#like bouncing around the room ''panic panic panic panic''

[chilling-seavey]

I feel like something that goes for TWIG is you and George dating and have not told anyone besides your families and someone from the grid unexpectedly comes over, like Alex or Charles, and they see feminine products around the apartment. Like your shoes, handbag, and/or maybe your bra (for some spice) and gets really curious.

(Anon, the way you concept here relates to the way I portrayed their early days relationship in the Winter Warmers blurb I wrote last night is a little scary...are we the same person?? But I love this SO MUCH (I actually wrote this as soon as it came in while actively in the office) thank you for submitting!)

Basically, yes, the overarching concept of wanting to be 100% private with the relationship to keep it out of the limelight and unwelcome social pressures of the Formula 1 world is so TWIG. George is a little nervous to have your relationship be so publicized and scrutinized because he doesn't want that to come between you...he's seen his friends' relationships crumble because of that and it terrifies him, honestly. But it feels normal without anyone knowing except yourselves and your close families...like he's a normal person in a normal relationship.

You'd come to some races that first year but with a regular paddock pass/'sponsored' by Mercedes, coming in on your own and away from him so as to not be associated together by the press, feeling like a whole secret spy and honestly it's kind of thrilling. Even most if not all of the team doesn't know: hardly even seeing you and George in the same room in Mercedes hospitality...you're never in the garage...you're honestly impressively good at flying under the radar.

Yeah, out of everyone it drives George a little crazy that he hasn't told Alex yet but he selfishly just wants to stay in this safe bubble of normal for a little longer. Even if that means virtually lying to his best friend.

You and George didn't live in the same city so for the first while of your relationship you were bouncing back and forth between each other's apartments (and halfway around the world on some race weekends...). It was not long at all really before there was a steady stock of your things at George's just to make traveling easier for you; face wash and shampoo and conditioner and some standard makeup and maybe an outfit or two. Honestly it came to a point where your things just felt so natural to him that they just blend into the background of his apartment like they were just meant to be there.

So when Alex showed up one random weekday, George almost didn't bat an eye. Almost. Until Alex was kicking off his shoes in the foyer and eyeing the second pair of sneakers by the door.

"Your feet shrink or something, George?"

The fib was out of George's mouth before he could think, "They're my sister's. She left them here."

With Alex pacified, George kept him in the living room, busying him with snacks and conversation like he wasn't silently freaking out that his lie would come out.

When Alex excused himself to the bathroom, George panic texted you from the couch. His knee bounced annoyingly with him stuck staring at your laughing emojis you replied with to his lengthy nervous ramble. Not helpful.

"Since when do you stock up on feminine hygiene products?" Alex asked the moment he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hands together like he was still washing them.

"I, uh...carry them in case anyone that needs them comes over. Like Lily." George stumbled out a mention of Alex's long-term girlfriend who, in reality, did come over sometimes. He then immediately deflected with a quick, "Since when do you go snooping under my sink?"

"I needed hand lotion and I know you have the good, expensive stuff that smells like a forest." Alex flexed his fingers out as he flopped back down on the couch, his skin shimmering just a bit in the sunlight through the living room window. But Alex was a little too trusting of his best friend and so he didn't feel too bothered by George's response. He was a nice enough guy, maybe he did keep stock for Lily or his sister or someone.

Third time was the charm when they had decided to watch a movie and George got up to make some popcorn. Alex got himself comfortable on the couch, rearranging the cushions and finding that sweet spot in the upholstery. But the sudden laugh that came from the living room had George stopping in the kitchen.

"George!" Alex called in that pitchy voice he got when he was far too excited and teasing him.

George appeared in the doorway to the living room to find Alex waving one of your bras around in the air. The look on his face must have been priceless because Alex nearly cackled, "You keeping a bra around for Lily when she stays over too or is this also your sister's?"

George took three quick strides over and snatched it from him, "It's not my fucking sister's."

"If you have a girlfriend, you can just tell me." Alex said, slightly calmer now but still housing that shit-eating grin on his face. "I don't know why you'd not tell me."

George sighed, feeling a little ridiculous standing there with your bra in his hand in front of his best friend who was set on getting the truth out of him. He shrugged, relenting, "We just...wanted to keep it out of the spotlight for a bit."

"I'm not the spotlight." Alex reminded him.

"Yeah, but you have a big mouth, Alex." George laughed lightly, teasingly, before fading out with a shake of his head, trying to explain, "It was nice just feeling normal. I know once the whole grid knows or the team it'll, like, start to blend...these two halves of my life...and I know how that can end up."

"You can't be scared of that, George." Alex said gently, "Not everyone crashes and burns. Lily and I are fine."

"Lily also is in a public career of her own so she knows how it goes." George replied softly, tentatively.

"This girl of yours isn't?"

George shook his head.

"Not a model? Social media? Athlete?"

George shook his head after each one.

Alex's eyebrows raised, "Don't tell me she's normal."

"Remember the girl who checked you into that hotel back in May?"

"That really narrows it down, George, thank you."

George huffed, "The one you were on me for staring at for far too long."

"Her? Oh my God, you actually got her to agree to go out with you?! But you're so boring!"

"Alex—"

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[allthingsfangirl101]

Not Hangman To Her – Jake "Hangman" Seresin

"We are about to embark on an emergency rescue mission," Maverick said. Instantly, all of the pilots straightened up as he continued. "The U.S.S. Reynolds set off three days ago. Their mission was supposed to be simple but it took a bad turn. After a dogfight, three out of their four pilots were killed."

"What about the fourth?" Rooster asked.

"She's MIA," Maverick sighed. "We are close to her last known coordinates. We've been asked to complete a search and rescue."

"Who's the pilot?" Phoenix asked.

"Her name is Lieutenant Y/F/N Y/L/N."

Hangman's heart jumped into his throat when Maverick put the pilot's picture on the screen. His mind raced as his eyes and thoughts were glued to the girl he met in training.

Y/N? There's no way she would be mixed up in all this. She's the best pilot. Whatever happened was not pilot error. Y/N didn't do anything to put her in this position. She's too. . . perfect to make a mistake that would cost her her life or the lives of her team.

"Hangman."

Hangman jumped when Rooster walked by, kicking his shoe. "You good?"

"I'm fine," Hangman said, clearing his throat.

"You sure?" Payback scoffed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Do you know someone on the U.S.S. Reynolds?" Phoenix asked.

"No," he said a little too quickly. "Why would I know anyone on the U.S.S. Reynolds?"

Before his team could tell he was lying, he left the room. He went back to his bunk and slammed the door shut behind him. Hangman frantically searched through his stuff, and at the very bottom, finally found the picture of him and Y/N in training.

~ • ~

"Keep up, Seresin!" Y/N laughed as she ran ahead of me.

As fast as I pumped my legs, I could never outrun Y/N. Then again, I didn't try to. I couldn't help but like the feeling I got when she bragged about being the better pilot. I loved how happy she got as she excitedly jumped around after beating me. I liked that it made her so happy.

"I win again!" Y/N giggled as she jumped and spun around. "Say it. Say that I am faster than you, Seresin. Say it. Say it. Say it."

I pretended to be angry as she jogged around me and chanted for me to say it. I didn't mind saying it but she expected me to push back, so I did.

"If I say it, will you stop circling me?"

Y/N stopped right in front of me. She smiled cheekily at me as she bounced on her toes. "Did you have something to say to me, Seresin?"

"You are the faster runner, Y/L/N," I recited just for her. "You're better than me."

"And don't you forget it!" She giggled as she went back to jumping up and down. Suddenly, her ankle gave out. I instantly caught her and pulled her close to my chest.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice soft.

"I think so," she said slowly.

"Are you sure?" I asked, starting to panic. "Maybe I should take a look at it. Here, sit down and I will. . ."

"I'm fine, Jake," Y/N chuckled as she patted my shoulder.

She turned away from me and stretched her legs as I overthought the last 2 minutes. The thought of Y/N in pain made me want to do anything I could to make sure she wasn't in it anymore.

I'd do anything to make sure Y/N was happy, healthy, and safe.

~ • ~

Hangman snapped out of the memory, his hands shaking as he held the picture. The idea that Y/N was out there somewhere, lost and alone, filled him with more fear than he knew what to do with.

"She's okay," he mumbled to himself. "She's safe. We are going to find her. We are going to find her. I will find you, Y/N, I promise."

* * * * *

The next few hours went by in a blur for Hangman. The ship changed course toward Y/N's last known location. When they got there, Hangman and a few others took off in their planes and began searching the water for any sign of Y/N or her plane.

As he searched, all Hangman could do was think of the worst-case scenarios.

What if they're looking in the wrong area? What if they find her plan but not her? What if they find her but it's too late? What if they find her and get her back to the ship, but can't save her? What if he never finds her? What if he loses her? What if he loses her before he gets a chance to tell her how he feels?

"We got her!" Rooster yelled, pulling Hangman out of his spiral.

"Well, we got pieces of her plane," Payback sighed.

Hangman quickly turned around and flew to them. He started searching the sea for any sign of the girl he was crazy about. Finally, his eyes landed on something that instantly burned into his brain - Y/N unconscious on a piece of her plane.

"I got her," he said, his voice not nearly loud enough. He cleared his throat and tried again but louder this time. "She's over here!"

"Maverick, we got her! We need a search and rescue party now!"

"Stay there," Maverick instructed through their headsets. "We're sending one to your coordinates now."

Hangman didn't move his plane an inch. Instead, he stayed right where he was and kept a close eye on Y/N's unconscious body. He wanted nothing more than to dive into that water and swim to her. Instead, he hovered close enough to keep an eye on her as the ship sent a medical boat to their location. Hangman watched as the divers pulled her out of the water and safely onto the boat.

Once they had her, Hangman sped back to the ship. He landed and instantly jumped out of his plane and ran as fast as he could to the infirmary. When he got there, they were just bringing her in.

"Y/N?" Hangman panicked. His heart jumped into his throat when he caught a glimpse of her unconscious and pale body.

"Woah, stop," Maverick said as he grabbed Hangman before he could run into the exam room. "The doctors have her. They will do whatever they can to help her."

Hangman looked behind Maverick to see the exam doors close, separating him from the girl of his dreams.

"They will come get us as soon as they have any news about Lieutenant Y/L/N's status," he said with a knowing look in his eyes. Maverick wasn't sure how Hangman and Y/N were connected, but one look at the worry in his eyes and Maverick knew there was something.

"I just want to. . . I wish there was. . ." Hangman stuttered. "I just want to help her, Mav."

"All we can do now is relax and wait," Maverick said gently. Maverick studied him briefly before finally asking, "How well do you know Lieutenant Y/L/N?"

"Y/N and I were in training camp together," Hangman sighed as he sat in a nearby chair. "Some guys in our group were giving her a hard time. I defended her and after that, we got close. We ran together, trained together, studied together. We did everything together until we got our orders to ship out. We were sent to different ships and. . . I haven't talked to her since she shipped out. I tried to keep track of her but. . ."

Maverick waited for him to continue, but Hangman got distracted by his memories. Maverick sat next to him and gently patted his shoulder. "The good news is we found her," Maverick tried to comfort him. "The doctor told me that he thinks we got to her just in time."

"That's good," Hangman said numbly, "I guess."

The rest of their team slowly trickled in as they waited. Two hours later, the doctor finally came out.

"How is she?" Hangman panicked as he jumped up and met the doctor.

"She's okay," the doctor reassured. "She's dehydrated, a little sunburned, and has a slight concussion from the crash. Honestly, she should be way worse. She's extremely lucky."

"So, she's going to be okay?" Hangman double-checked.

"She's going to be fine," he nodded. "All she needs is a couple of good nights' sleep and some healthy meals. She should be back on her feet in a few days. I would, however, recommend that she not return to her ship just yet."

"Why not?" Bob asked.

"Well," the doctor sighed, "if we send her back to her ship, they will most likely put her back in a plane. She may be physically alright, but we have no idea how she is mentally. And that's something we can't check or test until she wakes up."

"Thank you," Maverick said, shaking the doctor's hand before he went back to Y/N.

"Wait," Hangman said, jogging to catch up to the doctor. "Is there. . . I was just wondering. . . I know her and. . . I was hoping. . ."

"She's not awake," the doctor said gently, "but you can sit by her bed until she does."

Hangman took that invitation and instantly went into Y/N's room. When he saw her asleep in the bed, his heart broke. He numbly walked over and collapsed into the chair next to the bed. He scanned her, searching for any injuries. She had a pretty big gash on her forehead, pieces of glass were taken out of her face, and she had bruises across her chest from her harness.

With shaking hands, Hangman reached over and gently grabbed Y/N's hand. "I'm right here, Y/N," he whispered. "And I'm not going anywhere until you wake up."

* * * * *

Y/N was unconscious for the next 14 hours. Hangman stayed by her side the entire time. His crew tried to get him to leave, but he refused. He barely ate and didn't sleep as he waited for her to wake up. He was starting to fall asleep when he felt her hand tighten around his.

"Y/N?" He whispered.

"Jake?" Hangman instantly leaned forward when he heard her beautiful voice whisper his name. "What are we. . . I thought you were. . . Where am I?"

"It's okay," he instantly soothed. "What matters is that you're safe. What do you remember?"

"I don't know," she said, shakily. "It was supposed to be a simple mission. But. . . I was shot down."

Hangman tightened his grip on her hand and scooted closer to her. He watched, his heart breaking as she remembered what happened. When the tears started streaming down her face, he gently caught one with his thumb. He kept his hand on her face as he tried to comfort her.

"Y/N," he said gently, "everything's okay. You're safe, okay? We found you and we are going to take care of you."

"Jake?" Her voice broke. He moved his hand from her face and scooted closer to her.

"Yeah?"

"Were you the one that found me?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I just. . . My whole team was there."

"But you found me," she said, already knowing the answer. "Right?"

Hangman laughed awkwardly as he reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

"I knew it," she chuckled weakly. Hangman felt his face burn as she smiled at him.

"How'd you know?" He chuckled.

"I like to think I know you pretty well, Seresin."

Hangman smiled when he remembered why she never liked calling him Hangman. She actually hated his callsign. She always said it didn't fit him. And when it came to her, she was right. He'd never hang her out to dry.

"Because," she continued, "You always find me when I'm in trouble."

"I would've searched the entire ocean for you," Hangman mumbled. Y/N's face softened when she saw the seriousness in his eyes.

"Jack," she whispered as she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. He didn't fight her as she pulled him down so he was lying next to her.

"I'm really glad you found me," she whispered, cuddling into his chest.

"Me too," he mumbled as he looked down and saw the exhaustion in her eyes. "I promise I won't let you out of my sight this time."

She let out a small giggle causing him to tighten his arms around her.

"I've really missed you, Seresin."

He looked at her and watched her eyes flutter closed. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I've really missed you too, Y/L/N."

[andromeda3116]

planning to make a move tonight with this guy and deeply terrified even though i know he's interested, he's made it very clear that he's interested but putting the ball in my court to decide what, if anything, i want and i've made up my mind to pursue this but like. i've been single since the obama administration because there's not, like, a person-shaped hole in my life, i don't need to be with someone to feel whole, and i have to make room in my life for another person and idk how to do this and i hate feeling vulnerable or exposed or out of control and giving someone else the power to hurt me and having to just. trust that they won't. but i kind of... accidentally already gave him that power without realizing it. i kind of... feel like this is just acknowledging something that's already started.

i am. so nervous.

like, a little giddy, a little eager, a lot anxious for no reason other than how terrified i am of major changes even when i feel like they're good ones and. and. and.

[127rkives]

uhhhh idk if anyone has discussed this before but... miguel likes to eat pussy from the back!!!

like idk, every once in a while, his brain goes brrrr and something short circuits. idk chalk it up to stress but it's more like some feral, animalistic urge. he can’t really explain it. it’s almost as if someone flips a switch, his mind goes blank except for the thought of needing to be with you, under you, in you. he has to stop whatever he’s doing and go find you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

and as soon as he makes it home to find you relaxed on the couch, he's flipping you over, contorting you face down ass up, and he’s nuzzling into your clothed pussy like a dog in fucking heat. when he’s finally spent just enough time shrouded in the scent of you, he's yanking your shorts off. he’s been at this for approximately 2 minutes but there's already a wet patch in the center of your panties. that sight makes his pupils dilate before going in for the kill. his claws come out to rip your panties to shreds right before he straight up nose dives into your pussy, and granted you can feel him, the action still catches you off guard enough for you to emit a loud gasp. it’s just too much too fast. “mig- ohhh!~”

“mmm... mmmf” miguel gets so much satisfaction from tasting you that he releases moans of his own. they would be bouncing around the room and intermingling with yours except right now he can't bring himself to pry his tongue from the slick walls of your cunt. 

“oh my gosh- miguel!”

hearing you raise your voice in alarm while saying his name is enough to make miguel pause for a second. you take the moment of reprieve to look over your shoulder— huffing and puffing— only to be stunned by miguel’s animalistic look. his curls are messily hanging near his eyes which are dark, yet spacey as if he’s on another planet. his lips are parted just enough to show a peek of his fangs as he breathes heavily through his mouth after suffocating himself with your pussy, and a gleaming mixture of his spit and your slick is smothered over half of his face and all the way down to his collarbone.

“m- miggy could you just give me a few seconds?” you ask. miguel tilts his head to the side and scoffs. a curt “no” is all you get before miguel locks his arms around your thighs to drag you back to his watering mouth. you don’t have claws like miguel but if you did the couch cushions would definitely be in shreds from the way you’re gripping them. 

the wet slurps of miguel’s tongue lapping at your cunt are soon paired with two of his thick fingers easily slipping in thanks to your arousal. he scissors them for a moment before adding a third. the speed he uses to pump them in and out and the feeling of his slightly calloused fingers against your gummy walls leaves you floating in the clouds. you’re brought crashing back down, however, when a deep groan from miguel sends sparks up your spine. soon enough you feel pressure building at the bottom of your stomach, only it doesn’t feel like it usually does. in a fit of panic you try to drag yourself out of miguel’s grip.

“ohhh my go- miggy!” it’s all you can do to let out little slurred calls of his name, but it doesn’t matter. miguel’s not stopping until he’s satisfied. your escape attempts are useless, but the wiggling is enough to piss him off.

“querida. don’t move so much. be good.” but you can’t be still. the tingly feeling in your tummy is growing and all you can do let out breathy moans as you thrash around in ecstacy.

“ahh- i can- can’t help it!”

all of your moving loosened miguel’s grip too much for his liking. in less than a second, he's yanking you back towards his mouth and hoisting your hips just high enough to wrap his lips around your cute little clit. 

one hard suck is all it takes before you’re squealing at the top of your lungs. a scream of “miguel!~” is the only thing leaving your lips while your vision goes white and your breathing stops for a second. miguel is unrelenting behind you, switching to messily swiping his thumb across your clit and shoving his tongue back into your pulsating cunt in an attempt to catch every last drop squirting in to his mouth. 

even when your arms give out beneath you and you faceplant into the couch miguel is still lapping at your outer lips like he’s been saved after being stranded in the desert for a year.

and like that, it’s like the switch in his brain flips again. he smooths his hands up and down your trembling thighs and scatters kisses in a path up your back to the nape of your neck. “you okay, cariño?” a weak “mhm” is all you can muster up as you turn your head to flash miguel a floaty smirk. he smiles and chuckles, recognizing the foggy look in your eyes. covered in a sheen of sweat and high off the feeling of him is just one of the times miguel thinks you look the most beautiful.

after ghosting his hands across your skin and giving you a few minutes to calm down, miguel goes to gently move you to his lap. he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling all of you. with the little strength you have, you wiggle around in his lap attempting to get comfortable but something is in the way- 

“ohh~” miguel’s breath is hot on your neck as he groans into it. his fangs graze your skin, his hands grasp onto your hips for dear life and oh...

someone flipped the damn switch again...

[hairmetal666]

Steve has done interviews before. Like, a lot of interviews. YouTube, podcasts, print, TV stuff. Not as a brag, or anything, just. He's been an influencer for a long time, for better or worse, and it's part of the deal.

Usually, he's comfortable in front of the camera. Usually, he's poised and well-spoken. But today, this time, sweat pools under his arms and beads along his hairline, the lights beating down on him in a harsh glare.

"Steve Harrington," Murray Bauman crosses his legs, smiles big for the cameras. "It's been a while."

He smiles too, tries to seem like he's not about to have a panic attack. "I've been a little busy."

Murray laughs and it's then that Steve understands how screwed he really is. Murray's show, it's all glitz and glamour on the surface; mixed drinks and hijinks until the celebrity guests lose their inhibitions, admitting things they probably wanted to keep secret.

It's just that, before, Steve didn't have any salacious rumors to worry about, and now--

"You've had a rough year, Steve, yeah?"

"Not my best, for sure." He leans back, tries to seem calm, unbothered.

"I was sorry to hear about your divorce. I think that announcement really took a lot of people by surprise."

His hands clench, but he manages not to shift or bounce his leg. "Thanks for, uh. Yeah. We were also sorry it didn't work out."

Murray nods, face full of sympathy. "You and Nancy, you'd been together since high school? That's almost--what? 15 years?"

"It's--" he clears his throat. "About that long." Steve takes a sip of the drink next to him, an apple martini that's both too sweet and too strong.

"Am I right to assume that you didn't see it coming?"

And isn't that a question? Sure, now in hindsight, he can see the fractures that lead to the end, but six months ago did he--it's all so--what if all along--

"All marriages have rough patches," is what he says. "We just couldn't come out of ours as a couple."

"Do you know what I've found really remarkable about this phase of your life? The content and tone of your videos in the midst of the maelstrom of rumors and gossip didn't change at all. 'Your kids' as you call them, are still as bright and vibrant as ever. You're laughing, dancing, cooking, having a great time."

"I needed that--that normalcy you know? And the kids, they're such an important part of my life, having them around helped."

"Including Nancy's brother, Mike?"

Steve laughs and it's not fake. "Totally including Mike. My relationship with Nancy has nothing to do with my relationship with him."

"He's kind of an antagonist--would you say?--in your videos, though."

"We have conflict sometimes, but it's never serious. We know how to play it up for laughs."

"So, nothing's changed between you?"

"Not at all."

"The cheating rumors." Murray's smile is soft, but all the air still leaves the room.

"What about them?" It's more combative than he means, but--

"Did Nancy cheat on you with Jonathan Byers?"

He swallows and it hurts. She did cheat, is the thing. It's not public information, still only speculation, but--

"You can't believe everything you read, Murray."

"So, she didn't cheat?" There's a glow to Murray's eyes that tells Steve he already knows the answer.

"Like, I said before, marriages are hard. We spent a lot of time apart because of our jobs. It took a toll."

"And she was traveling with Jonathan, yes? He's been her photographer for the past decade, from what I understand."

"They were co-workers, but we're all close. And those rumors didn't help our relationship, for sure. It's--not easy to hear that a bunch of people think your wife and close friend may be having an affair, that people 'ship' them. Even when it's not true, it creates--"

"Tension? Distrust?"

"Both, probably." He takes another drink as he nods. "After a while you do start to wonder if there's truth to it, and you're too ignorant or too--too trusting to see it."

"And it eroded the relationship."

"It certainly didn't help." He takes another drink.

"And how about your relationship with Jonathan's brother, Will. Has that been impacted?"

"Of course not. Never. Whatever happens between Nancy, Jonathan, and I, it has nothing to do with the kids. They know that.

"You talked about it."

"Yes. Extensively."

"I know there's often speculation on the relationship you have with them; if you're really close or it's all for the cameras."

"Murray." He leans forward. "We've talked about this before. I met Dustin through Mike, and the whole group followed. I've known them all since they were 8 years old. They're--I mean, not to be cliche, but they're my family." He sips the last bit of martini.

"And where does Eddie Munson fit into that family?"

The question shouldn't be a surprise, but he almost does a spit take, has to fight to keep it together.

"Eddie?"

"Yes." Murray's smile is chilling. "Your close friend Eddie Munson. Musician. Plays Dungeons and Dragons on YouTube. You made out with him in a music video. Ringing any bells?"

"I'm familiar with Eddie," his grin is rigid. "I don't know what that has to do with my marriage ending."

"Well, the rumors weren't all about Nancy, were they?"

"Eddie and I have--we became mutuals online years and years ago. I used one of his songs in a video and the kids are obsessed with his dnd stuff, so. We've become close."

"Friends?"

"Isn't that implied?"

"After that music video, I don't think so."

Steve rolls his eyes, lets the irritation show for the first time. "He asked me to be in his video. There's nothing scandalous about it."

"What's your relationship with Eddie right now?"

"Like I said, friends."

"Do you want it to be more than that?"

"Eddie's really important to me."

"Is that all?"

"Not really sure what you want me to say here, Murray."

"You were married to a woman for years, but now there are questions about your sexuality."

He grits his teeth. "My sexuality isn't anyone's business aside my own. People can say shit on Twitter all they want, that doesn't mean they know me. But--the end of my marriage--it definitely gave me the space for self-discovery, I guess? In a way I hadn't had before."

"And is Eddie a part of that self-discovery?"

"Yeah, as one of my closest friends, he is."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"That's--that's not--I'm going through a divorce. My focus isn't on starting another relationship right now."

"You, famously, tattooed your initials on the inside of his thigh during an Instagram live. That's pretty intimate."

"We were just having a little fun."

"Huh. That seems like more than 'a little fun' to me. So, how's Eddie doing with the increased attention?"

It takes Steve a second to track the change of subject, mind still stuck on the tattoo, on how the ink had looked on Eddie's pale skin.

"It's hard." Steve eventually answers. "Of course he enjoys bringing his music and dnd to a wider audience, but the focus on his personal life is--it's a lot."

"Well, he should have thought about before letting you tattoo him for your 850,000 followers. Does he want a relationship with you?"

His throat is dry, burning, he wishes he had more martini. He wishes he'd never taken a sip. "You'd have to ask him. I'm just taking it day by day, you know? That's what I need right now."

"We're getting to the end of our time, but you know I have to ask. Your best friend, Robin Buckley, she very famously unfollowed both Nancy and Jonathan on all social media when news broke about your divorce. Can you tell us why she unfollowed them?"

"I have no control over Robin's accounts. I didn't even know she followed Jonathan ever, and she and Nancy have a relationship outside of me, you know? I can't say what happened between them."

"She's been in your videos with Eddie. She like him?"

"Very much. It's kind of annoying actually. They keep ganging up on me."

"Much to everyone's delight, I'm sure. So, what can we expect from the newly single Steve Harrington?"

"There are a couple things in the works, but only time will tell."

---

He walks through his front door an hour later, and Eddie's sitting on the couch, playing a soft melody on an acoustic guitar. He stops when he sees Steve, setting the guitar aside, and standing.

"How'd it go, baby?" He asks. His soft smile is so beautiful, Steve gets a lump in his throat.

"As expected." He crosses the space between them, lets Eddie pull him close.

"He ask about us?" Eddie's breath tickles his ear.

"Of course."

"And you--"

"I want--it should be just for us. We should be able to announce when we're ready. Not when Murray-fucking-Bauman asks."

Eddie kisses him, then, sweet and slow, making him lose his breath.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be right by your side."

"You sure? All my mess--"

"Is mine too. Afraid you're stuck with me for the long haul, Steve Harrington."

[tbaluver]

I feel like you’re the perfect author to get this done!! I was wondering if you could do the l&ds boys and their reactions to you crying during sex? Not because you’re upset but either from a genuine love for them or overwhelming feelings and sensations. I love your work so so much!!! <333

When You Cry During Sex- The Love And DeepSpace Men

genre/warning: smut included MDNI, comfort and some fluff

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader

a/n: hihi anonnie!! im so so happy to hear you love my work! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ i hope this is alright and that you'll enjoy this !!

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He gazes down at you with a look that combined lust and adoration, one hand reaching to gently cradle your cheek. He sinks into you so slowly as his hands roam free. He lowers his head down where his lips kiss at your neck. He pants and gasps against you, thrusting inside of you deeply. It's the way he took his time with you to give you what you want. Your bodies connected, souls intertwined. He was always so tender and affectionate with you that you didn't even notice the tears racing down your cheeks. Oh how you loved this man so deeply.

He would be SO worried. He would be internally panicking the moment he saw your tears. He'd slowly stop his pace and start asking multiple questions if you were uncomfortable or in any pain while wiping your tears away. He'd also ask if you'd want to stop but you'd cut him off and say no because that's the last thing you want and you were so so close to your climax.

He'd relax to hear you were okay while wiping any extra tears that ran down and replacing each tear with a kiss. You'd apologize for crying but he truly does not care because he insist that he will always be there for you and to wipe any of your tears away. He'd continue his pace to reach your climax and to meet his own.

Zayne:

With his perfectly angled thrusts, you can already feel the intense pleasure building inside of you. Your fingers fist his hair, gripping and pulling at the strands while he thrusts himself into you. An elongated groan strings from his lips as you tug his hair, his head tilting back with your pull, mouth agape while sighs escape him. His eyes peer down, continuing to stay locked on you.

He was so deep inside you, his cock twitching at the sight of his tip pushing slightly against the skin of your lower belly. The way his long fingers curling tighter into your hips to fuck you even harder. The way the man you love always made you feel so so good. He was also so affectionate and prioritized you first even to make you feel so good.

The pleasure coursed through your body with every quick and deep pump of his cock that you didn't even realize the tears tracing down your cheeks.

He would freeze, literally

His pacing would stop, immediately asking you multiple questions of "Are you hurt?" "Would you like me stop?" while he cups your cheeks and wipes your tears.

When you reassured him and explained what happened he was patient and relaxed to hear you were okay. He would always be understanding and sweet. He would draw you in closer, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before gently pressing another kiss on your lips. It wouldn't take long for you both to get back to where you were and help finish you off.

Rafayel:

Rafayel liked having you on top of him because he can see you bouncing on top of him with your tips going up and down and seeing your face contorting with pleasure every time he reached a little deeper inside you. You work on his cock as your hands roam around his sculpted chest. Both of your grunts and moans echoed in the room as you fastened the pace. You were so close to your orgasm as your movement began to get sloppy. You were desperately chasing your high that you were unaware of the tears quietly sliding down your face.

The tears running down your face made Rafayel panic. He'd stop completely and sit up as he wipes the tears staining your cheeks while babbling "Are you okay?" and "I'm so so sorry." He would get cut off mid sentence when you'd whine and beg to let you continue while pulling him closer so he'd understand.

He would smirk understanding what those tears meant and let you continue back to work. But this time he would take control and grab your hips bringing you up and down, slowing your pace to tease you. "Tell me how much you love bouncing on my cock pretty girl."

Sylus:

Watching your face contort into pleasure was one of his favorite things. He starts thrusting faster, rougher than before, his own sounds of pleasure mixed with yours bounced off the bedroom walls. You whine from the sensation as his places his lips onto yours to soothe you, to comfort you.

Sylus was always so warm and big inside of you. The way your tight hole was fluttering around his girth made you see stars. You don't remember how many times you came on his cock as he rutted against you. Your legs were wide open as his cock was pumping in and out of you in such a fast motion that you didn't even realize tears are leaking from your eyes.

He refused to always take his eyes off you. He's always an observant partner so when he saw the tears run down your cheeks, he would slow down. His voice would be so gentle and ask if you were in any pain and if you would like to stop completely. When he heard you whine to go continue, he would pick up the original pace and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

"Am I making you feel that good baby? Do you want more?" While kissing the back side of your knuckles or down your neck to your collarbone.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warnings: panic attack, PPD

"Does tomorrow morning work? I'll be heading to base immediately after. Want to make sure I have enough time to say goodbye."

"Yeah, we'll see you then."

Simon goes to bed early that night.

He's good at clearing his mind and willing himself to sleep, hovering just barely there on the surface, never dipping too deep, and has done it for years. It enables his ability to rest in even some of the most uncomfortable circumstances (and that includes Johnny's snoring). It's compartmentalizing at it's finest, something he's tried to impress upon the sergeants too, over time.

Learn how to do this. It may save your life.

The pendulum swing keeps him somewhat aware, connected to a very small piece still tethered to the conscious world.

It's how he hears his phone ring at twenty hundred.

The caller ID flashes your name and he picks up immediately, sitting straight up. "Hey-"

"Hi, um..." You're crying. He flips himself out of bed, already partially dress, and manages to locate his shoes in a millisecond.

"What's wrong?"

"Can you... can you c-come- take the baby for a little while?" Your exhale whistles through the phone sharply. "P-please. I know you- you're leaving tomorrow but I-"

"It's alright, I'm on my way. I'll be there in a minute. Are you okay?"

"I- I... don't know wh-what to do." You're hyperventilating, caught in the grip of something, scared and alone. The sidewalk stretches for miles, his lungs burning as the oxygen stays trapped in his chest from the weight of his fear, and the line goes quiet, call ending as he makes it to the lobby of your building and up the stairs.

The copy of your key he never returned gets him inside, and the first thing he notices, or realizes, is Orion's screaming. He calls your name, yells it, beelining for the nursery where the baby lays on his back, hands and feet wriggling wildly in the air, tears coursing down his cheeks as he wails. "Alright, Ry, alright. C'mere, I've got you." You're not in here, not anywhere in sight, and his stomach flips.

You have to be here. He just talked to you.

But you wouldn't know how to signal him if something was really wrong, would you? He didn't prepare you. If something happened, how would you tell him?

He tucks Orion into his arms, cradles him to his chest, and bounces him gently. "Hey, you're okay, you're okay. What's all this crying about, hmm? What is it? Where's your mama?" The crying gentles, barely, and Simon holds him at a distance, quickly, checking him over. He's not overheated, he doesn't seem to be hurt, he's freshly bathed and in a clean onesie. His nappy is new and doesn't need to be changed. "Mama took good care of you, huh? You're all clean, fresh nappy, ready for bed, aren't you bub? Yeah." Simon paces in a circle, trying to settle his cries, before lowering him back into the crib. "You stay right here, little man, alright? Close your eyes. Daddy's gonna find mama and he'll be right back."

You're not in the living room, and he finds your bedroom dark when he opens the door. For a very brief moment, his panic blooms into paralyzation, before he spots the light from your bathroom.

His heart breaks when he opens the door.

You're on the floor, back against the vanity, sobbing with your palms covering your ears. You look like you haven't showered in days, and your light blue t shirt is soaked, slicked to your breasts and belly.

There's no distance between the two of you in this moment, no barriers, no time, no need for space. He kneels, and you look up, tearful eyes telling him all he needs to know. "I'm here, mama. I've got you."

You go into his arms willingly, diaphragm heaving with tiny hiccups and sobs, unable to catch your breath. Your entire body shakes, and wraps himself around you, holding you tight where you've buried your face in his chest. "I- I'm s-sorry." You're hoarse, voice cracked and broken. "He w-won't stop."

"Shhh, don't worry about that right now, just take a deep breath." You shake your head.

"I can't."

"Yes you can." You're frozen, panicked, and he smoothes his hand over your head. "You can do it, honey. Try f'me." The baby is still crying, and with the bathroom door slightly ajar, it bounces off the tile, all around you. Simon grimaces.

He's fine, he's safe. He's in his crib.

Simon shuts the door.

"Breathe with me, alright?" he maneuvers you so that you're in his arms, laying on his chest, face tipped back to his. "Just follow me," he pulls the hand that's gripping onto his forearm like rebar away and places it over his heart, "like this." You try and try to sync your breathing with his, and once you finally get there, evening out slowly, he kisses your hair. "There you go, good girl."

Simon keeps you close, happy to hold you, even if it was in these circumstances. It's so selfish, so wrong, but he can't find it in himself to let you go, waiting long past the point when you've calmed down to finally speak again. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"He... he wouldn't stop crying. For hours and I... I tried everything, but I felt like I couldn't breathe and I felt... dizzy, and when I went to feed him he didn't want me and I was crying too, but I felt so- so mad at the same time, and I didn't know what to do so I j-just put him in his crib and came in here and c-called you. I don't kn-know what I did wrong-" your breathing slips into shallow territory again, and he rubs your back.

"You didn't do anything wrong. He's okay, he's safe. He's even got a fresh nappy on. You made sure you took care of him, which is all you need to do, okay?"

"I feel awful," you whisper, drenched in shame, "he needs to eat, and I just- I abandoned him."

"No, you did the right thing and took a break. There's nothing wrong with taking a break." You sniffle, pulling the sopping shirt away from your body, shivering with discomfort. "Do you want to try again? See if it goes any better?" You give him a frightened look, unsure and nervous. "I'll be right here with you."

"Okay."

"Let's go see your mama." Orion has worked himself into a state, and it tears Simon to pieces, guilt about leaving him in here ripping through his heart.

He feels responsible. He is responsible, at the end of the day. If he had been upfront with you from the beginning, this might have never happened. He would have been here. You would have the support you need.

He was supposed to take care of you, but all he did was make it worse.

He kisses Orion gently. It helps quell the anxiety growing like a plague inside him, worry and fear about leaving you on your own for weeks, or more, chipping away at his resolve. He tells himself you'll be okay, that you did it on your own before he came along, and that you can do it again, but the admission of another dizzy spell doesn't make him feel any better in the long run.

"Don't worry, she's okay now. She loves you so much, you know that? She takes such good care of you, all the time. Even when she doesn't feel good, doesn't she?" He doesn't turn the lights on to your bedroom, and finds you on the bed, sitting up, wet shirt discarded on the floor. He doesn't rush it, doesn't push you, even though the baby cries at the top of his lungs in Simon's arms.

Finally, you hold your hands out. He helps get Orion settled, stroking his cheek over and over until he starts to instinctually seek you out, latching after a few long minutes.

Your eyes slip closed at the silence and you lean to the side, nestling into Simon's chest.

He holds you. You hold his baby.

How it was always meant to be.

He whispers above your ear, working his fingers into the knots of your neck, your shoulders. "You're doing great, mama." You hum but stay quiet, head down, fingers stroking over Ry's cheek, again and again.

"Thank you... for being here. I know things are complicated but it means a lot that you would come. I'm sorry I freaked out, about your job. I just... it's a lot to take in. I don't really know how to feel. I need some time." That's good, he thinks. Better than last week, when you asked him to leave with tears in your eyes. There's hope. He can fix this.

"You can have all the time you want sweetheart, but... I need to ask you a favor." Orion's body full relaxes, little fist clenched in the swell of your breast falling away, and you sigh.

"What is it?"

"When I'm away... I can turn my phone on every now and then, in specific places. D'you think you could send me some pictures? Or maybe I could call, when I'm able?"

"Of course."

He stays most of the night, until the sun comes up. Gets Ry back down, stands watch while you're in shower, helps you get settled in bed. There's a special place in his heart for you when you're soft and sweet and sleepy, a tiny kitten, curling up in the palm of his hand, purring. His moon. His everything.

"You be good for your mama, okay? I expect a good report when I get home. And try not to grow too much, alright little man?" He kisses his head, holding it there, walking around in the kitchen with Ry in his arms. "I love you, Orion. You and your mama. I'll be home real soon."

You turn the corner, something clenched in your hands, what, he can't tell, and you smile sadly. "I uh... I have something for you." He cocks, his head, shifting the baby to one arm, and you hold your fist out. "It's kind of dumb, honestly, but I thought you might... I don't know. I thought you might like it. I made it myself." It's a small fabric square, embroidered with a constellation, Orion's, he recognizes now, and a compass. "It's so you can always find it in the night sky. If you're in the northern hemisphere it should be south west, and if you're in the southern, it's in the north west. I didn't know like, what you could take with you but I figured this is small enough..." You look embarrassed, and all he wants to do is pull you into his arms and kiss you.

But he can't. He can only whisper your name, thick with emotion.

"It's great. I'll use it every night. Thank you." You blink, eyes wet, and then nod. He glances at his watch.

"Time to go?"

"Yeah," he hands you the baby, and picks up his duffle, the weight foreign now but still familiar. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

"I will."

"Promise me." He's stern, pushing a little bit of lieutenant into it, and you agree again, quickly.

"I will." You follow him to the door, holding Orion up for him to kiss one last time, and then he presses his mouth to your forehead, pleased when you don't pull away. He's dragging it out, the reluctance too ripe, and finally hangs his head in defeat after the too short minutes tick away.

"I'll see you soon." He gives you one last look, memorizing your face, Orion's, as much as he can, before heading down the hall.

"Simon," you call, turning him on a dime, "be careful, okay? Make sure... make sure you come home." Home.

"I will. I promise."

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (5)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, angst babyyy <3

a/n: I'm going insane and crazy and every iteration of that. I love writing this fic so much I want it tattooed on my forehead. Thanks, love you all <3

Read part one | part two | part three | part four | (bonus part 5) | part 6

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You were in and out of sleep for the next few days—much to your displeasure. 

After attempting to down all the herbal remedies Azriel’s healer had left and continuing to care for your daughter without missing a beat, Azriel had made it clear that that would not fly. You told him several times to go home and not burden himself with caring for the two of you, but he was entirely too stubborn to listen to you. 

You even watched as his shadows left and returned with messages for him, sure that his High Lord was calling him home. 

But Azriel still stayed. 

He made food, he served the food, and he fed Melanie, coaxing her delirious eyes open to make sure she took medicine at the right times. You weren’t completely incapacitated, but it didn’t matter; Azriel wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger. 

He answered the door to the apothecary several times, sending away customers after collecting payments and restocking shelves, somehow privy to the knowledge of the store. You weren’t entirely confident that he wasn’t overcharging everyone or putting things in random places.

A few times, when sleep fought for the space in your mind, you felt fingers in your hair, along your face, across your shoulders. Each brush would send you deeper into the void you avoided so adamantly, and you were ignoring the fact that you had never felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of other people until now. 

You caught Azriel holding Melanie on a few occasions.

You would crack an eye open after an unexpected bout of sleep and he’d be rocking her in his arms, bouncing her to sleep as she lay her flushed face on his shoulder. 

Azriel had never told you if he had experience with children. Sure, he mentioned his closeness with Nyx and how much he loved his nephew, but that was… different from this. The ease with which he held Melanie, the instinct he seemed to have towards her—it felt different. Looked different. 

You felt an unexplainable sense of safety as you watched them. 

Melanie would pull back from his shoulder and arrange her fingers on the planes of Azriel’s cheeks and he would smile at her. And you felt safe. 

You found more energy on the third day of the fever. 

You got out of bed and took some semblance of a bath, fumbling around in the bathroom without much coordination. Your head was still fuzzy and an ache still permeated deep within your muscles, but the feeling was lessened. 

It wasn’t until after your bath that you realized you hadn’t checked on Melanie the moment you woke up. 

You hadn’t shot out of bed and raced to her room as you had done almost every morning since she was born. 

You hadn’t feared that she was somehow taken from your home, from your arms—that she was in danger of being ripped from your grasp and sent back to Autumn to live out the same cruel fate you were destined for. 

A small voice in the back of your mind offered a gentle whisper, reminding you that it was because of Azriel that you found that brief moment of peace. 

You pushed it back. 

With a shiver, you made your way down the narrow hallway to your daughter’s bedroom. 

Empty. 

You felt your heart rate tick up in a small bout of panic, but you were calmed by a fluttering in your chest just as quickly. The light pressure led you into the kitchen and then flushed into a warm bloom as the scene in front of you unfolded. 

Melanie was bundled up in a blanket and sat atop the kitchen counter as Azriel whisked the contents of a bowl. She was talking her head off about something that happened at school and Azriel was nodding his head with each exasperated huff she let out. Another glance told you that Melanie had eaten an entire plate of food before you’d entered, a feat in itself as your daughter hardly ate to begin with—let alone when she was sick. 

“Mommy!” Melanie cheered, wrapping her arms around your neck as you entered the quaint kitchen. “I thought you were gonna sleep forever. I wanted to wake you up but Mr. Azriel said you had to sleep to get better so he made me lunch.” 

“Lunch, huh?” you smiled, gathering her into your arms and sliding her off the counter. 

“Uh-huh. You slept through breakfast and lunch. Aren’t you hungry, mommy?” 

“Maybe a little bit.” 

“Well, you should have Mr. Azriel’s pancakes.” Melanie yawned. Her blinks became longer. “They’re so good, mommy. He should live with us and make them all the time.” 

From the stove, you heard Azriel breathe out a laugh. You glanced at him through your lashes as you held Melanie in your arms, the broad expanse of his wings barely contained in the kitchen. The shirt he wore strained against his arms as he shifted a pan on the burner and he didn’t look back as the two of you spoke. 

“I think I need a nap,” Melanie proclaimed, rubbing at her heavy eyes. “I thought I was a big girl at school now and didn’t need to take naps. You told me that, mommy.” 

You tore your gaze from Azriel’s back and offered your daughter a soft smile. “Well, you need rest to get better, too. So it’s okay for you to take naps right now.” 

“I don’t like having hot blood. This is so annoying.” 

You jutted your head back at her statement and made to have her explain, but Melanie shimmied from your arms and scampered off to her room before you could make a sound, her blanket dragging behind her. 

That left you alone with Azriel. 

“Hot blood?” you asked, leaning against the counter and attempting to appear casual in your own home. It was still surreal that he was up here—making pancakes in your kitchen—when just a few days ago, you never would have let him get past the stairs. 

Azriel hummed and flicked the burner off, leaning his back on a nearby counter to face you. “I think she heard what Madja said when she was explaining what was wrong with you both. Mel’s been calling it hot blood. I didn’t—I didn’t think it was my place to correct her.” 

You pressed your lips into a line and rubbed your forearm in some attempt of comfort. “Right.” A long pause. Azriel didn’t press you to speak. You did anyway to fill the dead air. “You really didn’t have to stay for as long as you did. I know this place isn’t what you’re used to and it must have been a handful with Mel—” 

“I wanted to stay,” Azriel interrupted. He stepped forward and placed a hand on your forehead, ignoring the tension you felt weighing on your shoulders. “You’re still warm.” 

“I feel a lot better. Almost completely fine. It would be okay… if you had somewhere to go. If you had to leave, I mean.” 

The hand on your forehead slid down to your chin and tilted your face up. Azriel’s gaze flickered between your eyes—back and forth with a furrowed brow as if trying to parse out a deeper meaning behind your words or solve a puzzle you hadn’t presented. His hand was hot against your chin in a way it wasn’t against your forehead. 

“You should eat,” he settled on. He brushed your still-damp hair back from your face before turning on his heel. “Mel was right. I make great pancakes and you haven’t eaten in a while. Lucky for you she didn’t finish all of them. She was close, but there are a few left.” 

You let him fuss, watched him as he rooted around the cupboards to pull out a plate and a glass, and tried to figure this out now that you were more coherent. 

Azriel had stayed—for almost three days he had stayed at your apartment and cared for you and your daughter as if it was expected. Each time you had woken up he had been there, coaxing water and bone-dry broth into your mouth before helping you see Melanie and then helping you to fall back to sleep. He had held your daughter and made her pancakes and he was still here. 

Could this somehow be nefarious? Some ploy to get close to you just to use you as a bargaining chip and send you back home? Had the High Lord demanded that his Spymaster keep a close eye on you and this was the outcome? 

No. 

No, that couldn’t be the reason Azriel was setting a plate down on the counter beside you. That couldn’t be why he caught your eye with a worried gaze and seemed to pinpoint your inner turmoil almost instantly. 

But why? 

His visits over the past few weeks had been welcomed—confusing at first, but a welcomed break from the mundane, anxiety-fueled life you lived. You had grown comfortable with him and Melanie had begun asking for him when she showed you her art projects or had questions about the walks of life. You had come to expect his presence in your store and found yourself looking forward to the chance to see him outside of Melanie’s school. 

But what could he possibly have to gain from making himself a constant in your life? 

You had asked before, a single question with a simple “Why not?” for a response that you had brushed off. Because it wasn’t too much of a big deal for him to stop by or help you lift the apothecary boxes or let Melanie talk his ear off. 

But this was a big deal. 

It was a big deal when he sat beside you until you fell asleep and it was a big deal that he was still standing here now, inches from you, eyes boring into yours. 

“Why are you doing this, Azriel?” 

Your question seemed to suck all of the air from the room. Azriel winced to such an infinitesimal degree you almost missed it. His fingers twitched as they rested on the counter. The plate of food sat forgotten, its intended distraction wasted. 

“I’ve already said.” 

You shook your head. “‘Why not’ was okay when you were stopping by the apothecary a few times a week and flirting with me for fun. It was okay when you were saving me from nosey teachers and opening doors when my hands were full. It was okay when this—” you jabbed your finger between your chest and his “—didn’t involve you in my apartment holding my daughter until she fell asleep. I need more than why not, Azriel. I need to understand if… if…” 

“What?” he whispered so close the air between you warmed. 

When had he gotten so close?

“I need to know if this isn’t safe. If there’s some other reason for all of this.” 

This time, when Azriel winced, he flinched. His body seemed to stun and his face twisted into a frown etched with such an uncomfortable pain it was difficult to look at. 

He spoke as his head shook. “I’ve told you this isn’t… I want you to feel safe with me. I thought I would have proved that was possible after this.” 

“You have,” you were quick to reply. “I wouldn’t have been able to take care of Mel if you hadn’t been here. But, that’s the thing. I don’t even know how you knew to come here. You walked in asking if I was okay—asking where Melanie was. I know your shadows spy, but why, Azriel? Why take such an interest in me? In us?” 

“Is it not enough to just want to know you?” he asked, his words tight and pained. 

“No. For others, maybe. But not… not after everything I’ve been through. Not when everything I have could be ripped away. I need a reason, Azriel. I can’t let this happen without one. I can’t put Melanie in danger.” 

“I don’t understand,” Azriel pleaded. He got closer, wrenching his head down to find your eyes. “Help me to understand. What danger are you in? I can explain, but I can’t protect you without knowing.” 

You let out an exasperated scoff, tugging at your hair and regretting the action as a headache bloomed. You took a step back until your back met the kitchen wall. 

“You can’t protect me, Azriel. You can’t.” 

“I could if you—” 

“It doesn’t make sense that you want to! You work for the High Lord. You spy for him! Do you have any idea what any of that means in the grand scheme of things? What it could mean if someone found out that the Night Court’s Spymaster was suddenly asking around about someone from Autumn?”

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, confusion marring his features, but you were breathing faster, the fever and the panic combining beneath your skin.

“I have stayed hidden for five years—five. I shouldn’t have sent Melanie to school. I shouldn’t have asked for help from anyone. If… if someone finds me—” 

“No one will find you. Hey—hey.” Azriel invaded your space, your back against the wall and his hands against your face. His eyes softened as they caught yours. “No one is going to find you. You need a reason why I want to be here with you? Why I care about you and Mel?” 

Your jaw quivered under his fingers. You nodded in place of speech, unable to find words that wouldn’t make tears fall down your cheeks. 

Azriel stared back at you with so much torture and conflict in his eyes you almost wanted to take back the request. He took several breaths and seemed unsure of his next words. But he held your face in his hands with such surety, strong fingers unshaken. 

The Shadowsinger brought you forward with the guide of his palms until his lips met your forehead. 

And then he pulled back and said, “You are my mate. I want to keep you safe—to protect you and Melanie—because you are my mate. You are what I’ve been waiting for for hundreds of years and if you want nothing to do with me after this, that’s fine. But if you’ll have me, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

part 6

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: James panics when he sees what his boggart is.

Genre: hurt and comfort

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of reader's death, crying, panic attacks, swearing

~ anon, this idea was amazing! thank you ☺️ ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James's arrogance is his Achilles's Heel.

He truly can't help it sometimes—especially now when that arrogance is accompanied by his friends' laughter as he teases everyone about their stupid boggarts. Emma Johnstons' was a spider, which scared Peter, but had Sirius and James in tears at the back of the classroom.

"Wait until it's your turn, Potter," an annoyed Emma hisses as she walks by them, still pale from fright and embarrassment. She sends James a murderous look and continues, "Then we'll see who's laughing in the end."

James's grin only widens and he sees her words as a challenge. His hand shoots up in the air and he bounces on his heels. "Oi! Professor?! Can I be next?!" 

Professor Windward looks at him behind his small glasses, already exhausted by James's antics but he allows him to walk up to the front of the classroom anyway. James sends his best friends an obnoxiously confident wink and struts up to the front of the line.

James isn't in any way prepared for his boggart. 

He's expected something mundane—like an animal, or even death eater—or maybe some scary creature he'd read about in library books. What he didn't expect was to see you, dressed in your uniform and robe, your shiny hair sprawled across the wooden floor-board as blood slowly dripped from your mouth.

Your eyes are round but they're lifeless and your clothes are soaked in crimson liquid. You aren't moving and it looks too real that, for a moment, James is completely frozen. 

He hears the whispers of his classmates—whispers of your name and reminders of your relationship with James. Friends, the word rings around the classroom just as James's mind breaks and he completely panics at your body on the ground in front of him. 

He drops his wand, breaking into an awkward run to where you lay, entirely prepared to skid across the floor and hold you in his arms, but Professor Windward is quicker. He grabs James by his collar and pulls him back, his arms encasing around James's shoulders as he makes the boggart disappear with another spell. 

It seemed too cruel to turn the image of your dead body into something ridiculous. 

No one in the room is laughing, not even Emma Johnston, as James makes a pained sound and attempts to shove past Professor Windward and hold you like he'd planned. His mind is racing and he's panicked as the sounds around him make him feel like he's trapped underwater.

"Son, it's a boggart. It cannot hurt you. It's not real," Professor Windward explains, his grip on James firm, but James doesn't seem to understand him. Sirius, Remus, and Peter are beside James in an instant, holding him up and comforting him. 

Without much convincing, Professor Windward lets them lead him outside into the corridor and down the stairs. James is a mess and he keeps looking around for danger or you. His mind screams at him that he's being unreasonable, that it wasn't real and he knows this, but his heart is in a complete panic. 

"Prongs, hey, it's okay," Remus tries to explain as James's hand tightens in Sirius's. "She's probably in her dorm—she's okay."

"Should we take him to her?" Peter squeaks, looking between his friends with concern. 

"No–"

"Yes–" James interrupts Remus's answer and he turns to Sirius, his eyes round and desperate. "I wanna see her. Please. I wanna see her now. I need to know she's okay!" Remus doesn't think it's smart to bring James to see you when he's like this but Sirius can never deny James what he wants so all the boys pile into the door to the Common Room and then quite obnoxiously, James and Sirius start to scream your name as Peter rushes up to their dorm to find the map. 

A moment later, when you still haven't answered, Peter scampers back down from their dorm and holds up the map. "She's in the library," he says breathlessly. Sirius jumps up, snatching the map from Peter's hands.

"Onwards," he shouts in an attempt to lighten the mood but that only earns him a sniffle from James and a glare from Remus. 

* * * 

You're peacefully unaware of the chaos that's about to ensue as you're curled up in an armchair, a book in your lap. You absentmindedly chew on your lower lip as you concentrate. 

"Y/n!" a familiar boy screams your name and you look up, sitting normally in the armchair as your four very anxious looking friends stumble in front of you. "Look, she's okay," Peter points, sounding relieved as well as he moves aside to reveal a very distressed looking James Potter. 

You stand up, dusting your uniform and your eyebrows crease. "What's happened?" you ask seriously and then you feel James's arms wrap around your shoulders as he pulls you into him. His lips find the exposed skin of your collarbone as he inhales your scent and almost crushes you closer to him. 

James's always been an affectionate person. Since you can remember, he's never not taken an opportunity to kiss your cheek, wrap his arms around you, or even hold your hand, but this is extreme even for him. You glance at the other boys, confusion evident on your expression, and they send you sympathetic looks. 

"Jamie," you whisper and hug him back, your hand hesitating but ultimately finding his hair. 

You hear a choked cry and you realize he's almost in tears. Concern overwhelms your senses and you pull away only to have James's hand find yours. His eyes are shiny with tears and, as if he's reminding himself, he mutters, "You're alive." His thumb caresses your palm. 

"You two should talk," Remus interrupts bluntly and sends Sirius, who seems entertained by the scene in front of him, a sharp glare, "Alone." Remus pulls Sirius away, ignoring the latter's hump of protest as Peter trails behind them.  

James doesn't seem to care as he stares at you, he looks much calmer now. 

"What do you mean? Of course I'm alive." you ask gently, pressing your palm to his cheek. 

He leans into your touch. "I saw you dead. In Defense Against The Dark Arts. Professor Windward was showing us boggarts and it was funny until it was my turn and that dreadful thing turned into your lifeless body, right there in front of me, and—and I didn't know what to do because I realized if you died, I would just have to die too," James explains, sounding like he's made up his mind if the scenario ever comes up. 

Boggarts? James's biggest fear was your death? You can hear the sincerity in his voice and you can't help the way your heart jumps for his. 

"Does that make you the Romeo to my Juliet?"

James frowns and asks, "Who?" which reminds you that James hadn't heard of some muggle writer like Shakspeare and that even if he had taken Muggle Studies last year, like he was supposed to, he wouldn't have listened that intently anyway.  

"Star-crossed lovers," you shrug, ignoring how warm your cheeks have become. 

James's shoulders relax and he chuckles. "So, you're saying we're star-crossed lovers now?"

You like that your little quip has lightened the mood successfully so you shrug again, deciding to tease him. "Never said that. Why? D'you want to be star-crossed lovers?"

"No. Because I don't want our relationship to be doomed," James deadpans and he runs a hand in his curly hair nervously. He looks behind you through the stained glass window of the library and hears the soft patterns of afternoon rain. "It's raining," he says and he moves closer, his hand finding yours again as he fiddles with your fingers.

"It appears so," you answer in a whisper. You look at him, trying to read him. You squeeze his hand. "I'm right here, James. 'M not going anywhere."

A moment of comfortable silence passes and James looks so serious as he stares into your eyes, his breathing becoming harsh again. He leans in and he's wearing the same look on his face every man does before he kisses someone—only James Potter wears it well. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter shut, nerves bubbling in your stomach.  

When his lips touch yours they're accompanied by his hands around your jaw. He's gentle with you, kissing you like he's savoring your touch. He pulls away only to press his forehead on yours.

"Merlin's beard, I've wanted to do that for so long. You're intoxicating, Y/n," he whispers as if he's just made a revelation and he takes your chin in between his thumb and index, smiling like the love-sick fool he's always been. 

"I really like you."

Your eyes widen. "You do?"

James's smile turns into a smirk. "Yeah, 'course I do. Was that kiss not enough confirmation?" He raises an eyebrow and leans in again, this time peppering open mouth kisses across my entire face, "Here. I really really really like you," he mumbles and enjoys the sound of your giggles as you shy away from his kisses. 

"I really like you too," you say, finally escaping his kisses as James pulls away. He looks over the moon happy.

"The boys are never gonna believe this," James mutters, completely unaware that unlike him, it hadn't taken Sirius, Peter, and Remus this incident for them to realize James is madly in love with you. They'd known from the first time James had uttered your name. 

"Shit, you're already the best girlfriend I've ever had—not that I've had many," James says, almost to himself as he tucks some hair behind your ear. 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Woah, slow down there. Take me on a date first, then we'll talk about labels," you joke, knowing damn well that by the end of the date James would be proclaiming his love for you to everyone who would listen and you don't mind one bit. 

James's eyes shimmer at the opportunity to spoil you. "You have a deal, m'lady."

You laugh. "Merlin, you're so cringe, James." You take his arm and pull him towards the window where a bunch of pillows are laid out on the edge and you plop down, momentarily looking out the window at the rain.

James follows your lead and when he leans against the wall, you lay your head on his chest and rest in between his legs. 

"Stay with me for a bit?" you ask.

His heart feels like it's fluttering at your closeness and he's completely calm—the memory of your dead body completely distant now. It's now a memory he'll only remember in the dead of night, when he'll have you to hold him and kiss all his worries away. 

James nods and then he leans his head on the wall and looks outside, his hand playing with your hair as you hum and continue to read your book. The soft sound of rain is like a piano melody as he watches the droplets fall down the glass. They're racing in his mind like they would when he was a child and he smiles. 

He kisses the top of your head, earning him a giggle as he mouths, "I love you," into your hair. 

One day soon he'll say the words out loud, just not now.

Today, he's happy just being near you and knowing that he finally has you in some significant way—in a way he'd denied himself for way too long. 

You nuzzle in him and turn your page, your gaze so focused, and his heart swells. 

I love you, he thinks again. I love you so damn much. 

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

sarah cameron’s brother

pairings - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe always did things to piss you off or make you cry.

warnings - sexual intercourse, fingering. (18+)

You searched high and low in the cupboard, waiting for your eye to catch sight of the unopened packet of pink chips you had hidden in the back of the pantry. However after several minutes you came up short, the chips were nowhere in sight. “I swear I brought them” grumbling to yourself, checking once more before slamming the door closed and leaning back against the bench with a sigh.

Just as you go to walk back to your room, the door of the kitchen opens and Rafe walks in. Crumpled up bag in his hand, the smell of salt and vinegar just about smacks you in the face. “You ate my chips!” You shout, stalking towards your best friend's brother in anger. He was always doing something to anger you, he liked getting under your skin. “I don’t see your name on them” he states, he pulls his hand back and throws the balled up bag and it hits you square in the nose.

He chuckles deeply and moves to walk around you, your hand grasps the front of his shirt in frustration. “They were mine. You don’t even like that flavour! Stop stealing my shit!” He laughs again and stares down at you with an unreadable expression, his irritatingly gorgeous blue eyes inspect your face. “It’s cute how mad you get, you're under my roof so I’ll eat whatever I want” he states, his hand moves to grip your wrist, your fingers loosen instantly and he pulls you away from his shirt, rubbing his palm over the wrinkles. “That doesn’t mean you can just eat my stuff… Why are you always doing things to annoy me! Don’t you have a life?”

You don’t even know why you're arguing with him, you know he gets nasty quickly and has you crying in your room for hours. His words always hit too deep, they wouldn’t hurt so bad if you didn’t have such a silly little crush on him.

“Y/n.. I’ll eat whatever the fuck I want. You live here for free, just because you're my sister's best friend doesn’t mean you can tell me what I can and can’t do. And honestly you need to get over yourself.. You think I’m ‘always’ trying to annoy you but maybe have you looked at yourself and realized you're the annoying one, you're the one who came in my life and disturbed my peace. I already have two annoying sisters I didn’t need you as well”

“You're such an asshole!”

“Cry me a fucking river… now get out of my face”

Your neck heats in anger, his words causing you to become slightly emotional. He knew why you were staying with them, he knew you couldn’t go home to your alcoholic parents and his dad wouldn’t take no for an answer. He knew the damage your parents had caused you and yet he still throws around shit like that.

“Fuck you!”

“You fucking wish… I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole”.

You can’t stop the tears that prick behind your eyes, your bottom lip trembles in embarrassment. “Your such a fucking asshole”.

Your feet carry you out the door before you can hear his response, climbing the stairs and slamming your bedroom door closed. Your fingers twist the lock as the tears fall from your eyes, silent sobs wrack your body as you press your palms to the back of the door.

“Open the door y/n”

Biting your lip when his voice bounces off the door, you're shocked he came after you. He usually spits out hateful words and leaves you to wallow in them. “Y/n open the fucking door”.

“Leave me the fuck alone Rafe” your voice cracks, swallowing down your tears in embarrassment. His fist meets the door causing you to jump back in panic, the door handle jiggles as he tries to open the door, you can hear him huffing behind the wooden door.

“I’m not playing around open the door”

You stay silent and move over to your bed, he kicks at the door this time in frustration. You knew he would be pissed off for a few hours but would get over it eventually. Just as silence falls over you the door swings open and you jump at the intrusion, pressing your hand to your chest.

“I told you to open the door”

“Leave me alone Rafe, I don’t want to hear anymore”

He closes the door behind him and walks over you, his fingers grip your chin when you turn your head away from him. “I didn’t mean to make you cry”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, blinking the tears away. “It’s nothing new Rafe”

“What?”

“You make me cry all the time, don’t know why your concerned this time”

His eyes scan yours and he runs a hand over his face in fruatration. “I didn’t know I made you cry… I assumed you could take what I dished out”

You pull out of his grip and sit back down on your bed, bringing your knees to your chest. Looking up at him with glassy eyes, he hated seeing you look this vulnerable.

“Not when you call me names or bring up my living situation” he takes a seat next to you, you can feel his thigh on the bottom of your toes. Sending goosebumps up your arms and down your back, your body shivers at the contact. If he notices he doesn’t comment, his eyes are on the picture of you and Sarah on your bedside table.

“You should have told me”

You shake your head, wiping away the tears that had managed to escape again. “You wouldn’t have listened or you would have just made me feel worse by telling me to grow up or something”

His eyes meet yours again and you both stare at one another in silence, you take this moment to appreciate his chiseled Jaw and buzz cut. His skin is soft and flawless, everything you expected when up this close. “I didn’t mean what I said”

“It’s whatever Rafe, I’ll get over it”

“No it’s not, I didn’t mean it and I didn’t want to make you cry. I just.. I don’t know why I always argue with you, it’s easier”

Your eyebrows crease together at his words, his fingers brush yours slightly and it sends shivers down your spine again. You drop your knees from your chest and instead cross them in front of you. “Why would that be easier than treating me like a human being?”.

“It’s easier to argue with you… because than.. because than I’m not constantly thinking about how I want to kiss you”

Your mouth suddenly feels like the Sahara desert, no words form in your brain as you stare at him with wide eyes. “I-”

His hand is on your knee, skimming across your thigh until his fingers grip at your waist. Your legs shake at the contact, excitement courses through your veins “What are you doing?” You whisper, it feels as though your heartbeat was in your ears. Your chest feels heavy with anxiety as his face inches closer to yours “Rafe”.

As though your voice brought him back to reality he swipes his nose against yours, you can feel his breath on your lips. A fresh set of goosebumps paint themself on your skin. “It’s so much easier just being an asshole to you but I can’t anymore.. not after seeing you cry, not after knowing the words I say cause you to cry alone”

Before you can respond, his lips graze yours, it’s not even a proper kiss and you already feel dizzy from his touch. Your legs unravel themself as your fingers find home at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until his body pressed against yours, his lips meeting yours firmer this time. Almost desperate.

Your nails scratch down the back of his neck as his tongue works against your own, your hips raised off the mattress until you could feel his heavy body against your sensitive one. “Fuck” he groans into your open mouth, your lips almost bruising from the fierceness behind his kiss, his fingers massage at the skin of your waist.

Your hands fall from his neck to creep under his sage green shirt, fingertips kissing the skin of his stomach. You can feel him clench under your touch, pressing his erection to your cunt. “Oh god” you moaned at the ache that gnawed at your sensitive bud, you needed friction. You wrapped your legs around his hips and flipped the two of you over until your clothed pussy pressed firmly against his bulge. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long” he mumbles, attacking the delicate skin of your neck, sucking and nibbling until your hips begin rolling against his cock. “Me too”.

His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping your cotton covered ass cheeks. You're embarrassingly wet, your arousal soaks the panties you wore. His rough hands part your cheeks, you can feel your pussy opening waiting for the intrusion of his fingers but instead he presses you firmer against his erection. Rolling his hips into yours, your sensitive clit throbbing with each movement. “Oh fuck” you curse, your head falls forward causing your hair to create a curtain over your face.

Your forearms press against Rafe’s chest to keep you up right. One hand leaves your ass and slips under the two of you to grip your throat, he pushes you up slightly so he can get a look at your face. “You like that?”

“Mhm… I need more” he doesn’t say a word and instead slips his fingers inside your panties. The dampness of your pussy has him grunting, his eyes don’t leave your face as he toys with your clit. Your mouth falls open as you try to organize the words in your head, the feeling of his fingers has you going crazy. “More” is all you manage to choke out, he slips a fingers between your lips and nudges at your opening. Your pussy pulsating around air until he finally slips a finger inside, your arms shake but the hand around your throat stops you from falling onto him. “How many fingers can you take?”

“I- I don’t know.. maybe two?”

He slips three in instead, you cry out in pleasure. You can feel him all over you, he begins to finger fuck you hard. The wetness of your pussy has his fingers gliding in and out without resistance, his mouth kisses at your chest. With the ounce of strength you have left you pull down the fabric of your top to expose your breasts, his eyes fall to them before looking back up at you for a brief moment. He envelopes your perky nipples into his mouth and sucks your tits like it’s his last meal. “Fuck me Rafe”

Your breast falls from his mouth with a pop and he slips his fingers out of your pussy, bringing them to his lips to suck your juices from them. “Now”

He chuckles but obeys, standing up to slip his shirt over his head while you unbutton his pants. Tugging them until they meet the ground and come face to face with his pretty cock, you pull him back onto the bed and climb over him. You’ve stripped your own clothes off and straddle him completely naked, pressing your wet pussy against his cock. His eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your warm pussy “I don’t have a condom,” he says, leaning up on his forearms as you roll your hips against him. “Don’t need one, I’m on the pill” you mumble, too in your head right now to comprehend what he’s saying, focused on rolling your hips against his cock. “Hey, y/n focus please”.

His hands halt your movement, your eyes fall open at the loss of friction. “It’s fine, if you're okay with no condom so am I” you rush, he studies your face for a moment and nods his head, dropping back down against the bed. You reach between the two of you, giving him a few soft tugs before running the top of his cock between your folds. “Jesus” he moans, his cock slowly disappearing within you. He can feel you pulsing around him, he could blow right this second from the warmth of your cunt. “Oh sweet Jesus” you cried as you began to ride his cock. The tip of his head hitting your spongy walls with each thrust, you could already feel your orgasm brewing again. The tips of your toes tingle and your belly swarmed with butterflies, circling your hips against his.

His hands teased your nipples, reaching his head up to capture your lips with his. He let you choose the speed for a bit longer before his hands gripped your hips again and he bucked his hips up, causing you to cry out with each thrust. No longer able to hold onto your orgasm, your walls clenched around him, digging your nails into his chest as he pushed you over the edge until all you could see were white spots. “Fuck fuck fuck… I’m coming!” His fingers slip between the two of you to massage your clit, bringing you over the edge. “Fucking hell… I’m close” he warned, though you were blissed out you met his pace and continued to roll your hips, another orgasm already brimming as you got him closer to his own orgasm. “Rafe yes yes o-h”

Lacing his fingers around your throat as you both came, his own orgasm felt like it wasn’t going to stop as your walls sucked him in deeper as your orgasm riddled your body with pleasure. Your chest meets his, resting your head as the two of you regained composure. Silence fills the room but his fingers dance across your back in an almost sweet gesture, when you finally regain your vision and breath you pull away from him. Reaching to grab your clothes in sudden embarrassment, your cheeks tinted a shake of pink as he watches you get dressed. “Who said we were done?” He questions, grasping the panties from your hand and throwing them across the room. He grips the back of your thighs and pulls you back down onto him. “Shouldn’t we maybe talk?”

“We can talk all you want babe”

Your cheeks flush a deeper red at his nickname, the kindness being foreign towards you. “But I want to kiss you a bit more before we get down to the hard stuff”

“Okay”

🏷️ Tag list- @laylasbunbunny @maybankslover @h34rtsformilli @hallecarey1 @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank @mrssturnioloo @darleneslane @tierra-0604 @gabys-gabs @starkey-zegras @definitelynotholly-blog @renmpsworld @delicatepiratecloud @speedycomputerfury @tiacordelia02 @bbycowboi @jscameron @rafegirly @drudyslut @drewstarkeyslut @loverofdrewstarkey @ijustwanttoreadlols @spookyscaryspoon @ailee-celeste @ashpeace888 @xo-hayleyy-xo @ethereal0810 @tayygriffith @pankowperfection @oceandriveab @slut4ani @spideysimpossiblegirl @kamninaries @rubixgsworld @pickingviolets @wearemadeofstardust0 @one-sweet-gubler (if I have forgotten you please let me know or if you no longer want to be tagged let me know)

[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris still doesn't fuck with the relationship labels — but that doesn't stop him from showing everyone that shy!reader is his.

it's supposed to be another fun frat party — overflowing with music, alcohol, drugs, and money. chris should be having the time of his fucking life, but without you tucked into his side as you usually are, he's not having fun at all.

he's restless; his leg bounces continually, and his jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth together, watching you across the room, engrossed in conversation with one of his frat brothers.

it was an unusual sight — seeing shy, little you animatedly chatting with someone other than him. but since you discovered that this particular frat boy shared the same interests as you, it was clear that you found a new friend... and chris hated that.

his irritation bubbles beneath the surface, prodding his tongue against his cheek, a humourless laugh escaping him as he shakes his head in disbelief each time he catches a glimpse of your excitement; the way your eyes light up as you gush about something you're interested in, and how his frat brother nods along with a grin.

"what's up with you?" nate asks, clamping his hand on chris' shoulder from behind, voice laced with curiosity. chris shrugs him off, irritation flashing deeper across his face and nate scoffs, glancing over at matt who has been lounging beside him this entire time. "what the fuck has gotten into him?"

matt takes a slow hit from his joint and lazily nods his head over in your direction. nate follows his gaze, a low sound of understanding rumbling from his chest.

"as much as i would love f'you both to rock someone's shit tonight, that kid is harmless — literally. don't think he even knows what a fuckin' pussy looks like—"

chris isn't listening, not when there's a loud ringing in his ears, drowning out nate's voice as he watches his frat brother lay a hand on your arm, gently guiding you from a group of rowdy drunk people who stumble by. it was a simple and kind gesture, but the sight of another guy touching you twists something deep inside him, chris see's red.

chris pushes himself up from the couch, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, nostrils flaring as he beelines straight for you, shoving through the crowds of sweaty bodies, ignoring the ones that try and get his attention. he's behind you in seconds, looming like a shadow, breathing down your neck as he fixes his glare on his frat brother, who raises an eyebrow at chris' sudden appearance.

"oh, hey—"

"leave."

the guy gapes, startled by the raw intensity of chris' voice. "wait, wha—"

"did i fuckin' stutter or somethin'? do you... do you wan' me to say it louder f'you?" chris asks as he leans in closer, his chest pushed against your shoulder, eyes narrow into a dangerous glare. "fuckin'. leave. now... or d'you wan' me to make you?"

the challenge hung in the air, thick with tension, and chris' jaw remains set tight; muscles coiled like a spring. he doesn't even flinch when you spin around to face him, your own eyes wide at the sudden possibility of a fight happening.

panic surges through you as you shake your head quickly, curling your fists around the front of his shirt, desperation lacing your voice as you plead his name.

but he pays no mind — his focussed lock on his frat brother, who mutters an apology before hastily retreating elsewhere, the fear evident in his expression. chris watches him leave, the intensity in his gaze unwavering.

when his eyes finally flit to you, his tongue prods at his cheek, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. you can see the storm brewing within him and your heart races, clinging to him with wide and frantic eyes, searching for reassurance.

"chris..." you breathe out his name, your voice trembling with concern. "you.. why would you—"

but before you can finish, he steps closer, his hand gripping the back of your neck, pulling you forward with a force that takes your breath away. his lips crash against yours, hard and demanding, and you gasp against his mouth, arms frozen at your sides, eyes wide in surprise.

it probably wasn't the most please sight from a outsiders perspective — him fierce and harsh, you bewildered and unmoving. but this was the second time he's kissed you during your complicated relationship... if you could even call it that.

the feeling of his tongue sliding into your mouth is what finally brings you back to reality. you instinctively go to reciprocate the kiss, your heart warming at the thought of having his lips on yours for longer than just a few fleeting seconds. but, of course, your hopes are shattered when he pulls away from you, leaving you breathless.

his hand, which had rested on the back of your neck, now slides around to grip your jaw, holding you in place as he stares at you.

"don't look too pleased, kid," chris murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he pats your cheek. "jus' lettin' everyone know who you belong to, yeah?"

© STURNIOZ

[eiightysixbaby]

horror movies & chill

word count: 2.6k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie tries to scare you and gets more than he bargained for.

cw: SMUT - 18+ MINORS DNI. this is literally porn with a smidge of plot, sorry not sorry. mask kink, choking, degradation kink on the low (eddie calls reader slut/whore), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie

The TV screen lights up the dark living room, flashes of different colors streaking across the space. You sit on the couch, blanket draped over your lap as your knee bounces absentmindedly. Your boyfriend had wandered off to get something, and now you sit alone in suspense as the girl on screen figures out there’s a killer in her house. The movie goes eerily quiet, the lone heroine peering around her silent home. You know what’s coming next. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that when it gets too quiet, a jump scare is right around the corner.

And yet.

You scream in unison with the girl on television, two hands gripping your shoulders from behind just as the fictional killer grabs his target. You spring up off of the couch, the blanket falling to the floor in a heap. You spin around, frantic, your body gone cold for a moment. Wicked laughter erupts in front of you as you get your bearings, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

“God dammit, Eddie!” you shout, hand over your heart as you attempt to steady your breathing. “You absolute asshole!”

Eddie’s doubled over behind the couch, a cheap Halloween store Ghostface mask covering his head. He’s still laughing, trying to get words out and failing.

“Baby…” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even though he’s trying to be serious. What a dick. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d get you that good,” he says, walking towards you.

“You’re such a jerk sometimes,” you reply, but nevertheless you let him grab your arms, rubbing soothing patterns on the skin.

“I know. I am, baby, you’re right. That was mean,” he agrees, nodding his head beneath the black and white mask. You know he'd be giving you puppy-dog eyes if you could see him.

You can’t help but laugh, the initial panic leaving your body. You must’ve looked petrified, and you’re a little mad he scared you so badly.

“You’ll have to make it up to me,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest.

Eddie’s head cocks to one side, sympathetic, playing it up for you. “Of course, sweetheart. And how do I do that?” he asks, stepping slightly closer to you.

He wants a genuine answer, but you find your breath hitching in your throat. Maybe it’s the way his fingers rub circles into your lower back. Maybe it’s the heat radiating from his body onto yours. Maybe it’s the sound of his labored breathing beneath that sweaty mask that's getting to you. You press your thighs together, suddenly feeling too hot for such a cold October day.

And Eddie can see, through the mesh eye cutouts, the way you bite your lip just slightly. He can see the way your lips part but no words come out, the way you tilt your hips closer to his. And he definitely feels the way your fingers hook into the belt-loops on his jeans, drawing him in.

“Oh my god. Are you into this right now?” he asks, voice dripping with his smug attitude. He’s grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat, if only you could see it.

You don’t answer right away, shifting on your feet. You look down, not sure if you have the gumption to tell your boyfriend the god damn Ghostface mask is turning you on right now. You were scared shitless mere minutes ago. But the way your heart pounds now is completely different to the way it had before.

“Shut up….” you mumble, your face growing incredibly warm.

“You are so fucking into this right now,” he says, laughing as he gets the last word out.

“Okay, if you’re gonna make fun-” you start, drawing your body away. Eddie doesn’t let you finish.

“Waitwaitwait,” he interrupts, pulling you back to him. “I just didn’t expect it, is all,” he reassures, his voice sounding muffled beneath the rubbery material.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, eagerly anticipating his next move. You can't quite bring yourself to act first.

He brings your body flush against his, two fingers gliding up one of your arms, sending chills down your spine. He leans his face close to your ear, his breathing audible. “I won’t judge if you like the mask, baby,” he purrs, his voice deeper now.

His other hand wraps around your waist, palm pressing into your lower back, pushing your crotch against his. You gasp, goosebumps perking up along your arms. Screams erupt from the movie, the final girl running free from her potential killer. It’s comedic, really, how you’re stood here ready to jump the killer’s bones.

Eddie’s hips roll, just slightly, but enough for you to feel the tent in his pants. You let out a shaky breath, your body seeking him out, wanting him to give you more of that friction.

“What is it, babe?” he taunts. “You want me?”

“Eddie…” is all you get out, a breathy little thing, your hands pressed to his chest.

And then he’s pressing you against the wall, hiking one of your legs around his waist, his crotch pressing against your needy core. One big hand comes to wrap around your throat, cold rings soothing the flames that lap at your skin. He squeezes, making you delightfully hazy, pinning you hard against the wall with his body.

“This what you want, baby? Want me to fucking ruin you?” he asks, voice akin to a growl, squeezing your throat yet again.

“P-please,” you mewl, desperate for more. You know you’re soaking through your panties, practically aching for him.

Something about not being able to see him drives you crazy. Relying on just his voice, trying to gauge his tone. You’re writhing beneath him, grinding yourself against him. He’s so hard it has to be painful, you can feel it even through the layer of denim covering his bottom half.

“Oh, she’s so desperate, huh? Pussy needs me, baby? God damn…” he rasps, and you throb for him.

His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh where he holds it, giving it a sharp squeeze. His other hand removes itself from your neck, tugging down the zipper on his jeans. You undo the button for him, just as eager to get his pants down as he is. His cock stands at attention beneath the fabric of his boxers, begging to be touched. He ignores it for the meantime, though, releasing his hold on your leg and letting you drop it. He makes quick work of sliding your leggings and panties down, fingers collecting the honey that drips from you.

Groaning, he brings his fingers to your mouth, prompting you to suck them. You oblige, mouth opening and enveloping his digits. Your tongue swipes over them, tasting yourself and coating them with saliva. And then they’re pulled from your lips, teasing your clit before slipping into your cunt. Your leg wraps around his waist once more, allowing for a better angle. He scissors those two fingers inside of you, his breathing heavy, sounding almost amplified from beneath the mask. Your hips buck forward, forcing his fingers deeper. One hand grips your side, pinning you back against the wall.

“Don’t be fuckin’ greedy, slut,” Eddie barks, words sending sparks right through you.

His fingers curl in a ‘come here’ motion, your body feeling boneless as you try to keep yourself upright. He laughs, a devious thing, clearly satisfied with how pliant you are for him. You can tell how wet you are from the slick sounds coming from every glide of his fingers, your body so desperately craving more of him. He adds a third finger, prying you open even farther with complete ease, grunting as he feels the way you tense around him.

“Eddie,” you gasp, “f-feels so good.”

“I know it does, baby, I know,” he coos, smirking to himself at the way your body writhes beyond your control. “Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, hm?”

“Yeah, oh god,” you cry, head tipping back as you moan to the ceiling, his fingers pressing so deep inside of you.

He moans despite himself, your cunt completely drenching his fingers. His cock twitches in his boxers, leaks and pleads for you. You’re a little blurry through the eyes of Ghostface, but he can still make out the way your face contorts in pleasure. He loves making you feel like this, loves having you in the palm of his hand.

“My filthy girl, so fuckin’ wet for me all because I put this mask on, is that it? Really gets you going, huh baby?”

He wanted you to like the mask, if he’s honest, and the fact that it’s working on you is driving him up a fucking wall. He needs to be inside of you, needs to fuck you hard and pump you full of his cum before he loses it.

Three fingers slide out of you, squelching slightly as you suddenly clench around nothing. He yanks his boxers down, merely a hindrance to him, his thick cock springing free. You whimper at the sight of it, chewing on your lip as you watch him wrap his hand around the shaft. He pumps himself a few times, lets his pre-cum drip over his fingers, and it makes you ache. You feel like your body is on fire, you need him so bad, white-hot flames licking up your thighs.

A few more pumps and then he’s releasing himself, hoisting you up so both of your legs tangle around him. He grips the meat of your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh the best he can. He lines his cock up just right, your cunt glistening with your arousal. And you want to kiss him so bad, you want to feel your tongue against his and you want him to bite you, to suck bruises into your neck. The fact that you can’t almost makes you crazier, spurring you on more. You can only imagine what his face looks like as he sheathes himself inside of you, can only imagine those perfect parted lips as he sighs blissfully.

His cock pushes through your slick folds until you can feel his balls pressed against you, his thick length fully seated inside of you. It’s such an enticing stretch to fit him, your whole body vibrating with desire. He rocks himself in and out, in and out, letting you get used to his size. Your cunt has already soaked him in your cream, you can see it pooling where his body meets yours.

“Fuuuuuuck baby,” Eddie groans, panting beneath the warmth of the mask. “Such a needy whore for me, god damn. So fucking wet.”

You whine, canting your hips upwards ever so slightly, the tip of Eddie’s cock pressing so deep inside.

“She’s fuckin’ soaking me, angel. This pussy loves me, doesn’t she?” he says, thrusting into you harder now. He sets a quicker pace, holding your weight against the wall with complete ease.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you moan, waves of euphoria rippling through every inch of your body. He’s so deep and so big and so good.

Your nails dig into the skin of his back, clawing at him through his t-shirt as he fucks you like it’s his last opportunity. You can hear grunts and strained whines falling from his lips, breath coming out in spurts from exertion.

“Babe, fuck, can I take this thing off? Need my mouth on you baby,” he pants, hips snapping against yours and making you cry out.

“Yes, yes - fuck Eddie!” you moan, nearly screaming his name.

The mask is whipped off in one swift motion, Eddie’s unruly curls sticking out. His eyes are wild, pupils blown with sheer need, those perfect lips of his so pink and plump. His mouth is on you in an instant, kissing your lips, your jaw, his teeth biting at your neck. He sucks on the delicate skin, unforgiving as you hiss at the sensation. His warm tongue laves over the irritated area, soothing you and sending a shiver down your spine. You roll your hips, needing more from him, needing him in impossible ways.

“Fucking Christ, you’re so desperate for me,” he gets out through heavy breaths, his cock impaling you over and over. His cocky demeanor doesn’t waver, hands squeezing your ass, smirking when you whine at him.

Filthy noises fill the living room, wet smacks as your dripping pussy sucks Eddie back in for more more more. He glances down to where your bodies join, his dick shiny with your juices. Eyelashes flutter as he looks back up at you, pulling your face to his to kiss you harder. His greedy tongue roams your mouth, his lips demanding in the way they move with yours.

Eddie can tell you’re getting close by the way your eyes roll back into your skull, the way your pussy keeps squeezing him so tight. Your brows knit together as you focus on how good he feels, eyes pinching shut.

“Nuh-uh. Look at me, sweet girl,” Eddie instructs, fucking you faster. “Look at me when I’m making you feel so good.”

Your eyes open, big and glassy as they plead with him. You’re so ready to snap, your body overwhelmed with pleasure as Eddie abuses your cunt. Your fingers tangle in his hair - something you’d missed while he’d had the mask on - and tug, drawing a throaty groan from him. His balls are slapping against the skin of your ass with each rough thrust, fingers digging so hard into flesh you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow.

Those big brown eyes of his are incredibly dark, his lips parted as he watches you slowly unravel right before his eyes. You feel yourself about to tip over the edge, about to let go, and he can see it on your face.

“Gonna cum for me, dirty girl? Little slut’s gonna cum all over my fucking cock?” he taunts you, every single word sending bolts of electricity right to your core.

“Gonna cum so fucking hard, Eddie, oh my god,” you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering to a close as you reach your peak.

You’re delirious as you cum, your walls squeezing Eddie so fucking tight. Strings of curse words are falling from his lips as he chases his own release, drawing it closer and closer as you completely soak him. Movements get sloppy, not aided by the slippery mess you’ve created, and Eddie’s breaths grow staggered.

His cock pounds into you one, two, three more times before his hips stutter, hot ropes of cum filling you. You can just barely feel the way he twitches inside of you, every last drop of his release pouring out. Both of you settle finally, catching your breath as you come down from your highs. Eddie sets you down, your feet hitting the ground once more. Your legs feel like rubber, like you might crumple to the floor if it weren’t for the fact that he’s holding your waist and pulling you in to him.

You look down at the floor, the crumpled mask staring up at you, mouth gaping in a perpetual scream. You’re dizzy with realization of what's just happened.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he says finally, tilting your chin up so your eyes will meet his. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know…” you admit, cheeks growing hot. “Something about that damn mask,” you smirk at him, getting a waggle of his eyebrows in response.

“I can go to the store right now and get more… who do you want next? Michael Myers? Jason?” Eddie jokes, smiling when you scoff at him.

“Just make sure to keep the Ghostface one around, okay?” your shy request has him grinning, his tongue running over his teeth.

“Oh, you’ll be seeing more of him for sure.”

[issysh3ll]

Fumble ☆ Chris Sturniolo

Part 3 - Final Part

Part 1 ☆ Part 2 Summary: Chris has messed up his chance with you twice now, will he do it a third time? Wordcount: 1.1k

Chris hadn’t moved from the couch since you left. He had spent most of the night lying awake, staring at the ceiling and running over the events of that night in his head. A strange dizziness rings through his head as his mind spins into the early hours of the morning. His thoughts had been alternating back and forth from cursing himself for his previous two fumbles, to planning how to avoid it next time, to just absolute panic at the thought of never having another chance like that first night at 3am.

The gentle morning light seeping in through cracks in the blinds feels impossibly bright to Chris’s sleep deprived eyes. Soft beams of light dance over the couch, casting the room in a soft sunrise hue. Groaning at the sharp sting of the new light, Chris rolls onto his side and buries his face into the hoodie you had returned to him. The remnants of your soft perfume on the fabric floods his senses causing his body to melt into the familiar scent. He curls up around the soft ball of material, hugging it tightly to his face in an attempt to hide from the thoughts still spiralling in his mind.

Soft footsteps patter against the kitchen tile, breaking the silence in the room. Chris’s fingers pull the hoodie away from his eyes as he peers over the fabric to see who has intruded on his peaceful little den of self-condemnation. 

You.

You’re crouched in the corner of the kitchen, quietly fiddling with something Chris can’t quite see. His eyes strain for a clearer view of you through the hazy morning light. As his eyes begin to adjust his heart rate picks up, his gaze finally falling on your outfit. You’re wearing that same tank top that had thrown him off last night, he can see the fabric pulling tight over your back as you shift your position slightly and his mind wanders back to how the top had looked from the front last night. Just the memory of you causes a nervous bubble to rise in his chest, clouding his thoughts in a haze.

Slowly you stand up and Chris notices what you had been fiddling with - your shoes. Why is she putting shoes on? Is she leaving? He sits up in a hurry and watches as you sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to force down the awkward lump in his throat before he speaks.“H-hey,” he squeaks out. 

Shit. 

Chris quickly clears his throat and starts again, “hey… are you leaving?”

As you turn to look for him, the soft light of the room bounces over your skin drawing Chris’s eyes to that entrancing patch of exposed skin on your chest. Your eyes scan over the room; you hadn’t noticed Chris on the couch when you came downstairs. When your eyes finally land on him at the end of the couch you gesture towards the front door and respond “oh, yeah I have work later so I have to go home”.

“Oh…” Chris mumbles, looking down at the ground sadly. The sound of your footsteps receding echoes through the hallway and up to the living room where Chris is slumped over, feeling disappointed once again. His head rests heavily in his hands as his fingers rub into his temples, bidding himself to stop blocking his own efforts with his pathetic fumbling. 

The door handle clicks as you twist it open and the sound jolts Chris to his feet, suddenly possessed by a new wave of determination. He quickly rushes down the hallway and stops a few feet behind you just as you’re pulling the door open. 

“Wait!” he reaches his hand out to stop your arm, “wait I– um, don’t go?...” As the words leave his mouth, that surge of confidence seems to fade. His mind becomes distracted once again by the way the light shining in through the open door creates a halo around you, accentuating every part of your figure. Your eyes bore into him as you wait for a reason to stay.

Chris’s grip on your arm tightens slightly and he sucks in a shaky breath, searching for that surge of confidence again as he speaks softly, “I just– don’t go… please?”

Your eyebrows raise at his request and you swallow back a grin. “Why should I stay, Chris?”

Chris’s chest pulls as your attention turns to him. His cheeks burn under your curious stare and he averts his gaze, shyly glancing down to the floor. Words escape him as his mouth flaps open and closed, unsure how to explain his reasons for you to stay. 

“Just give me a reason, Chris” your voice pulls his gaze away from the ground. As you speak you step closer to him, closing the small gap left between your bodies. Chris’s eyes dart over your face, taking in the way your own gaze stares back at him, unwavering. 

The feeling of your body so close to his again, mirroring that first missed opportunity, makes his mind spin. But as he hears his name leaving your lips again in a small whisper his thoughts seem to quiet down, his next move becoming clear in his mind, and he does it. He leans his face forward, hovering over yours for just a few seconds as he searches your face for any sense of doubt. Watching your eyes flutter closed, he presses his lips to yours, finally soothing the anticipation that had built up over the past few weeks. 

His lips are gentle, at first, moving slowly until he hears that sweet hum vibrate off your lips. His chest runs with excitement and nervous butterflies at the sound and his hands shift to your back, gently pulling you closer into a deeper kiss. The feeling is better than he ever could have anticipated, all those times he had imagined this died away in his mind as the real thing replaced the memories in his mind. 

Eventually he pulls back, panting heavily and pressing his forehead to yours. You watch his mouth curl into a shy grin as he mumbles breathily,

“Fuck.”

Masterlist

[babyfoxflower]

The One That Outsmarted Him

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader Oneshot

Warnings: 18+, MNDI, Yandere! Alastor, Murder, Blood, Kidnapping, Groping, Implied Noncon

You.

You were the only person to ever escape Alastor ‘the Bayou Butcher’ Hartfelt. It was honestly slightly humiliating that the one to outsmart him was a silly girl. A petite woman who he could have easily overpowered and slit her throat. What a pretty little throat yours was.

Once the humiliation wore off though. Alastor started having different feelings about you. Admiration, respect, and strangely, for him, infatuation. In other words, he was in love with you. You were going to be his. Whether you wanted to or not. He’d track you down, chain you up so you couldn’t escape, and love you for the rest of his life. Even if you managed to escape, he’ll just hunt you down again.

Alastor hummed as he opened his trunk, in there laid a brown sack that squirmed around and made muffled panic noises.

“Someone wake up from their nap? Don’t worry, ma Cherie. You’ll be out soon,” he cooed as he stroked his large hand over the outline of a human body.

He hoisted the sack over his shoulder before closing the trunk. He carried it all the way down to his basement, where there was a comfy queen sized bed with a chain ready for his darling.

He gently dropped the bag onto the bed, causing a little bounce. He opened it up and there you were, looking so adorable and confused.

“There she is,” he chuckled as he pulled you out of the sack.

Your hands and feet were bond and there was a gag keeping you from speaking. As soon as you saw who your captor was, fear consumed you and you started to fight the best you could in your state.

“Now, now, I’ll untie you. Just let me get the chain.”

Alastor picked up the chain that was attached to the wall and placed it as gently as he could on your neck before clamping it closed. It had enough room for you to breathe but was still sturdy enough to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

He then untied your wrists and ankles before removing the gag.

“Please, don’t kill me! I didn’t tell anyone about that night!” You cried out.

“Shhh,” Alastor placed his finger to your lips, “It’s alright, my love, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

Memories flashed back of you coming in the station after hours to get something you left behind. You heard something in the recording room. Curiosity got the better of you and you entered only to see the famous radio host who happened to also be your employer stabbing a man to death.

The smile, the horrid smile that was on his face as he carved into the unknown man. Just the pure ecstasy Alastor was clearly experiencing from such an atrocious act. It was so terrifying that you nearly fainted. However, all you could do was stand there motionless, face twisted in terror.

Once the man was dead, Alastor laughed, “Thank you for the entertainment, ol’ chum.”

He began cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief, his face still covered with the crimson liquid. When he put them back on, he turned and saw you.

“Oh dear, looks like we have a little witness. Y/n, you just had to show up at the wrong time,” He tsked.

“Please, Mister Hartfelt…” was all you could manage to say.

“I try not to make it a habit of killing women, but I guess in this case I have no choice. Sorry, Sweetheart. But, hey, I’ll make it quick. You’ll barely feel a thing,” he said as he approached you.

Tears started streaming down your cheeks, “Please, don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“A real shame, you were such a hardworker and quite a charming lady,” he raised his knife.

Out of desperation, you did the one thing you could think of in that moment, you kissed him. Alastor took a step back, shocked. Out of surprise, he dropped his knife. You seized the opportunity and ran away. You escaped with your life.

Now what could he possibly want with you? It was true that you didn’t tell anyone about that encounter. You only quit by letter and never went back to that radio station again.

“I brought you here, ma Cherie, because I love you,” Alastor pressed his lips against yours.

“What!?” You said into the forced kiss.

He reluctantly pulled away, “I love you and I’m going to keep you forever.”

“What!?”

“I assure you that you will be safe and provided for, my love,” he smiled tenderly as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear.

The look on his face was of a smitten schoolboy. Pupils dilated, face flushed.

“How can you love me? You hardly know me. I worked for you but it’s not like we ever talked much. Not mentioning that you tried to KILL ME!”

“I know, but that was in the past. Let’s focus on the future instead,” he wiped your remaining tears away, “I love you and will never hurt you now or ever. That’s a promise.”

Suddenly, he lifted you up and laid you down so that your head was on the pillows. You let out a squeak that he found absolutely adorable. He took off his leather gloves and let his hands explore your body.

“What are you doing?”

“I apologize, I just couldn’t resist getting to touch my bride,” he said before cupping your breasts in each hand.

“Bride!?”

Alastor ignored your outburst and forced you into another kiss. His hands massaged your chest. He moaned at the feel of you underneath him, how soft you were. The fact that you were all his now, oh, he was going to savior this moment.

He held you down as you kept trying to push him away. How cute, you were playing hard to get. He continued to kiss you until you eventually kissed him back, you didn’t want to but it seemed like he wasn’t going to stop until you did.

A string of saliva formed at the bottom of each of your lips as he pulled away, “Let’s get these clothes off, shall we?”

“Wait, I’m a…”

“A what, my love?”

“A virgin.”

You regretted saying that as it only seemed to make him even more aroused. He licked his lips even. A hunger rose from deep inside of him.

“Oh. Isn’t that lovely? I get to be the first and only man to make love to you,” he smiled a slightly psychotic smile.

“Wait!” You pleaded as he began removing your dress.

He suddenly stroked that special place between your legs which led you to moan uncontrollably. Your body betrayed you.

“Don’t worry, ma Cherie. I will be gentle. I promise,” he gave you a reassuring kiss before unbuckling his belt.

[itneverendshere]

baby girl being born and she doesn’t come out crying, rafe thinks his heart stops

i loved this request💓💓 and decided to make it even more precious by adding a tiny bit of this one: "for some reason i see this baby being born in November/october and you think it’s perfect for the holidays and rafes birthday hahahaha (i use drew’s birthday for his)". hope you like it!!🥰

half a heart without you - r.c

pairing: pogue!reader x rafe (bartender!reader universe) warnings: child labor; mentions of death.

rafe sat on the the stiff hospital chair, bouncing his leg anxiously as the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room. the muffled voices of the nurses around him did nothing to soothe his panic. all he could focus on was you—the love of his life.

you lay in the hospital bed, breaths labored, your hand gripping his with a force he knew you’d later joke about. even through the sweat and exhaustion of labor, you were beautiful. your eyes moved towards him, and despite the pain etched into your face, you gave him an exhausted smile.

"it's almost time," the nurse announced, glancing between the monitors and her patient.

rafe squeezed your hand tighter, his heart hammering in his chest.

he should be excited—this was supposed to be the moment where everything changed, where the world became new. he had dreamt about your daughter for months, imagining what she’d look like, what kind of personality she’d have, how his life would revolve around her from the second she entered the world. 

he never thought of himself as someone who wanted to be a father—never thought he deserved it, but now he couldn’t imagine anything else. this baby girl was going to be his world. 

he adjusted his mask, trying to ignore the panic inside him, he had to put your first no matter what his head was screaming at him. "you doing okay, baby?" 

you shot him a look, disbelief and irritation crossing your face. "does it look like 'm okay, rafe?" you snapped between breaths, the hand that wasn’t cutting his circulation gripped the side of the bed with a force that made your knuckles turn white.

the change in humour would've blindsided him if he hadn't dealt with it throughout your pregnancy.

rafe winced, his lips twitching into an apologetic smile. "stupid question. sorry."

the nurse smiled from the other side of the room, used to seeing husbands or boyfriends fumbling in this exact situation. 

rafe, however, wasn’t going to stand back and just be in the way. he moved closer to your side.

“you’re doing great.” he whispered encouragingly leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “you’re so strong. stronger than me.”

the doctor glanced over at rafe, his expression calm but serious.

"we’re almost there. one more big push, and she'll be here."

he couldn’t believe this was happening. after months of anticipation, this was it—the moment their daughter would finally come to the world.

"one more push," he echoed to you, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "you got this. ’m right here."

you let out a groan, squeezing his hand hard enough that rafe was sure his bones were grinding together. you took a breath before pushing with all your might, face contorting with the effort. rafe leaned forward, trying to offer what little comfort he could, but he felt useless.

your eyes flew open suddenly, and you glared at him almost desperately.

"you—" you panted, gasping between contractions, "you...fucked this baby out of me!"

his blue eyes went wide, mouth dropping open as he whipped his head around to look at the nurses and doctor, mortified. "she's—she's joking!" he blurted, his voice cracking as he felt his face heat up behind the mask, "swear she's joking!"

except you weren’t.

the nurse beside him smirked, while the doctor didn’t even flinch, calmly preparing for the baby’s arrival.

“completely normal,” the doctor said dryly, his eyes twinkling beneath his mask. “you wouldn’t believe the things we hear in here.”

rafe’s face burned, but when he looked back at you—his girl, red-faced and furious—he knew you were wacking him mentally for his stupid idea. 

before he could say anything else in his defense, the doctor’s tone changed as he gave the final instruction, and the nurse moved into position. “this is it,” he said, focused now. “big push.”

he was three seconds away from fainting embarrassingly on this hospital room floor. this was it. he was about to be a dad.

you gave one final, strained push, after hours of labor, a guttural scream tearing from your throat. and then—

your daughter was born, but the room went silent, there was no cry.

rafe's heart stopped.

his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the small form in the doctor’s hands. the tiny, pink-skinned baby wasn’t moving. she wasn’t making any sound.

“she’s not—” rafe choked out, but the panic was already settling in his body as he looked between the doctor, the nurses, and you.

you were watching, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as fear clouded your expression. his mind was screaming again, this time, a deafening roar of terror, and all he could think was why isn’t she crying? 

he could hear nothing, see nothing, except for the small, seemingly lifeless body in front of him. he felt numb, paralyzed.

but then he saw you—his rock—and you looked utterly shattered. the panic in your eyes was immediate, your face void of any color as you stared at the nurses working on your baby.

without thinking, he grabbed your cheeks, his hands framing your face as he forced you to look at him, not the nurses, not the baby.

just him.

“rafe,” you choked out, voice already raspy with sobs. tears filled your eyes, your entire body trembling under his hands.

“i know, baby,” he whispered, as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours, trying to keep you distracted. “keep your eyes on me. it’s gonna be okay. look at me, just look at me.”

you were already crying, tears mixing with the sweat on your face.

you gripped his wrists like he was the only thing keeping you sane, your breath coming in broken gasps. “rafe—” your sob was gut-wrenching as your eyes flicked toward the nurses again.

“hey,” he pulled you in again, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, wiping away the tears. he kissed your temple, holding you close as he kept his voice calm for your sake, even as his own heart felt like it was breaking. “she’s gonna be okay. i promise. she’s strong, just like you. just stay with me, baby, okay?”

you let out another sob, burying your face into his chest as he held you tighter. 

he felt you shake in his arms and he wanted to fall apart too—wanted to break down and scream, to beg for their baby to be okay—but he couldn’t. so instead he pressed kiss after kiss to your temple, murmuring reassurances he wasn’t even sure he believed.

“it’s gonna be okay. she’s okay.”

the truth was, rafe wasn’t sure of anything and he didn’t know how long he could keep it together. but then—just as the panic threatened to consume him whole—a fragile cry pierced the air.

rafe’s breath caught in his throat, his whole body freezing with the sound. he closed his eyes for a moment, sighing in relief.

she was okay. she was here. she was okay.

the nurse, smiling now, wrapped your baby girl in a soft blanket and gently placed her on your chest. the sudden change from fear to overwhelming love hit him like a bullet, and all he could do was stare as you, still crying, reaching out to cradle your newborn daughter.

his hands dropped from your face, and he stepped back just slightly, his eyes glued to the sight of his daughter lying on you, tiny and perfect.

“she’s okay,” you mumbled to yourself like you still needed to believe it. your eyes were full of tears, hands still trembling as you gently stroked the baby’s head. “she’s okay.”

rafe felt his knees go weak with relief, his heart swelling as he leaned down, kissing your forehead, then brushing a kiss against the baby’s tiny head.

“she’s perfect,” he breathed out, voice still hoarse as he finally let his tears fall. he pressed his lips to your hair, breathing you in. “autumn,” he said softly, the name slipping out without hesitation. “born right in time for the holidays. just like we wanted.”

you looked up at him, cheeks still glistening with tears, and you smiled. a genuine smile, despite everything. “autumn cameron.”

rafe grinned through his tears, his hand gently resting on your daughter’s back.

“yeah,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “autumn cameron.”

he knew that no matter what happened in life, this—this—was everything.