#like full blown too far gone

[predawnrex04]

Thanks! Also, some more trivia;

Chevrolet Maple Leafs, here in Australia at least, were Canadian-built chassis that were imported, and had holden-built bodies, like most cars of this era. An easy way to tell uf a 30s chev truck is a not-quite-chev-but-technically-still-chev is the ribs in the roof; pure chev trucks dont have them

And a neat little fact about my lancer in particular; the hood isn't matt black, because ive used bedliner. Like, the stuff ya use to paint the bed of a ute. It gives a real rough texture and hides heaps of imperfections. Also, his name is Artie

So, have ya got any facts about either of these?

The first is my 1936 Chevy Maple Leaf, and the second (my daily driver) is my 1976 Chrysler Lancer

I must say my knowledge starts to fade out towards the 1950s, so I can offer you a little forum thread about how what a Maple Leaf even was is far from that straightforward and that the Maple Leafs are a Toronto ice hockey team, but as for things I knew before I looked it up I have little more than my hope that you never repaint it and my extreme desire to get to know you better.

As for the Lancer, I can tell you I'm pretty sure painting hoods matte black to avoid the sun reflecting into the driver's eyes originated in the 24h of Le Mans, as nowhere was that problem as pronounced as on a track with a 6km (3.7mi) straight driven through at every time of day (and thus at every position of the sun), and that it capital F Fucks. Great wheel choice!

[tousey-mousey]

do any of you ever like... look at your open browser tabs, and feel a heavy lever go CLUNK in your brain as you sit there and realise

"ohhhh shit, new special interest just dropped huh"

because that's my day rn.

[tojisun]

!! female reader; dirty talking; breeding kink; slight overstim play; unrealistic sex x’>

thinking about how simon’s the type to keep saying filth to you when he’s balls deep. how, in the throes of his pleasure, so pussy-drunk, simon begins to wax poetry about the way you make him feel.

he’s got you folded in a mating press, his lips ghosting wet kisses along your trembling legs. “god, baby,” simon murmurs, his voice a drunken slur. “i need t’wife you up, i swear.” he punctuates this with a thrust, before his fingers pinch your clit.

you choke at the feeling, your legs kicking from where they’re slung over simon’s shoulders. your head thrashes against the pillow, not knowing how else to tether yourself from the stinging pleasure, your mouth falling open uselessly as garbled moans spill out.

“oh this,” he says, distracted by your reaction. “cute little thing, isn’t it?” he looks at your pussy almost with a starry-eyed gaze.

jesus-

“shu-ut up, si!” your voice breaks, weakened from the moans, but simon’s already looking too far gone, his eyes blown wide and his face flushed because of his pleasure.

“y’just squeezed me tighter, baby.” simon rips his eyes from your cunt to look at you with a sort of giddy trance. “y’like it when i play with–” he circles his thumb on your clit, making you squeal. “this? yeah? oh, lovie, you’re gushing.”

he pulls out, torturously slow, teasing, then he’s slamming back in. your ears ring at the resounding wet slide, his pelvis meeting your own with a goddamn squelch, and you scream, clawing at his back at the sharp pleasure that razes through you.

“going t’stuff you w’my cum everyday, baby.” simon giggles. “going t’make you so full.”

he nuzzles his nose on the side of your tear-soaked cheek. “y’want that, yeah? want t’feel sore because of how much cum’s stored in you? want t’be fucked until it takes?”

what-

“si! si!” you cry, mushy mind trying to understand what he’s insinuating. “wha- wh-…?”

“oh but you’d be so gorgeous, baby,” simon groans, his hand leaving your oversensitive clit to hike up along your body, dancing past your groin to plant just below your belly button. simon nuzzles close again, tracing the shell of your ear with his lips, then, “you’d be so pretty carrying my kids.”

those words make your body lock up, something in your mind just shifting right, and then you’re cumming, squirting all over simon’s cock and spraying on his legs.

simon outright moans, pulling back just enough to slot his lips against yours. you couldn’t even kiss him back, still so busy cumming, all cross-eyed at the intensity of your orgasm. it doesn’t matter to him, anyway, not when simon begins pistoning harder. faster. rougher.

every drag of his cock back in your pussy pushes more gushing squirt from you, and simon rumbles with a pleased groan, looking so blissed out as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. you dig your nails at his back but simon doesn’t even register the prickling pain, too busy chasing his own orgasm through your cunt.

“s’right,” he coos. “nothin’ else could make me cum, baby. nothin’ else but y’r pretty pussy. y’r tight pussy. god, it’s such a delicious pussy, baby, how am i so lucky to have you, huh?” his words mingle with the thwap-thwap-thwap sounds of his body slamming against your own. it makes you dizzy with pleasure, ragged rasps of breath is all that is passing through your parted lips.

simon croons. “how’d i chance luck and end up w’such a delight?” another wet sound from your pussy rings amidst his words. “mmm, hear that baby?”

you nod, you think. or you moan a reply. honestly, you don’t even know, not with how dizzy you are at the peaking pleasure because there’s no way you’re cumming again–

“that’s the sounds that a happy wife makes,” simon purrs, replying to his own question, and the weight of his words washes over you like the pleasure that’s racing across your synapses. “that’s the sound that someone makes when they want to be bred.”

“simo-nnnnn!” you scream, the sound guttural and ragged, and your eyes can no longer see anything, and your ears are ringing, and- and–

simon laughs, the sound curling into something so, so fond. “y’r so pretty when y’cum, baby.” he kisses your wet cheek. “one more? f’r me?”

fuck-

[wearysparrows]

My First, My Only, My Last

ao3/masterlist

Summary: With the passing of time, your dragon has grown to expect your touch. He is like clay in your hands, and you mould him.

CW: fluff, cuddling & snuggling, some suggestive themes, you caress your dragon, very touchy feely, dragon Sylus, no use of pronouns or Y/N 1K

As of late, your dragon had begun to change.

Not of his physicality – he still radiates an imposing heat, sharp edges ready to eviscerate anything that comes too close. Lives shudder and end tremulously under his claws.

Well, all except for yours.

No longer was he wary of your approach. He welcomed it, pulling you closer with the powerful muscles of his tail, as if he could crush you to himself and make two into one. His gifts, too, changed with him. Instead of gold – flowers whose blooming you had never known, the songs of birds, delicacies from far away lands. Things you knew he desired to share and understand, together.

You approach him, now. He was lounging much the same way he did when you had first met – on a throne cast in stone. Since your arrival, however, it had been covered with the softness of furs and silks to aid in your comfort. The only light in the cave came from flickering sconces adorning the walls. His shadow flutters underneath them.

He supports his head with one hand, and the tip of his tail twitches to and fro at the sound of your approach. He turns over to face you. The mark of his teeth on your neck stutters with the briefest of pains. As you come within his proximity, his tail slips around to the small of your back, and bids you come closer, as if your pace wasn’t quick enough for him. It stays there, caressing your spine with its heat. In the flash of his eyes you see his barely concealed amusement, excitement at your encroachment on his space. His youth.

“Approaching a dragon with nothing to defend yourself? How bold.”

His voice, bereft of malice, and full of tender warmth. You kneel onto the throne beside him, notching yourself between the gentle curve of his legs and torso. He makes room for you, and his tail follows your movements, now curled possessively around you. You feel the scales of it touch the soles of your bare feet.

“I have no fear.”

His quiet laugh reverberates through his chest and into you from where your forms connect. You take one of his hands into your lap. He lets you.

“Are you certain that’s wise?”

His hand uncurls and curls around nothing in your lap. The collective warmth of your bodies pools beneath you through the furs, warming your calves.

“I have no need for wisdom. I know you as I know myself.”

You massage the soft web of a junction between his thumb and index finger, encouraging the muscles there to loosen under your touch. The same motion is repeated between each tendon – index and middle, middle and ring, and ring and pinky. The scaley pads of his palms were like leather softened with age and use – well loved. His fingers twitch reflexively as you maneuver them. He carefully avoids puncturing your skin with the sharpness of his claws.

“What is the purpose in this?”

You hear the ingenuousness in his question. He doesn’t pull away.

“Pleasure.” You say.

A word he understands. This seems to compel him, and he rolls onto his back. His hands wrap around your waist, and deposit you into a straddle on top of him. His hold on your middle doesn’t cease. His back is supported by the stone arm of the throne behind him, and only a few inches of space is left between your faces. Gone were the usual slits of his pupils, now blown wide with a blackness that nearly dwarfed the ruby of his eyes entirely.

“Like this?” He accentuates the statement with a roll of his hips into yours, eliciting a responsive heat from your body. You steady him underneath you, hands splayed on his chest. You had grown to understand that you were the first to touch him in a capacity that was free from violence. By his admission, he had only known the sensation of suffering, even by his own hand. You reach up, letting your palms drift over the grit of his horns. Black, and wrought like iron. You rubbed them at the base with your thumbs where they met his skull, disappearing into the softness of sterling hair. He rattles out a purr of surprise underneath you, but doesn’t stop your attentions. His neck bends towards the touch, and you slip your hands up, up, wrapping your fingers around the bony protrusions. They fit perfectly, like the spaces there were made for your hands alone. You feel his hands around your wrists, then, and he directs them from his horns to his face. You cup it. Barely restrained heat colors his cheeks.

“Only you would dare to tease a fiend.”

There’s breathlessness in his words that he tries to conceal. His grip drops from your wrists and returns to your waist. He presses you into him again. You laugh brightly, feeling his interest make itself known underneath you.

“It’s not teasing. It’s adoring.”

You drag your nails up and down the plate of scales on his jaw, and the muscles underneath it flex in response. His nostrils flare at the combination of your words and your touch. You drop your hands to his chest again, and drag a finger around the contours of the gem that thrums with his lifeforce. His blood rushes in and out of it there, a tiny microcosm of life. He shudders, a quiet gasp escaping him. His purr continues to rumble, and though you know it comes from within him, the sound is so inhuman that it's hard to believe he produces it. His tail wraps around your entirety, replacing his hands at your waist. He sits up, his breath just a ghost against your lips.

“It’s my turn to adore you now, then.”

Your dragon learns that there are pleasures of all kinds. Those that excite the senses, invigorate the mind, and electrify the skin. He learns the pleasure of the mundane, too – the crunch of residual volcanic ash under foot, the ground warmed by its activity. The radiant flash of a fish in deep waters. A name that can’t be pronounced, given anew. He learns to share in pleasure, to become one in all ways. The arc of two souls no longer separated by flesh. He learns and merges, and the place where he begins and you end ceases its existence, and there is only the one song left behind in its wake.

[connorsui]

Luke & Kieran/ Sylus x wife! Reader || Imagine ||

"One last game!"

Note: not as polished as I would like but I did always imagined how these two would be like around their boss kid? -

The evening was coming to a close, and the house, bathed in a soft, warm glow, looked like it had been hit by a miniature hurricane. Pink toys—plushies, blocks, glittery shoes—were scattered haphazardly across the living room floor, the remnants of what had once been an innocent evening of fun. Now, the peaceful warmth of the home had been overtaken by a growing sense of chaos as frantic footsteps reverberated through the hallways.

Luke and Kieran were in full-blown panic mode, tearing through the house. They tossed pillows, peeked under tables, and flung open every door, desperately searching for a toddler who had seemingly vanished without a trace.

“You can trust us with the kid, we said! Nothing bad will happen, we said!” Kieran muttered bitterly, lifting a cushion and glancing under the couch. “And now look! Thirty minutes of searching, and she’s gone! GONE!” His voice cracked as he threw the cushion across the room in frustration.

Luke, visibly rattled but trying to maintain some semblance of calm, walked over to Kieran. “Come on, she couldn’t have gotten that far, right? I mean, her legs are tiny! Point A to point B takes her forever.”

Kieran, still crouched on the floor, slowly rose and stared at Luke, incredulous. “Yeah, and you remember how fast she moved when she took Mephisto on that ‘plane ride’ with her plushies? Thought the bird was too slow to fly?”

Luke folded his arms, trying to look nonchalant but clearly feeling the pressure. “Okay, yeah. And your point?”

“My point is... the kid can run.”

“Oh, that’s just perfect,” Luke groaned dramatically, flopping onto the floor in complete defeat. “None of this would’ve happened if someone hadn’t suggested one ‘finaaaal’ game with the boss’s kid. One minute she’s here, and the next—POOF! Gone. With a trail of glitter.”

Kieran stared at Luke in disbelief. Even though they were both wearing masks, Luke could feel the heat of Kieran’s glare. “Wait—are you seriously blaming me for this?”

“Who else?”

Kieran threw his hands up. “Who else? Uh, who was it that thought party cans were a great ‘welcome back’ surprise for the boss and his wife, huh?”

“Well, it was either that or hide-and-seek, and you—”

Before Luke could finish his retort, they both froze. A burst of giggles echoed from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable click of a door locking. They stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“How… how did she get upstairs!?” Luke whispered in disbelief, his voice shaky.

Without a word, they both bolted toward the staircase, skidding to a halt at the sight of the baby gate, now hanging loosely by its hinges. It was tilted precariously, as if it had been outwitted by the most cunning toddler alive.

“Oh, she’s smart—” Luke began, but Kieran cut him off with a sharp smack to the back of his head.

“Focus!” Kieran growled, stepping forward. “Alright, kiddo, time to come out now!” His voice was firm but coaxing. But instead of the sound of obedient little feet, they were met with more giggling, playful and distant, echoing through the upstairs hallway.

Luke exchanged a glance with Kieran, who rolled his eyes as they both cautiously climbed the stairs. “This is going to be bad,” Luke muttered under his breath.

The upstairs hallway was dimly lit, the shadows stretching along the walls. Suddenly, Sylus' daughter peeked her head around the corner, her bright red eyes wide with mischief. The second she spotted them, she squealed with delight and darted away, disappearing around the bend.

“Oh, come on!” Kieran groaned, as they raced after her, rounding the corner just in time to see the door to the boss’s office wide open.

“There’s no way she’s in there...” Luke whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How did she even get in here?” Kieran asked, just as confused.

They entered the office cautiously, careful not to disturb anything. The room was pristine, neatly organized—until they noticed a pair of tiny feet peeking out from beneath the desk. And there it was again: that unmistakable giggle.

Kieran’s eyes lit up with an idea. He motioned for Luke to come closer. “Alright, here’s the plan: you go left, I’ll take the right. We jump out, and give her a little scare.”

Luke grinned. “Perfect.”

They positioned themselves on either side of the desk, ready to strike. But before they could even make their move, Sylus' daughter popped out from beneath the desk, a wide grin plastered across her face.

“Surprise!” she shrieked, spraying them both with party cans they had been saving for later. Neon foam shot out, covering Luke and Kieran in a sticky mess of silly string as the toddler collapsed into giggles.

“Surprise! Surprise! I win! I win!” she chanted, hopping up and down with glee as she sprayed them again.

Luke, now covered head to toe in foam, looked over at Kieran, both of them utterly defeated, but unable to suppress a smile. Her excitement was contagious.

“Alright, that’s enough, kiddo,” Luke laughed, scooping her up as she squealed, still waving the can.

Kieran quickly snatched the can from her, shaking his head with a playful smirk. “Yeah, yeah. You win.”

Setting her down, they both attempted to question her about her little escapade, but all she did was giggle uncontrollably, covering her face with her tiny hands. “I didnt leeeaaveee I played!, I played and won” she squealed between bursts of laughter.

Before they could question her even further, the sound of footsteps behind them made them freeze. They slowly turned, only to see You and Sylus standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with amused expressions.

Silly string wasn’t just on Luke and Kieran—it was everywhere. The desk, the chair, the floor—nothing had escaped the carnage.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to hide the laughter. “I - I ...take it you all had a great time?”

Luke and Kieran stood in stunned silence, caught red-handed in the chaos, while Sylus' daughter grinned proudly.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she cried, running towards you with open arms. “We had so much fun today! Mommy, look!”

You bent down, scooping her up with a warm smile, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I can see that, sweetheart.”

As Luke and Kieran stood there, still sticky and covered in foam, they glanced over at Sylus, who crossed his arms, looking every bit the stern boss. His eyes flicked over the mess, then back at the two men, who stood awkwardly under his gaze.

“Uh... we tried our best,” Luke muttered weakly, scratching the back of his head. “She’s... uh, faster than she looks.”

Kieran nodded, backing him up. “Yeah, I mean, we had a plan! But she outsmarted us.”

You stifled another laugh, turning to Sylus. “Go easy on them. They did try, after all.”

Sylus’ expression softened, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No promises,” he muttered, before walking past them into the office to inspect the damage.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

cw - yandere behavior, choso doing perverted stuff, bondage, problematic behaviors, smut, mdni, not proofread

imagining you and sick pervert!choso being roommates in an apartment together.

sick pervert!choso doesn’t like when you leave the apartment. he has some form of separation anxiety when it comes to you, but actually, he just loathes the idea that other people are getting to see you when he can’t.

sick pervert!choso who sets a curfew for you to help “ease his worries”. you agree because you like the fact that someone is watching out for you.

sick pervert!choso who ties you up to his bed when you break curfew one night. he doesn’t even touch you inappropriately. he just keeps you right where you belong: in his room.

sick pervert!choso who coos sweet condescending words to you while you’re tied up in his bed. “you know why i had to tie you up, don’t you?” you swallow thickly and nod your head. your eyes are glassed over from tears and the alcohol you had consumed earlier in the night.

sick pervert!choso who assures you that he forgives you for staying out past curfew. “it’s okay, baby. don’t cry. i just needed you to stay here with me for a little while, okay?”

sick pervert!choso who keeps you tied up until the next morning. he only unties you to lead you to the bathroom. he cares for you so tenderly as you shower and brush your teeth, but it’s right back to being tied down to the bed after your little break.

sick pervert!choso who admires you while you sleep. he loves how soft and vulnerable you look. it makes his dick twitch in his boxers, and he doesn’t understand why. he just knows he has to take his own bathroom break now.

sick pervert!choso who finally lets you go after a full day of being tied up, but he gives you big puppy dog eyes the moment you try to go to your own room, so of course, you sit with him and let him kiss the rope burns on your wrists.

sick pervert!choso who has a love/hate relationship with your job. he hates the fact that he has to share you with your job, and he hates that other men get to look at you while you work. what if they start getting the idea that they actually have a chance with you? then, choso will have to kick their teeth in :(

sick pervert!choso who also loves the time you’re gone sometimes because that’s when he gets to go shopping in your room! he breaks in, and he only steals a few things… like your used panties.

sick pervert!choso who will spray your perfume against his pillows while your gone. he will have a pillow with your perfume shoved against his nose while he chokes his throbbing cock with your panties.

sick pervert!choso who makes it a mission to fuck all of your used panties, leaving behind globs of cum in the crotch portion as he cries out your name however loud he wants to because you’re at your stupid job.

sick pervert!choso who noticed you’re taking far too long at work one evening. he’s blown up your phone with texts, and he finally checks the apple tag on your car that he accidentally left behind between the seats. you’re at a bar… without notifying him first.

sick pervert!choso who paces around the apartment all night, debating on just showing up at the bar, but he knows you’ll be upset with him for stalking you. his heart leaps into his throat as he hears the door open up.

sick pervert!choso has your back pressed against the door in record time. his nose is buried in your neck and shoulder as he’s trying to smell for anyone else’s scent on you. “where were you, baby? i was worried…”

“my boss brought us all out for drinks since we hit a big deadline, chocho. i’m sorry. my phone died.” you say as you rub his back, trying to soothe him from how tore up he was.

sick pervert!choso who leads you up to his room anyways to tie you up. you should’ve known better than to keep him worried and waiting like this! now he’s all pent up with too much possessive energy… he needs to see you bound to his bed to ease his anxiety.

sick pervert!choso forgot to hide the evidence of his activities all day. a few pairs of your panties are scattered around the floor, and he immediately tries to do damage control, but it’s too late. you already saw them.

“chocho, is this why my panties always go missing?” you ask as you pick up your favorite white cotton pair. you hold up the pair for him to stare at it with guilt in his eyes.

“i try to always return them!” he says with a small pout. “they smell like you. it helps me…”

sick pervert!choso who’s terrified that you’re going to give him a look of disgust. he knows that you’re going to hate him forever for being so sick and demented. he doesn’t want to have to, but he will drug you to keep you here with him. he loves that you stay willingly, but he’ll do whatever he has to do to keep you by his side.

“you do this while i’m at work?” you ask slowly. choso can’t see an ounce of disgust in your face.. only curiosity and something he can’t quite put his finger on.

after gathering his confidence, he finally nods his head, “and sometimes while you’re asleep…”

sick pervert!choso who’s awe struck when he watches you slide your panties out from underneath that sinful pencil skirt you wear to work. he’s nearly drooling out of his mouth as he looks at the pink lacy fabric.

“you want them?” you coax, and he’s quick to nod. the thought of being able to feel and smell them while they’re still fresh and warm… he’s about to cum in his pants from the thought.

“i’ll give them to you if you agree not to tie me up tonight,” you bargain with a knowing smile. “i also want to watch,”

holy shit. sick pervert!choso’s heart is hammering through his chest. this is like a fantasy come true. he reaches out and takes the panties from you, and he’s quick to hold them over his nose.

he groans and palms his throbbing dick through his pants as your scent fills his nose. he takes another deep breath, committing the scent of your pussy to his memory. he’s never experienced anything this divine in his life.

you sit on his computer chair as you watch your roommate fall apart over a simple pair of your panties.

you cross your legs together, watching as choso’s eyes are resting on you. he pulls out his massive cock, and be strangles the lacy pink fabric over it. he then slowly wraps his hand around the pace, and he fucks himself into your panties.

it’s truly a sight for sore eyes. choso’s leaned against his bed, whining and whimpering pathetically as he claims your panties again and again. he wishes he could shove the pillow over his nose, but then, that would block his perfect view of you.

sick pervert!choso would’ve never expected for his sweet roommate to react the way you do to the sight of him fisting his cock with your panties.

“fuck,” he growls, and he pumps his dick faster. the fabric is becoming slick with his own pre-cum. “you want me to mark your panties like this, baby?” he asks, managing to dirty talk you without stuttering or whimpering.

“yes,” you barely whisper. you’re so caught up in the sight of him — you almost forgot to reply to him.

his hips start to raise with each pump, and he feels himself getting close. he grips his cock tighter, imagining it was you gripping him like a vice while he fucks your tight pussy until you forget your own name.

a moment later, he groans as he quickly aims his cock, and he cums all over the crotch of your panties. rope after rope of his cum cover the pink fabric until it’s a sticky mess.

he pants as he looks over at you, and his heart is elated by the fact that you look just as desperate as he feels.

sick pervert!choso knows he could he making a mistake, but he takes a leap of faith based off your facial expression. “put them on,” he roughly demands, holding out your freshly ruined panties to you.

your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a little bit of uncertainty. however, you know you two are on a path of depravity now that you watched him claim your panties. you slowly take the panties from him, and you carefully slide them up your legs.

a moan escapes your lips as you feel his warm arousal press against you. it’s sticky and wet. it’s slightly uncomfortable, yet you’ve never been more turned on in your life. it was like a raw act of deprivation as you wore your panties that he had soiled.

“you like that, baby?” he asks, and he can’t help the small tremble in his voice. he desperately wants you to like it as much as he likes it. he’s enamored by the sight of your thighs clenching together. he might just make you wear the panties for the rest of the night.

you nod shyly with a small hum.

sick pervert!choso who never knew his roommate was a secret deviant freak until he watched you sit in panties filled with his cum all night long.

sick pervert!choso who falls even more in love with you after feeling so raw and close to you, and he has no idea that you have plans to ask him to use your panties while you’re wearing them next time <3

[emacrow]

Danny had a very rough week of not sleeping....

Five days straight of non stop ghost hunting, barely focusing on whatever their parents new inventions were and sabotaging them..

Then Saturday began...

There was skulker with him, ghostnapping and chasing him at 12am in the morning to 3:20am in some new extravagant hunting ground in the ghost zone which ended up backfiring on him later when it wasn't even his hunting ground as the original ghost owner started chasing skulker.

Then there was Johnny and kitty argument and dragging him along as an unwillingly victim because johnny was flirting with some ghost girl as he was trying to fly back to his family portal around 4am.

Accidentally crashing into Youngblood ship who rather excited to play again for the 28th this week and it fucking Saturday man..

He finally back home at 10am.. only to noticed that his parents left him to go on some honeymoon field trip since Jazz was in gotham for her collage and part time job as a assistant turned into a full time therapist in Arkham because she actually got a break through with Scarecrow with his childhood trauma and the Arkham are still flabbergasted by her abilities and immediately slapped her a full time sponsorship.

He tries to go back to sleep only to get notifications at 11:03am from tucker that Techno and Vortex teaming to cause a full blown out town wreacking havoc with a literally tornado dragging machines into it for some grand plan which was a fucking pain in his ass because his thermo also got caught in it.

Danny is dragging himself back to his bed after souping both Techno and Vortex, flopping onto his bed to finally catch those zzz when it about 6:29pm

Only for fucking Vlad to start his own bullshit with a new invention.

Danny is about to fucking snap at this point, vlad doesn't know what he released over a week of sleep deprived danny.

Maybe because how tired he was at that moment to not noticed the ray gun that vlad had looked oddly like the one his parents were making yesterday only to get hit by it directly...

Only to noticed he not in his bed anymore..

He was in snow.. iced cold snow in the middle of freezing temperatures and near some icy like palace..

He could cry right now..

He thought he got sent to the Far Frozen, welp this would be a great spot to take some much needed sleep. His mind is too muddle right now to even takea glance on small his form is now at the moment.

Flying a bit loopy through the icy palace, not noticing humaniod like giant crystallized statues with a S on their chests blinking some kind of alarm.

Making himself right at home as he made a nice snow like fluffy blankey that Frostbite once taught him whenever he went through his daily shots and stay the night there..

Drifting off to sleep finally with the sound of the silence..

He was already too far gone into unconscious to be awakened at this point..

Unaware that his presence brought alert to a certain Superhero.

Whom found a tiny little boy in the Fortress of Solitude, sleeping peacefully like the dead despite his heart beating very very slowly to health concerning matter.

Trying to wake him up only brought him a tiny punch to a face so hard and fast that it actually hurt him.

Which made Clark froze as he realized that punch actually hurted...

Which brought a major misunderstanding that slowly became a much bigger one later on in the dna scanner.

[ciy0]

i just thunk a thought so please bare with me

I’m thinking about how Mingyu is definitely the type of guy that’s drawn to someone who’s severely lacking in the love department or who might’ve been hurt deeply in the past. He doesn’t do it consciously, but he just starts to notice you. How sometimes you have this far away look in your eyes, or how you keep your head down when talking to others or god forbid he overhears you demeaning yourself disguised in jest. He so full of love I see him gravitating towards someone who’s cup it’s damn near on empty but trying their best to save every last drop and he just wants to pour everything thing he has into it and then some; till it’s overflowing.

He doesn’t even realize his initial interest blossoming into a full blown crush. He wants to be the shoulder you cry on, he wants to carry any burdens you have, he wants to see that smile that reaches your eyes be directed at him. He just wants you bursting at the seams from happiness but he’s a little selfish in the fact that he wants it to be by his hand.

He notices the little things and big things about you that may go unnoticed by others and finds himself worrying over you and rooting for you even before you both have a proper conversation. Wondering if you ate, if you had a good day today, if you enjoyed the new episode of that anime he overheard you liked (he started watching it too), if you slept well even though the most you’ve both uttered to each other was a simple pleasantry in passing and a bow.

His mind reels when you kindly pick up things people accidentally dropped or that one time you helped clean up the coffee he’d spilt on the floor without a word. Or even that time when you offered a staff member your umbrella on a rainy day saying you had two, just for him to see you drenched in the rain a couple blocks away as his driver took him home (once recovered from the shock he shot out of the car running back to where he saw you last but you were long gone). His heart clenched painfully when he heard the reason he hadn’t seen you around the week after that was because you had come down with a nasty cold. You give and give without ever expecting anything in return; without thinking you deserve anything in return. But who’s giving to you?

He finds his gaze wondering off in your direction during social gatherings. His own features softly morphing into a for-longing smile as he sees you enjoy yourself with your group of friends, hearing that rare burst of genuine laughter at whatever you guys were joking about. He cursed his cowardice, not being able to approach confidently like how he’d imagine in his head so many times. He had some mutual friends maybe that’d be a good place to start—

He was startled out of his reverie as Seungwan pointed out his goofy expression teasing “What’s got you so distracted lover boy?” Mingyu ops to just huff a smile in into his drink as he bashfully looked away.

You, it was you who had him like this

[kingdomaddiction]

I've been thinking in a Cumplane friendship idea.--

You see, everyone seems to believe SQQ and SQH can't stand each other. Quite the opposite, really. When it's only the two of them they don't feel the need to keep up the pretence. It's so easy to relax, to put the mask aside.

They aren't peak lords nor cultivators. They're just two dudes in their mid tweenties trying to survive in this forsaken world.

SY knows he might not be the kindest nor the most loving of friends, (he spent so many years alone in a cold, hospital room, he's not good at socializing) but he does care for Airplane. A lot. He will never say it out loud because it's embarrasing but that stupid author is his best friend.

So, that's why when the news of Qinghua's disappearance finally reach him (two weeks, it took two full weeks before someone decided to tell him--- )they absolutely destroys him.

He seems calm at fisrt. Not truly procesing the news. LBG makes a few comments about something Mobei told him (you fucking knew and didn't tell me, how dare you, husband?! )

Gone, SQH? No, that's dumb. He couldn't be gone. He's a peak lord, he has responsabilities, a bunch of little ones to teach. He even takes care of the north. And most importantly why would he leave Mobei? It makes no sense, not fucking sense.

SQH wouldn't leave like that. He... he wouldn't leave SY behind.

He can feel sob building up in his throat. That... stupid, idiot--HACK AUTHOR!

His crying fit is so strong and sudden that sends LBG and his whole demon staff into a panic.

"Shizun?!" He says looking for visible injuries-

"Don't touch me!" He screams and LBG looks at him with hurt.

"Husband? Have... have this disciple done something wrong?"

SQQ just turns and walks to his chambers ordering LBG not to follow him. His husband is left feeling distressed and cries for very different reasons.

Later that night they talk. SQQ feeling tired and sad finally calls for his husband to comfort him. He explains to him why he is angry at him and LBG apologizes.

"This one thought you hated Shang-shibo and that Shizun wouldn't care about his dissapereance." He says in a small, careful voice. "Mobei jun came to the palace days ago to beg for help in his search... "

"You turned him away... " SY says, sounding very tired.

"Yes. But this husband will make it right, Shizun. I will find your friend for you, promise."

SY sighs and hugs his husband, hiding his face in his chest.

..

Idk 'm all over the place but the idea is that the system is glitching and took SQH and is kind of keeping him hostage? Like, in between worlds. Not the mordern universe, not PIDW.

I imagine LBG having a very hard time accepting his shizun worries and loves others and not just him (??? why??? I'm more than enough you need NO ONE else shizun). He's too possesive and would like very much just to lock his shizun away, but that would break him and he never wants to see him cry like that ever again. Even if that means he has to share his attention.

MBJ is very broken in this one fiding himself lost without SQH. they had just finally stablished their relationship so he's between angry and scared. Also his trust and loyalty to LBG has taken a blown since he refused to help him find his lover. Didn't he help LBG when everyone turned his back on him as he clinged to his dead shizun's body?

While they work together (before they can even figure out where sqh is) LBG slowly realizes he might have fucked up a bit and ??? misses Mobei ??? are they friends???!!

SY tries his fucking best to keep it together. Really, he loves Binghe but that man can be so dense.

They find where SQH is being kept. The place is like a limbo. Cold, and vast where no time passes. In order to get him back LBG, MBJ and SQQ work together to reforge Xin Mo and travel there. There's a cool fighting montage, tears, hugs and everyone is happy at the end

Yeah that's all i got so far. I'll be going back to work now--

[theemporium]

[4.1k] as promised, jack throws luke a belated birthday party before the season kicks off. except, luke gets more surprises than he bargained for. (smut)

series masterlist

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“I don’t get why we have to do this.”

“I’m just following instructions.”

“I already know Jack is throwing a party, there is no surprise.”

“I know. You have said it thirteen times since we left the apartment.”

Luke shot the older defenceman a look, his face blank and unimpressed. It had been bad enough that Jack had barged into his room at an ungodly hour on their off day, rambling away so fast that it took Luke a few minutes to even realise what he was saying. He had clothes thrown at his face and told he had fifteen minutes to get out of the house before he was dragged out. 

He was only mildly surprised to find John waiting outside their apartment complex, two coffees held in his hands and looking just as thrilled as Luke to be awake so early. And just like Luke, he had been given close to no instructions on what to do, other than keep Luke out of their apartment until everything was ready. 

Whenever that would be.

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just hang out at yours.” Luke said, leaning back against the hood of the car as he shovelled the ice cream around the small tub he was holding. “Or why he demanded I spend the day acting like a seven year old.” 

“To say goodbye to your youth before you turn twenty,” John replied.

Luke frowned. “I’m already twenty.”

“Semantics,” John shrugged.

Luke stared at his teammate for a few moments, letting the silence envelope them. He got along well with John, probably better than some of the older teammates. He didn’t want to say it to anyone else—like Jack or Quinn or his parents—but it was a little intimidating. He wasn’t the youngest guy in the team, and he knew he had others his age. But sometimes, the older defenceman were just…a little intense. 

He knew they meant well. He knew they only wanted to help and guide. But it was hard to believe the words they were saying when it was still pre-season, when Luke still felt like he had to prove himself on the ice, even after playoffs.

But John was a nice middle. He wasn’t old but he was experienced. He understood it a little better than some of the others. Luke might have even gone as far to say that John had been the closest thing to an actual friend that he felt on the team, like somebody he thinks would genuinely hang out with him outside of team hangouts and post-game pub crawls.

Luke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at the older boy. “Do you know what Jack is planning?”

He could see the beginnings of a smirk tugging on John’s lips.

Luke pointed his little spoon in accusation. “You do!” 

“Eat your ice cream, Luke.” 

“Surely I get birthday boy privileges or something.”

John’s face broke out into a full blown grin. “Thought you were already twenty? Not technically the birthday boy then, are you?” 

Luke only rolled his eyes as the boy beside him cackled, but there was the makings of a smile on his face too. 

…

He had made the mistake of underestimating a Jack Hughes’ party.

Luke knew what his brother was like. He knew how his mind worked and how he thought and how he acted. He knew just what certain words and phrases really meant. He knew the kinds of tricks Jack tended to have up his sleeve. 

He had ranted to John about as much all day. He had warned you about the same.

He was fully equipped to be prepared with whatever was on the other side of the door.

And yet, Luke still found himself standing frozen in shock when he opened the apartment door to so many fucking people screaming happy birthday at him. More people than he ever considered possibly fitting into their apartment. 

Every surface had more bottles of alcohol on them than he could count, there were balloons and other decorations taped to the wall, and he was pretty sure he saw a fucking keg hidden amongst the crowd.

It was the most Jack Hughes kind of thing to throw him a party that resembled a frat party, more than a fucking birthday party. He shouldn’t have been surprised and he still was because, honestly, he didn’t think it would be much bigger than the team and their partners and some extra friends. 

Luke didn’t think he knew half the people in his house right now. Maybe more than half. 

And still, staring at the large group of people, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over the crowd as if he would be able to spot you in seconds. 

But he couldn’t.

Instead, Jack was dragging him into the apartment with a shove and a big smile. He had a drink pushed into his hands seconds later, more people wishing him a happy birthday and the overwhelming realisation that his social butterfly brother was going to drag him around to meet every single stranger currently in his house. 

And as much as he wanted to claim it was horrible—and it kind of was, socially—Jack undoubtedly knew how to throw a great party. 

He was in the middle of listening to some retelling of a goal from a game that Luke didn’t even care about when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He glanced around him, everyone far too focused on the storytelling before he slipped his phone out. He wished he was embarrassed with the way his smile grew when he saw it was from you. 

cherry🍒: which room is yours? 

cherry🍒: please answer quick before i break into your brother’s room

Luke pressed his lips together, trying to resist the urge to smile or laugh.

hockey boy: is there a reason you’re trying to sneak into my room? 

It didn’t even take a few seconds after he pressed send for you to respond. 

cherry🍒: stop being a smart ass and tell me which one

cherry🍒: otherwise i guess jack gets your present 

And it was stupid, really. He didn’t know what you got him. It could be a card for all he knew, and he would be grateful for it regardless. But still, something about the implication of your words made his cheeks flush in response. 

And something quite possessive bubbled in his chest at the idea of anyone else being in his position. 

It was his gift, after all. He had every right to feel possessive over it. Or, at least, that was what he told himself as he quickly responded. 

hockey boy: second door on the left

He watched the bubbles appear on his screen, let the seconds pass painfully until your message came through.

cherry🍒: come and get your present, birthday boy ;)

He stared at the text for a lot longer than he cared to admit before he was snapped out of his thoughts, feeling someone’s pointy elbow digging into his side. His head snapped up, finding Jesper staring at him with a slightly concerned look.

“You good? Your face has gone red.”

He could almost feel his cheeks burn hotter in response. 

“Uh, yeah,” Luke cleared his throat and gave the older boy a slightly strained smile. “I must’ve drank a little more than I expected. I’m just gonna go splash my face and I’ll be back.”

Jesper’s brows furrowed together. “You sure? I can go get Jack—”

“No, no,” Luke quickly reassured him, giving his shoulder a small pat and squeeze before he took a step away from the crowd. “Promise I’m all good. Just need to freshen up.”

Jesper didn’t look convinced but Luke didn’t give him much time to say anything else before he rushed off. 

He kept his head down, trying to avoid eye contact and getting dragged into conversations as best as he could. He gave polite smiles when he could, pushing through the crowd of people without a second thought before he made it to the corridor that led off to the bedrooms.

It was quieter, which was expected with most of the guests in the main communal areas but Luke didn’t give much thought to them or anything else as he made a beeline for his room. 

His heart was thundering in his chest as he reached for the door, quickly sliding inside and shutting the door with a heavy sigh before he finally turned around. He leaned back against the door, taking in the sight of you casually sitting on his bed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe because, for some reason that was beyond his own understanding, it was. 

You sitting on his bed, leaning back against your hands as you grinned at him. Your white dress was a stark contrast against his navy blue sheets, resting around mid-thigh and it drove him crazy. Almost as crazy as the cherry red lipstick did. 

“Happy birthday, Hughes.”

His nose scrunched. “You can’t call me that when my brother is under the same roof.”

You snorted. “Aw, you know you’re my favourite.” 

Luke didn’t bite back his smile this time. “Is that my birthday present?” 

You grinned back, patting the spot on the bed next to you. “Why don’t you come find out?” 

He barely had a chance to sit on the bed before your hands were on him, fingers lightly tugging on his curls as you pressed a smacking kiss onto his cheek with a cheesy grin. 

“Happy birthday, Luke.” 

He huffed out a laugh, turning to look at you with an elated expression. “Thanks, Cherry,” he murmured, almost shyly as your fingers remained in his hair, playing with his curls like it was instinctive. “How are you enjoying the party?”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Your brother sure would’ve made a great frat boy.”

“It’s his true calling,” Luke joked.

“And you’re a popular boy,” you commented.

His cheeks flushed. “Oh no…I…I don’t know half of them, to be honest. Maybe even more than that.” 

Something glinted in your eyes and you smiled at him. “So I’m one of the lucky few people who actually know the birthday boy?” 

He swallowed. “One of the few, yeah.” 

“I’m honoured,” you hummed, tilting your head to the side. “I’m guessing you won’t be missed if I keep you up here for a bit, then?”

He blinked, staring at you for a few seconds before he remembered he had to respond. “Uh, yeah, no. We can…we can stay here for a bit. Or a while. Or however long you want.” 

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Good. Get comfortable.”

His eyes widened a little. “Huh?” 

“Get comfortable, Luke,” you repeated, something quite like pride blooming in your chest as you watched his face blush in response. “Need to give you your birthday present.” 

“Oh,” he murmured before he realised. “Oh! Right, I—” 

Luke glanced at you for a second, seeing if you were going to give him any hint on what was happening but you just smiled at him. He cleared his throat, almost embarrassed by the way his dick twitched in response before he shuffled back onto the bed until his back was pressed against the headboard. 

“Is this okay?”

“Perfect, baby, always so perfect for me,” you murmured, not wasting any time as you began to crawl towards him. 

He gulped a little, watching you like he was completely entranced. He expected you to swing your leg over his lap, to feel your thighs on either side of him as you settled yourself on him. He waited for you to be close enough before he could reach out, before he could pull you closer. He itched to have his hands on you.

But you crawled until you were kneeling beside him, your knees brushing against his thigh and hand on his stomach—but it still didn’t feel close enough for his liking. 

Yet, when he opened his mouth to speak, you were already leaning forward to kiss him.

The way he moaned in relief the second he felt your lips on his was almost pathetic, but Luke couldn’t bring himself to care. You shifted in your spot before your free hand cupped his cheek, guiding his head so you could deepen the kiss with a swipe of your tongue against his lips. 

He parted his lips with no hesitation. 

“Hm, good boy,” you hummed, your breath tickling against his lips and it made his cock strain in his jeans. 

“Always for you,” he responded, almost like it was instinctive. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up, for his body to flush in realisation.

But he could feel your smile widen against his lips and it made it worth it.

You pulled back, panting softly as your hooded eyes took him in. Your gaze glanced over every inch of his face before they lingered on his lips. Your eyes darkened and your lips twitched as your hand moved to cup his jaw, to let your thumb slowly swipe over his lips.

“Cherry red looks good on you, baby,” you commented, and it was only then he noticed how smudged your own lipstick looked. 

“Might give you a run for your money,” he retorted, his voice a little lower and rougher than it was moments ago.

“Hm, I bet you could.” 

He gulped a little, the blood roaring in his ears as he felt the anticipation of your next move crackle under his skin like lightning waiting to strike. He watched you closely like he was scared to miss something, like this would all end if he looked away.

“Relax, Luke,” you said in a softer voice, the hand on his stomach lightly fisting the material of his shirt. “You trust me, right?” 

He nodded.

“And you’ll tell me if you wanna stop?”

He nodded again.

“Good,” you murmured before you were leaning in again. “Then sit back and enjoy your present, birthday boy.”

And every other coherent thought Luke had in his brain went completely out the window as you leaned in to kiss him again. 

There was the distant thumping bass sounding from the main room that made him feel like he was back to the party just over a month ago. When he was in the small bathroom with you, feeling just as hot and flushed as he did now but for very different reasons. And if he didn’t have your tongue in his mouth, he was sure he would have appreciated how poetic it all felt.

But he really, really couldn’t bring his brain to do anything except focus on you, you, you.

A needy noise sounded from the back of his throat as your hand on his stomach travelled downwards, as the heel of your palm pushed against the bulge in his jeans. 

“So responsive,” you murmured between kisses as you continued to palm him over his jeans. 

He felt breathless, his brain feeling fuzzy and his body feeling overwhelmed as he desperately tried to keep up with you, to kiss you back, to not buck his hips like he desperately wanted to do.

“This okay?” 

He sighed, nodding his head.

You hand paused, and he almost whined in response, before your fingers paused at the button of his jeans. “Still okay?”

He nodded again.

“Words, baby. I know you can use them for me.”

“Yeah, still okay,” he managed to get out between gritted teeth, almost sounding wounded as he felt your fingers circle his button before slowly popping it undone. He let out a staggered, heavy breath as your hand slid into his jeans, until the warmth of your palm squeezed his cock over his boxers. “Oh, fuck.”

“Shhh, can’t be too loud, baby,” you murmured, watching the way his head slumped back against the headboard with a thump. “Not when they can hear you.”

“There’s music,” he defended weakly, his eyes fluttering shut as you slowly began to stroke his clothed cock. 

“Your pretty noises are louder,” you teased, unable to help yourself as you leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow of his neck. “Help me get these off, yeah?” 

Luke could only find it within himself to nod and lift his hips to help shuffle the fabric of his jeans and boxers to pool just above his knees. “Please.”

“No need to beg this time,” you assured the boy, pressing another kiss just under his jaw. “Gonna give the birthday boy what he wants.” 

He blinked his eyes open, expecting to find you staring back at him. Instead, your focus was on his exposed dick, resting against his stomach. He swallowed a little, suddenly self-conscious and painfully aware that despite the amount of times you had made him come, this was the first time he had ever…well…it was the first time you had ever seen his dick.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nothing except a noise mixed between a moan and a whimper as your thumb traced over the slit on his head.

“Pretty boy, pretty cock,” you commented casually, like your thumb wasn’t spreading the small beads of precome over the head of his cock.

“Cherry,” he breathed out, fighting the urge to clench his eyes shut. “Fuck. Please.”

“I like when you say my name like that,” you confessed, turning to look at his flushed cheeks and glossy eyes that were already staring back at you. You never once looked away from him as you raised your thumb to your mouth, wrapping your lips around it.

He gritted his teeth together. “Shit.” 

The eye contact remained as you licked the palm of your hand before reaching down to stroke his cock again, no layers of fabric acting as a barrier anymore. Just your warm, wet palm slowly pumping the length of his hard cock, in his fucking bedroom when a whole party of guests celebrating him were just god-knows how many feet away.

“Fuck, yes,” he moaned out, slumping back against the headboard again as you continued to stroke his cock. His eyes fluttered shut as a small voice in the back of his head muttered about how much better it felt when it wasn’t his own hand. 

“That’s it, baby, just sit back and enjoy,” you whispered, closing the distance between your lips and his neck once again. Your breath tickled along the column of his neck, sending small shivers through his body as he tried not to twitch his hips.

“Feels good,” he managed to blurt out.

He could feel your smile against his skin. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded hopelessly, his hands fisting the duvet on either side of him. “So good.”

“Hm,” you hummed in amusement, your teeth lightly nipping a spot just before his ear. “You gonna last long, baby?” 

He shook his head, whimpering.

“Gonna be a good boy and come for me?” 

He nodded without a second of hesitation. 

And then he felt your lips against his ear, your breath warm and your voice sultry as you whispered, “then come for me, Luke.”

And he fucking shattered. 

White, hot pleasure exploded through him. He could feel it in every nerve in his body, from the tip of his fingers to the end of his toes. He could feel the rush down his spine, the spots dotting his vision as he tried to ground his bearings. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm as he came, as ropes of his come exploded over your hand and his thighs and stomach.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out, chest heaving with soft pants as he took a few moments before he turned his head to look at you.

“Like your birthday present?” You asked with an innocent smile.

Luke snorted, not replying as he leaned forward to press his lips against yours. It felt like the natural response and you didn’t seem to push him away. 

When he pulled back, he reached for a box of tissues and handed you a few to clean yourself up whilst he did the same. It was only thirty seconds of silence before he opened his mouth to say something, his brain still fuzzy and the oddest urge to say ‘thank you’ on the tip of his tongue when he heard familiar voices on the other side of his door.

“Nah, I swear Jack said his room was to the right.”

“He said left, dipshit.”

“No, he definitely said right.”

Luke’s eyes widened as he turned to look at you, a sudden burst of adrenaline and panic ridding him of whatever post-orgasm brain fog he was experiencing seconds ago. “Get under the bed.”

You blinked. “What—”

“Get under the bed now,” Luke hissed as he quickly scrambled to pull his boxers and jeans up.

You listened to him, despite his confusion, as you quickly slid off his bed and crawled underneath the frame. You disappeared just as the door to his room burst open and Luke was met with three very familiar faces grinning at him. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUKEY!” 

Despite hearing their voices, the shock of seeing three of his closest friends didn’t hit him until they were standing right in front of him. His heart was still thundering in his chest and his brain still felt a little delayed, but the smile on his face was genuine as he took in the sight of Mark, Ethan and Rutger.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Luke retorted, shuffling off his bed. He contemplated hugging them before remembering what had just occurred seconds ago and thought better of it. 

“You really think we were gonna miss your birthday?” Ethan asked with a scoff.

“I mean, it was a few weeks ago…”

Rutger lightly punched his arm. “Don’t be a dick, we just flew from Michigan to be here.”

Luke raised his brows in surprise. “You did?”

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, bud,” Mark replied, a softer smile on his face. “You may have hit the big leagues but you can’t get rid of us.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, an odd pang of homesickness in his heart craving to be a college student in Michigan once again. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I think the better question is why the fuck you are hiding at your own party,” Ethan spoke up, slapping his arm around Luke’s shoulders before he began guiding him to the door. “Your brother splurged on a shit ton of booze downstairs, we should be taking advantage of that.”

“And kicking their asses in beer pong,” Mark added with a grin.

“Let’s fucking go!” Rutger whooped, already the first one out the door with the expectation of the others to follow.

“Gonna embarrass them all,” Ethan grinned, turning his head to look at Luke before he frowned a little. “Hey, what’s that on your neck?”

Luke’s eyes widened as his hand instantly came up to his neck, as though he would be able to feel the lipstick staining his skin. “Uh…it’s…a rash.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed together. “Damn, really? It kinda looks—”

“Are you two coming or what?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “We’re coming!”

“Hurry up or Mark’s my partner in beer pong!” 

Ethan scoffed, his mouth parting in offence. “Absolutely not—” 

Luke didn’t get much of a chance to say anything else before Ethan and the others all but dragged him back into the party. The guilt of leaving you in his room swirled inside him, but he waited until the boys were distracted before he managed to slip his phone out of his pocket. 

hockey boy: i am so sorry about that

hockey boy: i didn’t mean to leave you like that

hockey boy: i feel like a dickhead 

His lip was tucked between his teeth as the typing bubbles appeared. 

cherry🍒:  don’t worry about it, luke

cherry🍒: have fun with your friends 

cherry🍒: hope you liked your birthday present ;)

His cheeks burned but he grinned down at his phone.

hockey boy: don’t think anything can top it

He paused for a few moments, glancing up to find his friends still lost in some debate on who was gaining Mark as their beer pong partner before his focus shifted back to his phone. With some lingering confidence and the shots Ethan made him do as soon as they left his room in his system, he found himself typing and hitting send before he could over think it all.

hockey boy: next time i get to make you come

hockey boy: it’s only fair 

Luke watched as your response came in soon after. 

cherry🍒: maybe you can show me how good you really are with those hands of yours 

.

[stilessflannel]

idk if you write for luke but imagine sneaking into mr ds office and getting comfy because you like the idea of getting caught 👀

this has been going around my head ever since i received it and i finally did something about it 😗 also i got asked for a percy jackson smut and to do whatever i want with it (yk who you are sweet anon) so does this count? muah xx

sneaking into mr d’s office with luke castellan was something you thought you’d never do. but your boyfriend had a tendency to ignore or try break unspoken rules, and that led to luke interrupting your cabin’s lava wall training, promising them their counsellor would be back soon as he dragged you away.

“are you out of your mind?” you hiss at him, checking behind you every five seconds, “we’re going to get caught by mr d or chiron!”

luke only offered the signature grin all hermes kids owned and continued until he had locked the door behind you. there wasn't much to take in - big wooden desk, a map of half-blood hill on a wall, a dusty bookshelf, and the faint smell of diet coke. while you were taking in your surroundings, luke gained a keen interest in the desk with locked drawers down each side. it only took a few seconds before he had them unlocked and he pulled up a bag full of drachmas.

normally you'd never go around to the other side of the desk to try pry a drawer open for yourself. the idea wouldn't even cross your mind to stuff as many bags of gold into your pockets as you possibly could; but it was mr d and drachmas he wouldn't be spending anytime soon seeing as he was confined to the camps boundaries, anyone would do the same.

once you were finished luke's arms wrap around your waist and hoist you onto the surface of the desk, as warm lips attack your neck and big hands work their way up and under your orange shirt. a sigh escapes your lips and your fingers wrap into his raven hair. "hey there"

"hey" he mumbles back, muffled against your neck as he presses a last kiss behind your ear and pressing his forehead against yours. "twenty minutes 'till lunch."

"yeah... wanna go back to mine?" you offer your cabin, playing with the beads on his camp necklace. an unsure hum from him makes you look up at him. you can see the lightbulb light up behind his blue irises. he picks you up so your legs wrap around his hips and sits back into the padded desk chair

"i think we'll be just fine here, yeah?" he said, pressing a kiss into the side of your mouth and working his way back down your neck to make the marks he left earlier brighter. you try your hardest to focus on luke and the heavenly way his mouth feels on your skin, but your mind kept jumping to mr d and chiron finding their two best counsellors in this state. the thought of either of them terrified you to your wits end, but also sent a surge of thrill through your veins.

luke brings you back by digging his teeth into your collarbone and eliciting a groan from you, effectively shutting off your care for who could catch you. you grab his jaw and force him to look at you and you fold - his lovesick face with pupils blown wide from lust makes you crash your lips against his. its messy and rough and perfect for you two as hands explore each others bodies. you pull away to tug your shirt off your head and he follows suit, then you're back on each other again.

the sound fills with small moans, sighs, and gasps from both of you. you're too far gone to hear the footsteps approach the door, too caught up in the feeling of grinding against luke and hearing his faint groans to notice the voices behind the door and the rattling of the handle being twisted. it isn't until the door squeaks on its hinges that you turn to look over your shoulder and see mr d, his face as red as the wine he invented.

you could argue the two weeks wash up duty was worth it.

taglist: @izzieluvsdelusion @azure-drag0ness @vivi-anasan @percyssunlithope @amandareids @raysmayhem-72 // join the taglist here

[woozinhos]

wonwoo make up sex

I have so many wonwoo requests I think you guys are an army 😭

Wonwoo and you were in the middle of an argument. It had started over something small, but it had quickly escalated into a full-blown fight.

"You never listen to me!" Wonwoo exclaimed, his voice rising in frustration. "I tell you things, and you just brush them off like they don't matter!" You crossed your arms, your expression defensive. "That's not true," you snapped. "I do listen to you. I just don't agree with everything you say."

Wonwoo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, of course you don't," he said sarcastically. "Because you always know better than me, right?"

Your anger flared at his words. "That's not what I'm saying at all," you retorted. "I'm just saying that sometimes you can be a bit... stubborn."

Wonwoo let out a bitter laugh. "Stubborn? That's rich coming from you," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You're the most stubborn person I know."

You clenched your fists, your patience wearing thin. "You know what? Maybe I wouldn't be so stubborn if you actually listened to me for once," you shot back.

Wonwoo's expression darkened, his jaw clenching in anger. "Maybe if you weren't so damn opinionated all the time, we wouldn't be having this argument," he said through gritted teeth. The argument continued to escalate, both of you getting more and more heated. The words were flowing fast and furious, with each of you trying to get the last word in.

"I'm done talking to you when you're like this," Wonwoo said, his voice cold and distant. "You're not even trying to listen to me."

You felt a pang of hurt at his words, but you refused to back down. "And you're not even trying to understand my point of view," you shot back, your voice shaking with anger.

Wonwoo scoffed again, his expression hardening. "I don't see why I should," he said dismissively. "Your point of view is always wrong anyway."

Your heart sank at his words, the hurt and anger mixing together to create a toxic cocktail of emotions. You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"You're such an asshole," you said, your voice trembling. "You always do this. You always push me away when things get tough."

Wonwoo's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. But he quickly recovered, his mask of indifference falling back into place.

"Maybe I wouldn't push you away if you weren't so damn difficult to deal with," he snapped, his voice cold and detached.

Wonwoo watched as you stormed off to the bedroom, the sound of the door slamming echoing through the apartment. He stood there for a moment, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. He knew he had gone too far, but his pride was too strong to admit it. Instead, he clenched his fists and tried to calm himself down. As you sat down on the bed, tears streaming down your face, the weight of the argument hit you all at once. You were hurt and angry, but more than anything, you felt a deep sense of loneliness.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some sort of comfort in your own embrace. But it wasn't enough. You wanted Wonwoo to come and apologize, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay. But he didn't come. The minutes ticked by, and you sat there alone, the silence in the room only broken by the sound of your soft sobs. You knew that you needed to talk to him, to try and work things out. But the thought of facing him again filled you with dread.

As you sat there, lost in your own thoughts, the bedroom door creaked open. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of guilt and concern. Wonwoo took a step into the room, his eyes falling on your tear-streaked face. He felt a pang of guilt as he saw the hurt in your eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice laced with regret. "Can we talk?"

You looked up at him, your eyes red and puffy from crying. You nodded silently, unable to find the words to speak. Wonwoo walked over to the bed and sat down beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you. He took a deep breath, his eyes downcast.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean what I said. I was angry and I lashed out at you."

You wiped the tears from your face, still feeling the sting of his words. "Why do you always do that?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why do you push me away when things get tough?"

Wonwoo looked up at you, his expression pained. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess I'm just scared. Scared of getting hurt, scared of losing you."

You felt a pang of sympathy for him, but your hurt and anger were still fresh. "But pushing me away isn't going to solve anything," you said firmly. "It's only going to make things worse."

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I know," he said softly. "I know I messed up. But I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to stop pushing you away."

Wonwoo looked up at you, his eyes pleading. "Please," he said softly. "Can I kiss you? I just...I need to feel close to you."

You hesitated for a moment, torn between your anger and your desire to feel his touch. But in the end, the need to feel his love overpowered everything else.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Wonwoo moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your face. He looked at you intently, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and regret.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I'll never hurt you again, I promise."

And then he kissed you. His lips were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh words that had been exchanged earlier. It was a kiss filled with remorse, apology, and a deep sense of longing. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. Wonwoo's hands roamed over your body, his touch desperate and needy. He deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. You responded eagerly, your own tongue tangling with his as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment.

As the kiss grew more passionate, you found yourself being pushed down onto the bed, Wonwoo's body hovering over yours. He broke the kiss, his lips moving down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched your back in pleasure.

"I need you," Wonwoo whispered against your skin, his voice hoarse with desire. "I need to feel you, to make things right."

You nodded, your body aching for his touch. "Please," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo pulled back, his eyes dark with lust as he looked down at you. He slowly undressed you, his hands moving over your body with a reverent touch.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his lips trailing down your chest as he continued to undress you.

You shivered as his lips brushed against your skin, your body tingling with anticipation. He reached the hem of your underwear and slowly pulled it down, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're mine," he said possessively, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Mine to love, mine to protect."

You reached up and pulled him down to you, crashing your lips together in a heated kiss. Your bodies were pressed together, the heat between you almost unbearable.

Wonwoo broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you. "I'm going to show you how much I love you," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you feel so good, baby."

You nodded, your heart racing in anticipation. Wonwoo leaned down and captured your lips in another searing kiss, his hands roaming over your body as he did so. He moved his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. His hands moved lower, exploring every inch of your body with a possessive touch. As he removed his clothes, you couldn't help but admire his toned body. His muscles rippled under his skin as he moved, his eyes dark with desire.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his lips trailing down your stomach. "Missed the way you feel, the way you taste."

His lips reached your thighs, and he began to leave a trail of kisses there. You gasped as he nipped at your skin, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

He continued to kiss and nibble at your thighs, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "I need you," he murmured against your skin. "I need to be inside you."

You arched your back, your body aching for him. "Please," you moaned, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

Wonwoo positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he slowly entered you. You moaned into his mouth as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours. "I've missed this, missed being inside you."

As he moved inside you, he continued to murmur apologies, his body conveying his regret with every thrust.

"I'm sorry, baby," he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm so sorry for everything. I'll never hurt you again, I promise."

You clung to him, your body responding to his touch and his words. You could feel the intensity of his emotions in every thrust, in every kiss.

"I forgive you," you whispered, your voice shaky with pleasure. "I forgive you, Wonwoo."

His movements became more urgent, his hips snapping against yours as he sought to bring you both to the edge.

"I love you," he gasped, his eyes locked on yours. "I love you so much, baby. I'll never do anything again."

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with pleasure. "I love you too," you managed to say, your words punctuated by moans and gasps.

Wonwoo's thrusts grew more erratic, his breathing becoming ragged as he neared his own release. "Come for me," he growled, his eyes blazing with desire.

His words sent you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing as pleasure washed over you. You cried out his name, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you rode out your orgasm. Wonwoo followed soon after, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he came. He held you tightly, his body shuddering with the force of his release. As his hips continued to twitch, he held you close, his breath hot against your skin. "Fuck," he murmured again, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction.

He rolled onto his side, taking you with him so that you were facing each other. He stroked your hair, his touch gentle and loving. "That was incredible," he said, a small smile on his face. He pulled out of you, rolling onto his back and pulling you into his arms. He held you close, his hand tracing patterns on your back.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice soft. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for pushing you away, for hurting you. I'll never do it again, I promise."

[luveline]

Eddie and Roan —Roan’s having a hard time adapting to the new babysitter. stepmom!reader, 1.4k

Eddie’s car is parked poorly on the driveway, but it’s there, and it’s nice to see after a long day. You park snugly behind him, pull your purse onto your shoulder, and rush out of your car, up the steps to the house. 

You open the heavy front door.

“Roan?” you ask, greeted by the smell of Eddie’s tomato pasta and fresh bleach. “Eddie, did you mop?” 

“Sasha mopped,” Eddie corrects from the top of the stairs. “She’s up here.” 

“Sasha?” 

“Roan.” He smiles at you. “Sasha is long gone home, baby. And if I were you I wouldn’t say her name. It hasn’t got me super far.” 

You wince, hanging your purse and coat over the bannister and shucking off your shoes, aching feet a little less painful on the carpet of the stairs. Eddie waits for you on the landing, and he kisses you when you’re close enough, to your fear. 

“I’m gonna fall.” 

“No,” he says, encouraging you against him with a forearm to the small of your back. “Like I’d let you.” 

“Is it really bad?” 

“She went into a full blown nuclear meltdown. I don’t think Sasha will be back any time soon, she looked shell-shocked,” Eddie says. 

His eyes flare wide and his lips pucker, but he looks less worried and more entertained. He knows Roan is gonna be fine eventually. She has a case of the crankies because nobody will let her have her way (but you would if you could).

“She definitely wants to see me?” 

“I think you’re the only person she wants to see. She kept pushing me off of the bed.” 

“Oh.” You kiss his cheek. He smiles like he did the very first time you kissed him, surprised and elated to be liked, which is a tad silly —you love him. “Hello. Dinner smells nice.” 

“It does, doesn’t it? I’m gonna go make some garlic bread if you don’t need me.”

You hold his arm. It’s strange to be in love sometimes. You coparent his occasionally angry child. He makes you dinner every single night. There’s barely time to say hello, but you say it because saying hi to him is always, always fun. 

Eddie gives you a quick hug. “I’m downstairs if you want me,” he promises. 

You ease around one another. He goes down the stairs too quickly, you knock gently against ‘Princess Roan’s’ door. The placard is missing a few gems, but it’s still sparkly. 

There’s no answer.

“Hello?” you ask, knocking the door again. “Baby, I’m coming in to see you.” 

“…Okay.” 

You smile at the sound of her voice. You’ve missed her, even though it hasn’t been that long. It’s better to see her, opening her door, finding her all curled up on her bed. She’s mostly guilty, you’d say, but still annoyed at the situation. 

“Hey, angel,” you say, pausing against her doorway. 

“Hi, mom.” 

You grin. “Dad told me what happened.” She tenses, expecting a telling off, but Eddie has that covered. She can’t treat people the way she did, pushing poor Sasha and screaming at her to go away isn’t fair, but she had her reasons. Neither you nor Eddie plan to ignore them. “You okay?” 

“Fine.” 

“What can I do to make you feel better than fine?” you ask. 

“Let me come to work with you.” 

“I told you already, Ro. You can only come with me for emergencies. They’re very grumpy at work.” 

She glares and curls tighter into her ball. She’s small, less than a third your size but with feelings that would threaten to tip you over. Her dress is creased to death and her face is covered in tears. 

“Wanna get dressed for bed?” you ask. 

Roan sighs tiredly. “No.” 

“Just let me wash your face then, princess. Tears make your eyes sore after a while.” 

“Can you hug me?” Roan asks shyly. 

You cross the room. She slides across her bed to make more room for you than you need, but you love how big she seems to think you are, in a way. Like she sees you as much older, maybe more protective, or that’s what you’d like to think. You lay down in her bed, and you move your arm from your side to let her know the hug factor is ready for business. 

She lays her head on your shoulder. 

“It’s hard missing you,” you say. 

It’s hard missing both of them. You feel like a lot of your life is totally wasted at work when you could be talking yourself hoarse with Eddie, Roan between you both or on someone’s lap. You’d rest your face on his arm and watch his lips make each word. You could do it forever, but the world doesn’t let you. His stories and jokes have to wait until the weekend.

“It is?” Roan asks quietly.

“It’s so hard. I miss you all the time.”

“I miss you too,” Roan says. 

“I know.” Her bed is crazy comfortable. You stretch out and turn your face down to hers, back twinging, content to stay her with her forever. “Can I give you a little kiss?” 

She laughs and turns her cheek to you for kissing. 

“It’s been a long time since I asked you that, huh?” you say, pressing three light kisses in the same place. 

“You aks me sometimes.” 

“You never ask me!” you tease in a shouting-whisper. “You just plant them on me!” 

“You like kisses.” 

“I love ‘em. You and dad give the best kisses I ever had.” 

She smiles, but it slowly turns into a frown. “I don’t like being home with Sasha.” 

“It’s summertime, bug. Me and dad have to work, Wayne has to work. We can’t find any other way.” 

“Sasha doesn’t… She’s not… Ugh.” Roan rubs her sad face into your chest. 

“Sasha’s still a stranger, baby, that’s all it is. I know she seems a bit weird right now, but that’s, like, how meeting new people goes!” You hug her to you loosely. “You remember when you met me?” 

“You liked me on the first day,” Roan says. 

“Of course I did.” 

“Sasha doesn’t like me.” 

“Sasha thinks you’re awesome. But when I first met you, Ro, you were littler, and you liked to cuddle more. It was easier for me and you. Plus, I think things for me and you are much more special.” 

“She doesn’t like me anymore.” 

You coo sympathetically. “No way. I think if you say sorry, and maybe me and dad can explain, Sasha won’t mind.” 

“I just wanted you,” she says. 

“I know. It’s okay if we miss each other, because we always get to see each other before dinner.” 

“Is dad still mad at me?” 

You sit up to look down at her, stroking the dark baby curls away from her face, smiling as they spring back into place. “Nah. But maybe he deserves an apology like Sasha. He said you gave him a couple of pushes too.” 

“He was trying to give me a hug and I was still mad,” she complains. 

“That’s okay. I guess dad’s not the kind to hold a grudge anyways.” 

Eddie absolutely holds grudges. He has one-sided beef with half the town and mutual beef with the other half, but he doesn’t hold one with Roan. You wipe the tear stains from her cheeks with a warm cloth and get her changed into clean pyjamas, holding her hand the whole time at her insistence, which makes doing her buttons up hard. 

“Why can’t uncle Steve have me?” Roan asks as you carry her downstairs. 

“Because he has a job, too.” You put her down at the bottom of the stairs. “Most grown ups do.” 

“And you can’t have summer vacation?” 

“I wish, baby. I wish.” 

Roan walks ahead of you into the kitchen, where Eddie’s setting the table, pasta and garlic bread and a big tossed salad waiting. Roan’s place has been set especially for her, with her glass of water, her glass of juice, her favourite fork, and the big purple cushion on her seat. 

“Feeling better?” Eddie asks her, bending at the waist when she holds up her arms. 

He gives her a soft hug, patting her back between lazy up and downs. 

“Sorry, daddy.” 

“That’s okay,” he says genuinely, “I know summer is hard. Maybe I can get some more days off soon.” 

That sounds like a good idea. 

“Please,” Roan says. 

Eddie coils one of her curls around his finger. “I’ll see what I can do. And you’re going to be nicer to Sasha?” 

“Yes. Sorry.” 

Eddie tips her head back to kiss her nose. “I don’t want you to be sorry, I just want you to be kind.” 

“‘Cos kind is the new cool,” Roan says. 

“Yes!” He drags her up his chest to squeeze her tightly. “And we’re the coolest cats in town.” 

[sweetheartbitesb4ck]

part one || part two || part three || this is part four || part five

The weeks following your first 'date' with Simon were full of going on little walks together, but most of all? The pings, to say the least. He would text you so often it came as a shock to you he even had a job. You found it amusing, sure, maybe even annoying, but you hadn't anticipated the sheer silence when he was 'away with work', as he put it.

You had guessed that meant deployed or something of the sorts... and it worried you, yeah, but your feelings for him were still new and you didn't want to get hurt if anything was to happen.

You'd been excited when he'd promised to write to you a few days before he left, but as the days flew by with nothing more than some bills, bank statements and late birthday cards dropping through the letter box it occurred to you that Simon Riley had been too blown away when he first saw you in your house to remember the road name, and far to drunk when he first spoke to you to remember the number on your front door.

So Simon sat there when he wasn't fighting or in briefings and had downtime (which was rare) writing letters he knew he couldn't send away, partly because it was a risk to send stuff away and partly because he would just blank on your god damn address every single time.

He didn't even have his phone because of something to do with trackers and intel and it was all a bit of a fuzz of unconfirmed information that Simon had explained to on a walk a few days before his departure.

This is what worried you. You obviously knew the dangers, and you two weren't even 'official' yet, but you would have liked to be updated. You couldn't help but feel a bit sick when your mind travelled to the horrors his job could boast.

Prior to his deployment, you and Simon had got to know each other a little better, which only made your nerves worse now you had more of a bond, plus you had gotten to see the less flustered version of him. You'd mostly talked over the phone but had also gone on a few walks together. It felt weird; missing someone you'd so quickly fallen for. You could only hope as the days blurred into weeks then into months.

Then, two months later, Simon was back. He'd been resting and getting medical support for a day or two before he journeyed home, and his first thought? It was to retrace his steps down that one road to that house with the open window that had changed everything. He could have slept, unpacked, done anything, but all he wanted to do was to see you.

You groan as you hear a knock against the door... you'd just about drifted off after hours and hours of tossing and turning, your head reluctant to rest. Trudging downstairs, you pull on a hoodie over your pyjamas. "Who the fuck..?" You murmur, clicking on the hallway light and unbolting the door, ready to dive back into bed.

"What?" You grumble as you swing the door just a crack open, your eyes widening and breath hitching at seeing that tall frame and skull mask. You slam it shut, fumbling to unlatch the door and burst it open, flying into the bulky man's arms and screaming.

Simon grins under the balaclava, stumbling backwards slightly as you bounce onto him. "You alright?" He asks, his voice so nonchalant even as you wrap your arms around him. Probably still trying to seem cool for you.

You pull back, face still covered in shock. "Fucking alright? That's all you have to say?" You cry, voice a few pitches higher than usual. "Fuck, Simon... you said you would write!" You mumble, leaning back in to hug him. Part of you wanted to say there forever, holding him there and squeezing him as hard as you could, but you knew you should probably invite him in. So that's what you do.

"Well," Ghost replies, shoving his hands into the big pockets of his tactical jacket as he steps inside, shutting the front door behind him and following you to the kitchen "I didn't know your address," He admits, smirking as you raise an eyebrow at him and snicker. "Oh yeah," You chuckle slightly, trying to refrain from smothering the poor bloke as he takes a seat at your table. "Tea?" You tilt your head and glance at the kettle.

"I hate t-" Simon bites the inside of his cheek and curses under his breath. Fuck... He thinks, realising him lying about loving the drink would probably wean him into having it regularly. "Tea's great," He nods, noting how you raise your eyebrows, expression sceptical.

His mind flicks back to Soap's so called relationship advice, the words "honesty is key" in that loud Scottish accent rattling through his mind. "Okay fine," He grunts, avoiding eye contact. "I hate tea. Can't bloody stand the stuff."

You huff with amusement, flicking the kettle off and rifling through your cabinet. "I'm out of coffee,"

You and Simon chatted for hours, sitting at the table. At first, he was jittery, but he soon relaxed, trying to stop staring at you, although this was hard as he finds you so breathtakingly perfect.

A few hours later, you tilt your head and smile at Ghost as he yawns. "You must be tired," You say softly, leaning on the counter.

Simon nods, rubbing his eyes sarcastically. "It's probably too late to walk home, aye," He says, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," You respond, scratching your neck with a mock confusion. "Lucky I have a double bed, eh?"

"You're sure?" Asks Ghost, his nervous expression from the coffee shop returning to his face. He was still terrified of scaring you away, but wanted nothing more than to collapse onto your bed and just hold you. You nod, smiling gently. "Come on." Taking your hand, Simon follows you upstairs to your cosy room, allowing himself to relax, stop being awkward. The decoration alone made him feel at home, probably because it shone with your personality.

And with that, the two of you curled up on the mattress, Ghost pulling you towards him, arms firm around you as he let the gentle rise and fall of your chest guide him to sleep.

Never in a million years would he have predicted this if he was asked about his future a few months ago, but here you were, two awkward and unsure people falling in love from nowhere.

Love. Simon was sure that's what that feeling was... the one that had seized his whole being since he first set eyes upon you.

thank you sm for reading! I hope you enjoyed part four..! if anyone wants a part five, I'll most likely do it, ( I just need to figure out what I'd write... probably something about the letters) but yea if u want that just let me know.... also, feel free to make any asks for fics u would like to see :)

sorry if my posting is irregular for a while! I'm back at uni and work after the Christmas break so very busy

[betweenstorms]

Part Four of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

The motorway stretched endlessly before you, the grey skies mirroring the dull ache that had settled in your chest. London was still long hours away, and all you had to keep you company were the monotone hum of tyres on tarmac and the storm of regret swirling inside your mind. Too much time to think. Too much space for regret to fester. You cursed yourself, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as your thoughts kept circling back to the night before.

You had fucking blown it.

After all those years, you saw Simon Riley again—bloody hell, he stood right in front of you, and yet you’d managed to do nothing meaningful with that moment. You had let the beer and the shock cloud your better judgement. The one chance to say something worthwhile, to ask the questions that had haunted you for years. Instead of asking him about the things that truly mattered, you got wrapped up in your own misery, your own failed ambitions.

The thought made you wince.

He had asked about you, about your damn life, but you hadn’t even had the decency to return the favour. You hadn’t asked if he was alright, if he was happy. If he was satisfied with how his life had turned out after all the hell he must have been through.

You groaned, cursing yourself again for your inability, your bloody incompetency to see the bigger picture when it mattered most, too tangled up in your own pathetic web of insecurities to make sure that he was truly all right.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you replayed the night in your mind, over and over, searching for the moments where you could have said something different, done something different.

Simon had been right there, and instead of taking the opportunity to reconnect, to ask the questions you had been holding onto for years, you let it slip through your fingers. You didn’t even give him your number or your address. You had let him walk away from you without leaving any way for him to find you again. Even if he wanted to, how would he know where to look? And, you realised with a sinking feeling in your chest, did he even want to? 

The bitter taste of regret coated your tongue as you tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind wouldn’t stop replaying the encounter. In the cold light of day, with the haze of alcohol missing, it all felt so surreal, so far removed from reality. But the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you, and the more you realised just how much time you’d wasted. How ironic. But that wasn’t new, was it? Your whole life felt like a series of missed chances, of not recognising the significance of things until they were long gone.

The truth was, you had been doing this for years—

—letting life slip past you.

A miserable pattern that shaped your entire existence.

When you were younger, just out of university, full of fire and ambition, you thought survival was your strength, your forte. You were fully convinced you could handle whatever life threw at you. But what you hadn’t realised until now was that it wasn’t survival you excelled at—it was failing to see the things that mattered, right when they were in front of you. Survival, you’d come to learn, wasn’t just about getting through the hard times, it was about accepting and embracing the good ones, too. The moments of opportunity.

And that, it seemed, was where you had always fallen short.

Oh, you had it all mapped out, didn’t you?

The life you were meant to have. A good career, a happy marriage, kids running around in a house with a garden, maybe a dog or two. You had imagined it all so clearly, like a perfect picture in your mind. But that picture had never come to life. Instead, you had watched the years slip by, each one more disappointing than the last.

Maybe if you’d paid more attention…

Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy chasing the perfect job, you would have noticed the cracks in your relationship with your now ex-fiancé before it all fell apart. You should have seen the signs. The strange messages, the late nights, the unexplained absences. Maybe if you’d been more present, more attentive, your roommate wouldn’t have been the one to sink the knife of betrayal deep into your back. You hadn’t been watching and he slipped through your fingers, into the arms of someone you had once called a friend.

You had been so fucking busy chasing the perfect little future you thought you deserved that you hadn’t noticed the waving red flags in the life you were living.

And by the time you did, it was too late.

And your parents. Gosh, your parents.

You should have spent more time with them when you had the chance. You should have seen it sooner—your fathers’s illness. Would it have made a difference? Maybe if you had been more involved, it wouldn’t have progressed the way it had. Maybe there would have been more options, more time. But you were too wrapped up in your own life, in your career, in trying to piece together the version of yourself you thought you should be. And now your dad, your hard-working and loving father, was suffering, and you were left with the guilt of not having been there when it really counted.

The truth was, you had been drifting through life.

Existing, but not really living.

And now, as you stared down the seemingly endless stretch of road, the grey world outside your car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had been doing it all wrong. You had always prided yourself on knowing your limits, on being self-aware enough not to overestimate your capabilities. But now, sitting here, you realised that maybe that was the problem. You’d been too cautious, too reserved, too unwilling to take the risks that mattered.

Maybe if you had fought harder for the things you desired, if you had been more aware of the moments passing you by, your life would be different now. Maybe you wouldn’t be driving back to a small flat in London, alone, with nothing but regrets for company.

It was bloody funny, wasn’t it?

As a child, you never think you’ll fail. You dream about the future with wide eyes and open hands, certain that everything will fall into place. You never think that one day you’ll look at your life and feel like you’ve betrayed yourself. Jesus, if you could meet your younger self now, what would you even say? You would probably sink into the ground with shame, unable to look into your own eyes. You should have done better for yourself. You should have loved yourself more, been braver, taken more risks.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know how you ended up here.

Somewhere along the way, the fire in your soul had gone out. The ambition, the hope, the belief in the greater good—it had all faded, replaced by this dull acceptance of mediocrity. You’d convinced yourself that this was enough, but the truth was it wasn’t. You could have done more. You should have done more.

And you didn’t.

But you could change, couldn’t you? You could pick yourself up, move out of the flat, find a job that made you happy, and take better care of yourself. It was all within your grasp. But you hadn’t done it yet, had you? You had let the years slip by, watching them drift past like birds on the horizon, too far out of reach to ever catch hold of.

Such thoughts became your constant companion over the following days.

Or had it been weeks? Months? Honestly, you’d stopped keeping track of time—everything blurred together into the same dull rhythm of work, sleep, and self-doubt. Life in London had become a strange, muted existence, the days bleeding into one another without distinction.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting on the sofa, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, working on a presentation for the following morning.

The small living room was bathed in the bluish light of your screen, the rest of the flat swallowed by darkness. Your focus drifted in and out, the words on the screen barely registering as your mind kept wandering, as if waiting for some small spark of inspiration that would never come. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, trying to will yourself to focus, but it was pointless.

Then you heard it—a knock. A soft, uncertain tapping at the door.

Your fingers froze over the keyboard, eyes narrowing in confusion. You glanced at the corner of the laptop screen. 02:29 AM. Who the hell would be knocking at this ungodly hour? Then, the knock came again, low but insistent, cutting through the quiet.

Your heart began to race, a prickle of unease settling over your skin.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

Not at this time. Not at all, really. Your parents were in Birmingham, visiting an old friend for the week, and you didn’t have anyone else in London who would drop by unannounced, especially not in the middle of dawn. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how alone you were. The knocking didn’t stop, each thud echoing louder in the stillness of your apartment.

With a tight throat and a hammering heart, you carefully pulled the blanket off, your bare feet sinking into the softness of the carpet. Every step you took toward the door felt like it carried a weight of its own, your breath coming shallow as you pressed your ear against the wood. The knocking stopped for a moment, and you strained to listen, the eerie silence in the flat amplifying your heartbeat.

Slowly, you peered through the peephole, breath held. You blinked, your brain struggling to make sense of what you were seeing.

Hazel eyes, shadowed but unmistakable.

Simon fucking Riley.

A surge of adrenaline shot through you, your hand fumbling with the lock before you flung the door open with more force than you’d intended. The cold air from the hallway rushed in, but all you could focus on was him—standing there in the dim light, his broad frame filling the door. He looked the same as that night outside the pub back in Manchester, the same quiet intensity in his gaze. But here, now, it felt different. More immediate.

More real.

“Jesus Christ,” you snapped, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“Didn’t mean to.”

His response was simple, understated, however, it didn’t calm the storm of emotions raging inside your chest.

You stared at him, your mind racing, your pulse drumming in your ears. He stood there, wearing a dark surgical mask that obscured half of his face and a beige baseball cap, the unmistakable Union Jack patch stitched on the front. His outfit was as unassuming as it was intimidating—black jacket, blue jeans, and military boots. And the way he was built, solid, bulky and imposing, would have made anyone else wonder if this wasn’t some kind of robbery. Or worse. He was an intimidating man after all.

But you knew those eyes.

Those sharp, piercing eyes that could cut through the fog of a thousand thoughts.

You’d know them anywhere.

For a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other in the stillness of the dark. You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, your arms wrapped around yourself, whether for warmth or self-protection, you couldn’t say for sure. Simon stood still, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable behind the mask. The air between you was thick with a kind of tension that was hard to place. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it wasn’t far from it either, making the space feel too small, too intimate.

As the seconds stretched out in that strange, suffocating silence, you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. Your palms were sweaty, a reminder that this was real—Simon Riley, here, at your door. In the middle of the night. You shifted on your feet, feeling the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your skin, and wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, as though that could ward off the growing sense of vulnerability creeping up your spine.

“Well… this is, you know, sudden,” you stated softly, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, almost lost to the tension hanging in the air.

Simon shrugged, his gaze flicking away before meeting your eyes again. “Told you I’d visit,” he replied, his tone casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You snorted, your nerves bubbling to the surface.

“Yeah, well, could’ve picked a better time, mate,” the sarcasm in your voice felt like armour, something to protect yourself from the whirlwind of emotions crashing against your ribs.

Simon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me gone, then?”

“No!”

The word flew out of your mouth far too quickly and with far too much force. It hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. You cringed at how desperate you sounded, biting the inside of your cheek as you quickly looked away, your gaze falling to the floor.

God, why did you always manage to make a fool of yourself in front of him? You were always like this around Simon—your emotions too close to the surface, your heart too vulnerable. It was like he had this power over you, and no matter how much time passed, you couldn’t shake it.

The familiar feeling of embarrassment crept up your neck, heating your cheeks and making your skin prickle with discomfort. Huffing softly, you dug your nails into your upper arms, grounding yourself in the sting of it.

“Do you... want to come in?”

Your voice was quieter this time, trying to hold onto whatever scrap of dignity you had left. But it felt clumsy and out of place, like they didn’t quite fit the gravity of the moment.

For a split second, Simon hesitated.

You could see it in the way his broad shoulders tensed, the slight shift in his stance, as though he hadn’t really thought through what would happen if he came here. Somehow, he seemed just as uncomfortable as you were, which surprised you. For a man who seemed to navigate life with such confidence and discipline, the idea of stepping into your flat, into your personal space, seemed to give him pause. You couldn’t quite understand why, but the longer the quiet stretched, the more you realised that maybe he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe showing up at your door in the middle of the night was more impulsive than calculated. And maybe he didn’t know what to do, just as much as you didn’t.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

You immediately felt lighter as you stepped aside, awkwardly motioning for him to come in. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expectin’ company. I mean, not that you’re company, well, you are, but… you know what I mean.”

He stepped past you, his frame taking up more space in the small flat than you’d anticipated. His presence seemed to dominate the room, making the icy air feel thicker, more charged. He glanced around briefly, his eyes scanning the room with the same quiet intensity you’d come to associate with him. Your tiny apartment felt even smaller with him inside it, his towering figure somehow making the room feel claustrophobic.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest scent of something familiar—the earthy scent of leather and steel, mingling with tobacco. It was subtle but unmistakable, a reminder of the life he led, the world he inhabited now. A world so far removed from yours, yet here he was, standing in your flat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You closed the door behind him, your fingers trembling slightly as you locked it.

You murmured something about making tea, your voice barely audible as you rushed into the kitchen, turning on the cheap neon bars over the sink. It was easier to focus on something as mundane as boiling water than on the knot of nerves tightening in your chest. You could feel Simon’s presence behind you, a silent weight of his intimidating aura pressing into the room. As you busied yourself with the kettle, your hands shaking just enough to make you scowl at your own weakness, you stole a glance at him.

He was still standing near the door, watching you intently.

His eyes tracked every movement, and it made your skin tingle under the scrutiny. He still wore his usual guarded expression, as though he hadn’t quite decided whether he belonged here or not. Plus, there was something unnerving about being the focus of his attention—Simon Riley had a way of making you feel exposed, as if he could see through every weak attempt you tried to hide behind.

Frowning slightly, you asked, “Why the mask?”

Your question seemed to jolt him from whatever thoughts were running through his head. He blinked once, twice, then slowly began to peel away the layers.

The cap came off first, revealing the familiar mess of sandy blond hair underneath. His boots followed, then his jacket, each item discarded neatly by the door with military precision. But it wasn’t until he tugged off the mask and placed it carefully on top of the neat pile that you realised how much tension you’d been holding in your chest.

It felt strange to see him wearing a mask indoors.

However, as usual, Simon didn’t bother answering your question.

He just continued as if you hadn’t said anything, leaving you to piece together the puzzle on your own. That was how it had always been with him, wasn’t it? The kettle’s shrill whistle startled you back to reality, pulling you out of the trance his presence always seemed to cast over you.

You cleared your throat and asked, “How d’you take your tea?”

“Plain.”

Of course.

His familiar, deep tone that rumbled in the small space between you. You nodded and made the tea, handing him a mug with a cartoon character plastered on the front. Simon glanced at it briefly but, to his credit, didn’t say anything. He leaned against the counter, holding the mug with one large hand, his gaze once again sweeping over your small, cluttered flat. You watched him silently, mimicking his posture, leaning against the other side of the furniture.

The distance between you somehow felt too wide and too close at the same time. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly rolled up, revealing the edge of a tattoo that snaked its way along his muscular arm. Odd. You hadn’t noticed it before. The bold, black lines etched into his skin told you that this was something new, something he hadn’t had back then. You wondered what kind of significance it held.

There was a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, something unsettling about the way your mind lingered on his tattooed skin.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, Simon broke the silence.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You quickly averted your gaze as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Had he caught you staring? God, how embarrassing. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing your fingers through it in a futile attempt to detangle the mess.

“I wasn’t asleep,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the living room where your laptop sat abandoned on the sofa. “Was workin’, actually.”

You ran your fingers through your hair again, an unconscious attempt to make yourself look more presentable. It was absurd, really. You hadn’t exactly dressed to impress. The last time he’d seen you, you’d been more put together, more presentable, wearing makeup and decent clothes. But now, in the privacy of your apartment, you felt exposed, like he was seeing a side of you you hadn’t meant to show. You felt like a mess.

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea.

If Simon noticed your dishevelled look, or if he even cared, he didn’t say a single thing. The quiet stretched out again, the weight of his presence filling every corner of the room. You could feel your poor nerves fraying at the edges, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, whether he was already regretting seeing you again.

“You know… I didn’t expect you to actually visit.”

Simon shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “Told you I would.”

There it was again.

That simplicity in his words, like everything with him was black and white. Promises made, promises kept. It was as though, with Simon, the world was reduced to the simplest, starkest truths. There were no shades of grey, no second-guessing. You almost envied that about him, the way he seemed to live without being tangled up in the anxieties and doubts that seemed to haunt you.

You stared at your hands wrapped around your mug, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, grounding you, as you let out a small huff of disbelief. You weren’t really used to someone following through so directly, so earnestly, and it unnerved you.

You shifted, “But… how did you even find me?”

Simon’s response was immediate—a sharp look that made your already timid stomach twist in embarrassment. The kind of look that seemed to say, Are you serious?

“I didn’t give you my address, did I? I mean, I didn’t think—”

Simon interrupted you with a heavy sigh, one of those annoyed sighs that made you feel like you were the one missing something obvious. It was the same tired sound you remembered from years ago, when he had little patience for things he considered trivial.

“Your dad,” he said simply, as if that answered everything.

You blinked, confused. “My dad?”

He gave a small nod. “I asked him for it. At the funeral.”

His words struck you like a direct punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, all you could do was stare, mouth parted in silent shock, your mind reeling.

Slowly, you pressed your lips into a thin, resolute line, eyes dropping to the floor as your bare foot nudged the kitchen furniture, seeking distraction in the quiet chaos.

“And you remembered.”

Simon, ever the pragmatic, gave a faint frown as if confused by your surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His response made your heart clench. Of course, only Simon Riley would remember something like that. He remembered everything, didn’t he? It wasn’t just a detail to him, it was a promise fulfilled, a matter of duty. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight as you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, the weight of his words hanging between you like an anchor pulling you both down into the murky depths of the past.

You had no words.

What could you say? That you were touched by his effort? That it meant something more to you than you could articulate?

Suddenly, the memory of the day after you met him came flooding back. The drive home from Manchester that felt endless, the silence inside the car thick with questions that swirled in your mind, never letting you rest. Those thoughts haunted you ever since, clinging to you in the days that followed like shadows, never letting you move on.

The questions that swirled through your mind like ghosts you couldn’t outrun, questions that felt urgent, vital.

And now, standing here in this moment, face to face with him again after everything that had happened, it felt as though the universe had conspired to bring you both back together. Every moment you’d spent wondering, waiting, longing, felt orchestrated by something greater than chance, as if God himself had pulled the strings, aligning the stars to give you this one moment.

This second chance.

But the questions you once agonised over, the ones that kept you awake at night, suddenly felt insignificant, small against the weight of this moment. What you thought you needed to ask him paled in comparison to the one question that now consumed you, burning through your thoughts like wildfire.

Nothing else mattered—only this.

“Did you… read my letter?” 

Your quiet words hung in the air, fragile and exposed.

It felt like a moment of reckoning, as if everything that had passed between you, the years of silence, the unspoken feelings, the grief, and the regret, had all led to this point, this moment. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear his answer, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. You had to know.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the flicker of something in his eyes, a flash of impatience, perhaps, or maybe just weariness. He let out a small grunt, his tolerance clearly fraying at the edges.

“Fuckin’ hell. You gonna keep askin’ daft questions all night?” His tone was sharp, but not unkind, and you could tell that, despite the frustration, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. It was just Simon—blunt, honest, unflinchingly direct.

The letter. He had read it.

Every word you had poured onto those pages, every emotion you had bared without ever expecting him to see it—he had seen it all. And not only that, but here he was, standing in your flat, at your door in the dead of night, as though he had been drawn back to you by the very things you had written down. It made you feel exposed, like you had laid your soul bare without realising it.

“And…?”

Simon’s beautiful hazel eyes flicked toward you, sharp and searching, as though weighing the unspoken between you both, carefully deciding how much to reveal. The silence stretched, thick with uncertainty, and for a heartbeat, you wondered if he would say anything at all. His expression remained unreadable, the hesitation palpable, until at last, he spoke—his voice low, gravelly, and frayed at the edges, like words worn down by years of being held back.

“Didn’t need the letter to know.”

You took a shaky breath, letting the reality of his words wash over you like a gentle wave.

Simon remained still, leaning against the counter, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. But that quiet intensity—the way he simply waited for you, like he was giving you the space to process everything, it was almost too much to bear. It was like he was standing on the edge of something, waiting for you to join him, but he wouldn’t force you to make the leap.

You placed the mug down on the counter, the ceramic clinking softly against the surface.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay at bay, but the dam broke, and before you could stop it, you buried your face in your hands. Because for the first time in a long time, maybe since birth, you felt like you could start to let go of the past.

Not entirely, not yet, but enough to stop letting it define you.

The sobs tore through you before you could catch them, erupting from deep inside, the kind of crying that you’d never really allowed yourself to do. It wasn’t the silent, dignified kind of tears that you’d always kept private, tucked away in the safety of solitude. No, this was raw, unrestrained. The kind that made your chest ache with the sheer force of emotion behind it. You were crying like a child again, vulnerable and scared, as if every moment of hurt you’d ever felt had been stored away for this exact instant. Your whole body shook with the release, as you gasped for breath between the words that tumbled from your lips.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of the apology. “I’m sorry for everythin’. For never bein’ there. For not doin’ enough. For not sayin’ enough. I’m so sorry, Simon, I’m so sorry…”

The words spilled out like a flood, each one soaked with years of guilt and regret.

“I’m sorry you had to go through it alone,” you gasped for breath, clutching the edge of the counter for support as your legs threatened to give way under the weight of it all. “About… about all of it. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

You apologised for every moment of his pain that you weren’t there to stop. For his father, for the abuse. For his losses, his suffering, the unimaginable hurt he had endured. You apologised for not protecting him, for leaving him alone, for not being enough. You apologised for all the ways the world had failed him, as if you somehow could have prevented it.

The tears were relentless, burning hot as they streaked down your face as you hunched over, your hands covering your face as if to hide from the enormity of what you were feeling. You were just a child yourself back then, powerless and naive, but still, the guilt was suffocating. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let him down. That you hadn’t done enough to save him from that life. It was everything—everything you had buried, everything you had held onto for far too long, coming to the surface at once.

And it hurt. God, it hurt so much.

But amidst the pain, there was a strange sense of relief.

Like the weight you’d carried for so long, the heavy stone in your chest that had been there for years, was finally being lifted. You cried like the rain had finally broken through the clouds, years of pent-up emotion falling in a flood. For the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe. The air filled your lungs, crisp and cold, and even though you were a mess of tears and shaking limbs, you felt lighter. Free, in a way you hadn’t felt since birth.

Your hands shook as they covered your face, trying to stifle the torrent of apologies that kept pouring out, unstoppable. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve known… I should’ve—”

But Simon didn’t let you finish. 

It was his voice, even after all those years, after a decade of longing, that cut through the storm inside you.

It was Simon—always Simon.

His words were simple, but they hit you with the force of something much greater.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

And you believed him.

[allfearstofallto]

Wow I loved your latest child piece, do you think he would try desperately to make his sons like him? Give them gifts and go fishing together with his oldest son? I mean he can see that the kid is terrified of him but he tries to reassure him but to no avail. I think he would let his anger out on some of his poor Fatui men or on his missions whenever these moments happen to him. That’s so angsty how Childe loves his family but they only see him as the monster they think he is.

Y'all I actually really do like writing for yandere Childe's family!! The angst is so fucking good!!

But since I can't keep up with the nameless kids, the older boy is Adonis and the younger one is Damon

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: Yandere Themes, Reader has children, mentions of previous abuse

“You look so cute all bundled up like that, my sweet,” you praised your older son, even patting his head and squeezing his cheeks the way you knew he liked. Yet nothing you were doing could lift the dark cloud that was over him, the fear in his eyes was paralyzing and he was gripping the hem of your dress so tightly, you thought he'd rip it if he were made to let go.

“P-pl-please don't send me away, mommy,” Little Adonis whimpered through tears and you felt your heart shatter. Orange hair framing his face, you brushed it to the side. You hated just how much they looked like their father, his genes so strong they were like little carbon copies of him. And their cries always tugged at your heart, you hated that he made you feel empathy for his face

With your other son still on your hip, you tried to comfort both boys. Finding it difficult to soothe with your hands full. Adonis had gone from whimpering and labored breaths to full blown sobbing at this point, wiping the tears from his chubby cheeks with the backs of his mittens. You tried to stop him from crying, tried to get him to calm down. When the older one cried, so did the younger, and soon Damon was also in your arms shedding tears.

“Your father just wants to take you out for a bit,” your voice was shaky as you tried to reassure him, “You won't even be far. The pond is only a short walk away.” Your words fell on deaf ears as they continued to cry, both of them getting your dress wet with their fat tears.

“What's all the commotion?” The voice that asked this question somehow managed to make both of your children suck their tears up quickly and fall into an almost scary silence. They peaked up at you, waiting for your response to Ajax, who was giving you his usual charming smile.

“I- I just don't think Adonis is very fond of the snow,” you spoke quickly while patting the boy's head, even cupping his cheeks to try and wipe away some of the wetness from his face.

If Childe noticed how tense the entire family has become at his presence he didn't speak on it. Instead he took a knee right in front of his son, also reaching up to pat the boy's head, but he flinched away from his father's touch. You squeezed his shoulder a bit too tightly to hold him in place, making him look up at you in a way that broke your heart. He felt as if you were betraying him, but you knew better, what Childe could do to him was much much worse.

“That's nonsense. He's from Snezhnaya, he should love the snow,” he finally got to pet Adonis’ head. His large hand that was covered in scars and callous practically getting lost in the orange locks.

“Maybe he takes more after me,” you took Childe's hand, trying to put his attention more on you instead, “It doesn't even get cold in Liyue. You remember how much I hated it here when I first arrived, don't you?”

His eyes went dark for a moment as he squeezed your hand a little too tightly, “You hated it here for a lot of reasons.”

“But the cold was the worst part,”

“Adonis will be fine,” he spoke while placing a kiss upon your lips, then one on Damon's forehead, “My father took me ice fishing when I was practically an infant.”

“I-i suppose,” words muttered with your head down.

The two of them slipped on their boots together, with Childe even helping his son tie his. You felt on edge watching the both of them leave out the door. It was the first time that you'd ever left Childe alone with him, and the instinct inside of you that was telling you to protect them was on high alert. There was nothing you feared more than your husband.

But nothing could be done. Childe kissed you again on the lips and you pressed your forehead to your sons, quietly whispering words of assurance to him and most of all Please be good.