#like there's no right or wrong way to do this

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIVE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care

You’ve had to make a lot of unfortunate decisions in your life.

Choosing a place for your entire family to rest for eternity, picking the caskets, the headstones—it felt like deciding which curtains to buy for the house, except you were burying your entire close family.

After the crash, your parents were gone instantly, just like that—no goodbyes, no warning, just there one moment and gone the next.

But your sister survived. Three days. You thought maybe that was a sign, she’d live despite everything, and you wouldn’t be left alone.

Two weeks later, the doctors told you it was time, but you couldn’t accept it. You held her hand, begging her to stay, telling her every promise you could think of if she opened her eyes.

When the monitors finally went flat, you couldn’t feel anything but desperation. Rafe had to pull you out of there, his arms locked around you while you kicked and screamed, sobbing and begging your sister not to go, not to leave you here.

You fought him with everything you had left, clawing, crying, pleading for just one more second. You were screaming so loud you didn’t even recognize your voice. Everything good had been ripped away from your hands, there was nothing left of the world you’d known.

After that, you remember sitting in some stuffy funeral home office, skimming through catalogs and hardly seeing the pages through your tears. The caskets all looked the same, the types of wood made no difference to you, fabric linings, all of it felt so wrong. 

None of it was a choice you should have to make. 

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

You just picked something neutral and blank, something that didn’t require thought or emotion because, by then, you had nothing left to give. 

Now you were trapped again, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

Ruthie—no chance you’d involve her. She’d just see this as another fucked up piece of gossip she could hold over your head, another way to judge or control you. She was “friend” only in the loosest sense of the word.

Kelce was the last person you’d consider turning to for something this serious. He has always been there, but you never got close. He was too much of an instigator, always pushing Rafe to do reckless things he’d regret later, peer pressuring him in ways that made you wonder if he even knew what loyalty meant. He had this weird loyalty to Ruthie, defending her comments as if she was some misunderstood angel when really, she was just… mean.

So that left Sarah. 

It felt weird, thinking of her as the person you’d call on for something so serious, she was the only one who felt… safe. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pry, she’d seen what the worst kind of family conflict could do, and she’d keep this private, just for you.

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

You were pretty sure no one in this town would fully understand, they’d just offer their "advice," as if they knew you, seen what you’d been through. 

The truth was, they didn’t know shit. They hadn't seen you holding your sister’s hand, begging her to stay alive. They didn’t know what it was like to bury everything that made you feel like a person, like you belonged somewhere, and have to get up the next day like nothing happened.

Nine days, you would be halfway across the country, and you needed someone. You pictured saying it out loud: “I’m pregnant", just those two words, to someone’s face, you had no idea what to say next.

Maybe you’d tell them that it wasn’t about wanting it gone out of spite or shame, but because you couldn’t bring a child into a world where you felt this alone.

Earlier that morning, you’d stared down at your phone, thumb itching to click on Sarah’s name, like just pressing "call" could fix everything. You despised how needy it made you feel—reaching out, when you’d prided yourself on surviving alone. 

You didn’t have much time to ponder about it, because you were stuck at the beach cleanup.

Just like every other summer, another "social responsibility" event that your late father’s foundation insisted you smile through. Even back then, when they were alive, your summers were a carousel of charity galas, fundraisers, endless hours of small talk, and impeccably arranged seating charts.

The board members of the foundation probably thought it would “ground” you—remind you of your privilege, of your “responsibility” to give back. As if a couple of hours and a few bags of garbage would somehow balance the scales. They never seemed to understand how much of it was all for show, this shallow idea that if you looked the part, no one would care to learn more.

But, still, you’d show up. You always did. Smile, make just enough small talk to appease the right people. 

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 

Kie, who was so genuinely invested in this whole “save the planet” thing it was almost enviable was there too with JJ, who was running around her as usual, wearing his ‘I’m just here for the ride’ expression but enjoying himself. The love between them made you miss having someone who cared in ways that weren’t just calculated moves.

She waved at you from the shoreline, her eyes moving to the trash bag you were barely half-filling.

You weren’t friends, but if Sarah liked her, you did too.

You offered a faint smile back, tired, because between all the shit you’d been thinking about, you'd forgotten to eat, to drink anything, and every time you leaned down to grab another crumpled plastic bottle or a bit of seaweed-laden garbage, you felt like your legs were about to give out on you. 

Every now and then, she would throw a quick, appraising glance your way, like she was expecting you to miraculously become invested in the beach’s ecosystem.

You didn’t have it in you to pretend this was enjoyable today. The “effortless” philanthropy your family loved was a lifestyle you’d never bought into. It didn’t matter how many smiling photos of you had ended up on some charity’s social media—you knew you’d rather be anywhere else.

You had to take a break every few minutes, leaning against a pier post, trying to get yourself together as a few of the younger kids gave you wary glances. You could have left—probably should have.

You managed a tight-lipped smile, giving a thumbs-up that said, Just doing great over here, guys!

You were in a long t-shirt, which hung over your bikini and shorts, the fabric slightly oversized, to help hide what was still a small change in your body. Paranoia was your new best friend, always worrying that someone would notice something different, even if you didn’t have a noticeable bump yet.

Bending down to grab another plastic bottle, you felt a stab of nausea hit you hard, rolling up from your stomach, thick and sour, but you ignored it. Not here. Not now.

You straightened up too fast, and your vision blurred slightly, that familiar sense of vertigo hitting you. You took a shallow breath, ignoring the burn at the back of your throat, your hands shaking slightly as you adjusted the bag slung over your shoulder.

One girl looked up at you with these wide eyes kids like to pull, “Are you okay?” 

You smiled, brushing it off as if you weren’t about two seconds away from collapsing. “Of course. Just... need a second.” 

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 

Just a few more bags of trash and you’d be able to get back to your car, maybe grab some water from the cooler in the trunk, sit down, and think about it.

This used to be easy, you got a weird kind of enjoyment from these cleanups, running around with your sister, making it a competition to see who could pick up the most trash, laughing until your stomachs hurt over stupid jokes about jellyfish and sunscreen. Back then, this was just one of a thousand little family traditions, one of those things that felt effortless.

Now, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, making your skin prickle uncomfortably.

You’d long given up wiping it away, knowing that it would only come back thicker and hotter the next second. Every instinct told you to run off to the parking lot, and sit in the car with the AC blasting until your body remembered it didn’t hate you.

Leaning down for one last bottle wedged in the sand, your legs wobbled and gave way beneath you. Just like that, your vision was spotty, as if someone had turned down the brightness on the entire beach, and you pitched forward.

Just as you felt yourself going down, a hand caught your arm, pulling you back up.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, gripped your arm firmly, keeping you upright.

How much longer could they realistically expect you to go on, plastering on that sweet, dutiful smile? How much “grounding” could one person take?

You blinked, trying to clear the haze in your eyes, "I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, really, it’s fine,” you insisted, but then a shadow loomed beside you. 

Your vision was so foggy that it took seconds for you to register it.

You looked up slowly, feeling a familiar drop in your stomach as you realized who it was.

The last time you’d been this close to him, the two of you had been screaming insults across the room, Lily having to physically step in. She’d forced him to leave before you two killed each other. It was a miracle you hadn’t punched him then and there.

 “You should sit down.”

It felt like a sidekick to your chest.

The sound of his voice was grinding on your nerves, and just like that you were stuck back in your dream, a real memory, leaning against him, his hand playing with a strand of your hair as he laughed at something you’d said, the two of you carefree under a golden sunset. 

Except this was real.

Rafe was shirtless, with his board tucked under one arm, surf wax staining his fingers, and the sun glinting off his damp skin, like he was God’s gift to the Outer Banks. His buzzed hair was dark and wet, droplets trailing down his temples and catching along his jawline. His cheeks were flushed, a little red from the heat.

You looked away, somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, refusing to let him see you in this fragile state.

“Go away. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move.

He’d been summoned from your absolute worst memories, catching you at your lowest when you least wanted his help. Typical. 

“No,” he refused firmly, with that stupid, stubborn look that made you want to throw something at his head. “I’ve seen you almost fall three times now.”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like a creep, you wouldn’t have to see me ‘almost fall.”

“I wasn’t—"

You grounded your teeth, “Just go back to surfing.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if you were the one acting crazy. “Yeah, 'cause you look perfectly stable right now.”

He'd always been a master of the passive-aggressive half-sneer, the art of making you feel like everyone else was imposing on his day, no matter the situation.

“Don’t act like you care.” you snapped, voice carrying over the sand, earning a few glances from nearby kids.

He ran a hand over his face, looking around as if he didn’t want to be there any more than you did, mouth pressed into a tight line. You wanted to scream that this was his fault too, that every choice he’d made led to you standing here alone, exhausted, and terrified.

“Water would help, y’know”, his tone just shy of patronizing “You can’t go around dehydrating yourself just to make a point.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Your fingers twitched with the urge to send him stumbling to the other side of the beach, you knew that any sudden movement would make you light-headed again, and the last thing you wanted was to give him more proof of your weakness.

The kid—still standing there, eyes wide and darting between you both—looked like he was watching a reality TV show when Kiara appeared at your side.

“Let’s not do this here,” she begged under her breath, handing you a bottle of water she’d brought over, a kindness you didn’t want but couldn’t reject. “Just sit down for a second, please?”

JJ followed, always with that air of easygoing nonchalance, but his eyes were serious as he glanced from you to Rafe.

“She’s right. Just take a second, yeah?” He looked over at Rafe, “Maybe you should leave,” he said pointedly.

“Maybe you should mind your fuckin’ business Maybank.”

“Look, uh,” the kid stammered, knowing he could get caught in the crossfire. “I’ll… I’ll go see if anyone needs help further down the beach…”

You waved him off, your focus still locked on Rafe as the kid all but bolted away, you didn’t want anyone to think they had to “rescue” you.

You tried to take a step back, but the little strength you had in you disappeared as you felt your knees wobble.

"Jesus," you heard him groan, and then his hands were on your arms, board on the sand, holding you as you stumbled. "I told you to sit down."

You shook his hands off, "Don’t tell me what to do.”

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

He let out an exasperated sigh while you took a sip from the water Kiara handed you, ignoring how your hands were still shaking around the bottle. 

She spoke again, trying to be the voice of reason, "We’re here to help the community, remember?"

JJ smirked, "Yeah, think the sea turtles are rooting for y’all to work out your issues somewhere else.”

You ignored his joke, keeping your eyes on Rafe, your pride and stubbornness refusing to let him win, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

He looked you over, his gaze fixed to your warm cheeks and the dewy sheen across your temple, “You look real fine, don’t you?” He didn’t even try to cloak his sarcasm.

God, he could be so exasperating.

He couldn’t understand. How could he even think he could look at you now and know anything about who you were? Standing there, with that stupid board and that look, like he couldn’t imagine anything bothering him as much as this seemed to be bothering you.

As if he hadn’t already ruined you in so many ways that felt impossible to get over. 

“Don’t you have something better to do?” 

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he drawled, his eyes trailing from the waves back to you. 

You were tired of this game, of fighting him every time he showed up only to leave you feeling even emptier than before.

Your fists clenched, and you opened your mouth to hurl something back, but the dizziness hit you again. Before you could compose yourself, Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, strong and frustratingly secure, holding you upright with an ease that made your skin crawl.

He had seen you at your weakest, had been there at the hospital after the accident, keeping you together when you were certain you’d break. 

Yet, here you were, in a sick way, back in his arms, all broken apart.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” JJ chimed in, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

The world alone had all kinds of alarms going off in your brain. You fought back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest, freeing your arm. 

“I told you, I’m fine.”

He let go, but he didn’t back away.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

He was there. And you didn’t want to be reminded of it, not in front of other people. 

He meant the exhaustion and hunger pains you’d welcomed after your family was gone, embraced even, because it meant you wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

You’d wanted to disappear, and he’d been there—dragging you back, forcing you to drink water and swallow bites of food, even when you pushed him away. He’d seen you at your absolute lowest, where you didn’t care if you made it through the day. 

The thought of the hospital, tests, questions, you fought it, but your vision was already blurring.

You couldn’t let him find out about the baby. 

Your breathing felt tighter, each shallow breath only making the spinning worse, you could sense your body giving in to the exhaustion

“Shit,” you heard him curse, sounding distant now like he was farther away. 

You felt yourself sway as if the ground was opening beneath you, there was a ringing in your ears that made his voice sound muffled but you still felt his arms catching you again, holding you upright before you fell.

Waking up in a moving vehicle was like emerging from a nightmare, except somehow, this was worse, because you were no longer at the beach. 

You blinked hard, desperate to wipe the fogginess in your eyes and when it did go away, you realized who was behind the wheel. 

Rafe. 

Your heart pounded—your desperation to keep the baby a secret, how you almost passed out at the beach, and the fact that now he was most likely driving you to the hospital.

“What the hell are you doing?” you practically screamed, your voice hoarse from the lack of water.

He didn’t spare you a glance, “You passed out, genius. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Your whole body went rigid. “Are you insane?”

“Me?” He scoffed, as he kept his focus on the road. “You practically ate sand back there. You’re not fine.”

“Turn the car around. I’ll call my driver and be fine.” You huffed like he was too dumb to understand. “I don’t need your help.”

He let out a dry laugh, still not looking at you. 

“Yeah. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you out of this car right now.”

“Rafe, I’m not kidding,” you warned, louder this time. “Stop. The. Car.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his grip on the wheel tightening.

“Not happening.”

Your heart hammered as you realized he wasn’t going to back down, you were driven by sheer desperation.

“Fine, then I’ll do it myself." you muttered, reaching for the door handle. 

Anything to get out of this suffocating car before he dragged you all the way to the ER and they found out you were pregnant—with his baby, no less.

His eyes widened, finally snapping from the road to your hand on the handle.

“Are you crazy? Get your hand off that, I’m fuckin' serious.”

You yanked at it anyway, twisting the handle and pulling with spiteful defiance, and Rafe’s expression went from annoyed to full-on rage. He swerved the car to the side of the road, tires skidding as he slammed the brakes and practically threw the car into park.

Before he could even stop fully, you flung the door open and stumbled out, sandals sinking into the gravel as you stalked away.

You didn’t get more than a few feet, he was already bolting after you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. 

How the hell had it come to this? You were stuck here, pregnant with his child, and he played the reluctant hero like you needed him swooping in to save you.

Rafe reached you in two strides, his fingers were digging into his forehead, pointing at it with exasperation imprinted into every corner of his face. 

“Are you out of your fuckin' mind?” He sounded like he was talking to some unruly child.

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.

You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

What would he do if she was the one almost fainting? Would he still look like she was some colossal burden, or would he soften, maybe even smile as he fussed over her, acting like he wanted to help?

You hated yourself for caring at all.

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

There was no way he’d look at her like she was a mess, someone he just had to “deal with.” He likely saw her as easy, perfect, all soft and sweet words, everything you weren’t.

This wasn’t who you wanted to be, and yet here you were, stumbling around half-dead and pregnant with his child.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” You spat the words, watching his jaw clench tighter. 

He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. 

“Unbelievable. Only you could take me trying to help and turn it into this.”

You were done. You were done with the memories, with the torment of seeing him be something better for someone else. 

“Help?” You laughed bitterly, the anger engulfing you so hard it felt as if it choking you. “You think this is help? That I need you, of all people?”

He took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm trying to help."

You hated how calm he was, how rational he sounded.

It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to get angry, to let that icy surface crack, to give you even a glimpse of something real, something that wasn’t just irritation or sarcasm.

You wanted proof that he still was affected by you, that this was the same guy who used to be everything, who’d promised you everything.

But you swallowed it down, straightening up, because there was no way in hell, you’d let him see even a hint of weakness.

“Trust me,” you shot back, “I’ll be just fine without you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Get in the car.”

“No,” you said, firm and unyielding, every inch of you screaming that you wouldn’t let him decide anything for you ever again.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In one swift move, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with enough pressure to pull you forward, lifting you clean off your feet. Your breath caught in a furious gasp as he practically dragged you back to the car, his fingers warm against your skin, like you were just a mild convenience. 

“Put me down!” 

You struggled against his hold, jabbing at his chest with what little strength you could muster, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate. 

“Rafe, I swear—”

He opened the passenger door with one hand, keeping a firm grip on you with the other, before finally setting you down—not gently—onto the seat. Without meaning to, tears began falling as you struggled against his hands. You could feel them wetting your cheeks, your voice was breaking, jumping to distress as you tried to twist out of his hold, feeling so small under his unrelenting strength.

He almost knelt in front of you, reaching for the seat belt with one hand, while his other remained firmly on your shoulder, holding you still. You felt trapped, impresioned as you tried to turn in every direction, hands weakly pushing him back, but he caught them effortlessly.

“Stop!” you meekly choked out, failing to shove him, the words coming out shameful.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again.

You hated that he was seeing you like this, how he dared to act like you needed him—it made your skin crawl. You hated that he could do this, like he had any right like you’d ever wanted him involved in this part of your life, let alone now.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

You glared up at him, practically shaking with rage as Rafe ignored your protests like you were nothing more than a child throwing a fit. 

“Get your hands off me.”

His jaw tightened, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps grazing him, and you couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, loud and ugly.

“I’m not letting you kill yourself out of spite.”

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”

For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. 

A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall. 

 "Yeah? Get in line."

Without another word, he pulled back, slamming the door shut, and walking around to the driver’s side.

You wiped at your cheeks, furious that he’d seen you like this, that he had the power to break you down. It was humiliating, sitting here in his car, every part of your body screaming to escape. 

He got in, started the engine, neither of you spoke.

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

You bit back another wave of nausea. Weakness.

You’d already shown him too much. 

You didn’t need a lecture from some doctor on how you “should’ve taken better care of yourself", let alone with Rafe there, watching, scrutinizing, acting like this was his business when he’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t. He was in your space in the worst way, reopening all the wounds.

You were seething. He had no right to do this.

The thought made you want to drop dead—doctor would walk in, casually drop the news about the baby, and you'd be left watching his reaction in real time.

You looked at the entrance to the ER. The vision of anyone running tests, of some well-meaning nurse, coming in and spilling everything about the baby in front of him—no way. You wouldn’t let that happen.

He wasted no time getting out, moving around to your side, while you sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. His hand was already on the door, yanking it open, looking down at you like he was ready to drag you inside if he had to.

You weren’t moving. You knew the second you stepped inside, it would be over. 

“C’mon,” Rafe pressed, his hand outstretched, hovering there like he thought he could compel you to listen. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You crossed your arms over your stomach, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going in.”

Rafe let out a sigh, nearing his limit, and knelt down to your level.

“Look, you passed out. I’m not leaving until you get checked out.”

“You’re gonna be here for a while then.”

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—”

“And what?” you interrupted.

“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”

Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”

“You’re not coming in."

He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

Maybe he was seeing the protection you’d built up around yourself since he left, how there was no longer any crack left open for him to slip through.

“I don’t need you. I don’t want you in there.”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, restrained. “But I’ll be right here.”

You slammed the door shut behind you, not letting him your legs still shaking. You’d rather collapse face-first into the concrete than give him the satisfaction of listening to him. 

“Yeah, you do that,” you replied, turning and walking toward the entrance, refusing to look back.

Stepping inside, you felt a slight tremor run through you—part relief, part panic. The lights were too bright, almost white. Your heart wobbled, replaying how he’d been such a fucking asshole to you.

You’d forgotten how mean he could be, how easily he could go from angry to something so frigid it made you want to cry yourself to sleep.

“Hi there,” The receptionist greeted, her eyes moving over you with a professional once-over, “What brings you in today?”

You forced a small smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Just…got a little dehydrated, that’s all.”

“Okay…let’s just get some basic information.” She clicked into her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Name?”

You cleared your throat, rattling off your full name, she nodded, typing it in.

“Have you experienced any other symptoms besides dizziness?”

“Nothing serious,” you replied, dismissively. “It’s just the heat, like I said. I just need some water and I’ll be good as new.”

This had to be a fucking nightmare you got sucked in, you could sense your blood pressure spike.

She tapped her screen and glanced back at you.

“Alright, Miss Thornton, it looks like we’ll just need a few quick details here to get you all checked in. Can I start with your insurance provider?”

A chuckle almost slipped out of you. Insurance—God, you were fine with insurance. What you weren’t okay with was everything else. You answered, “Blue Cross.”

She asked for your birthdate, which you gave on autopilot, hoping she’d skip any weird or invasive questions. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. Please, just let this be over. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” You blurted out, giving her a thin smile and forcing calm into your voice. “I just need the IV. You know, standard stuff.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll get things started, it will include routine tests, like bloodwork, just to be safe.”

Bloodwork. Perfect. You were doing everything you could to keep from falling into that spiraling panic mode. 

Please, just get me in, get me out, and don’t find anything.

“Just head down to Room 12.”

All you could think was that you wanted this to be over—before the whole town, or worse, he, found out. It made you want to scream. He was the last person who should be outside.

This was his fault. You’d never be here if he hadn’t shown up.

The next hour passed in seconds—questions, forms, an IV drip.

They’d done blood work, too, but you’d sighed in relief when they’d told you the results wouldn’t be ready immediately. As far as they knew, you’d just overdone it, and now, as you lay on a cot in a room that reeked of sick people, all they’d prescribed was rest, hydration, and food.

When the nurse asked if anyone could pick you up, the thought of calling someone, asking them to see you like this, made you delirious. You didn’t need anyone; you were perfectly fine on your own.

But you also didn’t want Rafe and his delusional ass to barge through the doors.

The nurse moved around you awkwardly, eyes still expectant, as if you were just a button away from a reliable “someone” to come running.

You looked at her, controlling the compulsion to yell. Little people ever bothered to check on you, to show up for more than just the drama or gossip.

Out of them, only one face bounced around in your head.

“Yeah, I got someone.”

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[yeyinde]

winter soldier au with John Price who was held in a gulag for three years and comes home wrong. comes back snarling and furious and threatening to rip apart the goddamn world if they don't give him what belongs to him, what's rightfully his, if they don't give him back his fucking wife, right this second—

the only problem is: John's ex-wife remarried. she's halfway around the world, and Laswell knows John enough to immediately squash that idea right away. but if not her, then who?

and then you walk into the room—a newly hired secretary that John has met less than a handful of times; a pencil pusher barely even a blip on the radar—but he pounces. snatches you up before any of them can react, tucking your bemused face into his chest, cradling you tight; possessively clutching at you as Kyle tries, and fails, to calm him down.

"you don't know her, sir. just let the girl go—"

it's met with a nasty snarl. all gleaming, bloodied teeth. a stranger in a familiar shape as John drags you further away from them. "this is my goddamn wife."

his declaration is met with shock. you're definitely not his wife. you barely know him much outside of a several, threadbare exchanges where he breathed down your neck about filing the wrong reports, and the cluttered mess of your desk ("a goddamn eyesore—"). you're not even friends. and in all honesty, you didn't even think he liked you that much. so. wife?

but he's beyond reason. his head a mangled, trenched mess of artillery fire and Makarov's torture. three years, Kate breathes. three whole years.

you can tell, almost immediately, by the look on her face that this—that you—will become a necessary loss in the grand scheme of things. and when John lets her close enough to whisper into your ear (having somehow convinced him that he can just walk out of here with you, his fucking wife, leaving for the marital home (and bed) that he demands from them for this brief stalemate)—she hurriedly tells you about their plot. this high risk, no reward scenario of playing along. not that you have much of a choice.

keeping John Price as close to them as possible was worth more than something as flimsy, as malleable as your agency, your autonomy. and if the way to do it was to let a brainwashed man play house with you, then so be it.

she, at the very least, offers a grim sort of smile even though you can see her working out the mechanics of it all as she makes promises on your behalf. things like, yes, John, you can leave with your wife. she missed you so much, John. she's so happy you're home.

"we kept your wife safe for you, John—" no one seems to react to the violent way Johnny has to be dragged out of the room by Ghost, kicking and screaming at the injustice of it all because th' captain wouldnae do this! don't do this t'him!

and John—if there's any part of that man still inside him, he doesn't let an inch of it show—just nods, lip pulling up into a snarl as he bullies you closer to his chest, and growls about finally getting you home.

"I'll keep you with me," he rasps, blunt fingers spreading wide over the fill of your body. a mad, twisted gleam of possessiveness, ownership, burning in bruised blue as he familiarises himself with this body he claimed as his. "right where you belong, wife."

(the word comes out in a bite. snaps around you and sounds just like mine.)

[its-avalon-08]

Could you write something where reader and Lando have been in a relationship and reader has a heart condition and she never told Lando so he didn’t stress about her and to focus on racing, and Lando and her brake up because he stupidly told her he wants to focus on racing this year and after she left he realised his mistake as all the little things reader did for him before a race are all gone and everything just feels wrong and when he tries to contact her he can’t find her until a few weeks later he gets a call from the hospital that reader has fallen unconscious and when he gets there he then learns about her heart condition and that stress is not good for her heart. But happy ending.

heart flutters (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort, heart condition

The morning sun slipped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Lando’s bedroom. Y/N was lying beside him, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing soft and steady. Lando felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

He couldn’t quite remember when his mornings had become this perfect, but he knew Y/N had something to do with it.

She shifted, blinking awake, and her sleepy smile met his gaze. “Good morning, love,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," he replied, kissing her forehead. "Did you sleep okay?"

“Always do when I’m with you,” she replied, snuggling closer. “Although I could do without you hogging the blanket,” she teased, giving him a playful poke.

Lando laughed, pulling her closer. “Alright, alright, I’ll work on it.”

These mornings together, the lazy Sundays and cozy, laughter-filled moments, were Y/N’s specialty. She seemed to know exactly what he needed, especially on race days. She’d wake up early with him, helping him calm his nerves and making sure he had everything he needed. And every time, he’d find some new way she was taking care of him, even if it was something small—like hiding a little note in his helmet, wishing him luck.

“Hey,” Y/N said, watching his thoughtful expression. “You okay?”

Lando nodded. “Just thinking about how lucky I am,” he admitted, his voice soft.

Y/N blushed, rolling her eyes a little. “You’re getting sappy on me, Norris.”

“Just telling it like it is,” he replied, smiling as he watched her try to hide her smile.

They went about their morning, with Y/N humming along to the soft music playing in the kitchen as she made breakfast. She slid a plate across to Lando, along with a steaming cup of his favorite coffee. He took a sip, sighing in contentment. She’d even managed to get his coffee just right.

"Alright, mister," she said with a smirk, sitting down beside him. "What's the game plan today?"

"Game plan?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you were the expert at making my plans.”

“Maybe,” she replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But I like to think I’m just the support. You’re the superstar here.”

Lando rolled his eyes, chuckling. “You’re more than support, Y/N. You’re… you’re my everything, you know that?”

Y/N smiled, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, something he didn’t notice, too wrapped up in the moment. She covered it up with a quick laugh, brushing it off. “And you’re mine. Just… try not to get too cocky on track, alright?”

He laughed, squeezing her hand. “Can’t make any promises.”

Their relationship was filled with moments like these—easy, natural, just them being themselves. Y/N grounded him, kept him steady, especially when the world of racing felt overwhelming. She never burdened him with anything else, always making sure his focus was on the track. And she always brushed off his attempts to give back, saying his happiness was all she needed.

But it was Lando who felt like he needed her more than he’d ever admit.

As they finished breakfast, she reached out, taking his hand. "You'll do amazing, Lando," she said quietly. "You always do."

"I only do so well because of you, you know that?" he replied, squeezing her hand.

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes again, but there was warmth there, too. “Alright, alright, enough with the sweet talk. Go focus on your race and be the best you can be out there. That’s all I ask.”

Lando leaned in, kissing her softly. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Norris,” she replied, grinning as she kissed him back.

As he left for the track, he felt a familiar sense of calm wash over him. Y/N had this way of making everything feel right, grounding him no matter what lay ahead. He knew, deep down, that he’d never be able to thank her enough for everything she did for him.

And for Y/N, watching him walk out the door with that smile, she knew that was exactly how she wanted it to be.

--

It was late, and the rain was tapping against the window of Lando’s apartment as he paced back and forth, hands tangled in his hair. The 2024 season had been brutal, every race pushing him to his limit, the pressure of a potential world championship win weighing on him like a mountain. He could practically taste the victory, but the stress of it all had made him someone he barely recognized.

Y/N was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as she watched him pace. She’d noticed it for weeks now, the way he was shutting her out, snapping at her for even the smallest things, as if she were just another distraction.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice sharp. “Lando, can you stop pacing for two seconds and talk to me?”

He stopped, sighing heavily as he turned to face her. “What do you want me to say, Y/N?” he muttered. “That I’m exhausted? That I can’t focus with all of this going on?”

“All of this?” she echoed, hurt flashing across her face. “What’s ‘all of this,’ exactly? Because I thought we were a team, Lando. I thought I was helping you!”

“Helping me?” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, I have to focus. Every race, every lap, every second counts right now. I can’t… I don’t have time to be dealing with you—”

“Dealing with me?” Her voice was sharp, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Lando, I’ve done nothing but support you. Every single time you’re struggling, I’m here. And now you’re telling me I’m… I’m a distraction?”

He clenched his fists, too frustrated to back down. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! Every time I’m around you, I feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions. I need to focus on racing, Y/N. I need this championship.”

“And what about us, Lando?” she demanded, standing up, her own anger now matching his. “Do I mean anything to you anymore, or am I just some inconvenience? Because that’s exactly how you’re making me feel.”

He looked away, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Maybe it’s just not working anymore.”

Her eyes widened, the pain in them unmistakable. She took a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. “So that’s it? Just like that? You’re giving up on us?”

“Maybe I am,” he snapped, though even as he said it, something twisted painfully in his chest. “Maybe I need to focus on my career. I can’t have anyone holding me back right now.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Holding you back? I’m holding you back, Lando? After everything I’ve done? The sacrifices I’ve made, the nights I stayed up worrying for you, the races I watched, praying you’d come home safe… that’s ‘holding you back’?”

“You just don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice softer now but still laced with frustration. “You don’t get the pressure I’m under, Y/N. I have a chance to win this championship, and I can’t be thinking about anything else.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she replied, her tone cold. “You’ve let this championship turn you into someone I barely recognize. The Lando I knew would have never pushed me away like this.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said, the words hitting her like a slap.

She swallowed hard, the hurt on her face plain to see. But she wasn’t about to let him get away with this. “You’re right,” she replied, her voice trembling with anger. “Maybe I don’t know you anymore. Because the man I fell in love with would have never treated me like this. He wouldn’t have thrown away everything we have because he’s too blinded by his own ambition.”

“Fine,” he spat, his anger still raging. “Maybe you should just leave, then.”

Silence fell between them, the weight of his words settling like a stone in the room. Y/N stared at him, her eyes filling with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“Don’t worry, Lando,” she said, her voice breaking slightly as she grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your precious championship.”

She turned toward the door, but stopped just before leaving, looking back at him one last time. “I hope it’s worth it, Lando. I really do.”

And with that, she was gone, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing in the silence of the apartment.

Lando stood there, the anger that had been burning inside him now replaced by a hollow ache. He’d gotten what he’d wanted—he was free to focus on his racing. But as he looked around the empty room, he realized just how empty his life felt without her.

--

Lando sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the silence pressing in on him like a weight he couldn’t shake off. It had been two weeks since Y/N had walked out. At first, he told himself he’d done the right thing, that he needed to focus on racing, that he couldn’t afford any distractions. But now, all he could feel was the aching void she’d left behind.

Race weekend had come, and the pre-race routines—the moments that had once been so seamless, so comforting—now felt cold and empty. His helmet was sitting on the counter, untouched. There were no little notes tucked into his bag, no reminders to stay safe, no lucky charm slipped into his hand just before he left for the track. Y/N had always known what to do, how to make him feel like he could conquer the world. Now, everything just felt wrong.

He leaned against the counter, clutching the edge, his heart pounding as he stared down at his helmet. The knot in his chest tightened with each passing second, a harsh reminder of how badly he’d messed up.

“Lando?” Max entered the room, noticing his tense expression. “You alright, mate? You don’t look yourself.”

Lando managed a hollow smile, waving him off. “I’m fine.”

But Max wasn’t convinced. He took a seat across from him, eyeing him carefully. “You’ve been off these past few weeks. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Yeah, just… racing stress, you know?” Lando muttered, though he knew it was a lie. It wasn’t racing stress—it was Y/N. She’d been his anchor, the one person who made him feel like he was more than just a driver. Without her, he felt like he was falling apart.

Max raised an eyebrow, skeptical but respectful enough not to push further. “Alright, well… if you need anything, let me know. You know I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Lando replied, trying to keep his voice steady. But as Max left, the emptiness clawed at him even more fiercely. He glanced back down at his helmet, the silence in the room growing louder, deafening.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He slumped down onto the floor, burying his face in his hands as memories flooded him. He remembered the way Y/N would look at him with those warm eyes, her voice filled with gentle reassurance.

The more Lando went through his days, the more he noticed just how much Y/N had been woven into every corner of his life. Each time he stumbled over a small moment they used to share, it was like a painful reminder of how deeply he had messed up.

Race Day Routine

When he sat down for breakfast the morning of his next race, he instinctively reached for the small bag she’d usually leave out for him—one filled with his favorite snacks, electrolyte packets, and a note in her neat handwriting that usually said, “For that extra boost, love. You’ve got this.” Every race day morning, she’d make sure his essentials were perfectly packed, knowing how easily he’d forget them in the rush.

But the counter was empty, and so were his hands. There was no note, no bag, no encouraging message. He’d scoffed at how overprotective she’d been, thinking he could handle it himself. Now, as he fumbled to prepare for his race on his own, the empty counter felt like a gaping hole in his chest.

Before the Race

In the paddock, he felt it again, the silence louder than ever. Y/N would always make sure to slip away with him for just a moment before he stepped into the garage, giving him a quiet pep talk when he needed it most. Her words, so full of calm and warmth, used to steady him, keeping the pressure from crushing him. She’d take his face in her hands, look him straight in the eyes, and remind him, “It’s just you and the track. Nothing else matters. Drive like only you can.”

He’d rolled his eyes at her sometimes, told her he didn’t need the cheesy encouragement—but she’d insisted anyway, saying, “Well, too bad, because you’re getting it.” Her words were like armor, a shield she’d wrapped around him before every race.

Now, standing alone by his car, he could feel the pressure creeping in, gnawing at him, and there was nothing to keep it at bay. He glanced around, almost expecting to see her in the crowd, but of course, she wasn’t there.

Late Nights in the Simulator

Back at the team facility, he spent more time than ever practicing, pushing himself harder, trying to keep his mind from drifting back to her. But even here, she’d left her mark. On the long nights, Y/N used to bring him coffee, perfectly made just the way he liked it, and sit beside him, giving him quiet company. She wouldn’t say much, just enough to keep his spirits up, occasionally throwing him an encouraging smile as he took lap after lap in the simulator.

And when he’d get frustrated, when he’d curse and slam his fists on the table, she’d place a calming hand on his shoulder, reminding him, “You’re Lando Norris, you can do this. Don’t let the tough laps get to you. Breathe.”

Now, he sat there, tense and alone, his coffee lukewarm and forgotten. No hand to steady him, no quiet reassurance. The simulator felt cold, and so did he.

At Home, Late at Night

Even the nights felt wrong. Y/N had always insisted on turning on the small night light for him, a tiny habit she’d developed when she realized that he hated stumbling around in the dark after a race, too exhausted to find his way. He’d teased her about it, saying he didn’t need it, but she’d laugh, saying, “Well, one of us does.” She’d make sure it was on for him every night she stayed over, like clockwork.

Tonight, he sat in the pitch-black room, the silence pressing in, the absence of the warm glow almost suffocating. He clenched his fists, swallowing against the ache that was rising in his throat. He missed her laugh, her teasing, the tiny acts of love she’d filled his life with.

Flashback

“You’re going to be amazing today, Lando,” she’d whisper, holding his hand just before he stepped onto the track. “Just remember, it’s not about winning or losing to me. I love you just the same, no matter what.”

And he’d feel his nerves melt away. She had a way of making him feel like he could face anything.

Now, without her, the fear crept back in, gnawing at him from the inside.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, a shaky breath escaping him. “God… what have I done?”

Every little thing she used to do, every act of kindness, every word of encouragement—he’d taken it all for granted. He thought he could focus better without her, that his life would be easier. But instead, all he felt was the emptiness of her absence, like a cold shadow in every corner.

His phone buzzed on the counter, and his heart jumped, a surge of desperate hope flooding him as he reached for it. But it was just a message from his manager.

Frustration tore through him, and he tossed his phone down, clenching his fists. He could still hear her voice in his head, her words from their last fight haunting him.

Flashback to Their Argument

“Don’t worry, Lando,” she’d said bitterly, her voice cracking. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your precious championship.”

He remembered her eyes, red and tear-filled, as she looked at him one last time, filled with a pain he’d caused. He remembered thinking he was doing the right thing, choosing his career, telling himself he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered to himself, feeling a tear slip down his cheek.

Everything felt different without her. The things he used to love—the rush of the track, the thrill of competition—they all felt meaningless now. He was pushing himself harder than ever, but it wasn’t out of passion. It was to numb the ache she’d left behind, to keep himself from falling apart.

But no matter how fast he drove, how hard he pushed, he couldn’t outrun the realization.

Race Day Morning

He stood in front of the mirror, suit half-zipped, his hands gripping the sink as he stared at his own reflection. His face looked drawn, the shadows under his eyes deep. The loneliness, the guilt, the regret—it was all written there, plain as day.

“You look terrible,” he muttered to himself, voice hollow.

He remembered the way she’d stand beside him, fixing his collar, laughing as she reminded him to keep his head cool. And now, all he had was his own reflection staring back at him, mocking him with his own emptiness.

Finally, the weight became too much, and he grabbed his phone, his fingers shaking as he typed her number. He didn’t know what he was going to say, didn’t know if she’d even answer. But he couldn’t keep going like this. He needed to apologize, to tell her how wrong he’d been, how much he missed her.

The phone rang, each ring feeling like an eternity. Just as he was about to give up, her voicemail clicked on.

“Hey, it’s Y/N… leave a message.”

He swallowed hard, the sound of her voice hitting him like a punch to the gut. Taking a shaky breath, he spoke, his voice breaking.

“Y/N… it’s me. I… I don’t know if you’ll ever listen to this, but I just… I’m so sorry.” His voice trembled, each word spilling out like a confession. “I was wrong, okay? I thought I needed to focus, but without you… everything’s falling apart. I miss you. I miss… us. Please… please just… call me back.”

He hung up, feeling the weight of his own words settle over him. But there was nothing else he could do now, except hope—hope that somehow, she might still care, might still give him a chance to fix the mess he’d made.

--

Lando had tried everything. He’d called, texted, even reached out to her friends, hoping someone could tell him where she was. But no one had any information; she’d slipped away completely. Days turned into weeks, and with each one, the realization sank deeper: she might never come back.

One night, Lando sat alone in his apartment, drained and unfocused, his phone resting on the coffee table. His mind was restless, jumping between regret and desperation, reliving their last fight, the look in her eyes as she’d walked out.

Then, the phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed it without thinking, not even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Is this Lando Norris?” a calm, professional voice asked.

“Uh… yeah, this is him,” Lando replied, his heart pounding.

“This is Dr. Kapoor from St. Thomas Hospital. You’re listed as an emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”

Lando’s stomach dropped, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes, yes, that’s me… is she alright? What happened?”

“She was brought in unconscious a few hours ago,” the doctor explained. “We’ve stabilized her, but we’d like you to come in as soon as possible.”

Lando didn’t need to hear anything else. He muttered a frantic “I’m on my way” before grabbing his keys and running out the door.

The drive to the hospital felt endless, each passing second stretching painfully as he sped down the empty streets. His mind raced with possibilities, the worst scenarios creeping in, twisting his insides. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they were white.

By the time he burst through the hospital doors, he was gasping for breath, his heart pounding as he frantically searched for her room. A nurse pointed him down the hall, and he bolted, not caring how he looked, just needing to see her, to know she was alright.

He found her room and stopped, momentarily frozen by the sight before him. Y/N lay in the hospital bed, pale and fragile, wires and monitors surrounding her. The steady beep of her heart monitor filled the room, grounding him slightly, but the sight of her like this tore at him. Slowly, he stepped forward, his throat tight, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Just as he was about to speak, the doctor entered.

“Mr. Norris?” Dr. Kapoor’s voice was gentle, sensing his distress.

Lando nodded, barely able to manage a word. “What… what happened to her?”

Dr. Kapoor took a deep breath, her expression softening. “Y/N has a heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It’s a condition that can be exacerbated by stress, which could lead to fainting or, in severe cases, even heart failure.”

Lando’s face fell, his voice barely a whisper. “She… she never told me.”

“She might not have wanted to worry you,” the doctor said. “It’s common for patients with this condition to keep it private, especially if they think it might place a burden on others.”

Lando’s heart twisted, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realized why she’d never mentioned it. She hadn’t wanted him to stress, to worry, especially during the season when he’d been under so much pressure. She’d always put him first, even to the point of hiding something so serious.

He took a shaky breath, blinking back tears. “Can I… can I see her?”

The doctor nodded. “She’s stable now, and she’ll likely wake up soon. But remember, keeping her calm is crucial. She’ll need rest and minimal stress to recover.”

Lando swallowed, nodding quickly, but he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. “I’ll… I’ll take care of her. I swear.”

Dr. Kapoor offered him a small, understanding smile before leaving the room, giving him a moment alone with Y/N.

Lando stepped closer, reaching out to gently take her hand. His thumb traced over her knuckles, and he noticed how cold her hand felt in his.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have known.”

He sat beside her, the weight of everything hitting him all at once. “I was so… so stupid. I thought I needed to focus on racing, but… God, I was wrong. I was so wrong. You’re… you’re everything, Y/N. None of this means anything without you.”

He stayed like that, holding her hand, his head bowed as he let himself cry for the first time in weeks. All the pride, all the anger—it had melted away, leaving only the raw, aching regret of having pushed away the one person who truly loved him.

After a few minutes, he felt her fingers twitch slightly in his hand. His head shot up, hope flooding his chest as he saw her eyes slowly blink open.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

She blinked up at him, confusion flickering across her face before her gaze settled on him, and he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. “Lando…?”

He took a deep breath, his grip on her hand tightening. “I’m here. I’m right here, love.”

She tried to sit up, wincing as the monitor beeped slightly faster. Lando was quick to place a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. “Hey, don’t… don’t push yourself. Just… just rest.”

She looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you here, Lando? I thought… you wanted to focus on racing.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he forced himself to face her, to let her see the remorse in his eyes. “I was wrong, Y/N. I was so, so wrong. I thought I needed to do it alone, that I couldn’t let myself get… attached. But all I did was ruin the best thing in my life.”

Her expression softened, and he saw her blinking back tears. “You really hurt me, Lando. I didn’t ask you for much. I just wanted to be there for you, and you… you made me feel like I was a burden.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “And I hate myself for it. You did everything for me, and I didn’t see it until you were gone. I love you, Y/N… I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he reached up, brushing it away with a tenderness that spoke of all the things he wished he’d done sooner. “I’m here now,” he continued. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face, and finally nodded, her hand squeezing his. “You hurt me, Lando. But… I still love you, too.”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

For the first time in weeks, Lando felt a spark of hope, knowing he had a chance to rebuild what he’d nearly thrown away. And as he sat beside her, holding her close, he vowed never to let her feel alone again.

--

Lando had been the perfect caretaker ever since Y/N was discharged from the hospital. He took her straight back to their apartment, rearranging everything in his life to ensure she was comfortable and safe. Every morning, he’d bring her breakfast in bed with a ridiculous grin, complete with heart-shaped toast and fresh orange juice. He filled her day with little surprises—flowers by her bedside, a new stack of her favorite books, and even a fuzzy blanket he’d bought just for her.

One night, Y/N woke up in the middle of the night, instinctively reaching for him, only to find his side of the bed empty. Confused, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. She hadn’t heard him get up, and her heart skipped slightly as worry bubbled up, wondering if something was wrong.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet padding softly as she went to look for him. She found him in the living room, seated on the couch with his laptop open and a small notebook by his side. His hair was tousled, and he had a focused, almost determined expression on his face as he typed something into the search bar.

“Understanding Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy” appeared on the screen, along with several videos, articles, and patient forums. Lando had a pen in his hand, and as he clicked on a video, she watched as he jotted down notes on a page, his handwriting a messy scrawl but full of sincerity. The video’s audio was soft, and she could hear the narrator explaining symptoms, risk factors, and the importance of a low-stress environment.

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she watched him, realizing just how much he was trying to understand, to do anything he could to protect her.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, tapping the pen on the notebook. “Avoid stress… maybe I can start doing a weekly meditation with her or, like… yoga? Yeah, that might help. And… maybe I should keep her work stuff organized so she doesn’t feel overwhelmed.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back any longer. She quietly stepped forward, and Lando jumped slightly when he felt her curl up on his lap, but he immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice tender as he brushed a hand over her hair. “What are you doing awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were soft, full of gratitude and love, and Lando’s heart swelled.

He gave her a sheepish smile, glancing at the open notebook. “I… I wanted to make sure I was doing everything right. I know I’ve messed up before, and I want to be the best I can be for you now. So, I figured… I’d do my homework.”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, blinking back tears. “You’re really… reading up on my condition?”

“Of course I am,” he said, his voice warm but serious. “I need to know how to keep you safe. How to make sure you’re not stressed out or worried, and…” He swallowed, his voice breaking just a bit. “I just want to make everything perfect for you, love.”

She buried her face in his neck, her heart aching in the best way possible. “Lando… you’re already doing more than enough. Just… being here with me, caring for me… it’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“But it doesn’t feel like enough,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’m never going to let you feel alone or unimportant again. You’re my world, Y/N. I want to make sure you’re as healthy and happy as you can be.”

She pulled back, looking at him with watery eyes, a small smile on her face. “Lando, I don’t need perfection. I just need you.”

His expression softened as he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Well, you’re stuck with me,” he said, grinning. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m gonna keep studying this and doing everything I can to make sure you feel safe and loved.”

She laughed through her tears, leaning into his hand. “You already make me feel so loved. I don’t think you even realize it, but you do.”

Lando’s smile turned gentle, and he bent down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’m crazy about you, Y/N. I just want to be the person you deserve.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his kiss settle over her, and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re already that person, Lando. You always have been.”

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around her as he held her close. “Good. Because I’m not stopping until I see that smile on your face every single day.”

As Y/N nestled closer into his lap, her attention shifted to the laptop screen, where a doctor was speaking in a calm, measured tone.

“Managing stress is crucial for patients with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” the voice on the video explained. “Avoid situations that may induce high emotional stress. For instance, hostile conversations, arguments, or other confrontational exchanges can increase strain on the heart.”

Lando stilled, his gaze fixed on the screen as those words sank in. She could feel him tense beneath her, a flicker of regret passing over his face.

“That… makes sense,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I’ve been so selfish. I didn’t realize that my own stress… my own words… could actually make things worse for you.”

Y/N put her hand on his cheek, urging him to look at her. “Lando, it’s okay—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, meeting her gaze with a deep, remorseful look. “It’s not okay. I didn’t just make things stressful; I let you feel like you couldn’t even tell me what was going on with you. I was so wrapped up in myself… I can’t believe I was so blind.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she watched him, the depth of his regret written all over his face. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “We’re here now. That’s what matters. You’re here, and I know how much you care.”

He exhaled slowly, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. “I’ll never let stress come between us again, love. I promise.”

They sat together like that, wrapped up in each other, as the rest of the world faded away. Lando continued to stroke her hair, murmuring sweet promises of the future he envisioned for them. And for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a calm settle over her, knowing that Lando was there, exactly where he wanted to be, and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

[rafecameroninterlude]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ when you tell rafe you love him for the first time, he shows you just how much he reciprocates it back.

warnings: established relationship, super sweet fluff, making out, heavy petting, dry humping, first time together, soft sex, vanilla sex, sooo much praise, oral (f. receiving), guided masturbation, handjob, slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, pre-ejaculation (rafe couldn’t help himself), multiple orgasms

a/n: i don’t know if it’s the weather change but i’ve just been in a really soft mood as of lately :( i would appreciate it soooo much if you partook in this little poll here <3

wc: 2.0k

a few months may not be considered enough time to fall in love with someone, but with rafe? the feeling felt like it was overdue. especially during times like this, when his hands roamed your body and left a trail of burning desire in its wake. “r-rafe..” you couldn’t help the sound from leaving your lips when you felt just how hard he was in his jeans. “mmm— what’s wrong?” he pulled away, staring down at you as you nervously avoided his gaze.

eyebrows pinching together, a concerned expression took over your boyfriend’s features as he sat up, dragging you onto his lap as he did so. “hey, are you alright?” rafe took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. your heart soared at the little action, a smile gracing your lips as you nodded. “yes, it’s just.. i’m really happy with you. you’ve been so amazing to me and so romantic, and i love that— i love you.” rafe froze, his jaw clenching at your words.

sensing a shift in his demeanor, you felt a slight raise of panic as he blinked, his eyes flickering up at yours. “i’m sorry, it’s probably too soon—” you scrambled, suddenly feeling your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “what did you say?” rafe rested his hands on your hips, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “that it’s too soon—” you started, “no, before that.” rafe loved seeing how flustered he made you, the worried look on your face only making him ache for you even more.

“..that i love you?” rafe nodded, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you closer to his chest. “do you really?” he started trailing kisses down the curve of your neck to your shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as he started dragging your hips up and down his lap. you whimpered at the friction, your arms wrapping around his neck as you reveled in the rough denim of his jeans grazing against your clothed clit. “yes, rafe, i love you.” you repeated, a groan rumbling from his chest.

rafe loved you long before you two started dating, so hearing those three simple words leave your mouth was enough to drive him crazy. “i love you too, more even, if that’s possible..” he whispered against your skin, your perfume intoxicating his senses. you sighed in relief, a gasp leaving your lips when rafe groped you through your dress. “been waiting for you to say that to me,” he spoke through kisses, “i would’ve said it first, but i didn’t wanna scare you away.”

you shook your head, hips still grinding against his. “scare me away?” you giggled, “yeah, right.” rafe laughed, pulling away only to admire you. he still couldn’t believe that you were his. apart of him felt undeserving of all of this, but you made it so easy for him to feel this way, he couldn’t imagine things being any different. eyes trailing down your chest, rafe swallowed thickly as his fingers slipped under your dress. “can i show you how much i love you?”

you took your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding softly as he slid your dress off, leaving you in nothing but the lingerie set you picked out just for him. “you’re so fucking pretty..” you shivered when rafe pulled the waistband of your panties, the material snapping against your skin. your fingers worked to get rafe out of his pants, the sound of his belt coming undone made butterflies erupt in your tummy. rafe took off his shirt, tossing the article of clothing in the corner.

despite seeing him shirtless a countless amount of times, it didn’t change the fact that you were ogling his muscles like it was first time all overs again when he first approached you at the beach some months ago. glistening gold skin, chiseled abs, and a prominent v-line? you were smitten from the start. rafe got up once you got his jeans unbuttoned, his hands taking yours as he had you sit on the edge of his bed. “see what you do to me?”

your eyes fell down to where he pulled the rest of his clothing off, your lips parting slightly when his length sprang up against his stomach. just when you thought he couldn’t be any more perfect, you stared wide eyed at the sight in front of you. wrapping a hand around your own, you gasped when he palmed himself, your skin meeting his. “the second i went up to you and you looked at me with those eyes of yours, all i could think about was this very moment.” rafe groaned.

you began stroking him, his eyebrows knitting together as his jaw went slack. your hand felt so much better than his by a million times. “yeah?” you teased, a shy smile gracing your features. rafe nodded, picking up the pace of your shared movements before resting his free hand on your shoulder. “f-fuck!” rafe pulled away with a grunt, his eyes growing dark as he zeroed in on your figure. you watched as he got on his knees before you, spreading your thighs open with a curse.

“shit, i need to taste you, babe..” he ran a thumb up your soaked cunt, “make you cum on my tongue.” you whimpered at his words, your chest rising and falling as he slid the lace material down your legs. you shuddered when he sat back to take the view in, his stomach caving in when he spread apart your glossy folds. “rafe..” you whined, feeling exposed as he reveled in the sight of your glistening slick shining under the dim light of his room.

rafe leaned down, pressing wet kisses to your inner thighs before locking them to his shoulders. taking a deep breath, your mouth fell open in a silent moan when you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your sticky center before meeting your needy clit. rafe circled his tongue around the sensitive bud, the sensation making you jolt in pleasure. “oh, my god!” you nearly shrieked when he kept repeating the action, your hips instinctively attempting to move away from his face.

“don’t run baby, i’m gonna take such good care of you..” he whispered against your flesh, splaying one of his hands across your tummy. being held in place while rafe ate you like a man starved had you absolutely hysterical. so much so, that rafe couldn’t help himself in letting one of your thighs go so he could stroke himself while bringing you closer to the edge. “so fucking perfect, i’ve dreamt of eating this pussy.” you cried out when his tongue slipped inside your entrance.

eyes fluttering closed, your hand came down to wrap around his fingers, a string of moans leaving your lips. rafe was determined to make you reach your peak, the slight trembling in your thighs being the telltale sign he needed to know you were going to cum soon. you babbled, your back arching off of the mattress when the band in your stomach snapped, a choked sob ripping itself from your throat. rafe let go of his cock, forcing your thighs to stay open.

you had tears running down your cheeks, the white hot pleasure blinding your vision. “rafe!” you screamed, sitting up on your elbows as you shook in his hold. rafe’s eyes flickered up to meet your gaze, the sight ingraining itself into his brain forever. teary eyes, plush lips, flushed skin, you were absolutely gorgeous like this. “you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen.” the sound of rafe’s voice brought you out of your post-orgasm bliss, your hands pulling at his.

“please, i need you!” you cried, welcoming him between your legs where he took your lips in a searing kiss. you moaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue, your eyebrows knitting in confusion when you felt something wet on your stomach. pulling away for a moment, you looked down, your eyes widening as rafe followed your gaze. “did you..” rafe groaned, beyond embarrassed at the mess coating his cock. “what the fuck?” he stammered, “i swear that’s never happened before.”

rafe couldn’t believe he cummed without having to be inside you. you cupped his face, shushing him as you wrapped your legs around his waist. while he was mortified at the fact, you thought it was the hottest thing ever. “s’okay.” you pecked his chin, moving up to his lips where he melted into your touch. “yeah?” he swallowed thickly, his length sliding between your folds. “yeah,” you nodded, “i just want you.” rafe moved his hand underneath your back, unclasping your bra.

cursing when your tits spilled out of the garment, rafe lined himself up with your entrance before thumbing your bottom lip. “i fucking love you.” was the last thing he said before filling you to the hilt, bottoming out with ease as he rested his forehead against yours. you stayed like this for a few moments, rafe interlacing his fingers with yours before pulling out and sliding back in again. nails digging into his skin, your voice shook as you whispered a ‘i love you, i love you..’

rafe stroked the side of your face, admiring the way your eyes gleamed up at him, down to the curve of your nose, and the cupid’s bow of your lips. he was going to remember every single little detail about you so he could visualize it later in his dreams. “you feel so good, pretty girl,” he praised, “so soft and wet for me.” rafe’s thrusts were slow and long, the head of his cock kissing your cervix while you barely held yourself together. you couldn’t form a single thought, let alone a word.

the way you looked at rafe said everything he needed to know, a reassuring ‘shhh’ falling from his lips as your mouth opened and closed with a sentence sitting on the tip of your tongue. rafe kissed you, swallowing all the pretty sounds you made while he rocked into you, your heels digging into his back. you were in a daze, your vision growing fuzzy as you let rafe consume you. his moans were like music to your ears, the warmth of his skin making you feel whole.

to rafe this was so much more than just sex. this was real intimacy, the closeness, the pure, raw, unadultered display of emotion. he had never experienced anything like it. with you underneath him like this, taking him so fucking good, muttering his name like it was the only thing you had in that beautiful head of yours, he was in disbelief that you were able to find it in your heart to love someone like him. even though he couldn’t understand it, he’d never question it either.

“ray!” your scream snapped him out of his trance, his eyes finding yours as you practically thrashed against him, your second orgasm hitting you with more force than the first. feeling the way you clamped around his cock was otherworldly. you felt so fucking tight, all thoughts left his brain the second you whimpered a ‘please cum inside me..’ cumming twice in less than twenty minutes? you couldn’t be real.

“f-fuck are you sure?” his hips stuttered, his load threatening to fill you up any second now. you met his eyes, a silent plea for him to do what you asked. burying his face in the crook of your neck, he softly bit the flesh there as he stilled, a guttural groan leaving his throat as he painted your insides with his seed. you cradled the back of his head, pushing yourself impossibly closer to him as the hot ropes of his cum filled you up.

still going through the aftershocks of your previous orgasm, you couldn’t help but squeeze around his length, milking him for all he had before he littered kisses across your bare chest. running your manicured nails down his back, rafe stayed caging you between his arms, his thrusts coming to a slow stop. the only sounds in the room were your uneven breaths, both of you panting softly. “baby?” rafe sounded spent, his voice shaking ever so lightly.

you hummed, blinking slowly before looking down at his face. oh, he was so handsome. “did i already tell you i love you?”

[paarksunghoon]

omg imagine heeseung and reader shopping tgt in a mall when suddenly reader decided to hop into victorias secret?? heeseung gets so horny n needy in the changing rooms whenever reader tried on lingeries infront of him so he just fucks her in the changing rooms 💗

this made me go crazy….wrote this last night but forgot to hit publish so here we are

***

Heeseung doesn’t understands why guys don’t like stepping into lingerie shops. His friends always lament about going into a store that’s frilly and too girly, but Heeseung can’t see their point of view. Going to Victoria’s Secret is less of an embarrassment and more of a fantasy to him because every time you hold up a piece of fabric and ask for his opinion, he imagines you wearing it while he’s got you in his bedroom in all kinds of positions.

“Babe?” You call out for him and wave the set in front of his face. “What about this green one? Do you think it would look good on me?”

Heeseung licks his lips. “Yeah, I think so. You should try it on just to make sure.” You light up.

“Good idea! Let me find the dressing rooms.”

He follows behind you and notes the people in the store. There are a few shoppers and a small handful of employees around. He watches you disappear into one of the fitting rooms and hears the door lock. He lets his mind wander as you change.

“Heeseung, you can come in now.”

Your boyfriend stands up and feels his dick straining in his pants at the mere thought of you but the way you look in the lacy fabric makes his mouth drool. He locks the door as you look at yourself in the mirror.

“What do you think? It’s a bit more skimpy than I’m used to…”

“You look sexy.”

You pout. “You always say that.”

Heeseung brings his hands to your hips and toys with the band of the panties, rubbing the pads of his finger against the fabric. “You always look sexy but fuck.” He kisses your shoulder and slides his index finger below the band. “This set barely covers your pussy or your tits.”

He notes the way you look at him through the mirror as if to contemplate. Heeseung’s right, though. The panties don’t cover much. One wrong move and your folds will slip out. He’s right about the bra, too. It offers almost no support and the cups are designed to be so small that the rest of your breasts start to spill out, even when you’re standing still.

Heeseung moves his hand to cup them and brushes his thumbs over your nipples. “I could eat you up.”

“So I should get it?” He nods and keeps flicking your nipples when his lips touch your neck.

“Put it on my card.” Heeseung laughs against your neck when you gasp after he’s slotted his hardened dick against your asscheeks.

“Not in here!” You scold him in a whisper-yell and push his hands off of your breasts. You watch him pout through the mirror and wriggle to free yourself from him but your boyfriend’s arms wrap around you to keep you steady while he grinds himself against you.

“Why not? Thought you loved public sex.”

Your cheeks warm up. “This is different.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“I don’t want to get these dirty before I pay!”

Heeseung chuckles and skips his hand down your panties as he crouches down to his knees. “When I pay. I don’t mind if the see a little wet patch.”

“W-Well I do,” you stutter.

“Mm, okay. In that case, I think we should take these off so you don’t ruin them, don’t you think?”

You watch him slide the green panties down your legs and stand on your toes when he forces your asscheeks apart after you’ve stepped out of them. He tosses it on the provided bench and admires your convulsing hole. Heeseung leans forward and gives you a lick.

Your hand catches the wall as your back arches out. Your chest pushes against the surface to balance yourself out as his big hands stretches your ass apart.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he mutters when he brings his thumb to stroke your folds. “Wish I could’ve pulled them to the side instead of take them off.”

You turn around to look down at him, “After we pay.”

He looks up at you. “Right, right. We should take off this bra too, right? So you don’t ruin it?” Heeseung stands up right and pulls your body back to him to unclip it until it falls to the floor. “There. Problem solved.”

Heeseung pulls his dick out, listening to the sounds of people walking just outside. He’s sure that if anybody pays attention to the shadows underneath the open gap from the door, they’d see two shadows. Not that he minds.

“Can’t wait.” His voice is clipped. He pushes your back until you’re gripping the clothing rack for stability as he pushes inside of you. “Need you.”

[hoshifighting]

Hiiii! I was wondering if you could do a reaction of svt where the s/o gets in an argument with a man, and stands face to face proving their point to the guy ? And after svt just found it hot?

Thank you ! Take your time with everything, and just know I appreciate what you do!!🫶🏼

seungcheol: standing tall right next to you, arms crossed and glaring, he lets you do your thing, but he’s this close to stepping in, just in case. he’s practically pulsing, both from the need to protect you and from the heat of watching you hold your ground. honestly, he’s getting turned on by the fire in your eyes. he keeps his cool on the outside, but on the inside? he’s a mess, ready to handle things himself, but also ready to handle you right after.

jeonghan: oh, he’s got no time for this dude. he’s so mad at the guy that he just grabs your hand and walks away, mumbling something about “saving the poor guy from humiliation.” but once you’re alone, he’s practically begging you to use that fire on him next.

joshua: he steps in halfway, putting an arm between you and the guy with a calm look, body language all possessive. he tries to gently calm you down, but he’s clearly enjoying your stance, looking at you like you’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen. every word you say just turns him on more—for more degrading they are.

junhui: just watching in awe, the longer it goes on, the more he’s biting his lip, looking you up and down like he’s in heat. after the argument, he wraps an arm around you, muttering about hot it was, you can bet he’ll remind you of this later.

hoshi: probably started the fight in the first place, either from saying something too loud or getting a bit too hyped. but once you step in and take over, he’s standing behind you, practically leaking cum in his pants. he’s grinning from seeing you put the guy in his place. he’s the type to lean in after and mutter, “remind me not to get on your bad side.”

wonwoo: he won’t let you get too close to the guy, immediately trying to guide you away, even if you’re still talking smack at the guy as he’s pulling you off. every time you keep arguing while he’s pulling you away, his cheeks flush, and he’s smiling to himself, already feeling the cock growing inside his pants. he’s both entertained and turned on, sneaking little glances at you as he thinks, “damn, that’s my partner. should i be proud or scared?”

woozi: he’s standing right behind you, fists clenched just in case, ready to step in if the guy even flinches wrong. but he’s also secretly smiling because he’s so damn proud. every time you fire back at the guy, woozi bites back a grin, watching the force in your posture. cant keep his hands off you by the time you walk away.

minghao: casually stands behind you, hands on your arms, his body pressed close as you argue, with a little smirk because he’s totally enjoying the show. he loves how fierce you are, and your ass pressing on him, it’s not doing him any favors. he whispers a “we’ll talk about this later,” already planning to scold you and make out with you the second you’re alone.

mingyu: he’s watching you like he doesn’t know whether to be afraid or turned on. even though he’s towering over the guy, he’s so flustered, shifting nervously between shield you and euphoria of seeing you all fired up. he can’t help but ask later, all red-faced, “could you, uh, maybe be that mad at me… later?” definitely into the idea of you riding him while still a bit mad.

seokmin: is this really happening? he thinks. he just watches in awe, face redder by the second. after the argument, he’s pulling you close, trying to act calm but flustered. he’s stammering about how amazing you were, but also afraid to stress you more. “you know, babe… that was, um, really hot.”

seungkwan: he’s fighting with you, no doubt. he’s already arguing with the guy, and you jumping in just fuels him more. after the argument, he’s all horny, both from the confrontation and the way you backed him up. rage sex is basically guaranteed.

vernon: he’s standing there, jaw dropped, just watching you handle things. he’s too stunned to move, his face saying it all: his cock is about to explode alone, no touch. he doesn’t say much afterward, but he’ll definitely be pulling you aside later, needy, unable to stop thinking about how godly insane you lookwd

chan: he’s shocked, honestly, but also totally in awe. his eyes are wide as he watches you lay into the guy, he can’t help but give a proud little smile, he’s got a newfound respect (and a little crush) on you afterwards. would be teasing you about how scary you were but secretly blushing because he’s hot to trot.

[charliemwrites]

Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

[thydungeongal]

"D&D can do anything" and "I don't like dungeon crawls, I enjoy real role-playing" are two statements that often go hand-in-hand and the ironic thing is that the latter statement betrays a very shallow understanding of role-playing while being really snobby. What's even more hilarious is that it's like baby's first RPG elitism, like yeah most people go through a "I like real role-playing" phase but to go through it while putting on airs about the dungeon game while at the same time dismissing dungeon games is real funny.

Anyway, wherever people pick up the idea that dungeon-crawling, the playstyle most supported by D&D, is somehow pedestrian, it very quickly leads to bargaining, like surely if dungeon-crawling is actually bad and for babies then D&D must be capable of so much more, right? Well, truth is, not really, D&D kind of sucks for things besides that.

Where a lot of people go wrong at this point is contending that therefore D&D must be flawed as a role-playing game: like, if it actually kind of sucks for most playstyles besides dungeon-crawling and we've already decided that dungeon-crawling isn't real role-playing, then surely D&D must be bad as a role-playing game?

The issue of course is that most people don't ever interrogate their starting assumption of dungeon-crawls being bad. And truth be told most people who claim to hate dungeon-crawls have never actually played a dungeon-crawl. At most they've played a dungeon-crawl themed linear succession of combat encounters. (I remember this: once when I posted about dungeon-crawls being good, actually, someone responded with a "well I can see the appeal but personally I couldn't enjoy a game that's just back-to-back combat" which is a whole misunderstanding of dungeon-crawls as a genre.)

Anyway so the great thing is that once you re-examine your assumptions about what counts as "real role-playing" and conclude that a dungeon-crawl is as much real role-playing as whatever the fuck Critical Role is doing then you find whole new vectors of being a snooty blowhard and it rules. You can make fun of D&D players in so many new ways,

[inbabylontheywept]

Weird Grandpa Story #2

I remember asking my mom once, if her dad had gotten ornerier as he'd gotten old. I'd heard about that happening, and it would've made sense for him. He was already the orneriest old cuss I'd ever met. Couldn't even imagine him being grumpier than he was.

Instead of answering the question directly, she told me about what it was like going to church with him as a kid. Their church was a small Mormon ward out in the sticks of Colorado, and he served as their Bishop - mostly by virtue of being the only one willing to do that much unpaid work. He was also the ward pianist. He actually liked playing piano, and he liked having an audience, so it was more or less understood that he was willing to be the bishop in exchange for being the pianist. 

Which could've been a good trade, but there were a few problems.

The first problem was that Grandpa Dale played every song at about triple speed. He was a deeply impatient person, and that extended to how he played music. The second problem was that he had a bad habit of cursing under his breath. That would've been a scandalous  enough habit for a Mormon bishop, but was made much worse (and also much funnier)  by him being pretty damn deaf. So what he thought of as "quiet" cursing under his breath was more of just a verse hoarse way of yelling. I only visited him for a week or two every summer, and I still learned most of my bad words from him. 

So every Sunday would start with a quiet prayer, and then Bishop Grandpa Dale would go to the piano, sit down, and play the nightcore version of Praise to the Man. He would occasionally play other hymns, but he really, really liked that one. This would continue until he hit a wrong note, which was basically inevitable because his music philosophy was that if he could play a song flawlessly, it was time to play it faster. So he'd play until he hit that wrong note, at which point he would scream-whisper SHIIIIIT and, because he did not actually read music so much as memorize it, the only way he'd be able to get his rhythm back was by going back to the start. 

If it was a good Sunday, he could get it in two tries. Some Sundays took as many as five. 

I learned two things about Grandpa Dale from this story. The first was that he could play piano. I'd never actually seen him do that before. Still haven't, come to think of it. Second was that the man that I visited once a year, who always seemed on the verge of exploding, who scared the absolute dickens out of me, was actually the chilled out version of the man my mom grew up with.

And it helped knowing that, actually. I'm actually a pretty anxious person, and my mom is, also, a pretty anxious person, and as a teenager we'd sometimes get in these doom loops where we'd wind each other up until our springs cracked. She'd be worried about me growing up to be happy, and I'd be worried about letting her down, and my worrying would make me unhappy, and my unhappiness would make her unhappy, and we'd just kind of dissolve into these anxieties like cotton candy in the sea and become totally unbearable to be around for a bit. Then my dad would sit us both down and very politely tell us that we were being crazy. He had this quote how being sad that someone else is sad that you're sad is the emotional equivalent of being a Klein flask and that at some point you have to just say I am allowed one (1) single layer of emotional recursion, at most, and ideally zero. 

And it was always kind of embarrassing and silly, but when I was tempted to be more upset with my mom about it, I could remember the piano story and go: Sheesh. She has more of a right to be anxious that I do. For me it's really just genetics, but she grew up with the Cactus-Killing Gopher-Smasher. A whole 18 years of that. I spent two weeks every summer with that guy, and I love him, but I always came home feeling like I'd survived something. She's a trooper.

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 2

It’s hard to listen to Eddie talk about this guy the same way Steve wished he did about him. Eddie, already so full of life and words, doesn’t seem to need to take a breather between his praises.

“Can’t believe this guy is actually into me, did you see him? Oh my god!” He groans and smacks his palms against the steering wheel, literally bouncing in his seat.

The van swerves a bit to the left.

“He’s just my type, too. Those eyes, prettiest eyes that have ever graced human existence, and they were looking at me. Me! Wow! The darkest green— I don’t think there’s any precious stone that can compare actually.”

He beams at him and Steve’s traitorous heart still flutters like a wounded bird helplessly flapping its broken wing. Eddie is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt, eyes crinkled at the corners and teeth on full display.

Steve will close his eyes at night and replay these words, pretending that this excitement and instant adoration is about him. That Eddie’s love-struck smile is for him.

“And, to top it off, he’s a geek. A fucking nerd. He actually knows DnD! What are the chances, Stevie? I’m no religious man, but an angel must have heard mine desperate pleas.”

His name is Adiel, Eddie’s perfect guy.

Steve spends that night feeling the need to cry, the hurt is right there at the base of his throat refusing to spill.

Steve kind of wishes he did, maybe letting everything out would leave him feeling empty instead impossibly full of heartache.

Adiel is blond, a dirty blonde that means he must’ve had light locks as a kid. Face slim and cheek bones prominent, but his features are soften by button nose. Maybe Eddie is right, he looks like the angels depicted in stained church windows, but whereas angels are depicted in white, Adiel wore exclusively black.

He wasn’t decorated in rings and chains like Ed, only a few silver piercings in his ears and a couple on his lips. But it was evident they had much in common, even just by looks. More than Steve could ever say about him and Eddie.

Over the next couple of weeks they share their music, intrinsically understanding what it means to one another.

Getting it.

Getting it the way that Steve never could, even with hours of Eddie breaking it down for him. Maybe Steve never understood, but he loved those moments shared between them. Wonders if Adiel cherishes those moments too. If he takes it for granted.

They share everything with each other and Steve hears every little detail gushed between sickly sweet sighs. He’s trying to be a good friend, to listen and share Eddie’s happiness, but something inside him grows bitter. Angry. He hates feeling this way.

“I met his friends already, they’re a really cool bunch. I really think you guys would get along. They know all the best spots for people like us. There’s a whole world out there, Stevie—“

Stevie. His breath stutters.

“Of people like us with places for us. We could take Robin and Vicky and be surrounded by people that won’t, that won’t think we’re… wrong. And who knows,” he nudges Steve’s side with a suggestive smile, “maybe you’ll meet the one there, huh Stevie?”

“Stop. Just, just stop!”

Steve doesn’t mean to yell. He just can’t take it anymore. Everything that has been building up inside him has reached a point where he just can’t. He pushes Eddie away from him who looks startled. Offended and bothered and confused.

“I don’t want to meet his friends, or least of all him. I don’t get it, okay! I thought—“

What did he think? That one day he would confess to Eddie or vice versa? That they’d kiss and go on double dates with Robin and Vicky? That he would fall asleep each night in love and loved? It seemed plausible at some point. That’s what hurts the most.

“Hey, Stevie—“

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“What? Your name? You don’t want me to call you by your name?”

A bitter laugh, “yeah. My name from your mouth.”

“I, You’re not making any sense!”

Steve knows. He knows. But Stevie, Big boy, Ozzy… even his own name, can’t bear to hear them. Not from him. Can’t bare the way his heart squeezes.

Eddie’s looking at Steve with furrowed brows and down turned lips, standing still. Has Eddie ever been still before in his life?

Once. When he was still and pale and red. His chest gone quiet for the most terrifying seconds of Steve’s life.

Steve looks at him, his eyes burn. Steve’s breath from his own chest brought Eddie back to them. Eddie’s lungs still carry his desperation. His ribs healed but the cracks must still be there from the palm of his hands. He’s tasted Eddie’s blood before from his mouth—

He’s kissing him. Steve, dumb stupid in-love Steve, has his lips on Eddie’s once more, but this time they’re warm and full of life and his ringed hands are on him and,

They’re pushing him. Away.

“Eddie,” his sight is blurry, eyes hot, and breath stuttered. “I, it hurts. You with him. I can’t—I just can’t.

And Eddie looks, terrified, dark eyes searching Steve’s face. For what, he does not know. Sincerity, maybe. Truth. Maybe looking to see if he’s really shattered inside.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t…I don’t…”

And Steve?

Steve smiles. It’s watery and his lips quiver.

“I know.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s always the problem. “I know, Eddie. I’m sorry. It’s, it’s okay.”

Eddie leaves Steve there in the living room.

There’s still two cans of Coke half full on the coffee table but only one person left in the room.

Part one < 💛 > Part 3

Tagged: @bananahoneycomb @margaglitterdeath

[leona-hawthorne]

congrats on 1k!! i’m so happy for you !! tbh i’ve read your stuff for awhile now but i’ve always been so scared to reblog etc 😭😭

and your 1k celebration is also so unique omg? 🙏🙏

But for the book browsing, i think smut with the quotes/prompts: “if you fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally, i think you’d do a pretty damn good job at it.” and “i hate you.” “do you? because you definitely don’t hold someone’s hand while fucking if you hate them.”

with the enemies to lovers trope with Mattheo would be so cute 😭😭🙏

hi hi hi!!! thank you for being the first to request for this ml, i appreciate you 🤍 💌 and please don't be afraid to reblog!! i can promise you that its one of the things that make me the happiest 😚 hope you enjoy this, i tried so hard to keep it short but i just couldn't help myself and now its 1.8k sorry!!

1k celebration navigation

HANDS OFF… book browsing

18+ MATTHEO RIDDLE

The party pulsed around you, vibrant and loud, the air thick with laughter, the scent of smoke, and the sweet tang of alcohol. You leaned against the wall, drink in hand, observing the chaos unfolding before you. But none of it held your interest. Your gaze was drawn to Mattheo Riddle, who stood across the room, surrounded by a throng of admirers, his cocky grin flashing like a neon sign.

You hated him.

He caught your eye, his smirk deepening as he raised his cup in mock salute. Blood boiled under your skin, a mixture of frustration and something more primal that you refused to acknowledge. 

You hadn’t even wanted to come to this damn party, but somehow, like fate playing a sick joke, you’d found yourself here anyway. The loud music was almost as intoxicating as the firewhiskey in your hand and it was only when you turned to head for another drink that you nearly crashed right into him.

“Watch it,” he muttered, eyes already narrowing as he recognized you. His sneer was familiar, laced with that unmistakable disdain he seemed to reserve just for you.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re the one who walked into me, Riddle.”

“Maybe if you paid attention instead of sulking in corners, you’d know how to avoid bumping into people.”

You raised your eyebrows at his words as your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a defiant spark in your eyes.

"Or maybe," you said, voice steady despite the heat rising within you, "if you weren't so busy preening like some fucking peacock, you'd have noticed me sooner."

The tension between you was palpable, a tangible thing that filled the space around you. It wasn't often that you allowed yourself to be this confrontational with him—after all, you knew better than most what kind of trouble that could lead to. But tonight, you didn't care.

"So, Riddle," you continued, leaning closer until your faces were mere inches apart, "why don't you just go back to your adoring fans? I'm sure they miss you."

Mattheo chuckled darkly, the sound low and dangerous as he leaned in closer to you. "Jealous?" he asked, his breath hot against your cheek.

"You wish," you scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his proximity. "I couldn't care less about your little fan club."

Mattheo's lips curved into a wicked smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Could've fooled me," he murmured, his fingers finding your arm and tracing a gentle line up it.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. 

"Get your hands off me, Riddle," you bit out, even as a shiver ran down your spine at his touch. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, sending sparks of electricity dancing along your skin.

But before you could pull away, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Off? Or would you rather I put them somewhere else?"

His words sent a jolt straight to your core, and you felt your knees weaken slightly. What the hell was wrong with you? This was Mattheo Riddle, the enemy, the arrogant prick who always managed to get under your skin. And yet...

"No," you breathed, even as your body betrayed you, pressing closer to his. "Just...back off."

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he studied your face. "So feisty tonight," he purred, running a finger along your jawline. "I like it."

His touch was electric, sending tingles racing down your spine. You tried to shake off the sensation, but it was no use. Underneath the layers of animosity and distrust, there was something else brewing—a simmering attraction that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

"We're drunk," you accused, trying to sound stern even as your body craved more of his touch. "And you’re high on your own ego. That's all this is."

Mattheo chuckled, the sound low and seductive. "Is that what you tell yourself?" He leaned in closer, his breath fanning over your lips. "Because I think we both know it's not true."

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your resolve crumbled under the weight of his presence. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

But then, without warning, you surged forward, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. It was angry and desperate, all teeth and tongue as you poured every ounce of pent-up frustration into the embrace.

Mattheo groaned in surprise before melting into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. The world fell away, leaving nothing but the two of you, lost in a haze of desire and hatred.

Breaking the kiss, he nipped at your lower lip before growling, "You want to play rough, huh? Fine by me."

His lips found yours again with a force that was strong enough to bruise. His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing roughly as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like whiskey and sin, his tongue dueling with yours in a passionate dance that left you breathless.

In a swift move, he spun you around and pinned you against the wall, his body caging you in as he attacked your neck with kisses and bites.

"Strange how something so hateful could taste so sweet," he rasped, his fingers digging into your hips. "You're a fucking wildfire," he growled against your throat, his clothed hardness pressing insistently against your stomach. 

Despite the anger still simmering beneath the surface, you couldn't deny the thrill of being so completely consumed by him. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

When he finally broke away, you were both panting, chests heaving. "You know, if you can fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally," he muttered, "I think you'd do a pretty damn good job at it."

With that, he grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the staircase leading up to the dormitories. You stumbled after him, barely registering the looks from the other students as you passed.

It wasn't long before you were basked in the privacy of his dorm, buried in his sheets with his cock lodged between your folds. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as you moved together in a frenzied rhythm. Mattheo's hands roamed your body, gripping your thighs, squeezing your tits, tangling in your hair.

"You're so tight," he grunted, thrusting deeper. "Fucking perfect."

You arched into him, meeting each stroke with a roll of your hips. The friction was intense, bordering on painful, but you reveled in the pleasure-pain mix. It was raw, primal, everything you'd ever wanted from him.

Suddenly you needed to touch him, to anchor yourself to something real amidst the storm of sensations. Your hand groped blindly until it found his, grasping it like a lifeline. Mattheo's fingers entwined with yours, giving a reassuring squeeze. He brought your joined hands above your head, pinning you even more firmly as he increased the tempo. 

"Fuck," you cried out, reveling in the feeling of utter control he had over you, even if for this one glorious night. Your nails dug into the backs of his palms as he met your passion with a fire and fury of his own, two volatile elements colliding in an inferno.

"Oh god, oh god, oh—!" you choked out, your voice cracking as the orgasm built inside you like a storm about to break.

Mattheo's grip on your hip tightened, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "Come on, baby, give it to me," he urged, his breath hot against your ear. "Scream my name."

The command shattered what remained of your control. With a ragged cry, you came undone, convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. Mattheo followed soon after, his moans muffled by your shoulder as he spilled himself onto the skin of your stomach.

As the pleasure faded, Mattheo collapsed beside you, his chest heaving. For a moment, you simply lay there, staring at the ceiling as reality slowly seeped back in. What had you done?

Rolling onto his side, Mattheo propped himself up on one elbow, studying your face with an unreadable expression. "That was...something else," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You flinched at the gentle gesture, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Don't," you whispered, averting your gaze. "This doesn't change anything between us."

Mattheo sighed, dropping his hand. "No, I suppose it doesn't." He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

Despite the lingering tension, exhaustion eventually won out. Mattheo settled back against the pillows, closing his eyes as sleep claimed him. You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his lashes fanned out against his cheeks, the curve of his lips in repose.

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned onto your side facing away from him, drawing the covers up to your chin. You felt his arm slide around your waist, pulling you closer, but you resisted, maintaining a barrier of space between you.

As you drifted off, you knew this fragile truce wouldn't last. But for now, in the quiet darkness of his dormitory, you allowed yourself a brief respite from the war raging within you. Tomorrow, you would pick up the fight where you left off. Tonight, you just slept.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back—the argument, the makeout, the sex.

Shit.

You slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb him. As you pulled up your panties, Mattheo began to stir. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"I have to go," you said quietly, keeping your back to him as you shimmied back into your dress. "Last night was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened."

There was a pause, then the rustle of sheets as Mattheo sat up. "A mistake? Is that really how you feel?"

You stood by the door, slipping on your shoes as you avoided looking directly at Mattheo. "Of course, it is," you replied flatly, your voice devoid of emotion. "I hate you, remember?"

With that, you grabbed your bag and made a hasty walk to the door, but just as you were about to twist the doorknob, he spoke, his voice low and smug.

"Do you? Because you definitely don't hold someone's hand while fucking if you hate them.”

Your heart pounded in your ears as you whipped around to glare at him, but you bit back the retort on your tongue. With a huff, you snatched open the door and stormed out into the hallway.

Once safely in the empty hallway, you leaned back against the wall, heart racing. A small, secret smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Damn him.

[eisenkrahe]

If I was 30 years younger, my crush on her would be epic. As things stand, I feel like a dirty old lady for macking on her the way that I do. Not only is there nothing whatsoever wrong with her body, there is absolutely everything right with her body. Please forgive my dirty old lady thoughts.

[endearng]

Stranger danger

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: The power goes out. You and your daughter leave your apartment to find some light. Luckily, a stranger floods your being with it. WC: 2.1k Warnings: reader is scared of the dark; light mentions to stranger danger; it's a meet cute (guilty). Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I couldn't sleep so I decided to finish and post this one. I hope you guys enjoy it. Totally planning on a sequel for these three. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 Masterlist | Part 2

Spencer Reid was the most unnoticed and absent tenant of his building. His apartment was almost eerily quiet during most of the time, because of two main reasons. One, he was out of town often because of his job, of course, and, two, he didn't do much when he was there. He was a man who kept to himself whose idea of fun consisted of reading classic Literature. And don't take it the wrong way; not being around much didn't mean that he disliked his place, it was quite the opposite. He thoroughly enjoyed having a space to call his own, to organize, to cramp up the areas just the way he liked it. It gave him a sense of comfort, even though it felt lonely more often than not.

One of his neighbors had a child, he could tell that much because of the noises he would hear when he was around — while playing or the whining when she wanted something, after all, that's how kids usually behave. Spencer didn't mind them, of course, he was away for most of the time, so it wouldn't be rational to be bothered by a child acting like one. It was like being annoyed by an adult acting out, which did happen, but adults were supposed to be more self-aware than kids.

Although fairly acquainted with the routine of the family by putting pieces together from time to time (something his brain couldn't help but do, almost automatically), he had never seen their faces. He knew their voices and could even tell their footsteps apart. Sometimes, he would think about them. How did their day go, if everything was alright, if they ever addressed uncomfortable topics, if they ever had problems like his own frequently faced after they discovered about his mother's condition. He was acutely aware of the fact that those thoughts were the results of some sort of projection, almost like those neighbors were his personal novel to read and he longed to relate to its characters, because so much of his childhood had been ripped from him in ways he worried he could never recover from and terribly soon — he didn't remember ever knowing the sense of a loving, ordinary family like they apparently did and lived.

Today was a day off. He sat on his balcony, the summer breeze kissing his skin and messing up his hair, writing a letter to his mother. He tried his best to remain true to the commitment of making her a part of his life as a way to ease the guilt and sadness that gnawed at him for not being capable of caring for her properly by himself. He dearly missed Diana, he was his mother, after all. The only one who stood by him, even if not at her best, the only family he had left.

Satisfied with his writing, he finished the letter with a promise that he'd visit her soon. As he was folding the paper to put it inside the envelope, everything went black. The light left completely and, for a moment, he thought he had fainted because of the suddenness of it. That's when he heard the shrieking coming from the apartment next door and with a small chuckle, he deduced it was a power outage.

"Oookay, we don't need to panic, Oli, right? The light will be back in a few moments," he heard from the balcony next to his. It was the mother's voice, surely.

"Mommy, 'm scared," the little girl, Olivia, cried.

"I know, baby, but mommy is right here," was the answer provided, followed by the sound of a loud and exaggerated kiss. He heard the little girl giggle. "That's better, sweetie. Come on, let's talk. How are you feeling?"

"'m scared, but happy that you're here, mommy," she said.

"I'm happy to be with you, too, my girl," the woman cooed.

Spencer all but listened to the sweet interaction close to him. Unbeknownst to the woman, he held it even closer to his heart. It was one of the purest forms of love he had ever witnessed and he was grateful for them both during that time.

You, on the other hand, felt panic rising in your chest as the minutes passed and the dark still engulfed you, your little girl's voice the only comfort soothing you from time to time. Olivia was really scared of the dark, so as time went by, you tried to assure her that there was nothing to be scared of, and even if she was, she shouldn't feel embarrassed, that it was okay to express those feelings and that you were there for her. You were glad that she trusted you enough to believe those empty words, because you were terrified of the dark.

It all started as a kid. Not knowing what could be lurking in the shadows absolutely freaked you out and admiting it out loud was mortifying, so you did your best to hide it. If your daughter's reaction was anything to go by, you were doing a good job, so you relished on that.

Right now, it was becoming more and more difficult to play the part of the brave, fearless mother. So you started singing, soon enough followed by your daughter.

Super trouper lights are gonna blind me

But I won't feel blue like I always do

'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you

Olivia giggled. It was one of her favorite songs, you had introduced it to her when she was too shy before one of her recitals. She had only memorized the chorus, of course. You were forever thankful for having that song engraved in your memory, because now the footage you had from said recital had Olivia showing all her moves looking right at you, basically all of the time.

"Oli, what do you think of going to the lobby? Maybe we could find some friends there." You suggested, which made Spencer's interest rise. Could it be a chance for him to finally address faces to the family he almost felt a part of?

For someone so bright, he truly didn't know if he was overstepping or being obsessive, it just made sense to him. Like aforementioned, he felt like it was a novel.

He heard little hands clapping excitedly and heard the next door opening and then closing right after. He used the time to think if he was behaving like the creeps he profiled for a living, but decided to give himself some credit by realizing he didn't mean to do no harm, he was just curious.

As time went by, the lobby soon became crowded with people and basically everyone had a flashlight on. It made Spencer laugh internally. He searched the area for a woman and a little kid, but no success. The room was so packed it almost felt suffocating and for a moment he felt ridiculous for considering searching a room for someone whose face he wasn't familiar with. What was he thinking? His mother always said that his job should stay out of his personal life and he had yet to learn that. So, he decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air.

What he didn't expect was to find a woman and a little girl sitting on the benches just outside the apartment complex. Their voices sounded exactly like the ones he had been noticing for some time now. He froze, unable to look away from them.

The girl had her mother's features. They were so scarily alike that it felt like he was watching the same person during different periods of her life, but simultaneously, as if he was on some sort of time travel.

He was ripped out of his daydreams when the little girl came running towards him, "Look, mommy! He has a letter! You send them to grandpa!"

Although very embarrassed by your daughter's sudden run, you jumped on your feet to catch up with her. You didn't know that man, so it only made sense to be very alert and to keep your child away from him. As you neared the two of them, you placed your hands on Oli's shoulders, who was standing in front of him, you took in his appearance. He was tall, a little lanky and had long-ish hair, cut just around his shoulders. He had dress pants and a shirt loosely buttoned up as well. His eyes were searching your face, as if he was scanning you as well. The poor lighting didn’t help either of you, but you two were almost touching with your eyes, if such a thing were possible, from how much you were looking, almost admiring each other.

Amid his thoughts from earlier, he didn't even realize he was still holding the letter he had written that afternoon.

"Hi," you greeted, a little awkwardly, "I'm sorry. She’s still learning about stranger danger. Or bothering people." You chuckled, nervously.

What the hell have you just said?

"Actually, stranger danger did the most harm to this country in terms of crimes like that. I remember them coming to my classroom. It was Officer Friendly with stranger danger coloring books. Taught a whole generation about a scary man in a trench coat, hiding behind a tree. Then we learned that strangers are only a fraction of the offenders out there." He rambled.

What the hell has he just said?

You knitted your eyebrows together, perceiving his comment as peculiar, to say the least. "Well, yeah."

"Sorry about that. I tend to ramble about some topics. I'm not a creep, I swear. I work with the FBI, I know it can be odd to start a conversation like that. Well, your daughter did," he chuckled, albeit tensely, "My name's Spencer. Spencer Reid. I live in this building. Third floor."

You laughed a little over his rambling, relief flooding your body once you realized that he was just a regular guy. A regular guy that worked for the FBI. You told him your name and Olivia's as he offered you a friendly handshake, "Me and Olivia live there, too."

"MOMMY!" Olivia shouted, sounding exasperated and thrilled at the same time. "He is the ghost neighbor!"

"Ghost neighbor?" He asked, shocked and a little humored.

You laughed at your daughter and the confusion adorning his beautiful features. "Oli, don't scream. We already talked about it," you addressed your daughter, firmly but gently. Spencer was in awe. "It's just an inside joke between the kids. You're almost never home and every once in a while they hear some sounds coming from your apartment. They say a ghost lives there. They even put up some decorations on your front door on Halloween, but I decided to remove it in case it bothered you."

Olivia laughed like someone had spilled a funny secret and Spencer quickly joined her. You chuckled, even though you were more puzzled than anything by the fact that your daughter had approached, so confidently, a stranger. It made you both terrified and happy. Terrified because he could be a weirdo. Happy because she was able to come out of her shell. Even happier to see her coming out of her shell with a nice stranger.

"It’s alright. I wouldn’t have minded. I love Halloween.” He said, addressing you. You could tell then that, at least, he wasn’t someone bitter. “Sorry to disappoint, Miss Olivia. It's just me moving some chairs every now and then. But I won't tell if you won't."

"I won't!" She squealed, and Spencer smiled. You couldn't draw your eyes away from their exchange. Olivia balled her small fists on your skirt, pulling you out of your reverie, so you crouched down at her height. She whispered something in your ear. Spencer watched, curiously, as you nodded at her.

"She said you need a pinky promise." You told him once you were standing again. Spencer gladly crouched and stuck out his pinky towards Olivia, who intertwined her own with his.

"Now we can't tell anybody." He said, with a genuine smile on her face.

"Mommy, you hafta promise it too." Olivia said, grabbing your hand and pulling your pinky toward Spencer's hand, linking them together. You felt the heat rising to your face.

The power came back. Suddenly, your pinky was linked to a very handsome man who you had just met because of your one-of-a-kind daughter. It made you nervous, because the light highlighting his beautiful features in all the right places made you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. By looking at him alone, you thought of words related to the light four times. As he looked back at you with a gorgeous smile on his face, you finally understood why people associate light with feelings.

[lili-534030]

BOO! 👻

Halloween has finally arrived at Night Raven College! And after weeks of turmoil and doing Crowley's errands, you, the esteemed prefect of Ramshackle dorm, can finally unwind and party! And as the saying goes, "Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut." Surely, nothing's going to go wrong. Right?

featured character: leona kingscholar x afab!reader

warnings: hair-pulling, unprotected sex, overstimulation, biting/bleeding (he gets off you licking his blood #freaky), slight bruising, degradation, rough sex, ribbed cock, creampies, semi-public sex (you guys do it behind a wall), squirting (once), porn with plot

wc. 4.6k

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Come on, Y/N!" Ace tapped his foot impatiently as he banged on the door, the mummy wrappings on his arms swaying. "By the time you finish dressin' up, the snacks and ghost would've run out!" The boy yelled, glaring at the door.

"Myaa...Does my henchman really need this much time ta get ready?" Grim groaned, adjusting the cute wizard hat on his head.

"Yeah, well," Ace smirked, leaning closer to the door and making a makeshift megaphone with his hands. "If she doesn't come out in the next five seconds, I'm raiding the table snack myself!" Ace yelled, his hands resting on his hips as Deuce sighed— glancing at the other students running towards the festival hall.

"Ace, give the Prefect a second. She's been waiting for this day, anyways." Deuce spoke, shifting from foot to foot—obviously impatient but torn between his respect for women or the free snacks. The blue-haired boy glanced at his watch, 7:15 PM.

"Listen 'ere, Juice." "Deuce."

"No one cares, but I am not missing out on the chocolate fountain just because the Prefect's busy looking at herself in the damned mir—" Ace's complaining cut off mid-sentence as the door finally opened, a sliver of light spilling out before you stepped out.

Suddenly, like all homoerotic (virgin) male teenagers, Ace and Deuce's faces went beet red at the sight of you. "Wh-hh-hWaWhh-hh?????" Deuce sputtered, face awestruck and dizzy. "Wh-WhAt a-are you wearing, Y/N?!" The blue-haired boy's voice cracked, embarrassment creeping into his veins.

"Hmm?~" Tilting your head, you let out a sultry hum. "I'm a cute, hot, sexy vampire nurse!" Doing a little twirl and pose, Deuce let out a loud squeak—shielding his eyes from looking at your tits.

Coughing into his hand, Ace, whose earlier irritation suddenly disappeared, looked the other way. "Ya sure that's, uh, allowed, Y/N?" Ace stumbled over his words, his face about to match the color of his hair.

The corners of your mouth lifted into a playful smile, bending over slightly to grab Grim, who was clawing at your legs to carry him.

Ace and Deuce froze at the sight of the top of your lace bra.

"Don't worry, guys!" Suddenly, you slung your arms over the two's shoulders. "I told Crowley I wouldn't do his taxes anymore if he didn't allow my costume." You giggled, ignoring Ace and Deuce's blank expressions. "He really is an incompetent Headmage..." No words needed to be exchanged to know what the two males thought.

"Hey!" You exclaimed, staring at the two. "You guys ready to go or what?" Ace and Deuce exchanged glances, coincidentally meeting sight with your tits. Spluttering, two chuckled nervously before melting into eager smiles. "Let's go!" The two shouted in unison, excitement running through their veins. ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎

Grim strutted through the beautifully decorated halls of Night Raven College, confidence and arrogance radiating from him like a spotlight. Huffing, Grim secretly glanced at the students, who stared at him with glee. "Yes, yes! Look at my magnificent self!" The cat meowed, satisfied, reveling in the attention.

Laughing, the cat raised his head high and meowed at you. "Behold, henchman!" He puffed his chest, pride seeping off him. "Everyone's so amazed by my costume, they can't help but stare! Nya!"

Beside him, Ace snickered. "Yeah, right." Ace leaned a bit close to Grimm, a smug smile on his face. "You do realize that everyone's looking at Y/N, not you, right?"

Gasping, Grim glared at Ace. "What'cha mean?! They can't not look at meow!" Crossing his paws, Grim scoffed. "Maybe you're the one staring at my henchman!" Ace rolled his eyes and gestured behind him, where some random students stopped to ask you for a picture. And being the kindhearted Prefect that you are (you wanted clout), you, of course, agreed.

What you didn't expect, though, was for a line to form suddenly.

"Prefect! Let's take a selfie!"

"I am so getting a lot of likes!"

"Hey!— I wanna have a pic too!"

"Back of the line!"

Overwhelmed by the sudden rowdiness of the students, you took a step back. "Wait, Prefect! We still haven't taken a pic yet!" A boy exclaimed, raising his phone high up in the air.

Groaning, you were about to call for Deuce and Ace before a gruff voice spoke up—a tense atmosphere settling in the air.

"Oi." Stepping back, you were met with a rough chest and gloved hands gently holding your waist.

"What do ya'll think are doin' to my herbivore?" Humming, you felt the soft fur of Leona's tail wrap around your thigh, your eyes narrowing in amusement.

All the boys that filed into a line flinched, sweat dripping from their faces. Growling, Leona glared at them, ears flattening sideways. "Leave." Everyone scrambled away within a blink of an eye, leaving you and Leona alone.

Well, not really.

"Henchman!" Grim meows, staring angrily at Leona. "Let's go. We have'ta try out the games!" He puffed, his paws raised, and he clawed cutely. Behind was Ace and Deuce, who nodded their head in response.

"Grim's right, Y/N." Deuce said, "I heard from Cater that the lines were really long, so we oughta go right now if we wanna make it to the Haunted House later."

Sighing, you turned back to Leona and fluttered your eyelashes. "Thanks for the save, Leona." You leaned closer to him, discreetly pressing your hand against his groin. With a teasing smile, you went on your tip-toes and kissed your lover on the cheek.

"I'll see you later, alright?" You giggled, only receiving a narrowed gaze from Leona.

Rolling his eyes, Leona gave you a pat on the head before leaning close to your ear— his hot and warm breath causing a shiver to go down your spine. "I'll get you back for this later." Grinning, Leona pushed you gently to the trio, a smug and sultry grin on his face.

"I'll see ya later at the Haunted House, herbivore." He purred, taking delight in your blushing face.

Huffing, you bent over to grab Grim with your legs spread slightly. Exposing a bit of your panties to Leona. Licking your lips, you cuddled Grim nicely against your boobs before blowing a kiss to Leona.

"Let's go AJuice!" You called with an innocent smile on your face. Groaning, Deuce crossed his arms. "When are you guys going to stop calling me Juice?"

Ace hummed, his eyes closing momentarily as if he were actually contemplating the answer. "Never." He laughed before hitting Deuce on the head.

"?!— HEY! COME BACK HERE!" The blue-haired boy yelled, chasing Ace, who got a head start run.

Chuckling at their antics, you gave one last look behind you. "Oh?~" Smirking, you gave a wink to Leona, who stood frozen with hungry eyes and reddened ears.

"Mwa ♡"

‎

Gripping onto Deuce's arm, you shifted your weight from one foot to another. "We've reached the bench, Y/N." Deuce, your ever-so-kind dear friend, took the paper bags from your hand as you plopped down on the bench, your feet burning.

"My feet hurt." You groaned, toeing off one of your heels and then the other.

Beside you, Ace raised an eyebrow as he snacked on a lollipop, not even bothering to hide his smirk. "Well, you're the one who chose to go out on heels." He snickered, giving you a middle finger in response to yours. "Who wears heels to Halloween anyways?" Ace shrugged.

Grinning, you half-huffed before crossing your legs. "Literally almost every single girl ever."

"Though I can see why you wouldn't know that, considering you're a virgin loser." A loud gasp escaped Ace, who stared at you, baffled and offended.

"I had a girlfriend when I was in middle school, mind you!" You pointed your finger at Ace smugly. "Emphasis on had. Bet you had no dick game at all." You snickered, watching Ace's face burn red in embarrassment and anger.

"I will literally—!"

Sighing, Deuce pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing Ace's shoulders. "Yeah, yeah, we get it, Ace. You got bored of your girlfriend. That's why you dumped her; no need to tell us again." Deuce looked at you, a tired expression on his face.

"And Ace is right, Y/N. It is Halloween, and everyone's out walking. You should've at least bought a spare." Pouting, you crossed your arms as Ace flipped his hair in triumph.

"Serves you right for prioritizin' style over comfort," Ace stuck out his tongue. "SUCKER."

Before you could even attempt to throw your heel at Ace, Grim's excited voice cut through the air. "Henchman!" Jumping on your lap, Grim stood as his flames flickered with excitement, eyes gleaming with light. "Let's go! The Haunted House is finally open!" Your lovely Grim announced, pointing his chubby paw at the eerie and foggy structure.

Before you could respond, Grim had already dashed ahead (seriously, what is it with all these people interrupting you?!), cackling like a maniac. With a final and deep groan, you put on your heels and hoisted yourself up.

Grabbing some of your purchases from Deuce (bless his kind heart), you and the other two idiots made your guys' way to the Haunted House.

"If I trip, you're carrying me, Ace."

"Ha?!"

"Whoa! Lookin' good Y/N-shi!" Turning your head, you saw Ruggie approach you while enthusiastically waving. Smiling, you waved back.

"You're not looking bad yourself, aren't you, Matey?" You and Ruggie laughed, sharing jabs at each other's costumes for a few minutes before you suddenly realized.

"Speaking of which, why are you here, Ruggie?" Scratching your chin, you let out a hum. "I didn't peg you as the type to like this kinda stuff." Giggling, Ruggie rubbed his nape.

"You didn't know? This Haunted House is from Savanaclaw and Octavinelle's collaboration!" Ruggie pointed to the flags of the two dormitories on display on the register for tickets. "Leona-shi didn't wanna handle all the managing stuff, so I'm here makin' sure we get all the scares!" Ruggie roared jokingly, showing off his sharp claws.

"Scares?" You questioned, "Are you guys the scare actors?" Blinking, Ruggie laughed and nodded his head. "Smart as always, Prefect!" The boy smiled before letting out a small oh!

"Speaking of which!" Pulling out a glow-in-the-dark round bracelet, Ruggie grabbed your arm and slipped it on. "Leona-shi told me to give this to you!"

"Huh?" Looking at your slightly glowing bracelet, you pursed your lips before raising your head to ask Ruggie a ques—

...

Why won't anyone let you finish your sentences today?

Sighing, you adjusted your dress before looking at your bracelet again. "I guess I can ask Leo—" "Oi, Y/N! Hurry up over there! We're already buying tickets!" Ace yelled, his obnoxious voice ringing in your ears.

...

You swear you're going to kill him one day.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a rush! I'm coming!"

"Can you PLEASE stop saying that?!"

‎

The creaking of the door shut behind you and your two idiot friends, a loud bang resonating within the haunted house. Your eyes glanced around the grand interior of the house, web cobs occupying every nook and corner, dim lanterns flickering as dark shadows loomed over.

"It's just a haunted house, It's just a haunted house, It's just a haunted house, It's just a haun—" Deuce mumbled nervously, jitters crawling in his skin.

Scoffing, Ace put his hands in his pockets. "This is it? Maaa, I thought it would be much scarier." The boy flexed, ignoring how his hand lingered near his magic pen.

Rolling your eyes, you placed Grim on your shoulder and grabbed Ace and Deuce, venturing deeper into the haunted house. Humming, the four of you walked, encountering the occasional jumpscares and nerve-wracking screams. Your footsteps echoed within the eerie hall, creaks and squeaks.

"This isn't so bad," Ace smirked, his hands tucked away in his pockets. "I should've bought a pillow if I knew it would be this boring." The red-haired boy mocked, ignoring how his hand slightly trembled.

Deuce glanced around, his face pale. "Are we sure we're goin' the right way?" He shivered. "We haven't gotten any jumpscares these past few minutes."

You were about to respond, but then there was a flicker. The lights above you flickered and went out, plunging you and your friends into darkness. Swallowing your saliva, you carefully reached your arms out.

"Ace? Deuce? Grim?" You whispered out, suddenly realizing that Grim wasn't on your shoulder anymore. Taking a deep breath, you glanced at your glowing wrist—using the dim light from your glow-in-the-dark bracelet as a makeshift flashlight.

Biting your lip, you carefully searched for any signs of your friends. Stumbling forward, you glanced in every direction, the shadows of your friends merging with the darkness. Panic swirled in your chest as you retraced your steps, only to find that every corridor looked the same.

"Guys?!" You shouted, your nerves tightening. "Where are— hmmpf?!" Something clamped over your mouth, pulling you back with swift, quiet strength.

Your heart leaped through your throat, your body flinching instinctively as you clawed at the firm grip holding you in place. Your voice muffled by the gloved hand as you squirmed, sharp heels digging into the foot of your assailant.

"Stop squirmin' already." a low, sultry growl close came to your ear.

You froze. Leona.

Your struggles ceased as you recognized the unmistakable (and hot) voice of Leona Kingscholar, your head turning to face to face with his usual (and sexy) smirk. You puffed your cheeks as your initial shock melted into annoyance.

Chuckling, Leona slid his hand away from your mouth, a smug grin on his face.

"Wanderin' off, herbivore?" Your lover teased, his tail gently wrapping around your thigh. Rolling your eyes, you leaned your back to Leona's chest. "You're an asshole sometimes, you know."

Purring, Leona wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. "Maybe don't wander off a half-baked haunted house if you can't handle a scare." Underneath the neon glow of your bracelet, Leona's green eyes shone sinisterly, looking at you with barely concealed hunger.

"I didn't wander off. I got lost." You pouted, crossing your arms in a place in which it accentuated your boobs. "And where did you even come from?"

Shamelessly staring at your boobs, Leona gave you a lazy smirk. "Didn't Ruggie tell ya, herbivore? I'm here to give you and your little friends some scares, roar."

You looked at Leona skeptically, doubt evident in your face. Leona raised a brow at your expression, clearly amused. Pressing a kiss to your neck, your lover took your wrist and suddenly grabbed you down the corridor without so much as a warning.

"What the—?! Leona, where on earth are you ta—" The sound of creaking echoed in your ears. Blinking, you found yourself in a well yet discreetly lit hallway that snaked behind the walls. "Is this—?" You glanced at Leona, realizing you were now on the hidden path the scare actors use to navigate.

"At least here," Suddenly, Leona pressed you against the solid wall and smirked— his hand caressing your thighs. "You won't wander off." He smirked, caging your body against his.

Your eyes flickered with a knowing grin, a breathy laugh escaping your throat. Wrapping your arms around Leona's neck, you batted your lashes and giggled. "Is this what you meant by getting me back?" You laughed, leaning closer to Leona. Licking his lips, Leona slowly unbuttoned your shirt, a deep purr vibrating from the sight of your lace bra. White, how cute.

"Leona." You whispered, a cute pout on your face. "Someone might see." Lowering your bra, Leona's lips curled into a lazy grin. "They won't," He paused, fondling your exposed breast. "Trust me, they'd pick up on my scent and yours before walkin' in here and interrupting."

Before you could say anything (again), Leona cupped your face and kissed you— the rough texture of his tongue lapping against yours.

Whimpering, you closed your eyes and scratched against the cloth of his suit, breath taken away from the rough treatment. Feeling your breath cut short, you quickly widened your eyes and muffled desperate cries against Leona's mouth. Seeing how your lover had no intentions of pulling away, you grabbed his braided hair and pulled him back.

"HiICk! Haghh..." You breathed in, a string of saliva connecting your and Leona's tongues. A thundering growl reverberates from Leona, green eyes glinting sinisterly under the dimly lit lamps. "Little feisty today, huh, herbivore?" Leona's sharp fangs nipped against your lips, a small chuckle escaping him when he saw your fake fangs.

"Tryna look like a predator, huh?" Biting his gloves off, Leona's fingers entered your mouth—a choked cry cracking on the back of your throat. "Unfortunately for you, sweetheart," Leona's free hand went underneath your skirt, playing with the waistband of your lace panties. "You're too easily gobbled up."

"haH!" You whined as Leona lowered his head and carefully bit your nipple, removing your panties in the process.

"Quiet now," Leona curled his fingers in your mouth. "Any louder 'n the students outside are gonna hear ya." Shutting your eyes, you nodded as your hands clawed at Leona's still-clothed back.

After a few minutes of teasing, Leona pulled his fingers from your mouth and removed his eyepatch— a hungry smile tugging at his lips as he watched your trembling legs and drool-dripping lips. Removing his other glove, Leona grabbed your thighs and hoisted you upwards—kneeling to face your dripping cunt.

A shiver trembled against Leona's spine when he took a short whiff, a satisfied purr breathing close to your pussy. "Wrap your legs 'round me." Looping your legs on his neck, Leona licked his lips before diving in your pussy—his other hand playing and teasing with your clit.

"mMph!" Quickly covering your mouth, your back arched in pleasure from the sudden onslaught bought upon your pussy. Your head throws back as you watch Leona lap your pussy with glassy eyes, his tongue diving deeper and deeper inside you.

Viciously, Leona flicks your clit—a loud moan muffled by your trembling hands.

Inhaling sharply, you gripped your hands on Leona's hair, deciding to throw all fucks if someone hears you. "Too- much!" Calloused fingertips make their way inside your tightening walls, your pussy throbbing from the stretch.

Below you, Leona continues eating you out like a man starved—actually, like an animal starved. His grip on your thigh stays firm,

obvious bruises that will surely start to form later. He runs a fat thumb on your clit, his digits inside your curling just at the right spot. Tongue so good, he's fucking out your thoughts and words.

"You good there, darlin'?" Leona drawls out, his hot breath hitting your sensitive pussy. Your lips pucker into a cute pout, your face red seeing Leona's wet and dripping tongue. Seeing as you had no intention of saying anything, Leona dives back in—eating you out with more enthusiasm and want.

Gasping, you tightened your legs around his head and gripped his hair tighter, pathetic moans escaping your mouth. "'M gonna—!" Vast open hands cling onto brown hair, desperate whines echoing within the dark hallway as your back arches with indulgence—your orgasm sparking a deep growl from Leona.

You hiccup as Leona continues his assault on your pussy, your body still trembling from your orgasm a few seconds ago. "Baabyyyy," You sobbed, your cheeks warm and puffed. "I just came..." You pouted, which caused an amused chuckle from Leona.

"Can you blame me?" He licked his lips, savoring your cum. "You're just too delicious f'me not to get addicted to." Leona's eyes met yours, swiftly removing his fingers from your pussy. Humming, Leona cupped your chin with his other hand and made you watch him lick your cum off his fingers—the dim glow of the lanterns accentuating your lusty haze.

"Mean." You sniff, looking at Leona with irritation. "You really are mean." Tilting his head, Leona leaned close to you and peppered kisses from your neck to your chest, his hands pulling you close. Humming, Leona snuggled close to your breasts and looked at you with pampered eyes, a malicious glint hidden deep within.

"I know, I am." Your lover says softly, his hands delicately holding yours. "So, please," Leona smiles, kissing the back of your hand. "Allow me to indulge in your presence," He says, kissing your palm. "And let me be mean, even for just this moment."

...

You tried to look away. You really did. But damn it, Leona just had to know how to push your buttons. Your fierce, improper Leona, reduced to a pleading, gentle prince so that he can fuck the living daylights out of you.

...

You tried to say no. You really did.

So with a throbbing pussy and trembling voice, you nodded your head—looking straight into Leona's eyes. "Just..." You breathed in. "Just this once." You whisper, watching Leona smile sweetly.

There's a sudden change in atmosphere as you feel your feet get lifted off the ground, a tiny squeak echoing in the hallway as you stare at Leona's hungry gaze—a lustrous smirk tugging on his lips.

"You really are naive, are you, herbivore?" He laughs, the sound of his zipper unzipping ringing in your ears. "Still," Leona shrugs, adjusting himself properly so you wouldn't be uncomfortable. "You're my naive little herbivore." You flinch as his ribbed dick slaps against your pussy, gazing slightly at your clit.

You tried to say no. You really did.

But damn it, you were horny.

You hate Leona.

You really, really hate Leona.

"hIicK! N-No m—!" You squeal, mouth once again covered with Leona's as his hips thrust in you hard. Twitching, you whimper as the fat stretch and drag of Leona's cock aches inside your pussy, tears dripping from your hazy eyes and cum dripping from your already stuffed pussy.

"Loud." Leona grunts, prying your legs open. "You're bein' a bit too loud, herbivore." He huffs, pressing his hips deeper.

Huffing, you gripped Leona's wrist, contemplating if you should really do it.

Fuck it.

"!" Gasping, you instinctively arched your back when Leona stilled his thrusts, your walls pulsing around his dick. Suddenly, Leona pulled his hand away from your mouth—looking at his bleeding palm with a blank.

"Heh." A breathy laugh escaped Leona, who pried your mouth with his fingers—a dark, deep blush settling on his face, seeing his blood drip from your fake fangs.

"So the herbivore bites back, huh?" Before you could speak, Leona shoved his hand on your mouth with a crazy grin. "C'mon, lick." Your lover demanded, the bitter taste of his blood flooding your tastebuds.

Your eyes widened, your heartbeat thrumming so loud that Leona could hear it faintly. A daring smile appeared on Leona, his gaze full of arrogance. "If you're going to start something," He pressed his bleeding palm deeper into your mouth. "You'd better finish it."

You glared at Leona with narrowed eyes before gripping his wrist and pulling his hand away slightly. With a sultry sigh, you stuck out your tongue and slowly licked the dripping blood off his wrist to his palm—a seductive smile on your face as you and Leona stared at each other with lust.

Your eyes never left Leona's enchanting green eyes, your teeth and lips all bloody from the wound. Batting your eyelashes, you pressed a deep kiss to the wound and sucked the blood out. The scent of your arousal heightened as Leona shivered with ecstasy.

"Just that like that." He coos, feeling his dick get harder inside your pussy. "Lick it clean." He smirked, grabbing your waist and dragging pussy deep on his dick.

"mhm!" Moaning, your nails dug deep into Leona's arm, his toned hips bucking into you so hard you see stars. Your lover whispers nothing but filthy words to your ear, which goes out of the other with how merciless and rough he was being.

"Fuck, fuuuEeEK!" Choking, Leona pressed his hand on the outline of his dick hard, the pressure causing your voice to hitch and for you to cum. "You're too- too—" Drool dripped from your open mouth, blood mixing with your saliva as you struggled to form proper words and thoughts. "Deep!" You scream, clear liquid gushing out of your pussy along with Leona's hot cum spurting inside you and straight to Leona's clothing.

Hot, languid breaths filled the dim hallway, your toes curling when Leona unapologetically toys with your clit. "heUk!" You sheepishly moan, your throat swallowing thickly as you try to salvage your nonexistent dignity. For a moment, you and Leona stood still, your thighs trembling and pussy dripping, but Leona's soft and tender caresses gave you leeway to rest, even for a bit.

Mumbling, you felt your eyes droop down, exhaustion finally catching up.

Leona, who was watching you with a tender gaze, quirked his eyebrow. Licking his lips, Leona leaned close to your ear—your mind fuzzy to realize what was happening. With a deep and dark chuckle, Leona's grip on your thighs hardened.

"Boo."

"?!— heUk! HIicK!!!—" Grinning, Leona slammed you against the wall and raised your sticky legs high, his dick hitting juuust right.

"L-leo-Leoonaaaa!!!" You whimper, broken cries, and hiccups sniveling from your sore throat. Ignoring your pleas, Leona pressed his weight deeper to yours, his toned abs harshly colliding with your soft and cum-filled stomach.

Grunting, Leona's spine shivered as he smelt your arousal—glittering sweetness and sparkling lust overfilling his senses—a tight knot forming on his dick.

"Not now." The green-eyed lion thought, fondling a piece of your ass. "Not here." He continued, hazy eyes narrowing when he gave your rear a loud spank. "'Nother day." He decided, controlling his urge to throw away all manners and fuck you like the animal he was.

A shrill scream peaked at your sore throat, your Drool and tears dripping to the cum-soiled wooden floor. He was getting sloppy. Impatient fingers rub against your clit, a strangled moan getting stuck in your throat.

You were so, so sensitive.

Stars cover your vision, your mind turning into mindless mush as Leona continues hitting his dick right into your cervix.

A break. You needed a—

"hAH!" Wanton cries echoed, rough fingers gripping your waist tight as Leona rubbed the prominent bulge from his dick on your stomach with intense fervor. "Give," Leona groaned, swallowing thickly. "Give me a sec." He breathed in, a piercing gaze staring right into your glassy ones.

Biting his lip, Leona gave one, two, three more thrusts before he came—filling your already full and sensitive pussy.

"Mhm." Breathing deeply, Leona pressed his forehead against yours and smiled. His tail curled peacefully on your waist. "You did good, herbivore." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, carefully taking his dick out of your cum filled pussy.

"Can ya walk?" Pulling your panties up, Leona gave one last kiss to your pussy before expertly adjusting your panties so that his cum wouldn't spill.

"Do you think I can walk?" You huffed, gripping tightly onto Leona's collar. Rolling his eyes, your lover gently fixed your appearance and wiped off the cum on your bare skin. "C'mon," Leona looked at his watch, 8:30 PM.

"I'll carry ya. The event's about to end, and I'll never hear the end of it if I leave you here with tremblin' legs like a lamb." He teased, ignoring your annoyed glares.

Exhausted, you let yourself get carried by your lover's strong arms, the scent of his perfume calming your nerves and giving you a sense of peace.

"You owe me a shopping trip for ruining my costume." You groan, feeling his cum swish inside you.

Chuckling, Leona nodded his head and purred. "Anythin' for you, darling."

this work belongs to @lili-534030, please do not copy or repost.

status: edited (added more smut)

[teddybeartoji]

neighbor!toji finds you sitting in front of your apartment door late at night as he's coming home and at first, he's really not planning on saying anything. he still doesn't know you, he hasn't talked to you – the most you've gotten is a look and a nod whenever you happen to take the elevator with him or when you just bump into him on your way out. and he really isn't the type to make small talk but with your knees pulled to your chest and your head rested on top of your hands, you look miserable and toji finds it very hard to ignore you.

he keeps stealing glances at your curled up figure as he searches for the keys in his pocket and it's only when he's got the door open, he swallows the weird lump in his throat.

"y'wanna come inside?" his voice is raspy, tired, but it does the job of luring you out of your little bubble.

there's a moment of silence.

toji isn't stupid, he knows the dangers of the world and it doesn't take him long to realize how strange his offer might sound. his eye twitches out of sheer embarrassment as he averts his gaze, rough fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand.

"that would be really nice actually, yeah."

there's no suspicion in your tone, nothing that would indicate that you're thinking what he's thinking. toji's mossy green eyes meet yours and he's met with a look he knows all too well.

exhausted.

"just so i can charge my phone?" you're already trying to apologize for yourself. to tell him that you'll only stay for as long as you need, afraid that you're bothering him.

but he just gives you a hum, patiently waiting for you to push yourself off the ground. for a moment, you stand next to him in front of the door, waiting for him to step inside first but when he gestures to go in before him, you don't argue with him. your hushed 'thank you' doesn't go unheard.

his apartment is tidy. probably even more so than your own. it looks surprisingly cozy – the light isn't a big, bright one but a dimmed down one instead and the sight of his big couch makes you let out a soft sigh. from the corner of his eye, toji observes you. he hasn't had anybody over in a long time and now here you are.

he tells you to take off your shoes and to take a seat while he goes to look for a charger, giving you the perfect opportunity to take a better look around the place – dvd's, old magazines and newspapers, a few movie posters and one singular plant. it's not a lot but it still feels like a good home.

at the sound of his voice, you snap out of your thoughts. your fingers brush against one another as you take the charger from him with another 'thank you'. a

"you're not going to kill me or anything though, right?"

...

for a man his size and his age, he feels a bit small under your gaze. you're blunt more than anything and he's just a little caught off-guard by your question.

"no."

"that's good."

you break the eye-contact to look for a place to plug in the charger and he feels relieved. "you feel safe."

you say it like it's nothing.

"i wouldn't've accepted the offer from anyone else, i think. well, maybe from the lady across the hall but then again, she'd just scold me for being up so late and i'm way too tired for that."

the words slip from your lips as if they're light as air while toji needs a second to really hear you, to know that he isn't making you uncomfortable. that in your eyes, he isn't scary or threatening in any shape or form. perhaps you're just naive for putting your trust into a stranger like this but toji still can't help but feel a little warm inside.

he doesn't say anything and you don't mind his silence. you do thank him a third time and let your lips curl into a proper smile when he almost unintentionally raises his brow at you – like it's weird that you're doing that.

he ends up bringing you a glass of water before joining you on the couch, both of your eyes set on the tv screen and the show that plays on it as you eakt for your phone to come alive again.

it doesn't feel wrong to just be with him like this.

it's right enough for you to let your exhaustion sneak up on you. your eyelids grow heavy without you even realizing it and then you're already dozing off on your neighbor's couch.

your quiet snores are so unfamiliar, the mere idea of somebody being able to fall asleep in his presence so surreal that he's left sitting there dumbfoundedly. regardless, he reaches for a blanket before throwing it over your body ever so carefully and turns down the volume of the tv as to not disturb you.

a stranger, a neighbor. somebody, who makes him feel a bit more alive. a silly comment, a blunt reply. a smile and a thank you.

a push to keep on going.

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

Idk I don't really think I need to specify but assuming I'm right it's like this;

Sympathetic - you can sympathize with the decision. Maybe you once made that decision yourself, and are familiar with the consequences. You might not support it, but you have a personal understanding of why someone would do it.

Example: the character is put under a lot of pressure and says something they don't really mean - you don't like it, but you're familiar

Understandable - you can understand why the decision was made. Colloquially it tends to mean you find the choice agreeable, but generally you at least understand the logic behind it and believe the character would and SHOULD have acted in that way, in that situation, based on the character itself.

Example: it's understandable that Zuko (from Avatar: The Last Airbender) would agree with hunting Aang down, as the way he was brought up guaranteed he would focus his trauma in a direction that can "fix" his relationship with his father

Reasonable - the decision has a reasoning behind it that you believe to be sound, one way or the other. Like with the previous words, there's a degree of nuance, as "reasonable" tends to mean you agree with it, but it could just as well mean that the characters internal reasons for doing it are consistent with the story and considered a normal response in-universe

Example: it's normal for a Hunter (from Bloodborne) to kill Beasts - that's what the order was made for - but any regular person would likely struggle to do so when they learn the Beasts are just transformed people. Thus, it's reasonable for a Hunter to Hunt, just like it's reasonable for the regular Yharnamites to hide in their houses and not open the door, no matter what

Objectively the best solution - feelings are irrelevant in this one. It is what it says on the package; we might not like it, the characters might not like it, but at the time it was by far the best solution - not necessarily a good one, but the best one available.

Example: in the Shadow of the Erdtree DLC for Elden Ring, the main antagonist is revealed to be Miquella, a character who we don't meet in the main game but who is famous for his intellect, eternal youth (in body and mind) and his extreme charisma, coupled with his Charm, which he's had from birth. Being a kind-hearted child, he always looked for ways to make everyone, and I mean everyone, get along. To help everyone. To do the right thing. In the DLC, he realizes all his efforts thus far were useless, and so turns to a measure generally considered extreme and vile, but to this literal child it only makes sense - if he can become a god, he can use his charm to make everyone get along - by brainwashing the whole world. For some of the characters, it's only practical; if everyone gets along, even if by such means, everyone gets to be happy. No more wars. No more starvation, no more oppression, no more pain and suffering. Miquella promises a thousand year voyage guided by compassion; he can actually deliver on that promise. Alas, the story demands you kill him, and while it does chafe my own morality, I think it would have been interesting if we could join him... Oh well. You can always just get hit by the grab attack twice. That sort of counts, right? Though it only results in a modified "You Died" screen.... Anyway! For the goal of "world peace" it is, by far, indeed the best possible solution ever thought up. People would literally be UNABLE to not get along nicely. It would be an unprecedented age of peace, harmony and love. But it's a solution that, ironically, ignores the most important part to all this: the heart. Forcing people to get along, no matter how much they'll eventually accept it, is wrong and, at its core, false. There is no such thing as a perfect happy ending.

One thing i've run up against when dealing with fandom and characters making less than ideal choices is that people seem to treat a character's decision being sympathetic, the decision being understandable, the decision being reasonable, and it being objectively the best solution for the situation, as synonymous. When those are 4 very different things.