knew that anything was possible.

…

Lukes’s car pulled up to the familiar two-story house, Y/N felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. The red brick facade, the white wooden porch, the sprawling oak tree in the front yard - every detail was exactly as she remembered.

She stepped out of the car, the warm breeze caressing her face and tousling her hair. The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, a sweet perfume that brought back memories of lazy afternoons spent lounging in the sun and late-night conversations under the stars.

Y/N took a deep breath, letting the peace and tranquility of the moment settle over her like a comforting blanket. For the first time in days, she felt the knots of tension in her shoulders begin to loosen, the weight of her worries and fears slowly melting away.

Beside her, Jack and Daphne were unloading their bags from the trunk, their voices a low murmur against the backdrop of chirping birds and rustling leaves. Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on Jack's face, taking in the lines of stress and fatigue that creased his brow.

In that moment, she made a decision. She was tired of being angry, tired of holding onto the hurt and betrayal that had consumed her for so long. Life was too short to waste on grudges and resentment, too precious to let slip away in a haze of bitterness and regret.

With a determined set to her jaw, Y/N strode over to Jack, her steps purposeful and sure. He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and a flicker of hope.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I know things have been tough lately, but I don't want to keep dwelling on the past. You're my best friend, Jack, and that's never going to change."

Jack's face softened, his eyes shining with a mix of relief and gratitude. "Y/N, I..." he started, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry too. For everything. I never meant to hurt you, and I know I have a lot to make up for. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, the sincerity in Jack's words tugging at her heartstrings. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I know," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "let's just focus on enjoying this trip and being there for each other, okay?"

Jack nodded, his own smile breaking through the clouds of tension that had hung over them for so long. "Okay," he said, his voice filled with a tentative hope. "That sounds perfect."

Together, they made their way up the porch steps, their hands still intertwined. Y/N could feel the warmth of Jack's skin against her own.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," Ellen said, her voice warm and rich like honey. "We've missed you so much."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I've missed you too," she said, her voice muffled against the older woman's shoulder. "It's so good to be home."

…

Luke led Daphne and Y/N up the stairs, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood, Jack seized the opportunity to pull his mother aside. His heart raced, palms sweaty as he glanced nervously between her and the staircase, his body practically vibrating with anxiety.

Ellen's brows furrowed, her maternal instincts kicking into high gear as she sensed her son's distress. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch a silent invitation to share his troubles.

"Jack, honey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jack swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. But there was none to be found, and he knew that he owed his mother the truth.

With a heavy sigh, he guided her to the couch, his movements stiff and awkward. They sat down, the worn cushions sinking beneath their weight, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Jack broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mom, I... I messed up. Y/N and I, we had a fight. A big one. And I don't know how to fix it."

Ellen's eyes widened, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. But she remained silent, allowing her son to continue.

"I didn't tell her about Daphne, and she found out in the worst way possible. And now... now she can barely look at me. I don't know what to do, Mom. I can't lose her."

Jack's voice cracked, the tears he had been holding back for so long finally spilling over. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.

Ellen's heart ached for her son, for the pain and regret that radiated off him in waves. She reached out and pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapping around him like a protective cocoon.

"Oh, Jack," she murmured, her voice filled with a mix of sympathy and gentle chastisement. "I know it's hard, but you have to be honest with the people you love. Secrets have a way of coming out, and they always hurt more in the end."

Jack nodded, his face still buried in his mother's shoulder. "I know," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

"I just... I didn't want to hurt her. But I ended up doing exactly that." Ellen pulled back, her hands coming up to cup Jack's face. She looked him in the eye, her gaze filled with a wisdom born of years of love and experience.

"Do you remember the time that boy was bothering Y/N in school?" she asked, her voice soft and reminiscent. "You came home with a black eye and a split lip, but you were so proud of yourself for defending her."

Jack's lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through the tears. "Yeah, I remember. She was so upset, but I just wanted to make her feel safe."

Ellen nodded, her own smile mirroring her son's. "You brought her back here, to this very house. And you let her lay her head on your lap, and you caressed her hair until she fell asleep. Do you remember what I told you then?"

Jack's brow furrowed, his mind stretching back to that distant memory. "You said... you said that love is the most pure thing you can feel."

Ellen nodded, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And I see it in you, Jack. When you look at her. You love her, don't you?"

Jack took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening his heart skipping a beat at his mother's words. He had always known, deep down, that his feelings for Y/N went beyond friendship. But to hear it spoken aloud, to have his deepest secret laid bare... it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I... I don't know what to say, Mom," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and longing. "Y/N and I, we're just friends. And besides, Daphne...” He trailed off, his eyes flickering towards the staircase where his ex-girlfriend had disappeared just moments before.

Ellen sighed "Jack, honey, the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be. Sooner or later, you're going to decide whether you want to be with her in that way or let her go and find love in someone else.”

Jack stood up, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He hugged his mother one last time, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume. "You're right, Mom. I need to be honest with myself, and with Y/N. But... but I can't do it now. Not with Daphne here. It wouldn't be fair to anyone."

"Ellen patted his cheek, her touch a silent benediction. "I understand, sweetheart. But don't wait too long, okay?

…

Tag List <3

@favsrachz @jacktoria4ever @bunbunbl0gs @ivy-34 @rebelatbay @bxtchopolis

[lovezbrownies]

Mood swings. (Yandere!Bully x GN!Reader.) Chapter 2

Lauren's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Lauren is pregnant, you're the parent. Now you live with Lauren, trying to navigate the new parent life before your baby comes.

Second part to this

Warnings: Pregnancy, mood swings, possessive stuff, obsessivestuff, the usual.

“I’m pregnant.”

Lauren's voice, though quiet, echoed like a bomb in the room. The weight of her words hung in the air, sinking into your chest, leaving a cold, empty space where your thoughts used to be. Your gaze locked with hers, both of you frozen in the moment—her eyes wide, pupils dilated with fear, as if she had just admitted the worst secret of her life. Your stomach churned, confusion and disbelief swirling inside you like a storm. Did she just say what you think she said?

“H-Huh??” The words stumbled out of your mouth, a mix of bewilderment and denial. “What—what are you saying?” Your pulse raced as you stared at Lauren, your girlfriend—were you even officially dating? You hadn't even gotten to the point where you labeled whatever this was. And now, now she was saying she was pregnant?

Your mind tried to process the implications, but they felt too big, too overwhelming. She’s 18! You’re 18! Who—who in the world could she have been with for this to happen? Certainly not you. The thought hit you with a strange, disorienting weight. The denial wrapped around your mind like a security blanket, trying to shield you from the reality that was quickly closing in. But that shield? It was paper-thin, crumbling under the pressure of the truth.

Lauren looked equally terrified, her fingers gripping the fabric of her jeans like a lifeline. Her breath was uneven, her chest rising and falling too quickly as if she was waiting for you to react, to explode, to say something that would either make or break her fragile world. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond with anything coherent.

If she’s telling the truth���and you know deep down that she is—what are you supposed to do? Your mind raced with every possible consequence. How will your parents react when they find out you’ve impregnated someone at 18? How are you supposed to react? Are you expected to suddenly strap on the armor of adulthood, get a job, and support a child when you can barely take care of yourself? And with Lauren’s lifestyle—luxury, excess, the constant need for the finer things in life—you’d need at least four jobs just to scratch the surface of the financial burden.

The weight of responsibility loomed, suffocating you. You had never even thought about parenting, not seriously. You’ve never even been good at taking care of anything more than yourself. And now, a baby?

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by sobs. Lauren’s face crumpled, her composure dissolving as tears streamed down her cheeks. The mascara that lined her eyes ran in dark streaks, creating a haunting, tragic picture of guilt and fear. “I’ham so sorrryy!!” she wailed, her voice breaking as her emotions crashed over her like waves.

You were about to step forward when a cold, steady voice behind you cut through the air like a knife. “You should comfort her.” You jumped, startled by the sudden presence of Julie, Lauren’s mother, who had entered the room without you noticing. Her tone was so emotionless, so analytical, that it almost felt inappropriate for the situation. Julie’s icy demeanor always unnerved you. She was a brilliant scientist, sharp as a blade and just as unfeeling, but her coldness was notorious—especially when it came to her daughter.

“D-Doctor McCanister!” You stammered, caught off guard by her calm presence in such a chaotic moment.

“You should comfort her,” Julie repeated, her eyes flickering to her daughter before returning to you. “Pregnant women are highly emotional at this time. Thank science I never had to go through it.” Her words were clinical, detached, but they carried an unspoken expectation. “You’re a decent person, L/N. Take care of my daughter. You’ll live here from now on to be present for the child. I will support you both financially until you finish your degrees. I’ll babysit occasionally. Just ensure you do not impregnate her again for at least five years.”

You blinked, stunned by how easily Julie outlined the next steps of your life, as if this was all part of some grand experiment. You just stood there, staring at the scientist as she blabbed about logistics and support for you and Lauren's unborn child, as if she were discussing a lab project instead of her grandchild.

She continued, unflinching, “Of course, if you both decided to abort it, I am licensed to perform the procedure safely—”

“NO!!” Lauren’s voice ripped through the air, louder than anything before, her sobs intensifying. She was a mess of emotions, tears still streaming as she waved her hands in dismissal. “H-Hormohohoness!! Let me cryyy!” Her voice cracked, and she blew her nose dramatically, making you instinctively step back, cringing at the sight.

You turned back to Julie, your mind still reeling from the speed of everything. It wasn’t a decision; it wasn’t even a conversation anymore. This was happening—Lauren was keeping the baby, and you were moving in. There was no escaping the future that was now rushing toward you at breakneck speed.

Julie continued speaking with calm efficiency, talking about how you’d move in, how you’d inform your parents, and even giving a small lecture about the importance of protection during intercourse. But all you could do was nod absently, your mind still trying to catch up with the whirlwind your life had become in the span of a single conversation.

Third Month – 1st Trimester

The days blurred together after that. Before you knew it, you had moved into the McCanister home—well, not exactly. You moved into Lauren’s room at her insistence, not into a separate space. There was no chance of having your own room. “You impregnated me; the least you could do is cud—h-hol—sleep beside me!” she would grumble with a pout, her emotions flickering between demanding and fragile, a pendulum swinging from one extreme to another.

So you did. You held her every night, wrapping her in your arms as if your presence alone could soothe her fears. Sometimes, you’d wake up to find her snuggled so tightly against you that it was clear she needed the comfort more than ever.

The third month wasn’t the nightmare you had feared, though. Most of the school was blissfully unaware of Lauren’s pregnancy, and she managed to hide it beneath oversized sweaters and loose-fitting clothes. You kept telling yourself that if you could just make it to graduation without the news slipping out, things would be fine. Maybe, just maybe, you could avoid the inevitable social disaster.

But Lauren didn’t make it easy. She sobbed over everything—her clothes not fitting, her once-perfect figure changing, the sheer terror of people finding out. “It’s embarrassing!” she’d wail. “Pregnancy is social suicide!” Her face would be tear-streaked, her voice cracking as she mourned the loss of her pre-pregnancy body. Julie would stand by, unimpressed, staring at her daughter’s emotional outbursts with an expression that barely registered acknowledgment.

Despite the chaos, you still couldn’t fully comprehend it all. The fact that Lauren was pregnant still felt surreal, like it was happening to someone else. But every night when you held her, felt her stomach slowly growing against you, the reality chipped away at your denial. In six months, you were going to be a parent. You were going to have a baby.

The weight of it gnawed at you every time you saw baby clothes, baby cribs, diapers, formula—endless lists of things you hadn’t even begun to wrap your head around. Would you really be able to handle all of this? Were you ready for this monumental shift in your life, in your future?

And then, there was the possessiveness. Lauren’s need for you was palpable, suffocating. If you so much as stepped out of the room without telling her, she’d accuse you of abandoning her. “Are you cheating on me?!” she would cry, her voice hysterical, her fear palpable. It was as if the weight of her emotions had formed chains around you, binding you to her in a way that felt more like a prison than a commitment.

You tried to reassure her, wrapping your arms around her tightly, whispering words of comfort. But the fear in her eyes only grew. “Don’t leave,” she would plead, her fingers clutching your shirt as if you might slip away at any moment. “You’re mine, you know that, right? No one else can have you. I won’t let anyone take you from me.” The urgency in her voice made your heart race, a conflicting mix of fear and sympathy swelling within you. It was sweet and terrifying all at once, her need for you spilling over into something almost desperate.

Fifth Month – 2nd Trimester

By the fifth month, the secret was out. Lauren’s pregnancy was no longer something that could be hidden. Her stomach had grown noticeably, and despite her best efforts with baggy clothes and careful positioning, people at school started whispering. You had graduated by this point, and your focus was entirely on helping Lauren navigate her ever-growing list of needs. She cried for hours over her changing body, blaming you, then apologizing, then blaming you again.

Shopping trips with Lauren and Julie had become a warzone. No matter what you or Julie picked out, Lauren hated it. “That’s hideous!” she would declare, her tone laced with a mix of scorn and disappointment. You would watch her narrow her eyes, her mouth twisting into a snarl at every piece of clothing that didn’t fit her vision of what a pregnant girl should wear. In her mind, this was a fashion catastrophe, and it was somehow your fault.

“Why can’t you just pick something nice for once?” she demanded one afternoon, the frustration in her voice echoing off the walls of the store. Her hands were on her hips, and her brows were drawn together as she glared at you, a tiny frown deepening her delicate features.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “I thought you liked the color,” you said, holding up a soft, lavender maternity dress. “It would look really pretty on you.”

“Pretty?!” she scoffed, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m not trying to look pretty! I want to look stunning!” She turned away, crossing her arms as if the dress had personally offended her.

Julie, who had been standing nearby with an amused smirk, stepped in with her clinical efficiency. “Lauren, you know you’re in a delicate state. Stunning is subjective and not necessarily the goal here. Comfort should be prioritized.”

“Yeah, and I want to look good while being comfortable!” Lauren shot back, exasperation lacing her words. “Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?”

You felt your heart sink a little, the pit of despair growing deeper as you tried to navigate the emotional minefield that was Lauren. “Let’s just pick a few things,” you suggested tentatively, hoping to defuse the situation. “Maybe something flowy for now, and we can look for something fancier later?”

Lauren turned to you, her expression softening momentarily. “Fine. But if I look like a potato in these clothes, you’re the one buying my next set of outfits!” she huffed, before suddenly breaking into a smile, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “And if you don’t, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re the one who got me pregnant!”

A mix of relief and anxiety surged through you. “Okay, okay! You look beautiful in anything, really!” you assured her, trying to keep the lightness in your tone, though the joke only partially masked your rising panic.

As the days passed, the physical changes in Lauren became impossible to ignore. The bump was undeniable now, and she frequently ran her hands over it as if trying to feel the baby’s presence—her expression a mix of awe and anxiety. You often caught her staring into mirrors, scrutinizing every detail of her reflection, the joy of motherhood battling with the fear of losing herself in the process.

“Am I going to be a good mom?” she would ask you in hushed tones late at night, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “What if I mess everything up? What if I’m not ready for this?”

You would wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, your heartbeat steadying her frazzled nerves. “You’re going to be amazing, Lauren,” you promised. “You’re strong and smart. You’ll figure it out.”

“But I don’t want to be just a mom,” she whispered, the vulnerability in her voice slicing through you. “What if I lose myself?”

“You won’t lose yourself,” you insisted gently, your hand tracing soothing patterns on her back. “You’ll just be… more. You’ll be you, but also a mother. It’s okay to feel scared. It’s a big change. But you’ll still be you.”

But even as you said the words, a nagging fear settled in your stomach. What if she wasn’t okay? What if this was all too much? Lauren’s possessiveness was slowly morphing into something darker, her need for control tightening around you like a vise. It scared you, and you could see her veering toward a precipice, a line she might cross without even realizing it.

Seventh Month – The Final Stretch

By the seventh month, Lauren’s possessiveness had become all-consuming. Every movement you made was under her watchful, obsessive gaze. If you shifted slightly in bed, her hand would immediately clutch yours, as if even in her sleep, she was terrified of you slipping away. Her dependency on you was like nothing you had ever experienced before—it was suffocating.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered constantly, even when you were sitting right beside her. Her hands, trembling from the weight of her belly and the hormones racing through her, would grip your arm so tightly it felt like she was trying to bind you to her. There was something almost desperate in her touch, a need that went beyond simple affection—it was like she was afraid you would vanish if she didn’t keep her hold on you.

You weren’t used to this kind of affection—so intense, so overwhelming. Your heart would stutter every time Lauren curled into you, her fingers tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing every detail. You’d freeze up, unsure how to respond, your body stiff under her touch. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for her—you did, deeply—but the way she latched onto you like you were her entire world was... unnerving.

“Y-Yeah, I’m not going anywhere,” you’d stammer awkwardly, trying to give her the comfort she craved. But it never felt like enough. She always wanted more—more of your presence, more of your attention, more of you.

Her eyes, wide and shining with that obsessive light, would meet yours, and you could see the underlying fear beneath the possessiveness. “You promise?” she’d ask, her voice trembling, almost like a child afraid of being abandoned. It made you uneasy—like you were tiptoeing around a fragile part of her psyche, one wrong move away from setting off another emotional storm.

There were moments when her touch made your skin prickle, not because you didn’t want it, but because it felt too intense, too much. You weren't used to someone needing you this badly. Sometimes it felt like Lauren didn’t just want to be near you—she wanted to consume every part of you, to have you completely. It left you feeling unsteady, like you were losing control of where you ended and she began.

And Julie, of course, stood by, watching all of this unfold with her typical detached manner. “It’s normal for pregnant women to be more attached,” she’d say matter-of-factly, as if Lauren’s obsession was nothing more than a passing symptom of the pregnancy. But you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just hormones—Lauren had always been possessive, but now it was like the pregnancy had intensified every one of her fears and desires.

Labor Day – The Panic

You were jolted awake by the sound of Lauren’s voice, frantic and panicked. “Babe—oh my God—I think it’s happening!” Her hands clutched her swollen belly, her breathing erratic and shallow. Fear hit you like a tidal wave, your body stiffening as the reality of the situation set in.

“W-Wait—now? Are you sure?” Your words came out in a rushed jumble as you scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet in your rush to get to her. The panic in her voice sent shockwaves through you, your own fear mirroring hers, though you tried desperately to stay calm. You weren’t used to this—this level of responsibility, of having to be the one in control when everything around you was spiraling.

Julie appeared at the door, her voice cutting through the chaos like ice. “Get her in the car. I’ll drive.”

Everything became a blur after that—Lauren’s grip tightening on your arm as you helped her into the car, her tears and whimpers filling the silence. “You’re not leaving me, right?” she asked, her voice quivering as she leaned into you, her breath ragged. The desperation in her eyes was unbearable, her hands clutching you like you were her only lifeline in the storm.

“Of course not,” you replied, though the words felt hollow in the face of the overwhelming situation. You weren’t used to this. How were you supposed to calm her when your own heart was racing in your chest, fear and uncertainty swirling inside you?

Julie, as always, remained calm, driving you both to the hospital with unnerving composure. “It’ll be fine,” she said, her tone as cold and detached as ever. But you couldn’t believe her, not when Lauren’s grip on you tightened with every passing minute, her breathing growing more labored, her fear so palpable it hung in the air.

The hospital lights flickered by in a blur, and before you knew it, Lauren was being wheeled away, leaving you standing there, feeling utterly useless. You had been by her side this entire pregnancy—dealing with her possessiveness, her fears, her obsession—but now, in this critical moment, you were left on the outside, powerless to help.

Time felt like it stretched and collapsed all at once as you waited, pacing the sterile hospital floor. The panic and the fear never truly left, lingering at the edges of your mind, gnawing at you as you waited for any word, any sign that everything was okay.

When the nurse finally led you to the room, you could barely breathe. Lauren lay there, exhausted but beaming, her face soft and peaceful for the first time in months. In her arms was a tiny, fragile bundle, your newborn child—so small, so perfect it almost didn’t feel real.

Your breath hitched, emotions crashing over you in a wave so intense it left you dizzy. This was your child—your family. The reality of it hit you all at once, and for a moment, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying. Could you do this? Could you really be the person Lauren needed, the parent this child deserved?

Lauren looked up at you, her eyes shining with something fierce, something more than love. Possession. “We’re a family now,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “No one can take you from me now. Not ever.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine, but as you looked at the tiny newborn in her arms, all you could feel was the overwhelming weight of responsibility—and love. In that moment, you knew you were bound to Lauren, inextricably tied to her and this child. You weren’t used to this—being so needed, so wanted—but there was no turning back now.

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 12: Mercy

Contents | Part 11 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Ben x Female Reader) Adapting to your new normal comes with some disappointments. But you can always count on your priest to lift your spirits.

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, religious imagery & desecration, explicit sexual content including oral sex (giving). Readers must be 18+

A/N: Thank you all so much for your patience, I'm so happy to be posting again. I'm not entirely happy with the writing in this chapter, it's definitely not my strongest work so I apologise in advance if anyone notices a drop in quality. I'll be back on top form in the next one (I hope).

This part includes a little nod to Fleabag S2, the original inspiration for this story.

His kiss was like a bruise, an aching reminder of a heady collision. And much like a bruise, you couldn't help but touch it; poking and prodding with fascination at the memory of an impact just beneath your skin.

The evening sun gleamed golden through the cloudy bus window as you rested your elbow against it, running the tips of your fingers across your lips, keeping him close to the surface. You hadn't wanted to leave the church. You weren't sure he wanted you to leave either; the pressure of his body against yours, pinning you to the wall of that quiet, narrow corridor like he wanted to keep you there forever. And you probably would have let him. 

The bus shuddered and jerked over the uneven road, the windows rattling, passengers swaying in a lazy unison. It was all so mundane, so normal and unremarkable, yet somehow these were the places that felt strange now; existing somewhere that didn't hold the weight of your sins.

You almost missed your stop, fumbling to press the bell and staggering down the aisle as the driver came to an abrupt halt. The air outside was cooler, a gentle breeze providing relief from the mid-spring warmth. You thought of rain as you walked home, breathed slow as you pictured it hammering the roads and gathering in murky puddles; angry grey skies and fierce winds that carried the scent of salt and earth. 

There were new decorations in the front garden of your mother's house. Small lights lining the path, a bird feeder and ornaments shaped like squirrels and rabbits tucked amongst the flower beds. You ducked to avoid a new hanging basket over the front door, letting yourself inside and checking your reflection in the mirror on the wall as you kicked off your shoes. You leaned in closer, examining yourself for a moment, trying to figure out what it was he found so irresistible about you.

"Is that you, Ellis?" your mother called. 

"Yeah it's me," you replied, following her voice into the dining room. 

She was sitting at the table surrounded by artificial flowers, plastic leaves and Baby's Breath. Her glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose as she fiddled with a roll of wire, cable ties hanging from her mouth and a pair of scissors in her hand. 

"What are you doing?" you asked. 

"Making a wreath f'th front door," she mumbled, the ties still between her teeth. 

"You're a few months late..." 

"A spring wreath." She rolled her eyes, taking the ties out of her mouth. "There's dinner for you in the kitchen. Didn't realise you wouldn't be back in time." 

"Oh, yeah sorry I should've told you I'd be late."

"Work?" 

"No, the er... I was at the... church." 

She pushed her glasses onto her head, looking up at you with pursed lips. 

"What?" you asked with a nervous laugh. "I just... I like helping out there." 

"I didn't say anything.," she replied, holding her hands up in surrender. "I don't care what you believe in, as long as you don't get involved in one of those cults. I can't be doing with ending up on the news." 

You laughed again - a breathier, more genuine laugh - and sat down beside her, watching as she tucked flowers into loops of wire, arranging them until they looked just right. 

"I think he's good for you," she said. 

"Who?" 

"Your priest friend. He's a good person to have in your life. I think you need it; someone virtuous, moral."

Moral. You thought back to the night in the rectory, the things he'd whispered in your ear as he parted your legs, how his hands seemed most comfortable on your neck. You thought about the scuffs on his knuckles after he punched Alfie in the face for daring to come close to you, his fantasy of you kneeling before him at mass, the 'fuck it' he'd growled before kissing you not even an hour ago.

"And I'm not saying you're not those things," she continued. "But it's just... I suppose it's nice to know you've got a friend who's such a good influence, you know."

"Wow, and suddenly I feel ten years old again," you muttered sarcastically.

She tutted and elbowed you gently, pulling her glasses back down again.

You stood up and made your way into the kitchen where a plate sat alone on the tidy counter. You peeled back the foil on top to reveal a lukewarm dinner, not bothering to heat it up before returning to your seat in the dining room.

"Have you spoken to your estate agent friend yet?" your mother asked as she snipped the stem of an artificial sunflower.

"Mm," you began, trying to speak through a mouthful of food. You swallowed it quickly and continued. "I told you, he works in sales. Big stuff, you know, like multimillion pound stuff. I'd have more luck on Rightmove." 

"And have you?" 

"Nope. I've been checking constantly. Zoopla too, and On The Market and Prime Location and-"

"Okay, alright, I get the point." 

"Are you in a rush to get rid of me or something?" 

"What? No, no of course not. I just- I worry. You're my youngest, you know I worry." 

"I know." You sighed, pushing your fork around the plate.

"It's funny you haven't found anything though. I'm always seeing signs on places to let, especially near the town centre." 

"Oh no, I've found a couple of flats that'd be perfect. I just can't afford them. I mean, you're talking deposit, rent upfront, fees, furnishings... I haven't even managed to pay my phone bill this month, it's going to take me ages to save up." 

She let out a long, deflated sigh. "I wish I could help." 

"You can help with the phone bill if you want?" you joked. 

She chuckled, holding up the half-finished wreath to examine her work. 

The next week passed in a bland, monotonous blur. Each day a repetition of the last; go to work, waste the morning scrolling on real estate websites, eat the sandwich your mother packed for you, fix your posture whenever Dawn walked past your office. Then you'd get the bus home, accidentally head butt the hanging basket on your way into the house, eat dinner at the dining table and disappear into your childhood bedroom for the rest of the night. 

You were lying beneath your Care Bear bedsheets, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, remembering how you used to pick out patterns in them whenever you couldn't sleep. You loved Friday nights; going to bed knowing you wouldn't have to wake to the blare of an alarm, the buzz of your phone against the bedside table, to know you didn't have to look at any more baby pictures until Monday. No more tiny humans stuffed into wicker baskets, pudgy cheeks and scarily bendy limbs. 

Moonlight melted through a gap in the closed curtains, the lilac material swaying gently in the breeze seeping through the open window. You rolled onto your side, the small single bed creaking as you moved, and for a moment you found your mind wandering to the bed you'd left behind at Gina's house; wondered if they'd ever slept together beneath your sheets. 

No one had been there when you went to collect your belongings, but still your father stood watch like a bouncer as you slogged box after box down the stairs. It was all in storage now. Everything you owned sitting in your father's garage, biding its time, waiting for a place to belong. Much like you; tucked away, collecting dust.

You reached for your phone, squinting as the screen came to life in the dark. You opened a new message and began to type before deleting it, then typing, then deleting, then typing. The cursor blinked as you stared at the blank text bubble, like it was waiting for you, ticking like a clock or the tapping of an impatient foot. 

So what exactly do priests text about? you finally wrote, pressing send and putting the phone face down on the nightstand. 

There was a buzz soon after. You grabbed it immediately. 

I see you finally paid your bill, the message read. 

You smiled.

How did you know it was me? you sent. 

Educated guess.

You began to type, but you paused when you saw he was typing too. Then he stopped, then kept writing, then stopped again. You wondered what he was so hesitant to say, what thought he couldn't find the words for. 

Do you need any help at church this weekend? you wrote.

Ok now I'm not so sure this is actually Ellis..

Hey, I'm just trying to get back in the Lord's good books. 

Were you ever in his good books to start with? 

You giggled, fingers absentmindedly finding your lips and running softly back and forth over them, searching for an ache, the tingle of a kiss that was beginning to fade.

A breeze carried the faint sound of music across the church grounds, the evening sun still bright and warm as you walked across the plush grass. Your hands were planted firmly on your backside, holding down the bottom of your summer dress as the wind tried to lift it. 

There was a signboard outside the entrance to the function hall: Parish Singles Mixer This Way. You held back the urge to laugh, taking a moment to compose yourself before walking inside where June's eyes immediately trailed the length of you. 

"Hello," you said awkwardly. 

"It started at seven, you know," she said, glancing down at her watch. 

"What time is it now?" 

"Half past." 

"Oh. Sorry. Well I suppose it could be worse; at least I'm sober." You breathed out a laugh.  

June's face remained sullen. You cleared your throat. 

"I'll just... see you inside," you said.

You walked past her and stopped in the doorway, pressing your lips together as you took in the sight of the decorated hall, the round tables covered with paper tablecloths and sprinklings of shiny confetti. 

Music played from a large speaker at the back of the room. A church volunteer named Keith was sat beside it with a laptop, like a DJ who'd forgotten his equipment. Men and women filled the space, dressed in their best shirts and loveliest dresses with name tags on their chests. Some talked in pairs, others gathered in large same-sex groups like nervous teenagers. 

You didn't realise your mouth had opened, gawping slightly at the wonderfully pitiful scene before you. You'd never been to a single's night before, but you were certain they weren't supposed to look like this. 

You turned to a table beside you where a stack of blank name tags and a box of markers sat neatly. You took one and wrote your name, sticking it to your left breast with a crude slap.

"This started half an hour ago, you know." Father Benedict's voice was like silk in your ear, so smooth you didn't even flinch at his sudden appearance behind you. 

You turned and looked up at him. "You religious folk are weirdly concerned with punctuality." 

He smiled, eyes flitting down to your chest then back up to your face. "Why've you put a name tag on?" 

"Isn't that what they're there for?" 

"Yes, for the singles." 

"I'm single..." 

There was a long silence. You watched as his throat bobbed with a hard swallow, eyes closing with a slow blink and a smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. 

"Catholic singles," he said. 

"Ah, so that's why it feels like a high school prom in here." You paused. "Actually no, it doesn't. People got so drunk at my prom they were throwing up outside, and I know of at least four girls who got fingered in the toilets."

"Were you one of them?"

You hit him hard on the arm. He chuckled, pulling at the white collar around his neck, his gaze staying on you for slightly too long. 

It was like you'd been holding tension in your joints all week and they'd finally loosened in his presence. Like his desire was a salve that provided relief, a lingering stare that could soothe any ache.

"Hi, by the way," he said.

"Hi."

"I wasn't sure you'd actually show." 

"Are you joking? And miss this inevitable disaster?" 

He smiled. "I'll have you know I held one of these events at my last parish and it was a huge success." 

"Oh, you fingered someone in the toilets?" 

He rolled his eyes.

"You got fingered...?" 

"Stop saying fingered," he whispered, holding back a laugh.

"Sorry." You lowered your gaze apologetically, before looking back up at him with a slight smirk.

His chest expanded with a slow, deep inhale, his eyes fixed on yours, switching focus from left to right as though searching for something behind them. Eventually he cleared his throat, straightening his posture and slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 

"I need to get this mixer actually mixing," he said. "Would you mind manning the drinks table for a bit?" 

You nodded with a quiet laugh. "Sure." 

He wandered off through the hall, stopping to talk with people, shaking hands and breaking ice. It was captivating to watch someone navigate a crowd with such ease; to charm even the most shy people out of their shells and have them willingly follow. 

The drinks table was a sad affair; a stack of plastic cups and two pitchers of lukewarm, watered down juice. You pulled up a chair and sat down behind it, scanning the room, your gaze falling on a couple who seemed to be hitting it off. She laughed at something he said, reached out and touched his arm. He ran a hand through his hair, the blush of his cheeks so pink you could see it from across the room.

"Excuse me, would you mind if I got myself a drink?"

You looked up to see a man pointing to the cups. You shook your head and gestured for him to go ahead. He was wearing a bowtie, the sleeves of his shirt slightly too short for his long arms as he reached for one of the pitchers. He appeared around your age, but his sheepish demeanour made him seem younger. You narrowed your eyes to read his name tag - Abel - you laughed. 

He shifted uncomfortably. "D-did I do something funny?" 

"No, sorry." You waved your hand. "It's just... Abel. My brother's name is Cain. Y'know, Cain and Abel." 

"Ah." His laugh was laced with relief. "He's not here is he? I'd have to run and hide." 

"Oh no, he's dead." 

There was an awkward silence, his eyes widening as he struggled to find an appropriate response.

"Oh, you were making a bible joke," you said. "Sorry, I just got it." 

He relaxed again, exhaling a weak laugh and taking a large chug of juice.

You glanced over at Father Benedict as he tried desperately to introduce people to one another, your eyes trailing down to his backside. 

"So are you a volunteer or a... single?" asked Abel, snapping you out of your lecherous daze. 

You shrugged. "Both, I suppose." 

"Oh, cool." He hovered at the table for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he looked around. "I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing." 

"By the looks of it, no one does." 

He laughed. "It's a bit embarrassing really, isn't it; needing a special event just to meet someone." 

"Church people, they're a picky bunch." 

He laughed again, more heartily this time. 

"Hi guys," said Father Benedict as he approached the table, ducking down to count the bottles of juice near your feet. "How's your evening going?"

"It's alright," said Abel, gesturing towards you with a smile. "Better now I've met Ellis here."

You smiled back politely.

Father Benedict straightened to his full height, hand finding the back of your chair with a tight grip as he looked down at you. "Oh really?"

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, surprised to find flecks of jealousy in the lines of his face. 

"That's nice," he said, back teeth pressed firmly together. "But I actually need to borrow you for a second if that's alright?" 

You turned back to Abel. "Sorry." 

"Oh, yeah no it's- no problem. We can chat in a bit." 

You nodded, watching as he wandered off awkwardly through the crowd.

"What's up?" you asked, turning your attention back to Father Benedict.

"Could you refill these jugs?" He lifted a large bottle of cordial onto the table. "What's that about?" 

"What's what about?"

"Him."

"Oh, his name's Abel. He seems nice." 

"No, I know who he is, he works at the school. I meant what were you doing talking to him?" 

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you jealous, Father?" 

He glanced over his shoulder at him, then back to you. "Nah, he's not my type." 

You scoffed quietly and stood up, wrapping your fingers around the bottle lid and attempting to turn it. It was tight, stiff, making the palm of your hand ache as you tried to force it open.  

"I think he's nervous," you said. "Says something when I'm the most approachable person here."  

"Or maybe he just fancies you," he replied, taking the bottle from you and opening it with an easy twist. 

"Maybe." You paused. "Would that bother you? If he did?" 

He pressed the tip of his tongue to his top lip, the corner of his mouth curling with a slight smile.

"I can't control who fancies you, Ellis. I just hope you remember the promise you made..." 

"No one touches me unless they're worthy?"  

"That's the one."

"Including you?" 

He looked down at you, throat bobbing with a slow swallow. "Including me." 

"So... That kiss last week..." 

"Oh, that wasn't because I think I'm worthy. That was because I have no self control."

You exhaled a laugh through your nose. "How's your self control doing tonight?" 

"It's hanging on... By a thread." 

"It's the dress, isn't it." 

He bowed his head, chuckling quietly as he walked away. 

And as quickly as it had dissipated, the tension returned again. But this time it wasn't in your joints. It was in your chest, your core, in the swelling heat between your legs. You licked your lips and sat back down. 

Abel was talking but you couldn't hear a word, chewing on the rim of your plastic cup as you stared past him, eyes fixed on your priest and the woman he'd been chatting to for far too long. 

"Ellis?" 

"Hm?" 

"I asked you a question," Abel laughed. 

"Sorry, what did you say?" 

"I asked when your last relationship was." 

"Oh, er, it was recent." 

He nodded with interest. "How recent?" 

"Like... recent recent. He cheated on me, it was a whole thing."

"Oh, wow, I-I'm sorry to hear that." 

The night had crept up slowly, darkness turning the windows to glossy, black mirrors as the coloured lights inside the hall glittered against them. The atmosphere had relaxed; the room buzzing with joy and laughter as connections formed and inhibitions melted away. You wondered how many weddings would come from this evening, how many love stories you'd witnessed the birth of.

The woman reached out, brushing something off Father Benedict's shoulder, smiling and continuing to talk as though touching him was the most natural thing in the world. You bit the inside of your cheek.

"Ellis? You've disappeared again," Abel laughed. 

"Sorry. Sorry, I- I'll just be a minute, I have to..." you trailed off, standing up before he could even respond and walking quickly across the hall.

You tapped Father Benedict on the shoulder and the woman stopped talking, turning her head slowly to look at you. 

"Sorry for interrupting," you said.

"No need to apologise," he replied, placing a hand on your back as though he'd forgotten where he was. "Ellis, this is Meg, she just passed her training to become a lay minister." 

"Oh, congratulations," you said. 

She gave a wry smile. 

"Meg, Ellis is a... friend of the church." 

"Acquaintance, really," you said. "Friend is a bit strong." 

He rolled his eyes, prodding his fingers firmly into your back.

"It's nice to meet you, Ellis," she said. 

You nodded before turning to look up at Father Benedict. "I was just wondering if you wanted me to go around and clean up the empty cups?" 

"That'd be great." 

You allowed your gaze to linger on him for a moment before conceding and walking away, listening to Meg talk again, as though you'd never interrupted them. 

The bin bag was making your palm sweat, the shiny, black plastic sticking to your leg whenever you moved. You groaned and kicked it away again, reaching for a collection of used cups rimmed with lipstick. You threw them in the bag and moved to the next table, catching the eye of a man who flashed you a hopeful smile. You smiled back politely and kept walking, peeling the name tag from your chest, crumpling it in your fist and throwing it away. 

You threw another few cups in the bag and peered over at the spot where Father Benedict and Meg had been standing, but instead of the tall, dark priest, a young woman stood in his place. You furrowed your brow, scanning the room for him. He was gone. 

You felt something cold on your foot, looking down to find a quickening stream of juice dripping from the bag. You swore under your breath, grimacing as you marched it at arm's length out of the hall and into a small, quiet stock room. You shoved the bag into a bin in the corner and grabbed a roll of tissue, unravelling more than you needed and bending down to wipe away the sweet, sticky mess trickling down the side of your shoe. 

The door opened suddenly, making you jump in fright, losing your balance and falling back onto the floor. Father Benedict's deep, throaty laugh thrummed into the quiet space. He made his way over to you and reached out his hand. 

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

You blew out a breath and took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. "The bag split." 

"Ugh, are you alright?" 

"I think I'll survive." 

He took a step back towards the door, leaning against the frame as he listened to the muffled noise seeping out of the hall. 

"Tonight's going well, don't you think?" he said proudly. 

"Mhm, I see at least one person's getting fingered in the toilets," you replied sarcastically. 

His brows came together over confused eyes. He thought for a moment, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to you.

"Wh- Meg?"

"Yeah, you seemed to really be hitting it off in there."

He pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, holding back the urge to grin. "She's moving to my old parish next month, wants me to recommend her to the minister there. That's all." 

"Oh. Good luck to her."

"Now who's the jealous one," he teased. 

You rummaged through a cupboard near the bin, pulling out a roll of fresh bags. He cocked his head as he watched you, analysing you.  

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You blew out a puff of air, lifting a stray lock of hair out of your face. "Well, considering I'm a grown woman who lives with her mum, my capacity for 'okay' only stretches so far."

"Fair enough," he laughed. "And you haven't had any more trouble from what's-his-face, have you?"

"No, I think he's scared of me since you gave him that nose job." 

He covered his eyes with his hand, dragging it slowly down his face. "I still can't believe I did that. I don't know what got into me-"

"It's okay. I found it quite sexy." 

"Why am I not the least bit surprised?" 

You smiled, bowing your head as you tried to tear a bag from the roll. 

"Here," he said as he walked over to you.

You watched his hands as they gripped the plastic, ripping it apart with a forceful pull. He handed a bag to you and tossed the rest aside. 

"Thanks," you said, clearing your throat as you looked up at him. 

The last time you were this close, he had just kissed you; his breath ragged, eyes burning with a heat you could feel beneath your skin. You'd spent every moment since wondering what might have happened if you'd stayed, if that single thread of self control had torn under the weight of his desire.  

He swallowed, eyes flitting down to your lips, and in that moment you knew he'd been wondering the exact same thing. You shivered as his hand settled tentatively on your hip, your breath shaking as his fingertips moved to graze your thigh beneath the hem of your dress. 

"You took your name tag off" he said quietly. 

"Yeah," you replied, barely whispering. "You were right, I shouldn't have been wearing it." 

"Why?" 

"Because I didn't come for the mixer..." 

"Then why did you come?" He shifted closer, enough for you to feel his breath on your face, the tickle of his touch travelling further beneath your dress. 

You could feel goosebumps puckering down your arms, desire blooming deep in your core. You welcomed his caress, leaning into it, granting him access to your body like a gift. You gazed up at him with heavy lids, breaths turning shallow as he leaned forward, bringing his lips inches from yours. 

"Why?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble in the base of his throat. 

"Probably the same reason you keep inviting me back," you whispered.

Your lips met in a slow, heavy kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without any hesitation. You sighed against him, eyes closing, losing yourself in a taste you'd come to crave. It didn't matter that beyond the door was a hall full of people, that if anyone saw you it would mean the end; not just for him, but for you too. In this moment, all you cared about was the feeling of his hands on your skin, the groan that escaped him when you gently sucked on his bottom lip. 

"Hi June, I'm looking for Ellis," Abel's voice echoed from the foyer. "About this tall, she's wearing a dress with flowers on?" 

You pulled apart quickly, foreheads resting against each other. 

"Fucking hell," you hissed.

"Another holy intervention," Father Benedict muttered.

"No, just a man in a bow tie," you sighed.

You were crouched behind the drinks table. Partly because you had to pack everything away, but mostly because you were hiding. 

Abel was nice. Funny, well-intentioned, handsome if not slightly gawky. And maybe in another world, you could have given him a chance; gone for coffee, held hands as he walked you home, kissed goodnight on the doorstep. But in this world, there was a priest. 

You peered over the table, watching as the singles sat in groups around the room, cards stuck to their foreheads and pens in their hands. Abel was sat amongst them, playing opposite a shy, giggly woman, her long blonde hair tucked behind her ears. You smiled and sank back down behind the table, breathing out a sigh of relief before packing up the last few cups into a large cardboard box. 

You walked out of the hall and down the path towards the church, the box obscuring your view as you lugged it in your arms. The night air was cool, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass through the air. You'd always preferred the colder months, but there was something about the air when spring turned to summer - the way it smelled, how it sat on the skin like a gentle embrace - that always reminded you to breathe, to fill your lungs to the brim and savour the feeling. 

You pushed through the side door of the church with your hip, letting it swing closed behind you as you stepped inside. You walked down the quiet corridor, the air still close and suffocating from the day's heat, and with a tired huff, you dumped the box on the floor inside Father Benedict's office.

"Father?" you called out, met with nothing but silence.

You couldn't help but wander down to the chapel, the dark, echoey space so still and serene that even your exhales felt out of place. You paused to bask in the solitude; the smells you'd come to find comfort in, the feel of the carpet beneath the soles of your shoes. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deep breath, when a sudden shiver rolled down your back at the sound of footsteps behind you. 

You turned around, eyes settling on a tall, dark frame emerging from the corridor. He stopped just beyond the threshold, standing with his hands in his pockets, the flash of white around his neck still visible even in the dim light. 

"I couldn't remember where you said to put the stuff so I threw it in your office," you said. 

"Threw it?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"If you want the job done well, pay me." 

He chuckled before looking around at the empty pews, the darkness beyond the stained glass windows. You watched as he made his way to the altar, walking leisurely, hands still in his pockets. He turned on his heels to face you, gesturing with his head for you to come to him. 

You didn't question it, doing as he instructed like an obedient servant, following orders without a single word. Your heart began to race as you stood before him, the fluttering in your chest mirrored by a rippling deep in your stomach the moment your eyes met. 

"Kneel," he said calmly.  

You hesitated, eyes flitting around the church. 

"It's just us," he said.

"And him..." you replied, nodding to the statue of Christ behind him. 

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't concede. You swallowed hard, lowering yourself slowly to your knees, ignoring the burn of the rough carpet against your skin. 

You reached up, each action careful and considerate, like you feared you'd startle him back to sense if you made any sudden movements. He kept his eyes on you, gazing down as your fingers found the buttons of his trousers, releasing each one with a gentle pop. He placed a hand on your face, thumb pressing to your bottom lip and dragging it down to reveal your tongue. You stuck it out willingly, watching shadows form in the angles of his face as he pushed it into your mouth. His eyelids fluttered slightly as you sucked on it, and you held back the urge to smile. 

You parted his fly and slipped your hand beneath the fabric of his underwear, gripping the base of his cock and releasing it eagerly. He was hard, rigid and pulsing with even the lightest graze of your fingers, but he remained calm, unwavering in his composure, only the slight quiver of his breath giving him away. This was his fantasy - he'd already told you - and you'd wanted so desperately to make it come true. 

You flattened your tongue and dragged it up the underside of his length, drawing a deep groan from his throat as he moved his hand back to the side of your face. You'd never much cared for giving blow jobs; finding them boring, awkward, an unsexy act that left you with an aching jaw and numb lips. But the arousal pooling between your legs was undeniable, the tingle of your hardening nipples making you shudder with excitement. You slid him into your mouth, sinking halfway before pulling back and glancing up at him, seeking approval, wanting to be led. 

He inhaled sharply through his nose, letting his head fall back as you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, wrapping your fingers around it before taking it back into your mouth. You moved at a steady pace, drawing him deeper each time until you were struggling to breathe. He took your hair in fistfuls, guiding you gently, his rich moans pouring over you like warm, sweet honey.

You felt a hard prod at the back of your throat, the sensation making you gag, choking back a cough as you pushed his hips back to catch your breath. He buckled at the sound, swearing under his breath as he struggled to stay upright. He liked it; the sound of you gagging, the rush of thick saliva coating his cock. 

You reached up and took both of his wrists, moving his grip to the back of your head before dropping your hands behind your back. He groaned in delicious realisation, the silent permission to use your mouth unlocking a forcefulness that took you by surprise. 

His fingers tangled in your hair as he thrust into your mouth. You held your breath as he sank deep, pulling back and repeating the action with a quiet growl. You fought the urge to move your hands and take back control, keeping your fingers clasped tightly behind your back, trusting him not to push you too far. 

Your eyes were watering, nose running, spit escaping from the corners of your mouth. You were certain it was the most unattractive you'd ever looked, yet there was a thrill in letting go; the veneer of uncertainty shattering with every snap of his hips. 

A string of incoherent whispers spilled out of him as he came, cock throbbing against your tongue and coating your throat with his rapture. You gasped when he slid out of your mouth, as if he'd been holding your head below water and had finally brought you up for air. 

He cupped your face, staring down at you in awe. You wiped your mouth and chin with the back of your hand as you gazed up at him, your breathing still rapid and uneven, swollen lips parted in awe of his beauty. He tucked himself back into his trousers, not bothering to button them before kneeling with you and running his thumbs under your eyes, swiping at the smudges of tears and mascara that had pooled there. You reached up instinctively to hold his forearms, balancing yourself, as he continued to wipe away the mess he'd created, his movements so gentle and considered it was hard to believe he was capable of anything other than tenderness.

"Stay with me tonight," he said softly.

You nodded, unsure how you would ever be able to leave him again.

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @veryladyqueen @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi @ehuether @dragonqueen89 @estheticwh0re @Lfp10836 @kanyewestest @star-girl-05 @theothersideofthescreen

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[burntb4bydoll]

I love your writing soo much it hurts. 🥲

Can you please write like a 2000s bill smut or fluff ( whatever you feel comfortable with), where they build a pillows and blankets fort together and they end up falling asleep cuddled. And the rest of the band takes photos and mocks them the next day.

At this point I need fics to breathe. Thanks ✌

Thank you so much beautiful<3

This is such a cute idea! Im gonna do fluff for the people that dont like smut, cuz i feel like i dont post a lot of only fluff fics!

Bill Kaulitz x reader

Warnings: friends to loverssss🤭, nothing else really just a lot of cute stuff

When Bill had invited you to come over, you didn’t think this is what you guys would end up doing. You’re currently helping Bill set up a massive blanket fort in his living room. He originally invited you over to watch a movie, but after you arrived he decided that he wanted to make it more fun by making a fort. Even though you didn’t expect it, you were having so much fun hanging out alone with him. After you guys finished setting up the fort, Bill let you pick out a movie and you laid next to each other to watch it.

“This is fun. We should hangout alone more often. I feel like we only ever spend time with the band, I like having this type of one on one time together.” Bills attention left the tv screen to look over at you as you started talking. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with them too but you know…”

“I know. I like this too. I’ve actually been trying to hangout with you alone for a while now, but uhh things never really go as planned…” he trailed off, his eyes moving down to break your intense eye contact. He awkwardly shifted for a minute before turning to fully face you. His head still laid on the pillow, but now he was looking at you. “Um..I actually invited you here to tell you something. Its kinda important to me…” you turned to face him too. Now you were only a few inches away from one another, you could practically feel his uneven breath hitting you.

“Whats up? You seem nervous. You know I won’t judge you, Bill.” Your hand comes up to hold his hand comfortingly. He takes a shaky breath in and stares into your eyes,

“Y/n, I really like you. And not as a friend. I wanna be your boyfriend so bad. Not a day goes by where I don’t dream about being with you.” Your eyes go wide, inhaling sharply.

“Bill..I like you too. I was literally going to tell you tonight.” He looks at you with a blank expression for a moment before giggling loudly. His adorable laugh made you giggle too. Once you two calm down a little he starts talking again,

“Oh my god I was so nervous! I can’t believe I was so stressed for nothing!” He laughs softly, leaning closer to you. You smile and shake your head, just happy that you don’t have to hide your feelings anymore. “Can I…can I kiss you?” You nod eagerly as his hands cup your face gently. He slowly leans in, placing a experimental kiss on your lips. Once you both relax a bit, the kiss turns passionate and intimate. He pulls away and gives one last peck on your lips before tucking his head underneath yours and holding your waist tightly. Before you knew it, both of you fell asleep in each others arms.

You woke up the next morning to hearing some snickers and giggles. Sitting up slightly, you groggily rubbed your eyes and looked around the room. When your eyes finally focused you realized what was happening. Bill was curled up against your side with his head laying on your shoulder. His hair was messy and he was drooling a little. The rest of the band was standing above you guys, taking pictures and laughing. Bill stirred and sat up, groaning at his brothers loud laughter.

“What are you guys doing here? You’re so annoying!” Bill grumbles, swatting away the camera that Gustav had shoved in his face.

“What are we doing here?” Tom exclaimed, “What are you guys doing here? We’re not the ones all cuddled up and being all lovey-dovey!” Georg and Gustav bursted into another fit of giggles, looking at the pictures they had took of you.

“Hey! You better delete those! I did not agree to have my picture taken, especially while I’m sleeping!” Bill jumped up and started to chase Georg around, trying to retrieve his camera. You giggled a little and laid back down.

“Its too damn early for this. Fuck you guys I’m going back to sleep.”

[xotaemintol]

SUB!JINKI X READER: MOMMYS GOOD BOY (SUBBY SEPTEMBER)

“Touch me there, I want you to touch me there.”

Yes ik we are well past subby September, but I still wanted to post the things I had started writing for the event/finish them. Jinki was next on my list before writers block hit and now I’m finally posting it after constant editing lol.

PRONOUNS USED: None (Mommy)

TWS: Masturbation, riding, unprotected sex, grinding, sub idol, dom reader.

Word count: 944

All he had to do was wait ten more minutes, you told him that you'd be home soon to help alleviate his 'stress' but you could tell by the desperation in his voice that he wouldn't make it. The way he begged and pleaded for you to get home faster told you that he was feeling particularly impatient tonight, but you had hope that Jinki would ignore his urges and be a good boy like usual. But you were unfortunately too hopeful. He thought that maybe just touching himself a little wouldn't count, so instead of undressing he slowly rubbed his hand over the bulge in his thin pajama pants. The intense chills he felt all throughout his body made his toes curl, it had been so long since the last time you had touched him. Quickly becoming lost in the feeling, he closed his eyes and pictured you there, grinning at him as you playfully teased him and praised him for doing such a good job. The moment he did that it became almost impossible to hold himself back. Tempted to slip his hands into his pants, Jinki let out a soft moan as he started to slowly stroke himself through the soft material.

Before he knew it, he was desperately thrusting into his hand, still fully clothed as he waited for you. It felt like it had been hours but only five minutes had passed, and as he counted the seconds he started to realize that if he kept going like this then he'd cum before he even got to see you, but it felt too good for him to stop. He didn't even stop when he heard the front door opening or when he heard your sweet voice calling his name, by the time you had finally gotten into the room, his eyes were already closed as he replayed the sound of you calling his name in his head over and over again, completely lost in his pleasure and mind.

"Oh, Jinki…my poor baby..." His eyes open and he slowly turns his head to you, looking you in the eyes. He looked so broken already with his cheeks flushed, his eyebrows knotted, his eyes low, and gentle moans leaving his mouth as he fucked his hand out of pure desperation. "Didn't I tell you to wait?" Your gentle tone only made him want you more, although he knew that he should've stopped he was too far gone, and looking at you only increased that selfish need. "M-Mommy...please...please fuck me," Finally, he moves his hand, whimpering at the loss of contact as he stands up. As he towers over you his expression remains as submissive as ever, his body is broad and his presence is lustful and intense, just looking in his eyes made you want to drop to your knees and please him until he broke out into tears. "Do you think you deserve it?" You asked as you put your hand on his chest, his breathing became more uneven and you could feel his heart pounding, it never ceases to amaze you how excited he gets and how easily it happens.

"Yes, I've been a good boy...please, please ride me, ma'am," How could you deny him? Even though he hadn’t listened his heavy voice and passionate eyes gave you more than enough reason to give him what he wanted. So you sat on the bed and looked up at him as you crossed your legs and said: "Strip." In his overly sexual state, there was no room for shame or embarrassment, so just as quickly as you said to, Jinki began to take off his clothes, happy to finally be freed from his cotton confinements. "Good boy," You said, as you look him up and down you feel yourself becoming excited, the way his cock jumped at the sound of your voice made you feel more than pleased, "Now, undress me." As you said this you laid on your back and spread your legs for him with a grin, Jinki knew that this meant he had free reign to do as he wished to your body, so as he slipped your heels off he worshipped your legs, and as he slid your skirt off his worshipped your thighs, and when he came up to unbutton your blouse he paused for a second to kiss you.

Your tongue rolled around as he moaned into your mouth while grinding against your leg, his wandering hands touched every inch of your body in reach, sliding between your thighs as he began kissing your neck. The only thing on his mind was pleasing you and getting you just as excited, as badly as he wanted to rush, he wanted you to feel just as good, so he took his time as he slid his fingers past the waistband of your underwear, and massaged delicate circles on your clit as he kissed down the middle of your chest. In a matter of seconds you were grinding against his hand as you arched your back, the desire to feel him inside of you was building and you, unlike Jinki, didn't want to wait any longer.

"That enough..." You breathed out, "Sit down." Those four words were enough for him, as he sat on the bed you quickly took off the last of your clothes before climbing on top of him. “Mommy’s gonna give you a special treat for being such a good fucking boy,” As the head of his cock slipped inside of you, he holds his breath and you brace yourself, the slightest touch felt like you were going crazy and the way he trembled and watched it go inside, inch by inch, gave you butterflies. “Is that what you want baby boy?” Jinki whimpered, leaning his head back as he let out a stifled moan and closed his eyes tightly as he responded in a hushed and broken voice: “Yes…Yes, mommy.”