#i wanted to hit him with something more harder
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I Know Places 2 (r.c)
Summary: Rafe goes to Y/N at the bait shop and his presence is not celebrated
AN: part 2 of ‘I Know Places’ and I’m deciding to go the traditional route! I’m used to the old school way of fics so this will be fully written out and not SMAU! Though I do love how that’s on trend right now!
Previous part
The next morning, Y/N Maybank was up before the sun had fully risen, her mind too restless for sleep. She had spent the night tossing and turning, debating whether or not to tell JJ and the Pogues about what happened at Tannyhill. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep secrets—she just didn’t know how to explain the strange feeling of being pulled into Rafe Cameron’s world, if only for a fleeting moment.
By the time the bait shop was ready to open, she was already elbow-deep in her morning routine: feeding the live bait, checking inventory, and wiping down the counters.
Summer was here, which meant the shop would soon be crawling with locals and tourists alike, and she needed everything to be in order.
The small bell above the door jingled, pulling her attention away from the tank of minnows. She glanced up to see Rafe Cameron standing in the doorway. His broad shoulders filled the frame, his usual air of arrogance replaced by something quieter.
“Hey, Pretty Girl,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Y/N quirked a brow, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. “Rafe Cameron on the Cut? You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”
“Funny,” he replied, stepping closer. “How’s business?”
“It’s early,” she said flatly, then tilted her head. “How’s your head?”
“Better,” Rafe said, though his hand instinctively went to touch the bandage she had applied the night before. “Still aches.”
“Maybe now you’ll listen to me and see a doctor,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “What if you’ve got brain damage? You must have if you thought coming here was a good idea.”
Rafe chuckled under his breath, but his expression quickly sobered. “I need to talk to you about last night.”
Y/N set the container of fish food on the counter, her brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
Rafe leaned against the counter, his blue eyes scanning the shop briefly before landing back on her. “How many people did you see leave the house?”
“Three,” she said slowly, thinking back to the shadowy figures slipping through the side gate. “They looked like men, but I couldn’t see their faces. They had black hoods on.”
She watched as Rafe’s jaw tightened and his eyes clouded over, clearly running through a mental list of possibilities. It didn’t take a genius to realize there was more to the break-in than he was letting on.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Y/N asked, her voice softer now.
Rafe shook his head quickly. “No. Don’t worry about it.”
“Rafe, someone broke into your house and assaulted you. You need to tell Shoupe,” Y/N said firmly.
“I’m sure they didn’t find what they were looking for,” he replied cryptically.
“What does that even mean?”
Rafe ignored the question, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “I just... I wanted to see you. And to thank you again for helping me last night.”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “It’s no problem,” she said, though her voice faltered slightly. “But you should probably go before JJ finds you talking to me.”
“Do you always do what JJ wants?” Rafe asked, but there was no malice in his voice.
Y/N hesitated, his question catching her off guard. Did people really think that? “No,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just that a fight is bad for business.”
Rafe returned her smile, a rare softness in his expression. He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “Here. Put your number in. You know, in case I need another house call.”
Y/N stared at him for a moment, her instinct screaming at her to say no. But Rafe seemed... different. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been consumed by grief and arrogance, still reeling from his father’s death and struggling to take over the family business. But now, he seemed calmer—more grounded, though still carrying an edge.
She grabbed his phone and began typing her number. Her head was screaming at her to not do it, don’t give him access. But she did it anyway.
“Rafe?”
Both their heads snapped toward the dock, where Sarah Cameron was walking toward the shop. Rafe stepped back from Y/N, his demeanor instantly shifting.
“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked, her gaze narrowing suspiciously.
“Thought someone broke into the house last night,” Rafe said smoothly. “I knew you parked outside when you went to that party, so I came to see if you saw anything.”
Before Sarah could respond, Y/N interjected. “I already told him I didn’t see anything. We were still at the party when it happened.”
“Someone broke into the house? Did they take anything? Are you okay?” Sarah questioned. “I’m fine. It didn’t look like they took anything. Just a window and a door I have to replace.” Rafe answered.
“I uh, gotta go, I’ll see you around.” He added, his gaze fleetingly on Y/N.
He walked past Sarah and up the dock, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t fully understand.
“Was he bothering you?” Sarah asked, stepping into the shop.
“No, no,” Y/N said quickly. “He just wanted to ask if we saw anything.”
But even as she spoke, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe’s visit meant something more. And as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t entirely mind.
“JJ is going to freak when he finds out.” Sarah commented. “We don’t need to tell him. I’m sure Rafe came here looking for you but I was here.” Y/N quickly replied.
As Sarah stepped closer, Y/N busied herself with the container of fish food on the counter, her mind racing. She could still feel the heat of Rafe’s presence lingering in the room, and her stomach twisted at the thought of Sarah catching onto something she hadn’t even figured out herself.
“What’s going on?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms as she studied her friend.
Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, hoping her casual demeanor would be enough to shut the conversation down. “Nothing.”
“Since when does Rafe come to you for answers?” Sarah’s tone was skeptical, her piercing gaze making Y/N feel like she was under a microscope. “And why didn’t he just ask me?”
“Maybe because you were at the party too?” Y/N said, raising a brow. “I don’t know, Sarah. He didn’t exactly give me his whole life story.”
Sarah frowned but didn’t press further, instead moving to grab a soda from the mini fridge behind the counter. “Still... I don’t like him showing up out of nowhere like that.”
Y/N let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “What, you think he’s gonna rob the bait shop? Pretty sure we’re not hiding any family heirlooms in the minnow tank.”
Sarah snorted, but her expression remained thoughtful as she leaned against the counter. “I just don’t trust him, Y/N. You know how he is.”
Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. Sarah wasn’t wrong—Rafe Cameron was trouble. He always had been. But last night, when he was bleeding and vulnerable, he didn’t feel like the same guy she’d written off.
“Yeah, I know,” Y/N said quietly. “But he’s your brother, Sarah. He can’t be all bad.”
Sarah gave her a sharp look, clearly not expecting that response. “You’re defending Rafe now?”
Y/N shook her head quickly. “No, I’m not defending him. I’m just saying... people can change, right?”
Before Sarah could respond, the bell above the door jingled again, and John B strolled in, followed closely by JJ, who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Morning, ladies,” John B greeted with a grin, grabbing a bag of chips from the shelf. “What’s the gossip?”
“Rafe was here,” Sarah said bluntly, making both boys freeze in their tracks. Y/N glared at her friend, eyes saying ‘why the hell would you do that?’
“What?” JJ’s tone immediately turned sharp as he walked over to Y/N. “Why the hell was Rafe Cameron here?”
“Someone broke into his house,” Y/N said quickly, trying to downplay the situation. “Wanted to know if we saw anything suspicious last night. That’s it.”
JJ’s jaw clenched, and he let out a humorless laugh. “Since when does he care about what we saw? He’s up to something.”
“Relax, J,” Y/N said, placing a hand on his arm. “He wasn’t here to start trouble. He just... wanted answers.”
“Well, he better not come around again,” JJ muttered darkly, his protective instincts kicking in. “I don’t care what he wants. You don’t need to be talking to him.”
Y/N bristled at his tone, but before she could respond, Sarah spoke up. “Let’s not make this a thing. Rafe’s gone, and he’s not coming back here.”
JJ muttered something under his breath, clearly still annoyed, but he let it go for now. Y/N, however, felt a tinge of annoyance in her chest. She loved her brother, and it was just the two of them at the end of the day so it makes sense he’s protective. But he’s not her father, she’s 20 years old, she doesn’t need her brother telling her who she can and can’t talk to.
||
The fire crackled softly, its orange glow casting warm shadows on the Pogues as they lounged in the cool evening air. John B was sprawled out on the sand with Sarah curled up beside him, their laughter intertwining as they recounted the story of JJ’s infamous fight with Topper outside the country club.
“And then Shoupe shows up, and Y/N’s out here sweet-talking him like she’s auditioning for a soap opera!” JJ exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.
“Sweet-talking?” Y/N interjected from the hammock, her tone dripping with mock offense as she rolled another joint. “I’ll have you know I was using logic and reason to keep your ass out of juvie.”
Kie snorted. “Logic and reason? You told Shoupe Topper started it and then cried about how JJ was just trying to defend your honor.”
“Exactly,” Y/N said with a smug grin. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
JJ grinned back, leaning over to flick sand at her. “I owe you for that one, Sunshine.”
“Damn right you do,” Y/N quipped, expertly twisting the joint closed.
The group dissolved into another round of laughter, the kind that came easy after a long day and a few too many hits. Pope was stoking the fire while Cleo leaned against him, teasing him about his terrible impression of Shoupe. It was one of those rare nights where everything felt simple—just them, the stars, and the stories they carried.
“Hey, Sunshine!” JJ called, breaking through the chatter. “Toss me one of those masterpieces!”
Y/N smirked, flicking the newly rolled joint in his direction. JJ caught it with ease, holding it up like a trophy before lighting it.
As she reached for another paper, her phone buzzed against her thigh. She picked it up without much thought, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name.
Rafe.
The text was simple but enough to tug at her carefully guarded smile.
RC: Hey, Pretty Girl.
Y/N: Can I help you, Cameron?
RC: What are you doin’?
Y/N: Currently? I’m rolling a joint.
RC: Lol, save one for me?
Y/N: Maybe.
The next text froze her in place.
RC: Just wondering, is asking you out against doctor’s orders?
Her breath hitched, her mind racing. Was Rafe Cameron—Rafe Cameron—really asking her out? She stared at her phone for a moment too long, trying to process what this meant.
Y/N: Hm, that might be bad for your health
RC: What if we don’t tell anyone?
This wasn’t the Rafe she’d known before. The old Rafe was reckless, arrogant, and self-absorbed. But now? He felt different, quieter. Something had shifted, and Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
RC: Did I lose you, Pretty Girl?
She glanced around the fire. Her friends were laughing, oblivious, completely immersed in the stories of summers past. Sarah was teasing John B about his failed attempts at surfing, JJ was leaning back with a lazy grin, and Kie was high enough to be softly singing to herself.
Y/N was the odd one out—always had been in a way. The one without a partner, without a storybook romance. And yet, there was something undeniable about the way her chest had tightened in Rafe’s bathroom, how she’d felt something she couldn’t ignore.
Y/N: Better plan a good date
The reply came seconds later.
RC: Is that a yes?
Y/N: It’s a yes. Don’t mess it up.
Y/N set her phone down, the smallest of smiles playing on her lips as she leaned back in the hammock.
“Who are you texting?” Kie’s voice came from beside her, making Y/N jump. Kie had slid into the hammock, her eyes glassy but curious.
“My cousin,” Y/N lied smoothly, reaching for another paper. “We need more weed, and he’s got the good stuff.”
Kie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, her movements sluggish. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Y/N froze, the lie suddenly feeling heavy in her chest. “Of course, Kie,” she murmured, though her voice felt hollow.
“You’re my best friend,” Kie continued, her words slurring slightly. “You and me, we’re a team, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Y/N said softly, guilt twisting in her stomach.
But as Kie drifted into a half-asleep haze against her shoulder, Y/N’s thoughts drifted back to Rafe. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something she could tell them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
#imagine#imagines#outer banks#jj maybank#rafe cameron#outer banks imagine#kiara carrera#john b routledge#sarah cameron#rudy pankow#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe obx#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader
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𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎
Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader
Summary: based on this.
Noah felt it before you even said a word.
That something sitting between you, like you were about to say something that was going to change everything. You were curled up on the couch, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve, your knee pulled up to your chest like you were trying to make yourself smaller. That wasn’t normal.
And then you spoke.
"I got a job offer."
His fingers stilled around the beer bottle, grip tightening just enough that he could feel the condensation slide against his skin. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t trust himself to. "Yeah?"
"In another city."
The words hit harder than he expected.
For a second, just one, he let himself think about what that meant—about this house without you in it, about days without your voice filling the empty spaces, about knowing you were somewhere else, somewhere new, somewhere without him.
And it made his stomach fucking sink.
But you didn’t belong here, did you? You never had.
You weren't his and he wasn't yours. All you had ever been was just friends.
He always knew you’d go. He just never thought it would be so soon.
You kept talking, explaining—something about better pay, bigger opportunities, a smart move. Noah heard it all, but it was like listening through static, every word just another reminder that this was real. That this was happening. That you weren’t just thinking about leaving. You were already halfway gone.
And what was he supposed to do? What was he allowed to do?
Because yeah, maybe he thought about it. Maybe he thought about pulling you in, pressing his forehead against yours, telling you he didn’t want you to go. That he needed you here, that he—
And then, for the first time, it really hit him.
He never told you. Never fucking told you.
Not when he first realized that the way he looked at you wasn’t the way a friend should. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, and he caught himself staring at your smile like it was something he could get addicted to, wishing he could bottle up the sound of your laughter, save it for the nights when the silence felt too heavy—when you weren’t there to fill the space beside him.
Not when you fell asleep on his shoulder during long car rides, and he stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, just to make the moment last a little longer. Not when he watched you dance around the kitchen in his hoodie, not when he felt his heart ache just being near you.
Not when he should have.
Not when it would’ve mattered.
And now, sitting here, the words he should’ve said—I like you. No, I love you. More than a friend. More than anyone—were useless. Too late. You were already slipping through his fingers, and he had no one to blame but himself.
So he stayed quiet. Because what was the fucking point now?
What was he supposed to do—throw everything at you now, at the last second, when you had a whole future waiting for you? When you were basically already half out the door? When he had every chance before, and he wasted them all?
No. That wasn’t fair.
Not to you. Not to the life you were about to build. Not to the love he’d never had the guts to give you.
So he bit his tongue. Kept his hands in his lap so he wouldn’t reach for you. Forced his voice steady as he said, "You should take it."
And fuck—he hated how easy it sounded. Hated that it came out smooth when his chest felt like it was caving in.
You hesitated. He could feel you watching him.
"You think?"
Noah swallowed hard, leaned forward, let his eyes settle on the floor instead of your face. "Yeah," he said. "Sounds like a great opportunity." Another shrug. Another lie. "You’d be an idiot not to."
The silence that followed was the worst part.
Because he could feel it—the shift, the way something between you cracked, just slightly, just enough that he knew it wouldn’t go back to how it was.
He tried to imagine what it would feel like to be around someone else the way he was with you. He’d never been able to picture anyone else in your place, never wanted to. You were a part of him now, you were the person who knew him best, the one he always leaned on when things got heavy, the one he could rely on when everything else felt like it was falling apart, the one who always answered his texts sent in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep.
And now you were walking away. And he couldn’t imagine filling that gap.
The comfort of having you around, the steady presence of your friendship, even if it had always just been friendship, was something he never thought would disappear. It was just always there. And it was hard, almost impossible, to wrap his head around the fact that it might never be like that again.
How would he ever find that again? He couldn’t even begin to picture it. And the worst part? He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to. You were it. And now, as he sat there, heart heavy with the weight of what he couldn’t say, of what he had never had the guts to tell you, he knew that he had just let you slip through his fingers. The easy, effortless thing they had—the laughter, the comfort, the quiet moments, the understanding—was something he couldn’t replicate. Not with anyone. Not now. Not ever.
"Right," you said, voice quiet. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."
Noah didn’t move. Didn’t look at you.
Because if he did—if he saw the way you were looking at him, if he saw even the smallest flicker of doubt in your eyes—he knew he’d break.
And if he broke, he’d beg you to stay.
So instead, he just sat there, fingers gripping the beer bottle like it was the only thing holding him together, and let you slip further away.
A few days later, you were sitting on the leather couch in the living room of the house you’d spent so many nights in again.
Folio was giving you one of his usual "don’t forget" lists—one that had become a comforting part of your routine over the years for all the times you went on a tour or trip together. This time, however, it sounded different, as if it was the last.
"Okay, remember to pack all your jackets. And the extra batteries for your camera. Oh, and make sure you’ve got your phone charger, you always forget it!" He waved his hands in the air as though he was trying to remind you of the most crucial thing in the world, like the fate of the universe rested on you not forgetting your phone charger.
You chuckled, leaning back on the couch, a small smile tugging at your lips as you gave him a playful eye roll. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, Nick. I’ll pack everything. No need to worry."
Folio grinned. "Good. You know I worry." He paused, then his tone softened, almost hesitant, like he was preparing to say something serious. "I’m really going to miss having you around. It won’t be the same without you here."
The words hit you harder than you expected. You had been preparing yourself for this goodbye for days, but hearing him say it out loud made it real, made it feel final. You swallowed, forcing a smile. "I’ll miss you guys too. And don’t worry, I’ll send plenty of pictures. And I’m sure I’ll come back to visit."
Folio nodded. "Yeah, of course. And we’ll come to visit you, too. So you don't forget us." He said it with such certainty that for a brief moment, you let yourself believe it—believe that things could stay the same, even when you knew they couldn’t.
But as Folio finished his sentence, you glanced over at Noah. He had been sitting at the other end of the room, quietly listening, but now he abruptly stood up, his movements stiff and awkward, as though something had snapped in him.
Noah didn’t say anything, just turned toward the door and walked out without a word. His departure felt like a heavy silence in the room.
You blinked, watching him leave, confused. "Did I say something wrong?" you asked softly.
Folio didn’t seem surprised by Noah’s reaction, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. "It’s been like that for a couple of days now," he said, his voice low. "I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s been… off. Something’s going on in his head, but he won’t talk about it."
You felt a knot form in your stomach.
You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had acted the first time you spoke about the job offer. That cold, almost detached response, like he had no opinion on the matter at all. You replayed it in your mind over and over: "You should take it. Sounds like a great opportunity." But something in the way he said it—something in the way he couldn’t even look at you when he spoke—made you wonder if there was more to his reaction than he let on. Was he angry? Disappointed? Did he hate you for making the decision to leave?
You tried to push those thoughts away, but they kept creeping back. It was impossible, you told yourself. He couldn’t possibly hate you. Because you were just friends, right?
But just friends never felt like the right term for what you two had. Not for the long nights you spent talking, for the way you always seemed to understand each other without saying a word, for how comfortable you felt in his presence—like you were home when he was around. It had never been just friendship for you. Not really. Maybe it had started that way, but over time, something shifted. You couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, but you’d always known that your feelings for him ran deeper than what you were supposed to admit.
You thought back to that first time you’d met him, to the way he’d walked toward you with that easy, confident stride but still looking so damn shy. You liked his long hair t, and his eyes—those brown eyes, warm and sweet—that had locked onto yours in that instant.
He had smiled, and you’d felt it all the way down to your bones. It was like something clicked, something undeniable. That’s when you knew, even if you didn’t have the courage to admit it then, that there was something about him that made your heart race.
And all these years, that same feeling never really went away. Not when he touched your hip for a second to grab a cup from a high shelf you couldn’t reach, not when he would pass you the last slice of pizza even though he was starving, not when you’d sit together in silence and it never felt uncomfortable.
You told yourself over and over that it was just a crush, that you were just friends, but every time he touched you, every time his hand brushed yours or he’d take your hand in his while walking through a crowded space, your heart would skip.
And when he would hold your hand, you’d feel the heat flood your face, and when he was on the stage and his eyes locked with yours for a moment, it was like the world disappeared. It was just the two of you.
Did he ever notice?
Did he ever feel what you felt? Was it possible he ever sensed the way your heart raced when he would grab your hand, as if the world didn’t matter and you two existed in your own little bubble just for a while? You wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d caught the way your breath would hitch when he’d look at you with those brown eyes, like you were the only person in the room.
But now, all of that was left in the past. You were about to leave, and nothing between you two was ever going to change. You were just friends.
You thought about getting up and going after him. But what could you say? "I'm sorry I'm leaving?"
He was the first person to tell you to take that job, it wouldn't have made sense. So you stayed there.
The day had finally come. It felt surreal, the finality of it weighing on you as you stood in front of the door, ready to say your goodbyes. You had spent the last few days avoiding the inevitable, pretending like you still had time, still had something to hold onto. But now, as you stood there, your suitcase in your car and your heart feeling like it was somewhere deep inside your chest, the reality of leaving was all too clear.
You walked into the living room, where the band was gathered. They were all quieter than usual. Folio was the first to greet you, giving you one of his bear hugs that made you feel both comforted and sad at the same time. “Take care of yourself, alright?” he said, pulling back to look at you. “Don’t forget the pictures. And don’t be a stranger.” You nodded, blinking back the sudden lump in your throat.
“Yeah, yeah, I will,” you managed to say, your voice wavering a little.
Then, one by one, the others came over to say goodbye.
“Don’t forget us,” Matt said, pulling you into a quick hug. “I'll miss the food you made for us.”
You laughed and pushed him away as he pretended to be hurt.
Finally, there was Noah. He was standing a little apart from the group, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t approach you right away, and you weren’t sure why that felt different. But when your eyes met his, his gaze softened, and you could see something unsaid flickering in his eyes.
He stepped forward slowly, pulling you into his arms, and for a moment, you didn’t want to let go. You hugged him tightly, the warmth of his body against yours a reminder of all the small moments you’d shared over the years. You could hear his breath, steady and calm, like he was trying to hold onto this moment too.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, and the quiet between you both felt almost too much to bear.
“I’m really going to miss you,” you whispered, your voice cracking just slightly.
Noah gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand lifted, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face, a touch so tender it made your heart ache.
“I’ll miss you too,” he said softly, then, without saying another word, he kissed the top of your head.
You only looked at him for a few seconds before taking a step back, as if if you stayed longer, it would only hurt more.
Then, you finally turned toward the door, ready (or maybe not) to leave and start something new. But you also knew, deep down, that no matter where life took you, a part of you would always be right here, with them. And with him.
About two hours later, Noah was sitting on the edge of the couch, his leg bouncing up and down nervously, the restless energy radiating off him like a low hum. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as if he was somewhere miles away from where he actually was, lost in thoughts that seemed impossible to escape.
Nick, who had been trying to make sense of the silence in the room, finally broke it. "What's going on with you?" he asked, eyeing Noah with a raised brow.
Matt, who had been observing Noah for a while, leaned forward, a knowing look crossing his face. "It's about Y/N, right?"
Jolly, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow. "Y/N?" he echoed, confused, like he hadn’t caught on.
Matt shot him a look as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course, it’s Y/N. He’s been in love with her since the first time he saw her."
Nick blinked, a little stunned. "What? And you never told me?" He looked genuinely surprised, a slight hint of betrayal in his voice.
Folio let out a smug little laugh. "Ah! I knew it. I ducking knew it!"
Noah, who had been tuning them out, suddenly snapped back to reality. He stood up, his frustration bubbling over. "Enough. You’re not helping," he interrupted, his voice louder than usual, the words spilling out in a rush. "I fucked up. I let her go. I feel like shit. Because…" He hesitated, but it was like the weight of it was too much to keep in. "Because I love her. I’ve loved her for years. And when she told me about the job… I thought it was too late to say anything." He shook his head. "I’m such an idiot. I'm such a fucking idiot."
"Yeah, you are." Said Folio, who had been waiting for the confession.
"It’s not too late." Jolly spoke.
Noah turned to him, shaking his head with a defeated look in his eyes. "Yeah, it is. She’s gone."
Matt glanced at his watch. "Her flight hasn’t left yet," he said, his voice steady, as if offering a lifeline Noah hadn’t considered.
Noah froze, his eyes wide for just a moment before the doubt came crashing in. "I can’t do it," he muttered.
Nick leaned forward, a serious expression on his face. "Do you love her?" he asked, not bothering with any other words, just cutting straight to the core of it.
Without thinking, Noah nodded immediately. "Yes," he said, his voice barely a whisper but resolute. "Yes, I love her."
Nick didn’t waste any time. "Then go," he said, his voice firm. "Go fucking get her."
The words hung in the air, and for a split second, Noah didn’t move. He was caught in all his own doubts, his fears, his regrets. But then, something clicked. Maybe it was Nick’s certainty, maybe it was the look in his friends’ eyes, but Noah felt it—he had to go. If he didn’t, he would regret it forever.
He had nothing to lose.
Noah never thought he’d be that guy—the one who ditches his car in traffic, sprints through a crowded airport, and makes a total fool of himself in the name of love. And yet, here he is, running through the terminal, heart hammering in his chest, lungs burning with every breath, because you’re about to board a plane and leave, and he can’t let that happen.
Traffic had been his worst enemy, but he didn’t care. His car had been left behind in the middle of the arrivals lane, engine still running. The thought of you, suitcase packed and ready to leave, was all he could focus on. Every second spent on the road felt like an eternity, but he had to get to you.
He run through the airport.
He narrowly avoided a child who’s been skipping along, then almost tripped over a suitcase abandoned in the middle of the aisle. He bumped into people left and right, his shoulder knocking into a couple who glared at him as he shouted, “Sorry! Sorry, I’m in a hurry!” He didn't wait for their response, didn't care. His focus was on you only.
He cut through crowds, hands brushing against strangers as he weaved between them, the sound of his own breath growing louder in his ears. Another wave of people blocked his path, and he barely managed to swerve, knocking into a woman holding a cup of coffee. It splashed across the floor, the warm liquid spreading out in a wide arc.
“Watch where you’re going!” she yelled.
"I'm so sorry! It's important, I swear!"
The overhead announcement blared, sharp and unrelenting. Final boarding call for Flight 237, please... He didn’t hear the rest. His mind was focused on one thing: You. The gate was in sight. There you were, standing at the counter, your ticket in hand, a look of quiet resolve on your face, your eyes scanning the people around you.
"Wait!"
Heads turned. People gasped. A security guard stepped forward as Noah sprinted toward you, chest heaving, his breath coming out in ragged bursts.
"Don’t go," he blurted out, his voice raw with desperation.
Your brows furrowed as you turned to face him. "Noah, what—?"
He took a step closer, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to confess everything he’d kept locked away for years. "I love you," he said, the words tumbling out, frantic and real. "I fucking love you," He could barely keep his breath steady as he looked at you, his heart thundering in his chest. "And I know—I know I should’ve said this sooner, that I should’ve told you everything before it got to this point. I should’ve been braver, I should’ve figured it out sooner, but I didn’t. I’ve been so damn stupid, too scared to say what I’ve been feeling because I never wanted to mess this up. But I can’t—I can’t let you go without telling you, because if I don’t, I’m going to lose you, and I can’t lose you."
He ran a hand through his hair, "I know I don’t deserve a second chance. Hell, I probably don’t deserve even one, not after all the times I avoided the truth, but please—please don’t get on that plane. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. It scares the shit out of me, honestly, because I’ve let you slip through my fingers, and I’ve never been more afraid of anything in my life than losing you."
He took a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. "Please, just… give me a chance. Don’t go. We can figure this out. You and me, together. I’ve been an idiot for not telling you this sooner, but I know now—I know what I want. And it’s you. It’s always been you. Just don’t walk away from me. Not when I finally have the guts to tell you that I have been in love with you since the first moment I saw you."
There was a moment of silence.
You were sure that a girl was filming the scene, ready to post it on tiktok, probably without even knowing who Noah was.
The security guard took a step toward him, but Noah didn’t flinch. “Sir, you can’t be here—”
"Just give me one second," he said with his eyes locked on yours, pleading.
You stared at him for a moment, a mixture of shock and disbelief in your eyes. Then, as if the weight of his words hit you all at once, your ticket slipped from your fingers and hit the ground. Without thinking, you grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss.
It wasn’t like the movies—there wasn’t a crowd cheering or anything like that. Just the hum of the airport and the soft murmur of an old woman sitting nearby, who, after a brief pause, simply gave a small smile as she went back to reading her book. It made you almost laugh, the absurdity of it all.
Noah smiled against your lips, the warmth of your kiss sinking into his chest.
“You are such an idiot,” you murmured, smiling through the kiss, your hand gently resting on his cheek.
“But an idiot you love, right?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the affection in your gaze. "Yeah, you idiot. An idiot I love."
You both shared one last smile before you pulled away, glancing back toward the gate. The security guard had stepped back, his hands raised in surrender.
Noah took your hand, leading you out of the airport, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.
As you walked with him, you couldn’t help but tease him a little. "I never thought you’d pull the 80s movie move to tell me you love me."
Noah gave you a sheepish grin. "At least the security didn’t tackle me."
You laughed, the sound light and free, as the two of you walked through the terminal, together.
"You should write a song on that, you know?"
Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog
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I love the way you write baby, can you honour me with this prompt idea: Mattheo Riddle loses a Quidditch match against his biggest rival, and his anger boils over. Dragging his girlfriend into the locker room, he takes out his frustration on her in a heated, rough moment of intimacy. Afterward, he leaves her shaken to vent elsewhere, but when he returns, he finds her being comforted by his rival. Jealousy and fury take over as he drags her away, scolding her and accusing her of betrayal—though beneath his anger is a fear he’s not ready to admit: that he might’ve pushed her too far this time.
Losing Game
tysm for the request babes!! this was sooo creative! hope you enjoy, it was my first time writing angst 🤭
mattheo riddle x fem!reader, extremely toxic behavior, mentions of sex, characters are of age, i think that's it
w/c: 1106
masterlist
a/n: if there are any tags I missed, pls pls pls let me know!! also, I wasn't sure if i should label it nsfw in my masterlist or not, so if you think it should be tell me and I'll change it!
Angry sex with Mattheo was something you were used to, especially after he lost a quidditch game. Everyone knew he had a temper, and even as his girlfriend, you were not immune to it. But he’s never been so hurtful. Not like this.
The physical part of it was good, as per usual, but his words struck a deeper chord than normal. The names he called you, the blatant disregard for your feelings, the way his touch felt oppressive instead of loving – it was strange, and honestly overwhelming.
So that’s how you got here, curled up in the fetal position just outside the quidditch locker room. You barely noticed the muffled sound of footsteps approaching you on the grass. Blinking back more tears, you look up, not expecting to see the Gryffindor Cormac McLaggen of all people. He was one of many on the long list of people Mattheo hated most, and you knew that if your boyfriend saw him of all people in his current tempered state, someone would end up in the hospital wing.
“You okay?” Cormac asked, crouching in front of you. His tone was softer than you would expect, laced with nothing short of concern and pity. He reached out, and you flinched as his hand brushed your arm. “You’re freezing. Come, let’s get you inside. I don’t want you to contract hypothermia.”
The warmth of his hand sent a wave of guilt through you, and the combination of your confusion and his touch made you flinch away. He’s right – it’s so cold your fingers are going numb. You weren’t sure if it was the weight of your emotions, your exhaustion, or the sheer cold, but you felt your defenses crumble, allowing him to pull you up and off the ground.
Then the locker room door opened.
Out walked Mattheo, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His hair was disheveled, his jaw set like stone. His gaze flicked between you and Cormac, his eyes burning with fury.
“What the fuck is going on here?” He snapped, his voice low and full of nothing but rage and resentment. You opened your mouth to speak, but he roughly grabbed your wrist and pulled you to his side, effectively cutting you off. Your stomach churned, and the emotions swirling inside your gut made you want to puke.
“You think this is okay?” He scolded you, his gaze narrowing into a glare. “The hell are you doing with this piece of shit?” He motioned to Cormac, scoffing. “And you, what are you doing with my girlfriend?”
“Mattheo, stop-” Your voice trembled as you began to talk, but the bitter laugh that escaped his lips cut you off.
“Don’t even try to explain,” he sneered, his grip so tightening so much it may leave a bruise. His expression was still angry, but something seemed off. Beneath the anger in his eyes, you saw a flicker of something else – something raw. Afraid, maybe. “I leave for five fucking minutes and come back to find you cozying up with Cormac fucking McLaggen.”
His words hit harder than expected, making the nausea in your stomach only grow stronger. “You’re being ridiculous,” you said, voice quiet but filled with hurt. You pressed your lips together and fought the urge to cry again.
“Ridiculous? You don’t get to decide that after this little stunt you just pulled.”
Cormac crossed his arms over his chest, his expression solemn. “Maybe if you treated her better and paid attention to her obvious distress, she wouldn’t be crying out here in the cold,” he retorted.
The room seemed to freeze at his words. Mattheo’s head snapped toward Cormac, his eyes dark and burning. The tension in the air was suffocating, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Mattheo hissed.
“I know enough,” Cormac shot back, unwavering. “I know she shouldn’t be out here like this. She could get sick!”
Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth could grind together into dust. For a moment, it looked like he was going to punch Cormac – he certainly wanted to – and the suspense made you even dizzier than before. But instead, he turned his glare back to you. “Get up. Let’s go.” It wasn’t a question, and you could tell by the tone of his voice it was more of an ultimatum. Stay here, and you would lose him.
You hesitated, jaw opening and closing, unsure what to say. You didn’t want to fight. Not again. Not when your body already ached from more than just the physicality of what had just conspired in the locker room. So, even after all the hurt he’s caused, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him. He just looked so betrayed, so afraid.
“Okay,” you conceded, voice barely a whisper. Cormac scoffed, but you didn’t dare look his way as your boyfriend grabbed your wrist again and led you away, his footsteps crushing the grass beneath his feet. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm – as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear.
The journey was silent as he dragged you to an empty corridor. The moment the two of you were alone, he spun to face you, his chest rising and falling rapidly with labored breaths.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he said.
“Do what?” You asked, brows furrowing.
His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “Sitting with him. Letting him touch you. Letting him look at you like – like that.”
You stared at him, disbelief bubbling up past the lingering hurt. “Mattheo, do you even hear yourself? I was sitting there because of you. Because of what you did.”
He looked shocked, but that quickly faded as he realized what you were talking about. He lowered his eyes to the ground, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed his shame. He looked like he wanted to argue, to push back like he always did in situations like this, but something in his expression told you he knew he would finally lose you if he did. For the first time, he looked unsure.
“Do you even care that you hurt me?” You asked, voice softer now, but still full of lingering hurt. In response, his whole body tensed. A long silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, barely above a whisper, so low you almost missed it, he muttered, “I do.”
It wasn’t an apology – not yet. But you knew it was as close as you were going to get for now.
Ty again for this request!! I had sm fun writing it! Sorry it took me so long to write, life and school is insane rn
taglist: @ilovejamespottersomuch @mattyriddlesbitch @valenftcrush @sturniolover13 @paankhaleyaaar @thereeallink @voidangxls
©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!
#wizard's mail#ur local wizard#wizard yapps#ur-local-wizard#writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#mattheo riddle#mattheoriddle#mattyriddle#mattriddle#matt riddle#matty riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheoxreader#mattheoxyou#mattheoxy/n#mattheo#slytherin boys#hp#harry potter#mattheo riddle fanfiction#mattheo riddle fanfic#female writers#fanfiction writing#fanfiction#toxic!mattheo#tw: toxic relationship
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close as strangers - y. itadori
yuji thought everything would be the same when he came back. cw: angst w a bittersweet ending song: close as strangers by 5sos a/n: if i have an opportunity to write angst, i will take it.
"TELLING YOU I HAVENT SEEN YOUR FACE IN AGES. FEELS LIKE WE'RE AS CLOSE AS STRANGERS."
Yuji spent an entire month picturing this moment.
In every spare moment- between training in the basement, laughing with Gojo, and going on missions with Nanami- he thought about you.
He daydreamed about seeing your face again. About wrapping you in one of the tightest hugs he could manage and spinning you around until you laughed and smacked his shoulder as hard as you could, so he’d put you down.
He thought about sitting next to you at lunch and stealing bites from your food, sending you stupid TikTok’s that made you giggle at late hours, walking you back to your dorm room after missions just to talk to you a little longer.
And when he finally saw you standing there with Megumi and Nobara, he thought- Finally.
“Hey! Didja miss me?” He grinned, expecting a dramatic reaction. “You absolute dumbass,” Nobara scoffed, slamming a fist into his shoulder that was a touch too hard to be playful. Megumi let out a sigh of exasperation, “Welcome back.” Yuji laughed, rubbing his arm where Nobara had punched him, and turned to you, “And you? I bet you were devastated without me!” You blinked at him, lips parting, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, after a second too long, you smiled, “Yeah, I missed you a lot.”
It wasn’t what you said. It was how you said it. Like you were forcing the words out. Like you weren’t sure if they were true.
For the first time since he’d come back from the dead, Yuji felt uneasy.
He told himself things would go back to normal. You just needed time. You were probably still in shock. Afterall, he had died. That was a lot to deal with.
So, he gave you space. He didn’t want to push you further than you were ready. But after a few days of dry texts and halfhearted smiles, he decided enough was enough.
“Let’s go out.” You looked up from your textbook, brows knit together, “What?” “On a date! Y’know. Movies, snacks, maybe the arcade? Classic,” He grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s been forever since we hung out. Plus, I heard human earthworm 4 is in theatres.”
You hesitated.
And that hesitation hit him harder than any curse ever could.
“Yuji…” you sighed, closing your book. “I don’t know if-” “Oh, nope- none of that!” He wagged a finger at you. “No excuses! You need a break. I need to make up for lost time. And I want to spend time with you, so… let’s go!”
There was an ounce of desperation in his voice that he hoped you couldn’t hear.
You stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally you agreed.
Relief flooded his chest so fast it made him lightheaded. Maybe things could go back to normal.
They couldn’t.
Yuji had tried everything. Everything he’d done with you before. New things. None of it was working.
He took you to a movie and cracked jokes through the trailers, but you had barely laughed. He won you a stuffed dog from a claw machine but you didn’t tease him for going all out like you normally would.
He filled the silence with endless conversation- jumping from one random topic to the next- but your answers were always short, your laughter never quite reaching your eyes.
It was like trying to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers.
But Yuji was good at ignoring things. He could push down the sting in his chest and drown it out with more conversation, more jokes, more desperate attempts at being normal. But when he walked you back to your dorm room and reached for your hand, you pulled away.
It wasn’t dramatic. Not like you were disgusted or unhappy with it. Just… instinctively. Like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. Yuji felt his heart shatter.
He didn’t bring it up.
Instead, he tried harder. He called you every night, sent you stupid tiktoks, and went out of his way to be around you.
And at first, you humored him. You answered his calls, texted back, and sat with him at lunch.
But it was different.
And deep down, he knew that too.
He just couldn’t admit it.
Because if he admitted it, then he’d have to face it. And he wasn’t prepared for that.
The night he finally let himself say it out loud, it was raining.
You sat across from him in a tiny ramen shop that Yuji had sworn was amazing, your hands curled around a steaming bowl, looking exhausted. Not just physically- but in the way you held yourself, in the way you looked at him, like this conversation had been waiting to happen for a long time.
Yuji gripped his chopsticks a little too tightly, feeling the developing indent on his fingers, “You’re different.” You exhaled slowly, staring down at your food, “So are you.” His chest tightened, “I don’t want to be.” For the first time that night, you looked him in the eyes, “Neither do I.”
Silence.
The rain pattered against the windows, the hum of ongoing conversations around them buzzing like static.
Finally, Yuji spoke, his voice quieter than usual, “We’re not us anymore, are we?” You swallowed hard, “No, I don’t think we are.”
He should have seen this coming. Maybe he had seen it coming and had just been in denial.
“I really wanted this to work,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You nodded, “Me too.”
Another long pause.
Then, you reached across the table, reading your hand in his, “You’re still my favorite person, Yuji.”
His breath hitched.
Yuji forced a small smile on his face, not allowing this to end on a heavy note, “Yeah?” You smiled, tired but real, “yeah.” He flipped his hand, curling his fingers around yours, “You’re mine too.”
You squeezed his hand, just once. And then, slowly, you let go.
And this time, Yuji let you.
#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujustu kaisen#jjk au#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#yuji itadori x reader#itadori yuuji#yuji x reader#yuji itadori#yuji x you#yuji x y/n#itadori x reader#itadori x you#itadori fluff#yuuji x reader#yuuji itadori#yuuji x you#yuuji x y/n#itadori yuji x reader#itadori yuji x you#yuji itadori x you#Yuji itadori#jjk yuji#jjk yuuji#jujutsu kaisen yuuji#jujutsu kaisen yuji itadori#jjk itadori#jjk itadori yuji
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The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 21
Wow! It always amazes me when story gets past 20 chapters. It makes it ending even harder. But ending it is. I completed the final chapter yesterday. It will have 24 chapters and then it one of the other fics I'm currently working will replace it.
Chrissy makes good on her promise to blow each of the kids' minds.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20
~
By invite only is what Chrissy said. Holy shit. There were actual famous people here and Steve was freaking out.
Steve, Robin, and his kids were picked up in a shiny, black limo and taken to Wayne’s ranch. There the amphitheater was set up for Corroded Coffin to play. As evidenced by the black and gold drum kit with their logo slapped on the bass drum.
There were actors and other musicians there. Some pretty big names too. So that got Dustin and Mike sorted. They were freaking out and geeking out about each new person they spotted.
Then Max was tugging on Steve’s arm. “Steve. Steve I can’t believe it. He’s here.”
Steve looked over to see a man, maybe a little bit older than he was standing there talking to Jeff’s dad. He didn’t look like much, but the way Max was vibrating next to him, he knew the guy was famous in a way only see would recognize.
“That’s Steve Caballero,” she sighed wistfully. “When I was out in Cali, he was pioneering the skateboard scene. He’s so awesome.”
And then it hit him. What Chrissy met when she said that she could do something special for each of the kids with one event. And this was Max’s.
“Come on,” Steve said brightly, tugging on her arm. “We’re going to go say hello.”
Max stared at him in shock and tried to tell him she wasn’t going to do that, when Steve yanked on her arm and lead him over to Mr. Lawrence and Steve Caballero.
“Hey, you’re Steve right?” he said with his most charming smile. When the guy nodded, he continued, “My friend here is a huge fan. This Max Mayfield.”
Steve looked her up and down. “Long or standard?”
“Standard,” Max said immediately. “I’ve been working on my kickflip and I’ve almost got it down.”
Steve C. raised an eyebrow. “Where do you go to skate around here?”
Max chatted excitedly with him. “Doing street is the best I can hope for in Hicksville, but there is a quarry nearby where I go to practice my bigger stuff.”
“You should really show me while I’m in town...” Steve C. said as Steve wandered off.
Will was talking to a man and woman and so Steve started walking over that direction.
Will spotted him and pulled him over. “This is Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James. They do the Serendipity books.”
Steve turned his head to the side as he thought about it for a moment. “Is that the one with big pink and green sea dragon or whatever?”
Stephen smiled. “Sea dragon is a much nicer term than sea monster, but yes. That’s us.”
Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meeting a lot of Steves today. First Steve Caballero who skateboards and now you.”
Robin and Stephen shared a glance.
“I’m a Steve too.”
They both “ooh’ed” and nodded.
“This young man was telling us that he wanted to illustrate children’s books,” Robin J. said with a smile.
Steve ruffled Will’s hair. “He’s really good, he was even teaching me a thing or two over the summer.”
“There’s children’s illustration exhibit in Indy while we’re here,” Stephen said brightly. “I think he’d be very interested in seeing it.”
Will looked up at Steve, hopeful.
Steve ruffled Will’s hair again. “We’ll have to ask your mom, but yeah that sounds great. If I can get the information from you.”
And both Stephen and Robin J. hurried to do just that with Robin J. handing Will her personal business card. “When you get a little older, give me a call,” she said with a wink.
Will waved dorkily at them and then let Steve lead him away. “This was so cool, Steve. Thanks for inviting me. I’m more of a ‘The Clash’ fan, but meeting my heroes is so mind blowing and to go to see the exhibit would be the icing on the cake.”
Steve smiled, putting his arm around the kid. “We’ll have to see. Your mom is still mad at me for the whole Eddie is a sugar daddy fiasco.”
“Which is bullshit,” Will huffed. “Even Jonathan thinks Eddie is sweet and this was before you got him that camera. As he pointed out Eddie was out of town and a lot of the gifts were cute and not over the top expensive.”
“I wish Jonathan had been successful,” Steve said dryly, “and the whole mess with Scoops would have been avoided.”
“Yeah,” Will said dourly. “Hop is still mad at her for the whole assault thing. Eddie was taking care of you and yes, she might have not have known who it was at the time, but the fact that you could come and go as you pleased, you were able to spend the money on whatever you wanted, and were really happy... like she should have let it go.”
They went to go find Mike and Dustin. It wasn’t long to find them, they were chatting away with Brian and Gareth.
Brian threw his arms out and cried. “Stevie! The man of the hour! Eddie was excited when you agreed to come out to this.”
Steve smiled at the bassist. “Like I could ever turn down a chance to see you guys play live. I did like the music when I heard it the first time.”
“Eddie told us about your musical indoctrination,” Gareth said with a huff of laughter. “You actually went out and bought heavy metal albums of your own accord, so I’ll give you that. Because I always assumed you liked us live because you liked the outfit Eddie wore.”
Steve quickly covered an ear each of Dustin and Mike and yanked them to his side. “There are children present!” he scandalized with a wry smile.
Brian and Gareth cackled as Dustin and Mike struggled to be released.
“Let me go!” Dustin huffed, pushing at Steve’s side. “I’m not a child!”
Steve let them both go laughing. “Yeah, than tell me what Gareth was referring to and maybe I’ll believe you, dweeb.”
Dustin shrugged. “Probably the same reason my likes Elvis. Young Elvis. The long legs and hips.”
Gareth and Steve shared a wide-eyed glance.
Gareth nodded appreciatively. “I can see why Robin calls you the genius child. Right in one, kiddo. How about you, Mike? You in it for the music or Eddie in tight pants?”
Mike stuttered and sputtered as he turned bright red.
“The tight pants for sure,” Brian teased, elbowing Gareth who was giggling.
“But I like girls!” Mike finally managed to spit out, his eyes wide and his fist clenched.
Dustin raised a confused eyebrow. “My ma is always talking about David Bowie and how he likes both men and women and doesn’t matter who his partner is, he’s not gay if he’s with a man or straight if he’s with a woman, he’ll always be bisexual.”
“I think I want to meet your mom, kid,” Gareth said with a low whistle. “I’d like to shake her hand. Sounds like the best mom, ever.”
Dustin blushed as he flashed a big grin.
“You can be both?” Mike whispered, suddenly shy. He ducked his head and picked at his nails.
Brian put an arm around his shoulders. “Let me introduce you to Jeff, he’s bisexual too. He’ll be able to answer all your questions.” Then he quietly led him away from the group.
“Congrats on blowing that kid’s mind,” Steve said with a huff of laughter. Gareth just grinned back.
Dustin scoffed. “I’ve known Mike liked boys since the fourth grade.”
Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Well then. Still he’s about to be opened up to a world of possibilities he’s never even considered before.”
“If he’s not as big an ass he likes to pretend he is,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, “then hopefully he’ll have asked Will out by the end of the concert.”
Steve burst out laughing. “I love you optimism, bud. But I think it’s going to take Mike a little bit longer than that.” He held up his finger and thumb and pushed them really closed together.
Dustin just shrugged and then started yapping poor Gareth’s ear off on whether or not the EP Kas’s Revenge counted as their first album or not, so Steve wisely made his escape. It was that he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but it looked like it was about to get into a lot technical stuff that would go over his head.
Lucas peeled away from Brian, Mike, and Jeff and spotted Steve. “Hey, man! Thanks for this! This is cool, too!”
Steve smiled. “You’re welcome. It might be a little unfair you getting two events like this, but I with all the stars and shit here, everyone is getting their own double dose!”
“Eh,” Lucas said, cocking his head to the side, “I’m not too bothered by that.”
Steve laughed. “You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” he said, squeezing Lucas’s shoulder.
“Hanging out with Dustin and Mike,” he said with a shrug, “it tends to rub off on you whether you want to or not.”
“That’s true,” he murmured looking around. “Hey, I thought your sister came, too. I don’t see her.”
Lucas looked around frantically. “Shit. I don’t see here either. I thought she was right there with me talking D&D with Jeff. I didn’t even realize that she had wandered off.”
Steve stopped looking for Erica and started looking for Eddie. He knew this place better than Lucas or him. He spotted him getting a drink at the buffet table and made a beeline for him, with Lucas hot on his heels.
“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said a little panicked as he neared the rockstar. “Have you seen Erica? Little black girl, pink dress, hair in corn rows?”
“Oh yeah,” Eddie said with a grin. “Come follow me.”
Steve and Lucas shared a glance but did as they were told. Eddie led them around the house to a part of the property that Steve hadn’t seen before. Out here was more like what Steve had expected when he was told Uncle Wayne lived on a ranch. There were sprawling pastures and a beautiful bright red barn, like something out of the movies.
A little distance away Steve could see Erica with Uncle Wayne feeding a carrot to a blue roan, while a spotted brown and white horse tried to steal from it.
“Erica!” Lucas breathed out and he trotted up to her. “You need to tell someone before you wander off...”
Wayne looked down at her with a glare. “I thought you told me you had told Steve where you were.”
Erica turned back slowly to Wayne, wide-eyed. “Oh, maybe it was Eddie I told. Or, um...”
Eddie put his hands on his hips. “I know for a fact you didn’t tell me, the only reason I knew where you were is because I know a horse girl when I see one.”
“Uh-huh,” Wayne said eyeing her warily. “I’ll let it slide this time, Missy, but I catch you lyin’ to me again and I’ll revoke your horse visiting privileges.”
Erica pouted. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne. I’ll be sure to tell people where I’m going from now on.”
Wayne nodded curtly and went back to feeding the horses. “I don’t think you’ve met my horses the last time you were here, Steve.”
Steve smiled at him. “No, sir. Wasn’t even brought up.” He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow to emphasis his point.
“Ah,” Wayne said pursing his lips together. “I guess I was a tad remiss in my duties then. These are two of my rascals. Jadis and Fledge.”
Steve snapped his fingers as he thought. “Those are from the Chronicles of Narnia, right?”
“Eddie came by his love for fantasy naturally,” Wayne said with a smile. “But why don’t you boys head back to the party, I’ll watch this one and make sure we get to the concert just fine.”
“With the promise I get to bring her back at later date so we can both see the horses,” Steve said with a grin.
Erica looked up at Steve with unbridled glee. “Oh can we?” she asked Uncle Wayne.
“As long as your parents say you can,” Wayne said with a solemn nod, “than that’s a promise.”
As soon as the three of them got back to the party Robin came dashing up to them all bright-eyed and excited.
“Ellie is talking to the Diane Von Furstenberg,” she said breathlessly. “Can you believe that?”
Steve only knew who that was only because his mother hated her.
Eddie lit up. “I’m glad she was able to make it. She’s Chrissy’s favorite designer. I hope Ellie gets a lot of good tips from her.”
“Can I run away with you?” Robin asked in wide-eyed seriousness. “I’ll continue to PA for you, I don’t care. But you know some of the coolest people.”
Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Turn eighteen and we’ll talk then.”
Robin jumped up and down clapping. “You coming with me.” She grabbed his arm and forced him to introduce her to some of the other greats that were there.
Chrissy came bounding up to him all smiles. “So did I win back the favor of the fair prince?”
Steve grinned. “Hell yeah you did! All of them have had their minds blown and then are going to be treated to one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. And when I say that, that’s not hyperbole, me and my now ex-boyfriend went to a lot of concerts growing up. There is no doubt Corroded Coffin blows them out of the water.”
She grinned up at him. “Hell yeah they do.”
~
Tag List: CLOSED
1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006
2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach
3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child
4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1
5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman
6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth
7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void
8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec
9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife
10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon
#my writing#stranger things#steddie#ladykailtiha writes#rockstar eddie munson#age difference#ten years between steve and eddie
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hey weird request but will you write a story about Frank and his reader wife, hes older than her, and when she starts asking for a baby he turns her down and she withdraws from him gradually, so one morning when she gets up earlier than him and goes and makes breakfast he borrows her vibrator to get off and she catches him while hes cumming, please eventually give the girl a baby though SO SMUTTY i am sorry, but please i am craving some high level dominant watch from the corner vibes
Title: Generals and Generations.
Summary: Haunted by his age and past, Frank Benson resists his wife's dream of having a baby, but their undeniable chemistry and love force him to reconsider.
Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Smut
Author's Notes: Thanks for your request; I hope you enjoy it!
Also read on Ao3
Frank kissed your shoulder as he leaned into you, his thick cock driving deep with every slow, deliberate thrust. His body was heavy against yours, his chest pressing into your back as he moved, savoring the way you melted beneath him. His hooked nose brushed against your ear, his breath hot and uneven as he growled, “Christ, love. You feel bloody perfect—so tight, so warm. Like you were made to take me.”
You moaned, arching into him, your fingers curling into the sheets as he thrust harder, his chubby fingers gripping your hips like he owned you. And in this moment, he did.
But even as pleasure consumed you, your mind drifted to something else—something you’d been wanting, asking for, begging for. Between moans, you gasped, “Frank… I want a baby.”
His movements faltered for a split second, barely noticeable, but you caught it. Then, with a deep sigh, he resumed his pace, his thumbs pressing into the small hollow of your lower back. “Not this again,” he muttered, his baritone voice tinged with irritation.
You whined in disappointment, pushing back against him, trying to distract him with your body, hoping that maybe, this time, he’d change his mind. “You gave two children to your ex-wife,” you argued breathlessly, “why won’t you give me one?”
Frank grunted, his grip tightening as he thrust deeper, his dominance unshaken. “Because, love,” he growled, his voice firm, commanding, “I’m too bloody old to be raising another child. By the time they turn ten, I’ll be in a damn nursing home.”
You whimpered, but Frank didn’t stop—didn’t soften. If anything, his frustration fueled him, making him rougher, more relentless. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the mattress, his full weight pressing down on you as he drove into you with purpose. “You think a baby will change things?” he growled, his hooked nose nuzzling against the back of your neck. “You think I don’t already own you?”
“I—” Your words dissolved into a moan as he angled his thrusts deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your vision blur.
“I give you everything, don’t I?” he pressed, his voice dropping into that dangerous, authoritative tone that sent shivers down your spine. “This body. This pleasure. You belong to me, love. And I don’t need a child to prove that.”
You moaned helplessly, lost in the sensation of him claiming you, dominating you completely. But still, you wanted more. “I want a part of you,” you whispered, your voice breaking as he pounded into you. “Something that’s ours.”
Frank let out a dark chuckle, his breath heavy against your skin. “You want something that’s ours?” he murmured, his fingers sliding down to rub your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “You already have it, love. You have me. My cock, my name, my bloody soul.”
His pace quickened, his thrusts punishing now, each stroke a reminder of who was in control. “You want me to put a baby in you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with dominance. “Want me to fuck you so full of my cum that you’ll be carrying my brat in the morning?”
“Yes,” you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets. “Please, Frank. Give me a baby.”
Frank groaned, his movements faltering for just a moment before he composed himself, shaking his head. “Not happening,” he growled, his baritone voice rough with finality. “But that won’t stop me from filling you up, love.”
You let out a helpless cry as he slammed into you, his cock thick and unrelenting, stretching you to the brink of madness. He was ruthless now, determined to remind you who was in charge, who owned you.
“God, you’re so needy,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear as his thrusts grew erratic. “So desperate for me, aren’t you? But I decide what you get, love. And right now, all you’re getting is my cum. Nothing else.”
Your body tensed, your release tearing through you in an overwhelming wave as Frank groaned, his grip bruising as he followed, spilling into you with a deep, guttural growl. His weight pressed into you as he caught his breath, his white hair damp with sweat.
For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. Then, Frank kissed your shoulder again, softer this time, his fingers stroking your waist. “No children,” he murmured, his voice firm but not unkind. “But you have me. Always.”
You sighed, knowing this wasn’t the end of the conversation. But for now, as Frank’s arms wrapped around you, his cock still buried deep inside you, you let it go. You had him—and that was enough.
For now.
The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, casting long shadows over the breakfast table where you and Frank sat in thick silence. Your plate was still untouched, the toast growing cold beside your half-drunk cup of tea. Across from you, Frank methodically cut into his eggs, his movements precise but tight, his white hair slightly disheveled from the morning shower. His hazel eyes were locked onto his plate, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his irritation.
You sighed, arms crossed, before finally speaking. "You haven’t given me an answer, Frank."
Frank’s knife halted mid-cut, his grip tightening around the handle before he exhaled slowly, setting it down with deliberate control. He finally met your gaze, his hooked nose twitching slightly as his hazel eyes darkened with frustration. "I have given you an answer," he said, his baritone voice firm. "Several times, in fact."
You scoffed, pushing your plate aside as you leaned forward. "No, you’ve given me an excuse," you countered, your voice sharper than you intended. "You keep saying you’re too old, that you’ve done this before, but what about me? What about what I want, Frank?"
Frank clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose. "What you want," he repeated, his voice lower now, measured but no less commanding. "And what about what I want, hmm? You think I haven't thought about this? That I don’t consider your feelings?"
You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "No, Frank, I think you’ve made up your mind and expect me to just accept it."
Frank inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand over his face before pushing back his chair abruptly. The sudden movement startled you, but you held your ground, watching as he grabbed his military jacket from the back of his chair, shaking it out before slipping it on. The stiff fabric fell over his broad shoulders, and he began buttoning it with quick, efficient movements, his authority still intact even in the middle of an argument.
"I don’t like leaving for work when we’re fighting," he muttered, his fingers fastening the buttons with practiced precision. "But you’re determined to push this conversation to its breaking point."
You crossed your arms, your lips pressing into a thin line. "You’re determined to ignore what I want."
Frank scoffed, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he adjusted his collar. "Bloody hell, woman," he growled, his baritone voice edged with irritation. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t lie awake at night wondering if I’m being selfish, if I’m making the right decision?"
You took a step closer, refusing to let him dismiss you. "Then why won’t you reconsider?" you demanded. "Frank, you gave your ex-wife two children. Why is it so impossible to give me just one?"
Frank stopped buttoning his jacket, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "Because I refuse to do it half-heartedly," he said, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "And I know myself, love. I know my limits. I have spent my life commanding men, making decisions that weigh on me every damn day. I don’t have the energy to raise another child."
You swallowed, your chest tightening at the finality in his tone. "Then what does that mean for us?" you whispered, your voice trembling.
Frank sighed, running a hand through his white hair before gripping the back of his chair tightly. "It means I love you, but I won’t be bullied into this," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "And if you can’t accept that, then maybe we need to have a much harder conversation."
Your breath hitched, and for the first time in this argument, fear crept into your heart. You had pushed him, but you never thought he’d suggest—no, he wouldn’t. Frank wasn’t the kind of man to walk away. Was he?
Frank watched the flicker of uncertainty cross your face, his hazel eyes softening for a moment before he sighed again, rubbing his forehead. "I don’t want to fight with you," he muttered, his voice rough with frustration and exhaustion. "I don’t want to go to work with this hanging over my head."
"Then don’t go," you blurted before you could stop yourself.
Frank let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "You know I don’t have that luxury," he murmured, fastening the last button of his jacket before grabbing his cap. He hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable, before stepping toward you.
His large, chubby hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he studied you. His hazel eyes, usually so controlled, held something else now—something troubled, conflicted.
"You are my entire bloody world," he murmured, his baritone voice lower now, softer. "But if this becomes the thing that drives a wedge between us, I don’t know if I can—" He cut himself off, inhaling deeply before shaking his head. "I just don’t know."
Your chest tightened, and you reached up, gripping his wrists as you stared up at him. "I love you, Frank," you whispered. "But this matters to me."
Frank exhaled, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back, his hands dropping away. "I know," he muttered, stepping toward the door. "And that’s what scares me."
And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving his half-eaten breakfast on the table and a heavy silence in his wake.
Frank leaned back in his chair, the dim glow of the television illuminating his features in the darkened living room. His hazel eyes were fixed on the screen, but his focus wavered. The football match played on, the commentators’ voices droning in the background, yet his mind was elsewhere.
His grip tightened around the bottle of beer in his hand as he took another slow sip, the cool liquid doing little to ease the frustration coiling in his chest. You had been distant ever since that morning—the morning he had put his foot down. No children. No discussion. That was supposed to be the end of it.
And yet, it wasn’t.
You still went about your days, still smiled and spoke to him, but something had changed. The way you no longer curled up on his lap while he watched the game. The way you no longer idly played with the hem of his shirt when you got bored. The way you no longer clung to him when you fell asleep, like you always did before. It was subtle, but Frank noticed. He noticed everything.
He sighed heavily, rolling the cold glass bottle against his forehead in an attempt to cool his thoughts. This is ridiculous, Benson. You’re a goddamn Lieutenant General. You don’t question your decisions. You make a call and stick with it.
And yet, the image in his mind wouldn’t leave.
You, round and full, your belly stretched with his child. Your body softer, your breasts swollen with milk, preparing to nourish the life you both created. The thought was disturbingly enticing, so much so that he had to force himself to shake it off.
Frank scowled, his military discipline battling against the temptation. He knew the reality of pregnancy—the exhaustion, the swollen feet, the mood swings. He had dealt with it before. He had held his ex-wife’s hair back when she vomited in the mornings, listened to her cry over things that made no damn sense, driven out in the middle of the night to get whatever ridiculous food she suddenly craved. It was chaos. Unpredictable. And Frank despised anything that disrupted order.
But then… there was the other side of it.
The first flutter of tiny kicks against a palm pressed to soft skin. The warmth of a newborn curled against his chest, fragile and helpless but utterly his. The way a child would reach for him instinctively, knowing he was their protector, their safe place. He could still remember the weight of his son in his arms for the first time, the small fingers curling around his own.
Christ.
Frank took another sip of beer, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to think of the negatives. The sleepless nights. The crying. The endless responsibility. He had done his time as a father. He had raised two children already. He wasn’t about to start over again when he was this old.
And yet…
His hazel eyes flickered toward the hallway, where he knew you were, likely in bed, probably curled up alone, thinking about the same damn thing.
Frank exhaled sharply, setting his beer down with a dull thunk. This silence between you had gone on long enough. He was not a man who tolerated insubordination, not in the field, and certainly not in his own home. You had challenged his authority, and while he had made his decision, he hated the distance it had created.
His patience had run out.
Pushing himself up from the chair, he ran a hand through his white hair before striding toward the bedroom, his steps slow and deliberate. His presence was commanding, even in the quiet of the house. When he reached the door, he didn’t knock. He never knocked. Instead, he pushed it open, his broad frame filling the doorway as he looked at you.
You were curled up under the blankets, your back to him. Stubborn.
Frank narrowed his eyes. Enough of this.
Without a word, he walked over to the bed and sat down beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, but you didn’t move, refusing to acknowledge him. That irritated him more than it should have.
His hand found your hip, his grip firm, possessive. “Are we going to talk about this?” His baritone voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it—a warning.
You remained silent for a moment before finally exhaling, your voice barely above a whisper. “There’s nothing to talk about. You made your decision.”
Frank clenched his jaw. He hated that tone. Hated that you sounded defeated. He was used to you pushing back, fighting for what you wanted, not shutting down like this.
He leaned down, his hooked nose brushing against your shoulder as he spoke again, his voice dropping into that dangerously soft register. “That’s not how this works, love. You don’t get to shut me out.”
You swallowed, but still, you didn’t turn to face him.
Frank sighed, his fingers tightening slightly on your hip. “Look at me.” It wasn’t a request.
Slowly, you rolled onto your back, finally meeting his gaze. Your eyes were sad, filled with unspoken words that twisted something inside him.
Frank studied you for a long moment before he exhaled deeply. “You think I don’t want this?” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He shook his head. “Bloody hell, woman. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about it.”
Your eyes widened slightly, and for the first time in days, he saw a flicker of hope there. “Then why won’t you—”
“Because I know what it takes.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “And I don’t know if I have it in me to do it again.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.
Frank sighed, watching as you softly nodded and turned away from him. He didn’t push you any further. There was nothing left to say tonight. Instead, he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his white hair before pulling back the blankets and sliding in beside you. His body was warm, his presence familiar, but there was a new distance between you—one he wasn’t sure how to bridge.
For a long time, he lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling, listening to the slow rhythm of your breathing. Eventually, sleep took him too.
Frank woke up to the soft sounds of movement downstairs. You were already up. The faint clinking of dishes and the low hum of the kettle told him you were making breakfast. He considered getting up immediately, but the warmth of the bed, the quiet solitude of the early morning, tempted him to linger a little longer.
He shifted under the blankets, stretching slightly—and then he felt it.
His cock was hard. That wasn’t unusual. It happened every damn morning. But what was unusual was the way his body reacted when he thought about you. About the way you’d been avoiding him. About how long it had been since he had touched you.
Frank let out a slow breath, his large hand sliding down to palm himself through his underwear. He squeezed, just for a moment, testing his own sensitivity. Christ. He was aching. He gritted his teeth, fighting the familiar urge to take care of it himself.
He wasn’t the kind of man who begged.
But fuck, it had been too long.
Shaking off the thought, he sighed and pulled his hand away. He wasn’t a desperate teenager. He had control. Always had.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. His white hair was slightly disheveled, his hazel eyes still clouded with sleep. He reached for the drawer beside him, pulling it open in search of a fresh pair of boxers—
And then his hand froze.
Tucked in the back of the drawer, almost hidden beneath a few of your belongings, was something small, discreet… unmistakable.
Your vibrator.
Frank picked it up, turning it over in his fingers, his jaw tightening as something dark and possessive stirred in his gut.
So this was what you’d been doing when he wasn’t around.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He could picture it too easily. You, alone in bed, your legs spread wide, this little thing buzzing between your thighs, trying to give yourself the pleasure he used to give you.
The image sent a sharp pulse of heat straight to his cock.
Frank exhaled through his nose, rolling the toy between his fingers. His voice, low and gruff in the quiet of the morning, escaped him before he even realized he was speaking aloud.
"That what you’ve been using, love?"
He smirked slightly, despite himself. His baritone voice took on a darker, teasing edge. "Lying here, thinking about me, pressing this between those pretty thighs, hoping it’ll do the job?"
Frank turned the toy on, the soft hum filling the quiet bedroom. He watched it vibrate in his palm, his hazel eyes dark with curiosity. He had never really paid attention to the damn thing before, but now, holding it like this, picturing how you used it—how you spread yourself open, how you must have bitten your lip, muffling your moans as you played with it—made something hot and possessive coil in his gut.
His cock twitched, aching against the fabric of his underwear. Fuck. He was already hard as a rock, and now this?
Frank cast a glance at the door, making sure you were still downstairs. The faint sounds of dishes clinking in the kitchen told him you were occupied.
Good.
His grip tightened around the toy, his breath slow and measured as he pressed the tip of it against his length through the thin fabric of his underwear.
The vibration sent a jolt of pleasure straight through him.
"Christ," Frank muttered under his breath, his baritone voice rough with surprise. His hips twitched instinctively, pushing up into the sensation. He hadn’t expected it to feel this good—not from a damn toy.
His jaw tightened as he teased himself, dragging the buzzing tip along the thick outline of his cock. His hand trembled slightly as he spread his legs wider, giving himself more room to move. The vibrations pulsed against his aching length, sending shivers up his spine.
"That what gets you off, love?" he muttered to himself, smirking darkly. "This little thing buzzing between your legs?"
He shifted, pressing the toy more firmly against the sensitive head of his cock, still trapped in his underwear. A deep, guttural groan escaped him as his hips bucked involuntarily.
"Fuck," he hissed, biting his lip. His breath came in slow, heavy pants, his broad chest rising and falling as he fought the urge to push the fabric down and wrap his fist around himself properly.
His free hand clenched the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white. The vibrations pulsed through him, teasing him, pushing him to the brink. It was nowhere near as good as your touch, nowhere near as good as sinking into your tight, wet heat—but fuck, it was enough to get him thinking.
Thinking about how he’d find you later.
Thinking about how he’d drag you upstairs, press you down onto the mattress, and show you exactly why this little toy would never be enough.
His breath hitched, his body tense with restraint. His cock twitched against the vibration, thick and needy, so damn close—
The moment the door creaked open, Frank tensed—his breath hitched, his entire body locking up in sheer, unfiltered shock. And then, just as his hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours, his release surged through him. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat, his baritone voice raw with pleasure as his cock pulsed, thick ropes of cum spilling into his underwear, soaking the fabric beneath the relentless hum of the vibrator still pressed against him.
His broad chest heaved, his white hair damp with sweat as he slumped back onto the mattress, utterly spent.
And you—frozen in the doorway, your eyes wide, your face flushed a deep shade of crimson—stared in stunned silence.
“Bloody hell—” you choked out, turning on your heel so fast you nearly tripped over yourself. “I—I didn’t mean to— I’ll just give you a moment—!”
Frank groaned, still catching his breath, and let out a rough, amused chuckle. “Christ, love,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before dragging it down his chest. “Don’t run off now.”
Your breath hitched at the sheer command in his voice—low, exhausted, but undeniably firm.
“I—” You swallowed hard, shifting awkwardly. “I just came to wake you for breakfast.”
Frank exhaled a slow, measured breath and propped himself up onto his elbows, his hazel eyes dark with something unreadable. His lips curled into a lazy smirk, but there was an undeniable intensity in the way he watched you. Like a predator who had just been caught in a rare moment of vulnerability but wasn’t the least bit ashamed.
He gestured lazily to himself—the thick stain spreading across the front of his underwear, the still-vibrating toy discarded beside him. “Think you already gave me a proper wake-up call.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassment scorching your skin. “Frank—”
“Come here,” he interrupted, his baritone voice rough with something between amusement and impatience.
Your stomach flipped. “I—”
“Come. Here.” His tone left no room for argument.
You hesitated but obeyed, stepping hesitantly toward the bed, your gaze flickering down to the evidence of his climax. The dark stain stretched across the fabric of his underwear, and you felt heat rush between your thighs at the sheer sight of him—disheveled, undone, his large frame sprawled across the mattress like he had been wrecked by his own damn hand.
Or rather, your toy.
“Curious, are we?” Frank teased, watching the way your gaze lingered.
You scowled, but your body betrayed you. Your breath was uneven, your fingers twitching at your sides.
Frank smirked. And then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you down onto the bed with him.
A startled gasp left your lips as you landed half on top of him, your hands splayed against his bare chest. His skin was warm, slightly damp, and his heartbeat thrummed beneath your fingertips.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, flustered beyond belief.
“And you’re bloody adorable when you’re flustered,” Frank shot back, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
You huffed, attempting to push yourself up, but Frank’s arms tightened around you, keeping you exactly where he wanted. His hazel eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you—cheeks flushed, lips parted, your body straddling his, so close yet so frustratingly clothed.
A slow, wicked smirk curled across his lips.
“You’re gonna get the baby you want so much,” he murmured, his baritone voice dripping with certainty.
Your heart nearly stopped.
Your breath hitched, your eyes widening in shock. “Frank—”
“Shh,” he murmured, his hooked nose grazing your jaw as he tilted his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ve thought about it. Thought about you, round and full with my child. Thought about how you’d look carrying something that belongs to both of us.”
A strangled sound left your throat, half disbelief, half arousal. “I don’t want to force you into this—”
Frank scoffed, his large hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against the hard bulge already pressing between your thighs. “You think I don’t want to procreate you?” His voice was thick with heat, his breath hot against your skin. “You think I haven’t pictured you swollen with my child, your body soft and ripe for me?”
Your stomach flipped violently, arousal pooling deep in your belly.
Frank smirked at your stunned silence. His fingers curled under your shirt, sliding up the curve of your waist as he continued, his voice slow and deliberate, each word dripping with sinful intent.
“Think I haven’t imagined watching your belly stretch, watching your tits get heavy and full? Christ, love, the thought of you leaking for me…” He groaned, his grip tightening as he rocked his hips up, his cock straining against his underwear.
You whimpered, heat flooding your core at the sheer filth of his words.
Frank’s lips trailed down your neck, his hooked nose grazing your pulse. “You’ll be so bloody perfect like that,” he murmured. “Made for it. Made to take my cock, made to carry my child.”
Your thighs clenched around him, and Frank chuckled darkly.
“Ah,” he hummed, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, his knuckles brushing against the wet heat between your legs. “So you like that, do you? Like the idea of me filling you up, watching you grow round and full with my seed?”
You whined, arching against him. “Frank—”
“Say it,” he ordered, his baritone voice a deep, authoritative rumble. “Tell me you want it.”
Your breathing was ragged, your body trembling against his.
“I—I want it,” you gasped, nails digging into his chest. “I want you to put a baby in me.”
Frank growled, his eyes flashing with pure, unadulterated hunger. “That’s my good girl.”
And then, without hesitation, he flipped you onto your back, his large frame pressing you into the mattress, his hazel eyes burning with intent.
“Let’s make you a mother, then.”
Frank settled between your thighs with the slow, deliberate ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His strong hands gripped your legs, parting them wider as he pressed his broad chest flush against the mattress, his hooked nose brushing the inside of your thigh.
"Christ," he murmured, his baritone voice thick with reverence as he took in the sight of you. "Already so wet for me, love." He smirked, his breath warm against your slick folds. "Desperate little thing, aren’t you?"
You whimpered, hips twitching toward him, but Frank held you steady, his chubby fingers pressing into your thighs with just enough force to keep you still. He wanted to savor this—to prepare you properly, to recover from his own release before he gave you exactly what you asked for.
"Patience," he murmured, the word edged with amusement. "We've got all morning."
Then, with agonizing slowness, he dipped his head, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your clit. You gasped, fingers curling into the sheets, but Frank wasn’t in a rush. No, this was a damn fine way to start the day, and he intended to enjoy every second of it.
His tongue flicked out, teasing, tasting, before he latched onto you properly, sucking gently. The deep groan that rumbled in his throat sent vibrations straight through you, and your thighs clenched around his head, back arching off the bed.
"Bloody hell," Frank growled against your skin, his hazel eyes dark as he looked up at you. "So damn sweet."
His chubby fingers joined the assault, spreading you open so he could feast properly. He licked a long, slow stripe up your folds, his hooked nose pressing against you, inhaling your scent like he was a man starved.
Your moan was broken, breathless, and Frank smirked against you, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you down. "That’s it, love," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your entrance before slipping his tongue inside. "Take what I give you."
Your hands flew to his white hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you tried to grind against his face, but Frank chuckled, his grip tightening. "So needy," he mused, voice muffled against your dripping heat. "You want my cock that badly, hmm? Want me to fuck you full first thing in the morning?"
"Yes," you gasped, thighs trembling. "Please, Frank—"
"Mm," he hummed, pleased, his tongue curling inside you before he pulled back just enough to flick your clit with the tip. "Not yet."
You whined in frustration, but Frank only smirked, one thick finger teasing your entrance before sinking inside, curling just right. "I need you open for me, love," he murmured, adding a second finger, stretching you just enough to have you gasping.
He licked you again, slow and thorough, his baritone voice vibrating against your core. "Gonna be a good girl and take all of me, aren’t you?"
You nodded frantically, words failing you as his fingers moved in tandem with his tongue, his pace unrelenting.
"That’s it," Frank praised, his voice rough with hunger. "Gonna fill you up, make sure it takes." His lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking with just the right amount of pressure. "Gonna make you round with my child."
The words alone sent you spiraling, pleasure cresting in a blinding, overwhelming wave as you came apart beneath him, your cries filling the room.
Frank groaned, lapping up everything you gave him before pulling back, his mouth slick, his hazel eyes dark with hunger. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, exhaling a deep, satisfied breath.
Frank sat back on his knees, his broad chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. His hazel eyes burned with something raw and insatiable as he reached down, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his soiled underwear. In one slow, deliberate motion, he pushed them down, letting his thick, heavy cock spring free. It was still slick from his earlier release, the flushed tip already leaking again at the mere sight of you beneath him.
You swallowed hard, your pulse racing as you reached for the hem of your pajama top, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air sent a shiver through you, but Frank’s gaze—hungry, possessive—made you feel scalding hot.
His breath hitched slightly as he took in the sight of your bare breasts, the soft curves rising and falling with each uneven inhale. His large, chubby hands reached out, cupping them reverently before his fingers tightened, rolling a taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Christ,” he murmured, his baritone voice thick with something primal. “So bloody perfect.”
You whimpered, arching into his touch as he leaned down, his hooked nose grazing your skin before he captured one of your nipples between his lips. His tongue was hot, wet, swirling around the sensitive peak before he sucked greedily, groaning at the way you gasped beneath him.
His other hand trailed down, his fingers sliding over your thigh before gripping just above your knee. He lifted your leg, adjusting his position, spreading you open wider for him. His cock brushed against your slick heat, the thick head teasing your entrance, and you shuddered at the contact.
Frank released your nipple with a wet pop, his breath coming out in ragged pants as he dragged his cock along your folds, coating himself in your arousal. “Good thing you’re so bloody flexible,” he muttered, smirking as he pushed your leg up further, angling himself just right.
And then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside you.
A sharp gasp tore from your lips as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch. Frank groaned, his head dropping forward, his white hair falling into his face as he sank deeper. “Fuck,” he hissed, his baritone voice shaking slightly. “So bloody tight.”
Your fingers curled around his biceps, nails digging into the firm muscle as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. His breath was hot against your skin, his broad chest pressing into yours as he let you adjust, savoring the way your walls clenched around him.
“Christ, love,” he growled, pulling back slightly before thrusting in again, slower this time, savoring every inch of you. “You feel—” His jaw clenched as he pushed deeper, angling himself just right. “Like you were made for me.”
You whimpered, your body arching, desperate for more. “Frank—”
He smirked at the way you gasped his name, his grip on your leg tightening as he rolled his hips, hitting that perfect spot that sent white-hot pleasure racing through you.
“There it is,” he murmured, watching the way your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parting in a silent moan. “That’s what I want, love. Want to see you unravel beneath me.”
His thrusts quickened, his cock slamming into you at just the right angle, your leg pressed high against his chest. The stretch was intense, the pleasure overwhelming, and Frank knew exactly what he was doing.
“You wanted a baby, didn’t you?” he growled, his hazel eyes locked onto yours, watching every reaction, every gasp. “Wanted me to fill you up, fuck my brat into you?”
You moaned helplessly, nodding, too lost in the sensation to form words.
And you? You had stopped taking your contraceptives without a second thought.
Frank’s smirk deepened, his dominance unwavering. “Then take it,” he snarled, thrusting harder, deeper. “Take every bloody drop.”
The past month had been a blur of heat, sweat, and whispered promises in the dark. Frank had been insatiable—more than usual. The man already had an insurmountable appetite for you, but ever since he’d muttered those fateful words—"Let’s make you a mother"—he had been relentless.
It hadn't been much of a surprise when the first signs of pregnancy appeared—the exhaustion, the heightened sensitivity, the constant flutter in your lower belly. You had taken the test early that morning, standing in the dim light of the bathroom, your hands trembling slightly as you stared at the little stick.
Positive.
Your heart had clenched, a rush of emotions flooding you all at once. You were pregnant.
With Frank’s baby.
A part of him. A part of you.
You had pressed a hand to your still-flat stomach, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. He didn’t know yet. But you were determined to make sure he found out in the best possible way.
Frank was due home soon, and you had prepared everything meticulously. The dining table was set, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. A bottle of his favorite whiskey sat next to a glass, waiting for him. And in the center of the table was a small, wrapped box—inside it, the positive pregnancy test, neatly nestled between a tiny onesie that read, Daddy’s Little Soldier.
Your heart pounded as you smoothed down your dress, glancing at the clock. Any moment now.
And then, right on time, the front door creaked open.
Frank stepped inside, shaking off his military jacket as he muttered something about "bloody politics" and "incompetent bureaucrats." His white hair was slightly tousled, his hooked nose flaring as he let out a tired sigh.
Then, his hazel eyes landed on you.
He stopped.
The irritation in his face melted away almost instantly as he took in the scene—the candles, the dinner, the whiskey. His sharp gaze flickered back to you, brows raising slightly. “What’s this?” His baritone voice was low, cautious, amused.
You smiled, stepping forward to take his jacket from his hands. “I thought I’d surprise you,” you murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek.
Frank hummed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Now, what have I done to deserve this?” His fingers grazed your waist, his grip firm, possessive, as he pulled you against him. His scent—whiskey, musk, and something distinctly him—washed over you. “Have I been an especially good boy?”
You rolled your eyes at his teasing, but your stomach fluttered all the same. “You’ll see soon enough,” you replied, nudging him toward the table. “Sit.”
Frank gave you a long, assessing look but obeyed, settling into his chair with a heavy sigh. His chubby fingers reached for the whiskey, pouring himself a glass as his hazel eyes flickered toward the small wrapped box in the center of the table.
His gaze sharpened.
You swallowed, nerves creeping up your spine. “Open it.”
Frank set his glass down, his fingers moving with practiced precision as he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. The moment his eyes landed on the onesie, he stilled.
Silence.
Then, slowly, he picked up the tiny garment, his rough, calloused fingers brushing over the words Daddy’s Little Soldier.
Your heart pounded. “Frank—”
But he wasn’t looking at the onesie anymore. His eyes had drifted to the object beneath it.
The pregnancy test.
Frank’s fingers curled around it, his hazel eyes darkening as he processed what he was seeing. The lines were unmistakable.
Positive.
For the first time since you’d known him, Frank Benson was speechless.
Your chest tightened. “Say something,” you whispered.
Frank exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the test as he looked up at you. His expression was unreadable—shock, disbelief, something else you couldn’t quite place.
“You’re pregnant?” His voice was rough, almost hesitant.
You nodded. “Yes.”
His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He just stared at you, his hazel eyes searching yours, his hooked nose flaring with each deep inhale.
Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a deep, shuddering breath.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured.
You bit your lip, your stomach twisting in uncertainty. “Are you—are you happy?”
Frank blinked.
And then, to your absolute shock, he let out a low, breathless laugh.
A real, genuine laugh.
He shook his head, running a hand down his face before looking back at you, his expression somewhere between exasperation and utter, undeniable joy. “Christ, woman,” he muttered, his baritone voice rough. “Of course, I’m happy.”
Before you could even react, he was out of his chair, closing the distance between you in two strides. His large hands cupped your face, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was searing, desperate, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.
Possession.
Gratitude.
Love.
When he pulled back, his hooked nose brushed against yours, his breath warm and heavy. “You’re carrying my child,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion.
You nodded, your throat tight.
Frank let out a slow exhale, his chubby fingers trailing down your body before settling on your stomach. His touch was uncharacteristically gentle, reverent. “My baby,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Our baby.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands covering his. “Yes.”
Frank was quiet for a long moment, just staring at your stomach as if he could already see the life growing inside of you. Then, his grip tightened.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he said, his voice low, commanding, filled with absolute certainty. “Of both of you.”
Your heart clenched.
He lifted his gaze back to yours, his hazel eyes burning with intensity. “No arguments, love. You’re mine. And now, so is this little one.”
A shaky laugh escaped you. “I wouldn’t dream of arguing.”
Frank smirked. “Good girl.”
Then, with a satisfied hum, he pressed another kiss to your lips before dropping to his knees, his broad hands settling on your hips as he nuzzled against your stomach.
And in the dim glow of candlelight, with his baritone voice murmuring soft words against your skin, you realized—this was it.
This was everything.
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♡ a hunter's journey to fatherhood ⎯⎯ dean winchester.
📖 LIBRARY !
SYNOPSIS. dean struggles with anxiety about fatherhood, avoiding you until guidance from mildred helps him embrace love, vulnerability, and hope.
WARNING(S). slight angst | hurt comfort | f!reader | anxiety | self-doubt | dean's fear of failure as a new father | emotional vulnerability | moments of crying | mentions of childhood trauma (a big FUCK U 2 john winchester) | alcohol use (though not excessively) | avoidance | isolation | pregnancy.
kari talks ◞ i saw these gifs of dean n mildred pop up on my feed this morning so i had to write something w a lil fluffy angst <3 don't hate me bc it does have a happy ending !!! + this may sound rushed, has not much dialogue at the end, n repetitive :) my apologies !
dean winchester is an anxiety-riddled mess.
you’ve always known he’s carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but ever since you told him you were pregnant, he’s been distant. not outright cold, but the kind of distant that eats at you—quiet moments stretched too long, averted gazes, and excuses to leave the room.
it hurts.
you knew dean had his doubts about himself; he’s never been shy about the scars his childhood left behind. but you didn’t expect him to pull away like this.
every time you thought about asking him where he stood—whether he was happy, scared, or maybe regretting it altogether—you stopped yourself. you didn’t want to burden him more than he already seemed to be.
so you busied yourself with little things, distracting yourself by cleaning the house, organizing your shared bedroom, or just sitting on the couch with a book, hoping he’d come around.
but tonight, dean isn’t home.
he’d slipped out a few hours ago, mumbling something about needing air. you didn’t push. you’d seen the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed and tightened at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
what you didn’t know was that dean had driven into town, parked the impala outside the local dive bar, and gone inside to drown his thoughts in whiskey.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
the bar was dimly lit and half-empty, perfect for someone who didn’t want to be noticed.
dean sat at the counter, nursing his third drink, his mind spinning.
he couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you. about the baby.
him, a dad.
he snorted bitterly into his glass. what the hell did he know about being a father? he’d barely survived his own childhood. john winchester had been a lot of things—strong, determined, relentless—but a good dad? not even close.
and what if dean turned out just like him?
the thought made his chest tighten, panic clawing at his throat.
he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. the whiskey wasn’t helping; it was only making his emotions come faster, harder.
he slammed a couple of bills on the bar top and left, walking out into the cool night air.
he sat in the impala, gripping the steering wheel as his breath hitched.
and then it hit him—hot tears stinging his eyes, rolling down his cheeks before he could stop them.
he wiped at his face angrily, cursing under his breath.
what the hell is wrong with me?
but then, through the fog of his thoughts, he remembered mildred baker.
she’d helped him and sam on a hunt years ago, and she’d been one of the few people who’d ever managed to get through to him. she was kind, wise, and had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.
before he could second-guess himself, he started the car and drove to her place.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
mildred greeted him with the warmth he hadn’t realized he needed.
“dean winchester,” she said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”
he hesitated for a moment, standing in her doorway like a lost kid.
“uh... sorry for showing up so late,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “i just... i didn’t know where else to go.”
she frowned slightly, concern flickering across her face, but she didn’t ask questions.
“come on in,” she said gently, motioning for him to sit on the couch.
once they were seated, mildred folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently.
“so,” she said after a beat, her voice soft. “what’s got you all tied up in knots?”
and that’s when it all came tumbling out.
words spilled from dean’s mouth faster than he could stop them—about you, about the baby, about how terrified he was of screwing everything up.
“i just... i don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “hell, i don’t even know if i can do this. what if i screw the kid up? what if i screw her up? she deserves better than me. they both do.”
mildred listened quietly, her expression soft but unreadable.
when he finally stopped, his chest heaving slightly from the emotional release, she reached over and placed a hand on his arm.
“dean,” she said gently, her voice steady. “you’re not your father.”
his head snapped up at that, his green eyes wide and vulnerable.
“but what if i am?” he whispered.
she smiled softly, shaking her head.
“you’re not,” she said firmly. “you’ve already proven that by coming here tonight. you care, dean. you care so much it’s eating you alive. and that’s what makes you different. john winchester loved you boys, but he didn’t know how to show it. you do. and that’s all that matters.”
dean swallowed hard, his throat tight.
“but what if i mess up?” he asked, his voice small.
“you will,” she said with a chuckle. “because that’s what parents do. we mess up. we’re human. but as long as you love that baby and love itd mama, you’ll figure it out.”
her words settled over him like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in his chest.
“you’re gonna be a great dad, dean,” she said, her voice soft. “just follow your heart.”
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
later that night, after mildred helped him sober up, dean drove back home.
the house was quiet when he walked in, the only sound coming from the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen.
he followed the sound, stopping in the doorway when he saw you standing at the sink.
you were wearing one of his old flannels, the sleeves rolled up as you washed the few remaining dishes from dinner.
he leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment.
god, you were beautiful.
even now, with your hair slightly messy and your focus on the task in front of you, you took his breath away.
he took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and stepped toward you.
you didn’t notice him at first, too lost in your own thoughts.
it wasn’t until he wrapped his arms around you from behind that you startled slightly, your body tensing before relaxing into his embrace.
“baby,” you said softly, your hands stilling in the soapy water.
he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.
“where’ve you been?” you asked, your voice gentle but cautious. “are you okay?”
“yeah,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “i’m okay.”
you didn’t push for more, not when he mentioned he’d gone to see mildred.
instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth settle around you like a shield.
he rubbed small circles on your stomach, his lips brushing against your neck.
and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope.
but when you opened your mouth to ask him where he stood on the baby, he didn’t let you speak.
instead, he started rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush.
he told you how scared he was, how he’d been afraid he’d ruin everything, that he’d turn out like his dad or disappoint you.
“but i want this, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice breaking slightly. “i want you. and i want this baby. i just... i needed to figure out how to not screw it up.”
tears stung your eyes as you turned to face him, cupping his face in your hands.
“dean,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “you could never be like him. you love so much, sometimes too much. you’re going to be an amazing dad. i know it.”
he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as a single tear slid down his cheek.
“thank you, baby,” he whispered.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
after you’d finished the dishes, you drew a bath for the both of you.
you knew he’d been sore and achy from a recent hunt, and you figured the warm water would help.
he sat behind you in the tub, his arms resting on either side of the rim as you leaned back against his chest.
you brought the soapy cloth to your chest, letting the warmth soothe you before handing it to him.
he took it, running it over his own chest before reaching down to gently rub your shoulders.
the quiet intimacy of the moment was enough to ease both your minds, the tension of the past few weeks melting away.
when the water started to cool, dean helped you out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around you before leaning down to kiss your stomach.
you weren’t even showing yet, but the gesture made your heart swell.
he wrapped a towel around himself, and the two of you went through your nightly routines before climbing into bed.
dean was already lying down when you joined him, his hands behind his head as he waited for you.
you turned off the lights and crawled into bed, settling on top of him with your head on his chest.
his hand rested on your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.
the two of you talked quietly about what to expect, about names and nurseries and everything in between.
and when you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you knew everything was going to be okay.
because dean winchester was going to be the best damn dad in the world.
#kari ♡ writes.#dean winchester#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester angst#dean winchester smut#dean winchester drabble#dean winchester headcanon#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester imagine#dean supernatural#supernatural dean#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester x fem reader#dean winchester imagines#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x you#dean x fem reader#dean x female!reader#dean x y/n#dean x you#dean x reader#dean smut#dean angst#dean fluff#dean winchester fluff#supernatural x female reader#supernatural#supernatural angst#hurt comfort#angst
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Claw Machines
Sylus x gn!Reader & MC
Raven deserves the world and more and I need to heal their inner child so so bad and who better to help than MC?
Warnings: fluff, silly, growing friendship, arcades, healing their inner child, kissing, swearing, banter
Word Count: 1,678
Main Masterlist
The Raven Masterlist
First Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist
AO3
Tag List Form
Sylus was 'busy', but you're dead certain that was just an excuse to nudge you into bonding with Miss Hunter. When she'd called to invite him out, you saw the smirk that curled his lips. You'd glared at him when he said you'd take his spot. You'd even been tempted to ditch her, but you couldn't in the end, knowing how much she means to him.
The claw moves around the box, following the movements of the little joystick. She looks as if she's facing down a Wanderer, not a stuffed koala with a teddy bear. Her tongue pokes out of her mouth, head swivels to the sides of the box to make sure she's lined up properly, fingers tapping impatiently on the machine before she hits the button. The claw descends. Closes. And as it rises, the koala is stuck in its grasp.
"Yes!" Miss Hunter laughs giddily as she bends down and grabs her prize from the chute. She squishes its face, eyes shining brilliantly with glee. Suddenly, she turns to you. "Have you ever played before?"
You shake your head, appearing quite bored with the whole thing.
"Do you want to try it? I can give you some pointers!"
A relentlessly stubborn part of you wants to refuse. Stand around like her own personal bodyguard while she travels from machine to machine with tokens purchased with Sylus's card and a bag full of toys.
But... you're also curious. You'd peered through shop windows and seen kids with toys your whole childhood, without any hope of having one to call your own. You'd made peace with that a long time ago, aided in the fact you now have plenty of money to live comfortably, though you keep that money close to your chest. Now Miss Hunter's barging through that peace, eyes shining and full of childish energy. And you give in.
You step up hesitantly to the controls. She squeals in glee and stands right beside you, nearly leaning on your arm. "Okay, this is the joystick! You use it to move the claw around. And then when you're lined up with something, you push this button and it'll try grabbing it."
You quirk an eyebrow at her. She smiles deviously. "It's a lot harder than it looks, trust me."
You should have listened to her. She makes it look so easy; you have to wonder if she's somehow using her Evol to cheat. No matter what target you went for, it always slipped through. Sometimes in the most ridiculous ways - bouncing off the edge of the plastic surrounding the chute or flipping off into an unreachable corner. You're not usually one to give up on a challenge, but this is getting ridiculous.
Miss Hunter smiles apologetically at you after your target falls over, just out of reach of the claw. "Maybe this machine isn't calibrated well," she suggests, but it's a half-baked excuse. "Let's try another one."
So you do.
And another.
... And another.
It's agony. She'll take over, pleading with big round eyes and a pout that works like a charm on Sylus to play a round, and get a plushie on her first try. Her bag is almost overflowing. She considers asking for a second one, but she looks sorry when she says so out loud.
Another machine catches her eye and she dashes over like a child. You watch her go.
It's... confusing, contradictory, to see someone like her be so carefree and childish. Her life has not been a cakewalk, and she's been through things normal people would never recover from. Yet here she is, squealing and giggling with delight, while you stand amid the flashing lights and chiming bells, arms crossed and frowning.
You hate to think you could ever possibly be jealous of her. Jealousy was unnecessary when you had all the means to get what you wanted so easily. Still, it's difficult not to envy in some ways the ease with which she enjoys such simple things.
You sigh. You damn Sylus for having you take his place on this little playdate with Miss Hunter. Damn the machines and their stupid claws. Damn all the plushies that seem to hate you.
The arcade is relatively small. When you begin walking around the various machines, it's easy to keep an eye on her. After all, if something happened to her here, it would be your fault. And you don't exactly want a repeat of last time.
It's by pure chance you happen to glance over. Pure random chance that your eyes slipped onto a series of miniature claw machines, stacked 3-on-3 in an alley between the bigger machines. You would not have stopped if you hadn't then done a double-take to make sure you saw what you thought you saw. And sure enough, as you step up to the small machines, you see in one a tiny keychain in the shape of a crow.
It's adorable. Big eyes that take up half its body stare longingly out at the arcade, half-closed with an air of disinterest. A little white ruff wraps all around its body. Two little feet with three toes each stick out the bottom.
You glance around to find Miss Hunter. She's moved on to the Balance machines, where her skilled fingers shift the two-pronged claw to nudge the box off the poles. An employee already stands there, waiting to re-setup the machine, as they chat with familiarity. She seems safe enough...
After a moment of watching to make sure the employee doesn't try anything, you reach into your pocket and pull out the tokens she gave you earlier. You insert one, and a small LED display counts down a timer.
The joystick is tiny in your hand - you can only imagine how it would fit in Sylus's. You shift it over top the crow. After spending however long failing on the other machines, you don't have much hope, especially when these are designed to give the impression of being easier so people will want to try them even more. You push the tiny button, and the claw lowers. The crow is picked up, shifting slightly in its loose hold. It's carried to the chute...
A tiny jingle plays, similar to the one that follows Miss Hunter around every machine.
You... you did it?
You hesitate before opening the little hatch, as though you just imagined all of that and you're going to be woefully out of luck when you reach in to find it empty. But no. You reach in and your fingers touch soft fur. You pull it out. There he is - your very own tiny crow plush.
The crow's big eyes seem to stare up at you, unimpressed. But your mind says he's happy, free from his cramped little prison.
Footsteps approach and you're immediately back on alert. You'd been smiling without even realizing it, but that is wiped away for neutrality. Miss Hunter doesn't seem to notice, gushing over the prize in your hand.
"Awe, you won that! It's so cute!" She pokes its cheek with her finger, giggling. "I've never been able to win anything from these machines. How many tries did it take you?"
Something flutters in your chest. A feeling you'd only felt when Sylus praised you - pride. You really managed to do something she couldn't? It sounded impossible after seeing her win over and over again without fail.
You hold up a finger. She gapes at you.
"What? It only took you one try?!" She looks at the machines, and all the cute mini plushies within. She frowns, considering something, before pulling out a handful of tokens. "Maybe they made these easier, somehow? Let me try."
-
"Have fun?"
You dangle the toy in front of Mephisto. He stands in your lap, playfully pecking and nipping at it. He's careful not to damage or tear it - he's always such a good bird.
Sylus wraps his arms around you from behind the couch. His chin rests on your shoulder, large hands massaging your sides. He kisses your cheek. "You're smiling."
Your first instinct is to turn away, but he stops you. Fingers grab your chin and turn you to face him instead. Crimson eyes, smug and teasing, meet yours.
You sigh. You have to admit that it was fun, even if you'd love to be stubborn and say it wasn't. Maybe if you hadn't won anything, you wouldn't have to pretend you hated it. Unfortunately, the toy that dangles from your finger is evidence to the contrary.
"She's a menace on those machines," you say, voice low, like it's a secret.
He chuckles. "How many did she get?"
"I lost count."
You glance back at Mephisto and shift the toy to rest in your palm. He grabs it in his beak, cawing around the object in his mouth, and flits off to go put it with his little hoard. Or, well, you thought he would. Instead, he flaps off to his perch and, using his foot and beak together, manages to hang it by its chain on the end of it. They look like a matching set as he fluffs up and settles down to rest
Sylus kisses the corner of your smiling mouth. You feel exposed. How is it possible for something so small to catch your emotions off guard?
"I'm glad you had fun," he whispers sincerely. "If you'd like, we can go together sometime."
"We wouldn't win anything," you tease. You rub your nose against his, drawing out a soft look of love from his eyes.
He shrugs. "Then we'll steal one."
"How criminal. This may be your most dastardly scheme yet."
"Mhm. And I'll need my best man on the job to help me pull it off." He closes the small gap to kiss you. His thumb rubs over the ball of your chin. Another kiss and his hand shifts to your jaw. Another, then to your neck. He draws you in, over and over, languidly savoring you, like you have all the time in the world.
---
Tag List:
@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one
#fanfic#fanfiction#sylus#sylus x reader#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#lnds sylus#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#lads#lads x reader#lnds#lnds x reader#gn reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader
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The Scent of her
Spencer reid x reader
Fluff
Wc: 2k
Summary: Spencer Reid, the brilliant but often reserved mind, has found something that makes him feel alive. It's not the cases, not the logic or the numbers. It’s her. The scent of her skin, the feel of her in his arms, the way she’s become the steady heartbeat of calmness within him.
The alarm blares, but Spencer doesn’t move right away. His eyes remain closed as the sound fills the room, his body still in that warm cocoon of sleep. He’s not even aware of it at first, but then it hits him—the soft scent of her skin, mixed with the faint trace of her lavender perfume.
His fingers, almost instinctively, find their way toward the space beside him. The sheets are cool, but there’s a trace of warmth where she’s been, an imprint that lingers even when she’s not there. He inhales, taking in the air around him. The familiar, comforting scent fills his lungs—her scent.
Spencer, always the one to overthink everything, doesn’t want to leave the bed. Every morning, it’s harder and harder for him to break free from the desire to stay wrapped up in her. The world outside his apartment feels so far away, so far removed from the simple peace he finds in her presence. The thought of work, the case files, the day ahead—it all seems insignificant in comparison to how much he loves being here, in this small, quiet moment with her.
He shifts carefully to avoid waking her, but his movements are slow, deliberate, as he lets himself breathe her in one more time. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, even the lingering traces of the perfume she wears—it all pulls him in. He’s so used to the antiseptic cleanliness of the world outside that her scent, natural and uniquely hers, is like a balm to his soul.
When her eyelids flutter open, his heart jumps. He doesn’t even have to see her face to know she’s awake. Her scent has already enveloped him, her presence a tangible thing in the room. He smiles softly, wanting to reach for her, needing to.
But instead, he simply turns toward her, his eyes locked on hers. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The bond between them is more than words. It’s the way he leans into her, the way his hands instinctively move to trace the curve of her back. He’s a little more possessive in the mornings, a little more clingy than he might be in front of others. There’s something about these early moments when the world is still sleeping, and it's just the two of them.
Her fingers run through his messy hair, and that’s it. Spencer can’t stop the needy little sigh that escapes his lips. Her scent, her touch, they anchor him in a way that nothing else does. “Stay,” he mutters against her skin, his voice barely a whisper. His lips press against the soft skin of her neck, inhaling deeply.
She laughs softly, her fingers brushing against his arm. “I have to go, Spencer. You have work too.”
“I don’t want to,” he murmurs, almost childlike in his tone, clinging to her a little tighter. “Please. Just a few more minutes…”
Her laugh is warm, but there’s a tenderness in it as she presses her lips to his forehead, a soft kiss that makes him feel like he could stay there forever. He’s never been this clingy with anyone—not even with his mother or any of his past relationships—but with her? It’s different. Everything about her makes him feel safe. She’s the one thing in his life that doesn’t make him feel so… out of place.
He doesn’t care how pathetic it might seem. He’s needy for her touch. He wants to absorb every inch of her, hold onto her like he’s afraid she might disappear if he lets go. Her scent has become a tether. Her presence is what calms his swirling mind, the constant hum of thoughts that never quite stop.
The day drags on. Spencer’s head is filled with the case, the details, the analysis, but it’s her scent that’s never far from his mind. It’s like a drug to him—soft, comforting, addictive. He can still feel the faint remnants of her perfume on his skin from their morning together. It lingers in the fabric of his shirt, in his hair. Every now and then, when he absentmindedly brushes his fingers through his hair, the scent hits him again, and it makes his chest ache with longing.
His thoughts drift to her, and his eyes search the office for a moment, only to find himself lost in the feeling of her presence. His gaze lands on the elevator, waiting for that moment when she’ll show up, when he can see her again, even if only for a few minutes. He hates the distance of the day, the hours between their stolen moments. He feels almost frantic about it—like the longer he’s away from her, the more he’s going to lose something.
And then the elevator dings.
His heart skips a beat before he can even register what’s happening. The scent hits him first—faint but unmistakable—like the first breath of fresh air after being stuck inside for too long. It’s like a magnet, pulling him in.
She steps out, and Spencer’s breath catches. Her presence floods the room, and he doesn’t even wait. He stands up immediately, his body moving of its own accord. Her scent is everywhere—the lavender, the citrus, her skin—and it’s all he can do to keep from reaching out for her, to wrap his arms around her and just breathe her in. The thought of her absence today had been unbearable, and now that she’s here, standing in front of him, he’s not sure how to contain the rush of relief that surges through him.
His fingers itch to touch her. He doesn’t wait for her to say anything, doesn’t wait for her to move toward him. He steps forward and cups her face with his hands, pulling her toward him with a sudden intensity that catches her by surprise. His lips meet hers in a soft, almost desperate kiss, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of her, every molecule of her presence.
“I missed you,” he breathes against her lips, his voice thick with an emotion that’s almost too raw. “I can’t think straight when you’re not near me.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, just smiles gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. Spencer’s body relaxes a little at the touch, but only slightly. His arms find their way around her waist, holding her to him tightly as if afraid she might slip away.
“Spence,” she whispers softly, her hands tracing over his arms, the feeling grounding him. “I’m right here.”
He nods, not wanting to let go. He wants to stay like this, tangled up in her arms forever. The way she smells, the way she feels in his arms—it’s like everything else fades away. The noise of the office, the world outside—they don’t matter when he’s with her. Her scent fills his lungs, and he feels like he can finally breathe.
Later that night, when Spencer finally returns home, he can’t help but feel the weight of the day on him. But it’s different now—her presence is there. She’s sitting on the couch, watching TV, but her eyes flick to him as he walks through the door, her smile soft, inviting. The minute he steps into the apartment, it’s as if the air shifts. His senses are heightened, his mind flooded with the calming warmth of her.
“I thought I’d wait up for you,” she says, her voice low and warm.
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he steps toward her, and without a word, he sinks down beside her, curling into her side like a child looking for reassurance. Her scent wraps around him, and for the first time in hours, he feels like he can relax.
“You always smell so good,” he mutters, his fingers tracing absentmindedly over her skin. He can’t help it. Her scent is all-consuming, and he finds himself pressing his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. “I can’t stop thinking about you… about the way you smell. It’s like I’m addicted to it.”
Her hand gently runs through his hair, and he leans into her touch, his arms tightening around her. He needs her. He needs her scent, her touch, the feeling of her body next to his. Everything about her makes him feel whole.
“I don’t want to let go,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not ever.”
She simply presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him even closer. And Spencer lets himself sink into her embrace, his body perfectly molded to hers, the scent of her wrapping around him like a protective cocoon. In this moment, he doesn’t care about anything else. The world can wait.
As long as he has her—her scent, her touch, her love—nothing else matters.
#Spotify#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds memes#emily prentiss#aaron hotchner#alex blake#david rossi#derek morgan#elle greenaway#spencer reid au#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fluff#dr spencer reid#ssa spencer reid
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[1] Better ✧. ┊ cha haein x fem!reader
Cha Haein wasn't the type to get distracted during training.
Footwork, breathing, precision—every movement was calculated, controlled.
But today, she was off.
"Alright, take a break," you said, stepping back with an easy grin, barely winded from sparring. "I don't wanna be responsible if 'The Dancer' suddenly gets sloppy.
Haein exhaled, lowering her wooden sword. "I’m not sloppy."
You tilted your head, giving her a look. "You hesitated twice."
She had.
Which was ridiculous. She never hesitated.
But how was she supposed to focus when her mind was still stuck on what you had said earlier?
The casual, offhanded way you had mentioned it.
"I've been busy lately. My boyfriend's been asking to meet more, so I don’t have much free time.'
It had taken everything in her to keep her expression neutral, to not let the words hit harder than they should have.
Because why should she care?
You were her friend. Maybe. She got jealous.
And the more you talked about him, the worse it got.
You always spoke with a small smile, but your words never matched.
"He's been stressed, so I don't mind if he forgets things sometimes."
"He's usually not like this, I think he's just tired."
"I mean, he's not ignoring me—he just gets busy."
Excuses. So many excuses.
Haein had seen couples before. She wasn't blind. She knew what love was supposed to look like.
And this wasn't it.
She could see it in the way your shoulders tensed when his name came up. In the way you always gave more than you received.
She had thought about saying something—had wanted to—but what right did she have?
So instead, she forced herself to stay silent.
Forced herself to tighten her grip on her sword and focus on training, even though she hated every second of it.
Because deep down, she already knew.
She wasn't just upset because your boyfriend didn't treat you well.
She was upset because she knew she could treat you better.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Cha Haein had never been much for socializing.
The crowded banquet hall, the clinking of glasses, the stifling chatter—it all made her nervous. She had planned to leave early like she always did until she saw him.
And at that moment, her plans changed.
You were standing near the bar, neatly dressed, your usual confidence overshadowed by the presence of the man beside you.
Him.
Haein's fingers curled around the stem of her untouched wine glass as she watched him drape an arm around your waist, speaking over you as if you were just there to decorate his evening. The way he barely glanced at you when you spoke, how he only touched you when others were watching, how his attention wandered the moment someone more important entered the room—
It made her stomach clench in a way she didn't like.
She knew you deserved better.
And she knew she could do better.
You had been her friend for years - someone who understood her quiet nature, someone who never forced her into conversations she didn't want to have, someone who always knew when she needed space and when she needed someone by her side.
But here you were.
Accepting someone who didn't even see you.
The thought made her act before she could think twice.
Her heels clicked lightly on the marble floor as she approached, her usual quiet confidence making people move away without her having to say a word. She didn't hesitate as she approached you, not looking at him.
Just you.
"Dance with me."
Your head suddenly lifted, eyes widening a little. "Haein?"
She tilted her head slightly, lips curving into the faintest of smiles. "You look sad, I want to cheer you up."
You blink, and for the first time tonight, she sees something flash across your face—hesitation, disappointment, something deeper.
Your so-called boyfriend doesn’t even notice her presence, too busy talking to someone else.
Haein steps closer, her voice lower, softer.
"You don't have to pretend with me."
A breath escapes your lips—something between a giggle and a sigh. "You don't even like dancing."
"I don't want to," she admits. "But I'll do it for you."
That makes you pause.
And then, slowly, you place your hand in hers.
Warm, familiar.
The moment your fingers clasp hers, she swears she feels something happen.
She eases you onto the dance floor, her grip firm but careful, as if she's afraid you might slip. The moment you settle into the rhythm, the warmth of your body close to hers, she knows she's done the right thing.
Because this — holding you in her arms, watching you smile without forcing it, feeling the way you move naturally against her — it feels right.
"Why did you do that?" you ask, your voice smaller now, more vulnerable.
Haein exhales softly, her gaze steady. "Because someone should."
You blink at her, your eyes searching hers. And in that moment, she knows you understand.
Because he always understood her.
She doesn't need to explain.
It goes without saying how much it hurts to see you with someone who doesn't see you the way she does.
Needless to say, she wanted to be the one holding you like this—not just tonight, but forever.
The song slowed down, and so did you, the distance between you becoming impossibly small.
Your fingers tightened around hers.
And then, barely more than a whisper—
"You should have asked me sooner."
Haein held her breath.
And she swore, in that moment, that she would never be late again.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
And then your lover notices.
The music continues, but Haein can feel the weight of an angry gaze burning her back.
She ignores it.
Until she doesn’t have to anymore.
"Oh, isn't this cute?"
Your body tenses slightly, but Haein doesn’t let go. Instead, she turns around—just enough to meet his gaze.
He looks uncomfortable. Defensive. Like someone whose pride has been wounded.
Good.
You sigh, backing away slightly. "I don't want to do this here."
But Haein's patience is running out.
"She's busy," Haein says, her tone even but firm.
Your so-call-boyfriend scoffs. "Oh, so you're speaking for them now?" He laughs. "I know. You've always been strangely protective, haven't you?"
Haein didn't react. Not taking the bait. She just tilted her head, her hand still resting lightly on your waist.
"I protect people who deserve it," she said smoothly. "Not people who treat their partners like accessories."
His expression darkened. "You don’t know anything about our relationship."
"I know enough," Haein said, her voice calm—so calm it was almost insulting. "I know they deserve better."
His jaw clenched. "And you think that's you?"
Haein smiled, slow and careful. "I know that's me."
You sighed softly beside her, and she didn’t have to look to know you were trying not to laugh.
He scoffed, but there was something uncomfortable about his posture—like he knew he'd already lost.
He was angry and reached for your hand. "Come with me-"
But then his actions were quickly interrupted by Haein. She glared at him, exuding a dangerous aura. "Don’t touch her."
He pulled his hand back and trembled under Haein's gaze.
Haein tilted her head toward the exit. "I think you've stayed too long."
His eyes glanced between the two of you, but in the end, he just stuck out his tongue and turned away. "You'll regret it soon."
As soon as he left, you sighed, running your hand over your face.
"That's…something."
Haeinn hummed, "Are you sad?"
You looked up at her, a slow smile spreading across your lips.
"No," you said, your voice warm. "It was kinda hot, actually."
Hae-In blinked. Then she smiled.
"Good."
She held out her hand again. "Another dance?"
This time you took it without hesitation, your fingers wrapping around hers as if they had always been there.
New blog yayyyyy (/≧▽≦)/
Solo leveling chars x reader ( except Jinwoo - Jinwoo posts in @leonastarry )
#only i level up#solo leveling x reader#solo leveling#cha haein x reader#haein x reader#cha haein x y/n#cha haein x you#leona.starry
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Shackles
Leon S. Kennedy x TF141!Reader
Inspired by both events of Modern Warfare 2, Resident Evil (Games & Animated Movies) and the Song Shackles by Steven Rodriguez
Shackles Master List
Warnings: Smut (Eventually), Swearing, Blood & Gore, Flirting, BDSM (Eventually), Implied Mental Health Struggles, Alcoholism, Trauma, Torture, Eventual Kidnapping , Age Gap (Leon is 48 and reader is 25), Enemies to Lovers, Leon is an absolute ass at first, Slight Ghost x Reader x Soap if you squint, Abuse, Masochism
A/N: I HAD so much fun writing this chapter, please let me know what you think 🤔
Chapter 3
Leon continued to stare at her, a smirk playing at his lips as he noticed how flustered she became from just one look from him. He couldn’t help but find it amusing that she seemed so torn.
He took a few strides over to her, closing the distance. He spoke, his voice low and teasing. “Looks like you’ve got something on your mind, darling.”
(Y/n) rolled her eyes and scoffed, trying to act as disinterested as possible. “You really are full of yourself, aren’t ya?” She snapped, trying to hide the fact that her heart was now threatening to beat out of her chest.
She had to fight to keep her breath steady, but the closer Leon got to her, the harder it was to keep her cool.
Leon chuckled lightly at her response, his smirk growing wider. He took another step closer, now mere inches from her. “Maybe so,” he mused. “But, I can see right through you.” His gaze raked over her body, his eyes lingering just a moment too long on the pink gloss that adorned her lips.
She clenched her hands into tight fists, her nails leave crescent indents behind, her chest puffing out slightly.
Soap sighed, adjusting his weapon, his annoyance peaking as he looked at the two behind him; the American-man making his blood boil.
Soap placed his gun in its holster, walking up to Leon, smacking him upside the head. “Oi, little man, would you quit it?” His Scottish accent going an octave lower, “Don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?” Soap snapped, holding onto his bulletproof vest, shifting it, “It’s like nails on a chalkboard for Christ sake…”
Leon winced as Soap’s hand connected with the back of his head. He rolled his eyes, his smug smirk never leaving his face.
“Jealous, Soap? That I get more attention from the fairer sex?” Leon drawled, his voice oozing with sarcasm.
Soap growled, she was more like a pain in the ass little sister, one that could get under your skin without even trying; though, it somehow fuelled him to protect her even more. And it nagged at him that Leon had the audacity to treat her like rubbish the second they met.
Soap stood toe-to-toe with Leon, only slightly taller than he was, his brows furrowing.
“Watch it, wanker, I’d kill you right where you stand.” His voice deepened and his eyes darkened, glinting with rage.
Leon chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by Soap’s threats. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots,” he said through a smirk. “You’re all bark and no bite.” Leon scoffed, “You just don’t like the fact that I make her squirm.”
Soap’s face contorted in anger, he could swear he saw red when Leon implied the possibility of anything going on with (Y/n), “I’d slit ya from ear-ta-ear and laugh while I did it.”
Soap wasn’t playing games, and it’s very clear that Leon hit a nerve, and Soap didn’t care who knew it. “You best keep your hands ta yourself.”
Leon raised an eyebrow, amused by Soap’s threats. “Oh? And why’s that? Afraid I’ll take her away from you?” Leon’s voice dripped with mockery.
He chuckled lightly, “You know just as well as I do that all it would take is a look, and that girl would be trailing after me like a lovesick puppy.”
Soap’s eyes flashed in anger, he wanted to punch Leon in his stupidly-cocky face. He gritted his teeth, “You don’t know anything about her,” Soap shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think you can just waltz in here, acting like some kind of Casanova, and win her over just like that? You’re bloody delusional.”
(Y/n) eyes were burning with hatred at this point, a looming fire ready to burst.
The way Leon talked about her like she wasn’t in the room with him, acting as if she were some cheap whore who’d obey his every command.
The nerve
She slung her rifle to the front, pointing it upwards with one hand and began rapid firing at the ceiling.
Leon’s smug expression faltered slightly as she began firing her rifle. “Shit…”
Ghost, Gaz, Price and Soap turned towards (Y/n)’s direction, surprised by her actions.
Leon chuckled, “Seems I hit a nerve…again…” his voice was quieter now, more restrained.
Ghost sighed and shook his head, walking back towards the three. “Damnit, (Y/n)….” He mumbled under his breath.
He knew how hot-headed she could be when she was angry, and hearing Leon talk about her like she was some piece of meat definitely crossed a line. He knew he had to try and defuse the situation before it spiraled out of control, but would he make it back in time?
“Enough.” (Y/n) shouted, her usual girlish tone drifted, lowering. She snarled, glaring at Leon, bringing her rifle to her side, though her finger was still placed on the trigger.
Leon’s smirk faded as her voice suddenly silenced the room. He was completely taken aback by her sudden outburst.
His eyes widened slightly as he stared at her, noticing the change in her. Gone was the lighthearted, easily flustered girl from earlier. In her place stood a woman who seemed dangerous and fierce.
He couldn’t explain it, but he felt a shiver run down his spine as her eyes bore into him. He tried to regain his composure, to act as though her sudden anger didn’t faze him at all. But in truth, he was completely captivated by her.
“You and your fuckin’ mouth.” (Y/n) spat, marching towards Leon, tossing the rifle to the side.
Ghost stopped in his tracks, gripping his weapon. He knew that the chance to defuse the situation has halted, it was past the point of saving. Meanwhile, Gaz, Soap and Price watched intensely, waiting for (Y/n)’s command to pop Leon with led.
The four of them knew she was dangerous, she was also smart, quick, and nimble which is why she was recruited to begin with…
But they wouldn’t wish their own worst enemy to be in Leon’s position right now.
Leon dug his own grave and now (Y/n) was going to make him lay in it.
Leon’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of slight surprise as (Y/n) stormed towards him. He felt a mixture of excitement and unease. He was used to women swooning over him, but this was different. She was angry, and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Leon took a step back as she approached him, his eyes narrowing. “Watch yourself, sweetheart, you’re in over your head.”
His voice was meant to come out strong and confident, but it fell short, only coming out weak and unsure. He tried to hide it, but couldn’t help but feel a wave of anxiety wash over him as she neared.
She stomped on his foot harshly, the steel toe boots crushing the toes that were beneath her own.
“That bruise on your face looks a little lonely, don’t you think?” She hissed, reminding him that she can and will do even more damage to his gorgeous face, all he needed to do was ask. And hell, he was asking for it all night.
Leon winced in pain as she stomped on his foot. He let out a hiss, but before he could even react, she had grabbed his collar and pulled him towards her. Leon stumbled forward, their faces now only inches apart.
He could feel her hot breath on his face as she spoke, her words sending a shiver up his spine. He tried to maintain his composure, but her dominance was catching him off guard.
“Bruises heal, darling,” he retorted, trying to regain some kind of control in the situation. He tried to free himself from her grip, but her grip held firm.
Despite the pain in his foot, he tried to remain defiant, but his eyes couldn’t help but dart to her lips, betraying him.
Her lips looked so soft and plump, and he found himself wanting to taste them, to feel them against his. His thoughts were racing, his heart pounding in his chest.
Damn it, what was wrong with him?
He’d been with countless women, and none of them had ever affected him like this before. He tried to keep his composure, to keep up the facade of being in control, but he knew he was losing himself, bit by bit, to her.
Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz just stood by helplessly, watching the scene unfold infront of them like a car crash happening in slow motion, their guns now to the side as (Y/n) had complete control over the situation at hand.
None of them wanted to interfere. They knew both Leon and (Y/n) were stubborn, and getting inbetween them would only make things worse.
She bit her lip, her canine tooth poking through, “Seems you lost your voice, lad, c’mon, where’d it go?” She taunted, the anger still lingering as she licked up his jaw, bringing her lips to his ear, “You scared?”
Leon let out a soft gasp as (Y/n)’s tongue traced up his jaw, her breath hot on his ear as she whispered to him. Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and despite himself, he couldn’t deny the effect she was having on him. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts.
He hated her. He hated how she made him feel. And yet, he wanted more.
Leon avoided her gaze as his face twisted into one of hot-and-bothered.
She nipped at his ear, tugging it gently, rolling the flesh between her teeth, involuntarily drawing blood as it dribbled down her chin.
She pulled away to look at him, her gaze looming over his face, noticing he was avoiding any and all eye contact with her.
That’s how she knew she had him right where she wanted.
“Look at me.” She ordered.
Leon felt her tug at his hair, forcing him to turn his gaze to her. He tried to look away, but her grip was too strong.
He winced as she pulled at his hair, but he couldn’t deny that the small wave of masochism that washed over him, was only making his predicament worse.
He tried to compose himself, but her eyes, her lips… her overall presence was making it hard to think straight.
Leon couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp as he noticed the faint trace of blood on her lip. He should have been disgusted, repulsed even, by the fact that she had bitten him hard enough to draw blood, but instead, he found himself mesmerized.
He couldn’t deny it anymore. She had him completely and utterly hooked. He was hooked on her, her touch, her kiss… every part of her.
(Y/n) took her thumb, swiping it across her lips, cleaning the copper from her mouth.
“Look at that…” She began, “I didn’t have to do much and you’re already crumbling at my touch.”
Leon gritted his teeth at her as she wiped the blood from her lips with her thumb, her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. She was right, and he knew it and he knew she knew it too.
He had never felt such an intense mix of desire, hatred and confusion all at once. Her teasing was getting to him, and he hated it.
“Shut up,” he muttered, his voice coming out as a low, desperate whine.
“Oh, you sick.. sick puppy.” She purred, her pupils dilating as she took note of his whine, “You enjoyed that? You really enjoyed that…” She grinned, flinging him to the ground with such ease.
Leon let out a grunt as he landed on the ground, his back hitting the cold concrete. He tried to catch his breath, but then she was on top of him, straddling his hips, her powerful thighs squeezing his sides.
He felt a mixture of fear and excitement as he looked up at her, her gaze burning into him with an intensity that he had never seen before. He tried to squirm free, but her grip on his face held him in place.
(Y/n) slowly leaned in, their noses practically touching.
Leon felt a shiver run down his spine as she got closer, filling his senses. He tried to fight against the wave of desire that was overwhelming him, but it was useless.
His body was responding to her in ways he never thought possible. His heart was racing, his skin was tingling. He wanted her, and he hated himself for it.
Leon's mind was racing, his body betraying him as he anticipated her kiss. His eyes slowly closed, waiting for the sweet touch of her lips against his own.
She was so close, but then she flung his head back, “You ever talk about me like I’m a piece of meat again, I’ll kill you.” She suddenly spoke, pushing herself off of Leon, walking towards her brothers-in-arms.
Leon lay there, stunned for a moment as he processed what had just happened. He could still feel the ghost of her body against his, the heat of her skin, and the taste of her breath.
He slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head where she had grabbed it. As he watched her walk back over to Ghost, Soap, Gaz and Price; Leon realised one thing, he was completely screwed.
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#fanfiction#resident evil#smut#leon kennedy#death island leon#resident evil vendetta#gaz#ghost#leon kennedy x reader#captain price#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#mw2 x reader#infinite darkness leon#leon s kennedy#resident evil infinite darkness#resident evil x reader#leon x female reader
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for the more than a married couple event :3
nagi seishiro w/ 🍑 + 🎂
please and thank you, happy holidays!
hi! sorry for this taking a literal eternity! here it is!
a nagi seishiro citrus cake :)
જ⁀♡⊹。° skeletons, skeletons, what do we have here
♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event! ( this event is now closed ) ( masterlist will be updated soon! )
♡ content — nagi seishiro x gn! reader, unrequited feelings (reader towards nagi) , nagi being a kind of lackluster husband, nagi still plays soccer, set in high school
♡ synopsis — All this time, you’d been picturing something more. Something bigger. A future where maybe, just maybe, nagi seishiro would choose you the way you had always chosen him. But while you'd always been looking at him—he was looking past you.
The moment you saw Nagi Seishiro’s name next to yours on the partner list, your heart stopped.
You were supposed to be excited. Supposed to laugh and tell him, Looks like we’re stuck together, huh? the way a best friend would.
But instead, you felt your stomach drop.
Because you knew—living with him, being this close to him every day, would make it harder to keep your feelings buried.
You had liked Nagi for a long time. Maybe too long. And now, you were going to live together, sleep under the same roof, share meals, and navigate life as a married couple—even if it was just pretend.
It was going to be the easiest and hardest thing you’d ever done.
At first, nothing really changed.
“Oh, you’re the one cooking, right?” Nagi asked, glancing at you from the couch as you placed bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.
You scoffed. “What happened to us cooking?”
He stretched, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Mm… sounds tiring.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
This was normal. This was fine.
But as the days passed, you started noticing the little things.
Like how Nagi waited for you to start eating before taking his first bite. Or how he always made sure you had a blanket on the couch, even if he wasn’t cold. Or how he never let you walk on the outside of the sidewalk, casually shifting so he was the one closest to the street.
It was nothing. It was everything.
And the more you noticed, the harder it became to pretend.
One night, after a long day, you both collapsed onto the couch.
Your legs were tucked under you, and Nagi sprawled across the cushions like he had no bones in his body.
“I dunno why people make a big deal about this marriage thing,” he mumbled, covering his face with a pillow.
You laughed, nudging him with your foot. “Because it is a big deal, Seishiro. You’re literally spending your life with someone.”
“Sounds exhausting,” he said, voice muffled.
You rolled your eyes. “You think everything is exhausting.”
He lifted the pillow slightly, just enough to peek at you. His gaze was half-lidded, but there was something unreadable in it.
“Not you,” he murmured.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut.
You swallowed. Forced a laugh. “What, am I the exception?”
He let the pillow fall back over his face. “Dunno. Guess so.”
Your fingers curled into your sleeves.
You knew better than to read into things with Nagi. He wasn’t the type to say things with hidden meanings.
But that didn’t stop your heart from aching anyway.
You woke up to warmth.
It took a moment for the haze of sleep to fade, for you to register the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek, the familiar scent of Nagi surrounding you.
Your breath hitched.
Somehow, in the middle of the night, you had ended up wrapped around him—your arm draped over his torso, your leg tangled with his.
And worse? His arm was around you, too.
Panic swelled in your throat. You had to move before he woke up, before he realized just how badly you wanted this to be real.
But just as you began to shift, his grip tightened.
“Don’t,” he mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.
You froze.
His eyes remained closed, his face relaxed. Maybe he wasn’t fully awake.
Maybe, just for a little longer, you could let yourself believe this meant something.
So you stayed.
And in the quiet of the morning, with his warmth seeping into your skin, you let yourself pretend.
It had been building for weeks. A question sitting on the tip of your tongue, an uncertainty lingering in your chest.
And finally, on a quiet evening, you asked.
“Nagi,” you said softly. “Do you ever think about the future?”
He was lying on the floor beside you, hands resting on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling.
He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Like… what comes next. After all of this.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then, in a voice so simple it made your stomach sink, he said—
“Not really. As long as I can play soccer, I don’t really care about the rest.”
The air left your lungs.
Because you realized, in that moment, that while you were looking at him—he was looking past you.
All this time, you’d been picturing something more. Something bigger. A future where maybe, just maybe, he’d choose you the way you had always chosen him.
But Nagi had never once thought about it.
Never once thought about you in the way you had hoped.
You turned your head away before he could see the way your face fell.
“Yeah,” you said, forcing your voice to be light. “That sounds like you.”
He let out a small chuckle, closing his eyes. “Mm. Too much effort to think about anything else.”
Your fingers curled against the fabric of your shirt.
You loved him. You always had.
But no matter how much it hurt, maybe… maybe you were better off as just friends.
Because Nagi was like the snow—beautiful, fleeting, impossible to hold onto without it slipping through your fingers.
And if you stayed, hoping for something more, you’d only be left out in the cold.
The end of the simulation came faster than you expected.
You packed your things, folded the blanket you had shared on the couch, took one last look at the space you had called home together.
It felt empty.
But maybe that was for the best.
Nagi stood by the door, watching as you zipped up your bag. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something almost hesitant.
But then he yawned, rubbing the back of his head. “Guess this is it, huh?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
A beat of silence.
And then, before you could stop yourself, you said, “I’m glad we did this.”
He blinked.
You smiled, even as your chest ached.
“I think we make better friends than anything else.”
For the first time since you’d met him, Nagi looked… confused.
But he only nodded. “Yeah. Duh.”
And just like that, it was over.
The first snowfall of the season came the next morning.
You stood outside, watching as the flakes drifted lazily from the sky, melting the moment they touched your skin.
Nagi would have loved this, you thought.
Then you shook the thought away.
Because no matter how much you loved him—
He was never yours to keep.
im sooooo sorry this took forever to put out i was literally in the worst writing slump ever :(
i hope you liked it!
likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated
#★ · airybcbyy#airy posts#bllk#blue lock#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#nagi x reader#nagi seishiro#seishiro nagi#bllk nagi#bllk nagi seishiro#blue lock nagi#blue lock nagi seishiro#airy answers asks :)
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Well...
I finished it.
And I mean, I took as long as I could, since I really didn't want to get to the end--mainly because, like with Iron Flame, we now know absolutely NOTHING about the fourth book and I'm in a perpetual waiting hell.
But at the same time, I couldn't hold off too long, because with every day, the potential for spoilers being seen increases, etc. And the very, VERY last thing I ever want is for any of these books to be spoiled for me.
With that said...
SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM BELOW THE CUT!!!
I MEAN IT! BIG SPOILERS!
ALL-THE-WAY-TO-THE-END-OF-THE-BOOK TYPE SPOILERS!
Because I'm putting my thoughts, my reactions, etc. (which will probably all be kinda disjointed, and rather lengthy, so bear with me on that...)
So yeah--
YOU. HAVE. BEEN. WARNED!
Now that that is out of the way--
(and yes, I've had that gif saved here for this very purpose)
First, I'll say this--
I am so very glad we got other characters' views in a few chapters. I absolutely loved getting Imogen and Rhiannon, (and of course some Xaden POV) and I know--I know that Quinn's death hit a hell of a lot harder because it was in Imogen's view than if it had been anyone else's.
I absolutely sobbed with that one. Like, put-the-book-down-for-a-moment sobbed. Liam Mairi dying type sob.
It was just... oh my HEART. HURT.
And Andarna deserves the world, okay? No one -- dragon, human, ANYONE -- is allowed to be mean to her, to upset her.
I will literally fight those dragons for Andarna, okay?
(Yes, okay, ONE of them wasn't a complete ass, but the others? I wouldn't have minded Tairn roasting them all. Or taking a few eyes.)
I was also so damn sure Mira would be dead in this book. Which, yes, okay, she kinda did-- but not really. The big "this death really hurts" moment was with Quinn.
Which I'm still reeling about, okay. It hurts!
I will also say that I absolutely LOVED the way the title got worked in at the end.
I mean, my heart broke, and I hated it, but I loved it. I definitely figured he'd fall farther by the end of this book--I mean, it would have greatly decreased the impact of Xaden turning venin at the end of Iron Flame if we went and found a cure and he got better by the end of OS.
So while I was still expecting him to sink further into that darkness-- That doesn't mean I still didn't want to yell at Rebecca for doing it!
Although--I think I might be willing to grant a bit of "okay" on it, because that final push seemed to be Xaden being all, "NO ONE TOUCHES AND HURTS SGAEYL."
Which I am 10000% for.
Saving Violet was the catalyst in IF, saving Sgaeyl was the catalyst in OS.
And I am also THRILLED that she didn't break the bond! I know that was going around as a possibility, that Sgaeyl was so pissed, that Xaden would turn deeper into darkness and she'd break the bond, but I'm glad she didn't.
I NEED more Xaden and Sgaeyl. I just do.
(I am also firmly convinced that Naolin did similarly to Xaden--in that he pulled from the source to save Brennan, he turned but his motivations were sort of in the right place, etc.--and Tairn had to break the bond or Naolin did or something to that effect and that is just another reason Tairn is so anti-Xaden (especially) in OS. Because he went through it all with Naolin, and he knows (in that "I'm Tairn and I know everything" way) that there is no cure, no saving, etc. But he also trusts Sgaeyl, Violet, etc. at least enough to let them walk this and not just torch Xaden outright.)
AND XADEN'S MOM WAS IN THE ISLE KINGDOMS!
I mean, there is still more there, I know there is. There's more to the story of why she left, why she never said anything, etc. etc.
But that was definitely a complicated bit of emotion in those chapters.
There are also so many more questions I have about Violet in regards to Dunne, to the temples and the gods/goddesses in general. Like, I know I need to reread OS too, with note taking and close watch and all that, but I still have questions.
What does it all mean? Theophanie was also built up as a major player and then she... dies. So now I wanna know who is even bigger than Theophanie--or is it going to come down to a Xaden versus Violet moment?
That will definitely be a very. giant. painful. moment.
And was it Garrick at the end? Or Bodhi? I'm pretty sure it has to be one of them, right? Like I said, I'd have to reread the whole thing--and especially that chapter with Xaden--but those are the only two that would fit his inner thinking criteria:
Male (since it mentions as a "brother")
Someone who'd known what he was struggling with (a la turning venin) for months, so basically from the beginning.
Someone he never would have ever thought would do it
I feel like it's Garrick, over Bodhi. Because Garrick left Imogen in Draithus, we didn't hear/see him again, and he's "missing" in Violet's chapter at the very end. (I cannot remember if Bodhi is mentioned or not...)
But it has to be one of them, right?
And now I wanna know why--to both of them! Either of them! Whoever it is--TELL ME WHY!
Pancheck is dead now, too, right? I was so sure it was gonna be Daddy Aetos being the asshole traitor but at the same time, maybe I just wanted to really really hate him for every other reason.
Still don't quite know why it was Pancheck--I'm pretty sure I missed several clues, that's for sure--but at the same time, he did know everything. He was perfectly positioned to be the traitor and all that...
And why was that the ending?
I seriously turned the page, and saw the "acknowledgements" starting on the next one, and I was all--
You have GOT to be fucking kidding me! That's it?! That's where it stops?!
I need all the answers.
What happened to make Violet ask/tell Imogen to take her memories? What happened in those "missing moments" to bring us to that point?
At what point did Violet tell Imogen to take the memories? WHAT memories (specifically) that happened in that missing time?
I knew I'd be completely reeling by the end of this book, but I didn't realize I'd be reeling this much!
And VIOLET'S SECOND SIGNET = INNTINNSIC!
Type of, but yeah. We're still going with that.
There are way too many things about inntinnsics that we don't know because of them being killed the moment it manifests, so yeah-- still many more questions.
And that is one damn powerful signet!
Now, I wanna know if she hones it, works on it, will it only be in dreams? Like, she can apparently meddle in them, influence them (subtly, perhaps, right now, but yeah--) so if we call it a dream-walking inntinnsic (or whatever "official" name the signet gets, IDK), but that's right now, right at the beginning.
Is it possible that she could meddle in conscious thoughts?
Aaric having precognition was something I figured out rather quickly, though; especially by that point when he tells Violet to guard Dunne's temple, etc.
It's like "oh yeah, he knows future things, etc."
And finally--
MARRIAGE? Wow!
I mean, I was kinda getting the vibe that it would happen at some point, sure. And then especially with that chapter's heading being about lieutenants marrying right after graduation, etc.
I just need to know the details. I mean, we all do, I'm sure, but when did that happen? Like, officially happen?
How?
Tyrrendor is protected because it's Violet's, by marriage (I'm assuming) and Xaden knows she'll do right for the people... But again, WHERE IS BODHI?!
What the holy fucking hell happened?!
Everyone knows Xaden is venin now, of course, and apparently a powerful one too. Is it possible to skip over steps? Like, can you go from an initiate level straight to a Sage (bypassing the asim level) if you channel enough and/or are powerful enough?
Again, I need to reread certain parts especially, but I'm getting the vibe that Xaden didn't just up a level. Or if he did, he'd been asim longer than we initially realized, so he's Sage level now...
I. DO. NOT. KNOW!
And I have so many questions!!!!
#onyx storm#fourth wing#iron flame#rebecca yarros#the empyrean#xaden riorson#violet sorrengail#xadenviolet#sgaeyl#tairn#andarna#dragons#books#booklr#fantasy#reading#ramblings of a mad woman#And I want RY to take her time... to not overwhelm herself...#But I also want answers! hah.#any crumb of anything will be greatly appreciated#(but I definitely DEFINITELY do not want RY stressing or overworking or anything)#I can wait... I hope
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Things I'd originally put in the tags plus other stuff that I want to add to the actual post:
Duke is incredibly frustrated by Tom Bombadil because he's a mystery that Duke can't solve. Jason argues that Tom Bombadil isn't supposed to be solved. Their arguing leads to the development of multiple, incredibly extensive Tom Bombadil murder boards that no one else in the family comments on, because Duke can go on about this shit for hours, and as soon as you get him going, Jason will materialize and cause problems.
Jason resonates a lot more with the movie ending than he did with the book ending. Something about the life-changing journey ending at a home that remains entirely unchanged just hits him harder than the Scouring of the Shire. He absolutely cries when Samwise gets welcomed home by his family, and Duke doesn't give him any shit for it, just bumps shoulders with him.
Jason keeps trying to get Duke to read the Silmarillion and Beren and Lúthien and Duke is not having it. "But you said Beren and whatever is already in the other one!" "That's just one version! You need to read all of them for the full experience!" "NO!" "YES!"
Duke ends up reading them all anyway because Jason is an asshole who guilts him into it by running around outside in the rain for days and getting sick on purpose and then refusing to come inside until Duke proves he read the first chapter of both.
Duke gets Jason back by pretending to have a panic attack and instead locking him in the panic room and refusing to let him out until he watches the Soviet version of LOTR in its entirety. This turns into a competition to see who can find the most cursed Tolkien-inspired media adaptations, and they both succeed in psychologically traumatizing each other as well as themselves. Bruce eventually has to intervene when they go missing for like 36 hours straight only to be found in a fucking cult meeting in Poland because apparently the cult leader uses a magic puppet version of the Roverandom to brainwash people and Duke refused to lose to the mutated corn orcs from the last cult.
Every Tolkien poem Duke reads is a poem he overanalyzes to hell and back. Same for Jason and any piece of literature that makes him feel something. Duke likes patterns and puzzles - figuring out the author's intention and how they go about fulfilling that intention. Jason is more Death of the Author - finding his own interpretations under the layers of meaning. Put these two in a room together, give them a topic, and in under an hour they'll have half a thesis and thousands of words worth of fan fiction. And another murder board.
On Jason's third rewatch of Return of the King: "For Frodo." "AND SAMWISE YOU FUCKING BITCH."
I think movie buff Duke Thomas should force Jason to watch the LOTR movies and literature nerd Jason Todd should force Duke to read the books.
They should make a movie night out of it and then a weekly book club that's really just Jason periodically hacking comms during Duke's patrol so he can yell at him to finish each chapter like a deranged English teacher that follows you around at work. And then they should get into heated arguments about Tom Bombadil; and Duke should get really invested in overanalyzing all the poetry in the book trilogy; and Jason should rewatch all three movies like seven times at least so he can scribble thoughts into the margins of his paperback copies, write dissertations in his head about the effectiveness of different story changes, and cry at Sam's "But I can carry you!" without having to stop reading.
And then they should repeat all of this with The Hobbit. They're both a little psychotic about it and the rest of the family is tired.
#genuinely I need more of this duo bringing absolute chaos but also being total nerds about it#duke thomas#signal dc#signal#dc signal#jason todd#red hood#batfam#batfamily#batfam shenanigans#batman#edited because I wanted to talk about the differences in how duke and jason might analyze a literary work
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At the start of this project all I wanted was to 'learn how to draw' using comics as a medium and the MDZS audio drama as inspiration.
I've come *very* far from making simple, 3 panel black and white comics, and I truly do intend to go even further. Thank you to everyone who cheered me on throughout 2023, it has been an incredible year in so many ways I never could have imagined. I look forwards to drawing throughout 2024 B*)
(2024 summary here)
#poorly drawn mdzs#art summary#It's so interesting looking back at how my style and technique changed throughout the year!#I used PD-wwx as the consistent factor (October is an exception) and you can see so many processes going on.#My little petri dish amoeba (with a little red bow to tell him apart from the other amoeba) <3#Whether it's getting new markers or trying out a new shading style - it's cool seeing a snapshot of my journey like this B*)#There's certainly been a slower curve to my overt improvement *but* I have become so much faster!#My life outside of drawing has been hectic and at several points extremely stressful this year. For all the work this blog has been-#-It has truly been a life saving anchor when the darkest of times have hit.#Love is hard work. Change is even harder work. Sticking to a goal I set out for myself and striving to keep going was worth it.#And I love drawing. I think there has always been something in me that longed for this. And it is finally tangible! I can draw!!!#I wanted to make a more elaborate year reflection where I looked back at my favourite comics and jokes.#but I'll leave that to the one year anniversary.#I have also been collecting a ton of statistics throughout the year and I am desperate to share them. I'm that kind of nerd B*)#I can never say it enough: Thank you all for the kindness and support. I wish everyone a lovely 2024!!!
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Can we talk about how Jonathan might've been able to clock Mike simply because of what happened with him and Nancy in season two?
This will be a long post, so you might want to strap in or save it for later.
In Will and Mike's case, it would obviously be much different from Jonathan and Nancy's situation, given that you know, they're gay. But we still have Jonathan arguably going through a similar experience as Will, while Mike is going through a similar experience as Nancy.
In s2, we see Nancy confront Jonathan about how she waited for him before getting back with Steve, which is a revelation to him. Then they're at Murray's and she's struggling to say she loves Steve, after a handful of moments between them that felt like she might return Jonathan’s feelings. And you can clearly see it in his eyes, listening to Murray imply that they have feelings for each other, with him looking back and forth sort of in awe of what's happening, like he's starting to question if she might actually like him back.
Will doesn't have that same affordance as Jonathan to really hope, at least not anymore. Which is why these relationships in s2 and s4 end differently for these two brothers.
Based on all the signs he was seeing that Nancy felt the same, Jonathan decided to take the plunge to admit to Nancy how he felt, and at that same moment Nancy had the courage to show how she felt. In Will and Mike's case, Will wasn't ready to take the plunge to admit to Mike how he felt, at the same moment Mike didn't have the courage to show how he felt.
What's so painfully hilarious to me about all of this though, is that Jonathan arguably starts the season in the same shoes as most of the audience, where from his perspective, it's becoming obvious to him now that Will like's Mike, but that Mike does not feel the same way.
First at Rink-O-Mania, Mike appears a little uncomfortable upon hugging Will. Then as the happy couple continues on their adventure into Rink-O-Mania, he watches Will lagging behind moping. And then unfortunately he's out of commission for the rest of the evening...
But once he's sober and back to being an attentive brother the following morning, we see him watching them at breakfast, with Mike barely sparing Will a glance, all while Will is blatantly staring, almost like he's waiting for Mike to look back, only for Mike to get up and walk away.
All of these instances gotta be SCREAMING unrequited gay love to Jonathan. He's already gotten signs for years that Will is gay, these are now just the signs that are instilling his suspicions that Will has feelings for Mike. He could have easily interpreted their relationship in the early seasons as young best friends, with Will seeming to have a crush on Mike, and with them growing up and that potentially including Will's straight friend distancing himself from him because he doesn't feel the same. It's not the most unexpected thing in the world considering.
But then there's a shift.
Suddenly he's creeping up on them talking in his room. And we know he was listening in on the conversation because he brings up Owens when he sits down. As he's eavesdropping, he's probably thinking something innocent like Aww they're making up! And like, hey! Even if Mike doesn't feel the same, which is okay and entirely expected honestly, at least he still cares about Will enough to make things right after acting so out of character. Still, I'm not gonna lie, that sounded a lot like flirting to me--
Then he's knocking on Will's door like 30 minutes or less later only to find Mike and Will back on their bullshit. Mike suddenly isn't going out of his way to ignore or put Will on the back burner. In fact, he's on his bed and they're talking, again! The door is even closed this time, which is interesting. This has gotta be a good sign in Jon's eyes. Nothing to worry about! Right? Right...?
But then suddenly this shift continues, going in a direction he probably didn't expect.
I mean, this is literally an identical jancy parallel we have here with byler on the hood of the car, with Jonathan right there to witness it. Despite him maybe only now subconsciously picking up on the similarities between Will and Mike to him and Nancy here, he's at least taking note (I mean he's even got his gay map out and everything).
It isn't until the van scene happens, that I think Jonathan starts to genuinely consider his suspicions, which is that Mike might actually like Will back.
EVERY time we get a shot of Jonathan looking back at Will and Mike in the van, followed by a shot of his POV from the rearview mirror, we're faced with Mike looking at Will while Will is looking away.
As Jonathan is hearing Will confirm his suspicions about his feelings for Mike, he's simultaneously witnessing Mike not looking at Will with disgust, but something more akin to reverence. All of those moments in the van that we witnessed, including all the ways Mike looked at Will and everything that was said, Jonathan was right there.
And what's even more insane about this scene, is that it circles back to Jonathan as a character himself.
I remember when people were talking about how odd it was that we never saw Jonathan with a camera in s4. After 3 seasons in a row of making his passion for photography a big part of his identity, that part of him was apparently absent entirely this time around... But was it really?
This is the same guy that said, "Sometimes, people don't really say what they're really thinking. But you capture the right moment, it says more."
Jonathan might not have had his camera in s4, but this was without a doubt one of those moments where he captured something more.
Something that I also think get's highly overlooked about this scene, especially when it comes to Jonathan looking back at them, being followed by a shot of Mike staring at Will, is that he could see both of their reactions the whole time, from beginning to end. Will nor the audience had the affordance of knowing because Will was facing the other way at the end, while we on the other-hand were blurred from even having the chance, despite Mike literally being in the frame. But not Jonathan. He even lets us see what he sees, a few times, but not at the very end, which would have been nice after they didn't let us see Mike's reaction seconds before this.
Let's just stop right there for a second though and circle back to what I consider to be the first time Jonathan really picked up on Will's feelings for Mike, which was at the end of s3, in a sequence that is a little too relevant to the van scene if you ask me, given that they are almost direct parallels.
While these parallels are pretty spot on visually, they are also near spot on narratively when it comes to the evolution each of these characters are experiencing.
For Will in the first scene, it's sadness that he's moving away from his friends in Hawkins and also feeling like he's losing Mike, after what looks like him and El making up, which makes him scared he'll distance himself again. For Jonathan, it's sympathy for his brother who appears to have some very deep feelings for his friend, feelings he can't quite grasp yet but soon enough will.
For Will in the second scene, it's heartbreak that he has to accept that Mike will never feel the same, knowing that supporting his relationship with El (encouraging it honestly) will likely turn out just as it did last time, with him losing Mike all over again, for the last time. For Jonathan it's sympathy for his brother who has now confirmed his suspicions that the feelings he has for Mike are more than just that of a friend.
Given that this parallel reinforces the same feelings Will and Jonathan had in s3 to now, why would this not also reinforce those same feelings that Mike had in s3 to now?
In the first scene, Mike was visibly distraught, with dialogue from Hopper in the background applying a little too perfectly with what he was feeling in that moment, which was scared. He’s apparently back together with El now, despite them doing just fine as friends for the last 3 months, as well as him and Will just having finally gone back to them being on good terms again. But now, it’s like he’s right back where he started at the beginning of s3, feeling obligated to be the perfect boyfriend to El, and as a result, having no choice in his eyes but to distance himself from Will. Mike then walks into his house looking like a zombie, almost emotionless stepping into his mother's embrace.
Now, I say almost emotionless because it looks like Mike was trying to hold back showing how he truly felt in this moment. He's not crying like he did in s1 when he lost Will that first time. Time has passed and things have changed (he doesn't want things to change). And he's trying his best to keep it together. But the in-focus close-ups make it clear that he is definitely not okay.
What's so impactful about these parallels is that it presents the inner struggle both of these characters are having, both queer and experiencing doubts, but in different ways and for different reasons.
Will is the one who covers it all up with lies, hiding the tears in his eyes, because boys don't cry.
Mike is the one who has never cried to them, just to his soul (RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!).
If you actually try to get a gage on Mike's in-focus emotions in that first scene vs. his out-of-focus emotions in that second scene, well they're not that far off from each other.
We go from Mike smiling vibrantly at Will, to him now slowly turning away to look back down at the painting, with whatever the hell emotion this is...
It's near impossible to catch because of how out-of-focus it is, but looking a lot closer, it honestly appears like Mike is feeling something akin to sadness that he's trying to mask. For a moment it even looks like he turns his head to wince emotionally, only to correct himself.
And call me crazy, but these shots also low-key parallel each other. Mike looking down trying to keep his emotions in check and failing miserably, only to look up and meet eyes with someone whose witnessing it.
With each shot before this of Jonathan observing Mike looking at Will, with him showing all the emotions Will never got to see and everything else in between, I wonder what Jon saw this time? Probably another thing he didn't expect.
Can you just try to imagine the silence in this van, accompanied by Will's muffled sobs, and then try to imagine Mike turning to look down at the painting, only to sneak a glance, and then go right back to looking at the painting, IN SILENCE, and then try to tell me how the assumption that Mike didn’t notice Will crying makes any sense, like realistically?
Yeah me and Jonathan are confused too.
Right now, Jonathan's probably wondering why Mike was acting a little fruity and repressed during the painting reveal. And that although he may have a penchant for being able to 'capture the right moment', Mike is sticking with his story (despite all the stalling and doubt). He is 100% straight!
And so maybe this is where Jonathan tries to accept what is being presented to him as the truth, despite the contradictions in front of him. It's likely that despite the way Mike looks at Will and acts around him, in ways he would have assumed coming from Nancy in s2 would've been evidence that she felt the same, it probably doesn't apply to Mike.
Maybe Jonathan's ready to accept that it's a lot more likely Will is experiencing unrequited love as a gay kid growing up in a small town, the most predictable experience a gay kid could go through, and in contrast Mike just feels too bad to let Will down easy.
Or who knows, maybe Mike could still be a little bit gay too...
But it doesn't matter anyways. Mike seems to be adamant about this and so there's really nothing else Jonathan can he do besides tell his brother he'll be there for him no matter what. And so he does just that.
But then Mike just has to surprise him one last time.
For those that don't know, the line Mike gives here in his monologue was in part pulled from Will's monologue in the van. Most don't know this because this line didn't make the final cut for the van scene, but in the official script the writers posted, what we find is an almost a direct parallel.
Which makes the reaction shots of Will and Jonathan directly after Mike says this all the more epic.
From Will's end he was probably hearing Mike say this and just thinking 'Damn. Well, that's what you get for using your feelings to inspire Mike to profess his love to El.'
But from Jonathan's end, I don't think his outside POV of these events overlapping was nearly as naive as his brothers understanding of the events. Because why the fuck would Mike need to use Will's feelings to inspire him to profess his love to El in the first place? Is this what Mike has been struggling with? Really? Why before every moment Mike takes action in this scene, is Will's hand literally pushing him into it? Why is Mike being so dramatic about saying I love you, stuttering and rambling about her being a superhero, not saying nearly as meaningful of things as what Will said in the van?
And then it hits him.
Mike is reminding him a little too much of another Wheeler right now...
Nancy Wheeler, who was afraid of what would happen if she accepted herself for who she really was, leading her to retreat back to the safety of Steve. Because Nancy liked Steve, but she didn't love Steve.
And now here is Mike Wheeler, who has went from being incredibly distant with Will after reuniting with El, something that is very unlike the Mike he knew in previous seasons, to something more himself again after they make up, with him looking at Will with adoration after hearing his words in the van, only to turn away and look heartbroken. Mike who is now struggling to simply tell El he loves her with Will right behind him literally yelling at him to do it.
And now it's like all those little moments are starting to add up to Jonathan.
Suddenly all those signs he picked up on from Will when he was younger are now blending in with moments Will shared with Mike. It was Mike who jumped in after him and his mom's speech to Will in the shed in s2, with tears in his eyes recalling the day that they met (without being asked, let alone pushed to). And it's Mike who is now looking like he's at war with himself as he attempts to give encouragement to El, just like he did with Will in s2, but this time he needs someone to push him to do it, and that person just so happens to be Will. After just finding out about Will's feelings and also while assuming El wants him to love her that way still, Mike is stuck.
I don't think it's takes a genius to consider Jonathan is capable of realizing how fucked they all are in this situation.
As much as Mike isn't ready for a sleuth of reasons, Will isn't ready either.
This provides a huge contrast between the bylers ², because while Jonathan and Nancy went through a similar experience to Will and Mike, them being ready to accept it and act on it didn't involve nearly as many factors and risks. Will and Mike also have the added barrier that is homophobia.
Will's internalized homophobia lies in part with assuming Mike could never feel the same based on some of the words he said in their last two fights, with parts being painfully reminiscent of the things his dad and bullies used to say about him. These are also words that contradict Mike's own words and actions from the previous seasons, things that did once give Will hope. The shame and guilt that comes with falling for your best friend, who you now know will never feel the same after being foolish enough to believe it not too long ago, and who might not even want to be your friend anymore upon finding out the truth, is understandable. He can't have hope like Jonathan can. It's just not the same.
Mike's internalized homophobia lies with assuming El wants him to love her, along with their relationship being expected and socially acceptable from everyone around him. Though unfortunately for her he feels abundantly more in love in the moments he shares with Will. Despite trying to make it work with El as hard as he could, because she's amazing and all any guy could hope for in a girlfriend, he can't ignore the fact that the feelings he has for these two people are different. The shame and guilt that comes with you, a boy, falling for your best friend, who is also a boy, and who is starting to show that he feels the same, all while you can't muster up the courage to break up with your girlfriend, nor can you muster up the courage to tell her that you love her, not when she's begging you, dying or even just simply at the end of a letter, is pretty understandable too. He can't have hope like Nancy can. It's just not the same.
Spoiler: They were not ready.
PS: I'm still not over the fact that they low-key confirmed these events elsewhere in the story...
#byler#st analysis#pocketgate#lettergate#i'm aware this is a hot (big brain) take#but i'm like 76% sure mike understood will in the van scene#also why mike is gonna finally be dealing with some personal business in s5...#just want to add that this makes the scene at Nina hit harder#also#mike trying and failing to tell el he loves her or break up with her at surfer boy and stalling because he just can't fucking do either?#mike's face when will pushes him to profess his love to el right in front of him???#honestly i dont think mike would've gone through with his monologue if he didn't think this is what el wanted in large part#i think he thought that if he did break up with her she wouldn't need him at all anymore#or more specifically if told her the truth she might hate him for it and just not want to be in his life in the aftermath of that#this is why he struggled so much with being honest#it was either lie and suffer but get to keep her in his life most likely or tell her the truth and potentially lose her and still suffer#it's just that now he has literally no choice but to conform and be with her all while knowing it's not what his heart truly wants#the heart not being true to himself jumpstarted the apocalypse#everyone act surprised#byler getting jonathan’d in s5 can be something so personal#no but imagine jon getting even more signals mike feels the same 😭#and he tries to talk to will about it but will just gets upset like pls stop why are you saying this?#or imagine him talking about it subtly with Nancy and her being like no way#only to see it for herself#maybe then Nancy would try to talk to Mike about how he’s feeling#idk I could genuinely see byler just getting byler’d individually#but it’s clear at this point Jonathan is extremely suspicious#honestly all I think it would take is him having intel about their previous fights#if he found out mike defended his behavior by insisting that they’re friends…#jonathan would just be like… oh shit.. the first lie…
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