#she usually powers through and keeps a straight face

[theherothesavior]

Joel Miller x AFAB reader

Warnings: alcohol, slapping (not from Joel), light angst, my shitty writing, not proofread.

Author’s Note: This is the first thing I’ve ever really posted in here for a character so please be kind. Feedback is always appreciated.

Word Count: ~3k

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Three months in Jackson means nothing when your brain is still out there. Out where the ghosts of the past linger as pale memories of a life you never even got the chance to live. No graduating high school, no getting to enjoy college, hell, not even a normal relationship with someone where the worst thing that could happen would most likely have been a shitty break-up and not watching them get eaten by a faceless fungus monster. Every day in Jackson is a reminder of what you’ve lost, or rather, what was taken from you. This illusion of a normal community makes you sick as you walk down to the bar, the only real thing in this fake town that is worth being here.

Passing through the Tipsy Bison to one of the stools against the bar is the highlight of each night at this point. Jack, the surly bartender who’s a spitting image of Willie Nelson, pours you your regular and you thank him, tipping your head back to down it before nodding for another. Around the fourth drink, the familiar smell of campfire and saddle leather settles next to you.

“Rough day?” He grumbles softly, Jack giving him his usual drink as well.

“Not in the mood, Joel.” You huff back, completely uninterested in speaking with your housemate at this moment. He scoffs next to you and your jaw clenches in aggravation. “What?” You ask through clenched teeth.

“Nothin’... just wonderin’ what’s up your ass lately.” He whispers, head turning to face you. “You’ve been like this since we got back here and decided to stay.” You avoid looking at him, continuing to sip your drink, making him sigh and move forward. “Listen, darlin’... I don’t really care if you talk to me or not, but you’re upsetting Ellie. She thinks you’re pissed at her.”

“I’m not,” You answer simply.

“Yeah, I know that but she doesn’t… she even said you came home drunk the other night and said some stuff about wanting to go back out there.” His voice is eerily soft, making you finally look at him. Remorse bubbles up your throat, wishing you could take those words back from her. You swallow it down.

“It’s not because of her. She shouldn’t worry about it.” You finish your drink, a little tipsy at this point, but wave to Jack for another. The next one comes and goes in the blink of an eye, and the next…and the one after that. When you call for your eighth drink, thoroughly drunk at this point, Joel stops you from downing it.

“You’re done, darlin’. Let’s go home.” His tone, still as soft as earlier and it makes my chest ache, the usual rough timber of his voice, lowering to a volume only you can hear. You push the warm feeling of him away, wanting to drown it in the warmth of liquor instead.

“No. Leave me alone.” You say, reaching for the drink. He quickly downs it, keeping one arm on your waist as you lean too far off the stool, practically falling in his lap. “Asshole.” Your voice raises and he immediately rises, towering over you.

“Enough.” His voice, dangerously low as he glares down at you.

“I’m not a child, Joel.” You bite back, but the words slur from your tongue, falling between you two like fluff. “Then stop actin’ like one.” He says sternly, the commanding look on his face shooting straight down your body. Your knees grow weak and you can’t tell if it’s from him or the copious amount of alcohol from this evening.

“Don’t talk to me like that…” your voice barely above a whisper, no real power behind it. You push his hands off your hips and stumble out of the building, boots crunching as they meet the snow. The cold air whips across your cheek as you tilt your head back to face the sky, eyes closed, letting the snowflakes land in your lashes. For a moment, everything’s normal. The world didn’t end. You’re just standing drunk in the snow, enjoying the beauty of life, feeling as weightless and soft as the snow melting against your cheeks.

That doesn’t last long.

“Awe… are you drunk again?” A grating voice pulls you from your thoughts, from your moment of peace. You turn carefully and open your hazy eyes to see Mallory. The terrible woman who lives next door to you, Ellie, and Joel. The same irritating woman who is constantly trying to live in Joel’s pants. Her condescending smirk lingers on her face as you manage to answer, obviously drunk.

“Maybe. But at least I don’t look like you.” It makes no sense, but you’re too gone to care. She scoffs out a laugh. “Yeah, too bad for you, sweetie, ‘cause Joel seems to actually notice me.” You can’t help the giggle that crosses your lips before immediately answering, “Joel thinks you look like a 40-year-old busted Barbie doll.” Your voice, slurred, but the insult doesn’t go unheard by Mallory. “Said…. He said… he thinks all the plastic in your body is what keeps anything from biting you. S’how you survived this long.” You giggle more to yourself but Mallory moves quickly, way too fast for your drunken reflexes, slapping you across the face. You hold your cheek, the cold weather making the sting worse.

“What the hell!?” You exclaim.

“Stupid whore! You don’t get to speak to me that way! You think that just because you have Joel wrapped around your finger and shoved so deep down your throat, you can walk around this town like you can’t be touched. Well… you’ve never been more wrong. He’ll see. He’ll see just what a liar you really are.” With that final threat, she shoves you hard, causing you to fall on your back in the snow. Your drunken mind struggles to catch up to what just happened and how you’re suddenly parallel with the night sky, a searing pain traveling up your spine.

“Shit..shit..shit…” You roll on your back, the cold seeping through your coat reminding you of the large gash you’ve been hiding for a few days now. Mallory laughs at you, bitterly, as you writhe on the ground, unable to get up in your drunken state. Her laughter gets drowned out by the familiar sound of Joel’s voice coming closer.”

“Hey! What the fuck is going on here?” He comes stomping over, glaring at Mallory as she plasters a look of faux concern on her face.

“I don’t know, I think she fell because she’s drunk again. I was coming to help her up and take her home to you.” Her fake sweetness makes your teeth hurt just hearing it as Joel kneels next to you.

“Come on, darlin’.” One arm slips under your shoulders while his other hand holds yours helping you to your feet. “Easy.” He whispers in your ear, his hand sliding down your back making you hiss and recoil in pain, stumbling back at the quick motion and almost falling down. “What? What’s wrong?” His eyes soften as he searches your face, his chest tight with worry as he watches you draw away from him. You mumble something incoherently, and he can’t understand what you’re trying to say. Mallory attempts to say something to him, her words falling on deaf ears as he slowly and carefully brings you back home. “Come on, up to the bathroom.” His voice, sweet but stern in your ear as he helps you upstairs, guiding you to sit on the lid of the toilet.

“I’m gonna take this off, okay?” He tugs at your coat’s zipper with a soft nod, like he’s speaking to a toddler, waiting for you to nod back before actually taking it off. The chunky sound of your coat unzipping, mixed with your drunken breathing is the only sound in the room. Once it’s off, Joel puts your coat to the side before turning back to you. “Okay, I need you to turn around and straddle the seat for me.” His hands tenderly move to your elbows, helping to shift positions so he can get a full view of your back. You sit back down and giggle.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, a slight grin on his face.

“Straddle,” you giggle more. “It’s a funny word.” Joel huffs out a laugh behind you, shaking his head. “Alright, Giggles, I’m gonna lift your shirt to check your back now.”

“You’re not even going to buy me dinner before you undress me, Miller?” You joke and once again he grins when you can’t see, shaking his head. He doesn’t answer while he grabs the hem of your shirt and starts to carefully roll it up your back with his warm hands. Always so warm, even though it’s below 20 degrees out. His whole aura, the color of a diminishing fire. Not as bright as it once was, but still has the potential to burn bright again. Not in the same way, never in the same way, but warm nonetheless.

His hands move your shirt up and you hear his breath catch in his throat. “…sweet girl.” His words, laced with stress and pity as his fingers delicately stroke your bare skin. You shudder from his gentle touch and the cool air hitting your exposed flesh. “When the hell is this from? This doesn’t look new.” He asks, confused.

“S’not… from those raiders a couple of days ago.” You mumble, even in your drunken state you know he’s going to be pissed.

“2 weeks?!” He exclaims, stressed. “You had this for two weeks and it looks barely healed. Have you even been taking care of it? Or are you giving up on that too?” His hand moves and you hiss as your shirt grazes the irritated wound, making you just pull the shirt over your head leaving your top half completely bare.

“What do you mean given up on that too, Joel? What else have I given up on?” You manage to string the sentence together with enough sobriety to get your irritation across.

“Nothing… it means nothing.” His voice, withdrawn as he grabs the first aid kit from under the sink before turning the conversation back toward my back. “Why’d you hide this for two weeks? It looks like it’s a day away from infection.” He mumbles angrily finding an alcohol wipe from the box and running it over the wound making you grip the top of the toilet tank in pain. “Why didn’t you say anything about this?” He asks, a bit of frustration in his voice. You sigh in relief as he stops using the alcohol on your cut flesh, “...because I knew you’d freak out about it. You’d get all Joel about it and make me feel like shit.”

You answer quietly, each pass of bandage and cleaning solution on your skin, sobering you up slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, offended, his hands pausing against your spine.

“It means. Joel, that you tend to overreact over little things.”

“Little things?!” His voice raises, “This is a huge thing!” He yells, making you turn around on the top of the toilet seat to face him. “It’s a big cut, so what? It was fine until Mallory slapped me and shoved me onto the ground! You should be angry at her, not me.” You seethe, the alcohol making your bite not as strong as you want. “I’m angry at the both of you! Mallory is a bitter woman who is obsessed with the idea of me liking her, and I’ll deal with how she treats you tomorrow, but you,” he pauses, lowering his voice as he tries to calm himself down. Though his volume is quieter, his breathing is still heavy as he steadies himself to answer. “...you are a fuckin’ idiot for not telling me about something like that.”

You scoff, “I’m an idiot? You’re an asshole.” You stand up, “You already made me feel like shit about that altercation with those raiders. If I told you about the cut on top of that, you would have started a fight about me not going on patrols anymore.”

He laughs mirthlessly, “Damn right I would have. I didn’t want you going out there when we were out there!” The stress is evident in his voice as he steps closer.

“Okay, I’m drunk, so that makes zero sense.” You answer confused, unable to process his words at the moment. “You just like having control over what I do. You treat me like a child, like I don’t know what’s going on ever and that you’re the only one who gets a say in my life.” Your words are less slurred that earlier, but you’re still nowhere near sober enough to be having this conversation. “You act like you care, but you really don’t. You just want me around because you’re too scared to have your life change in anyway you can’t control. You see me as a burden to take care of, you think I can’t take care of myself and you don’t want me.” Half the things you’re saying aren’t true, you know he’s aware of your ability to protect yourself, but in this moment you just want to yell at him. You just want to make him feel something for you other than the indifference you believe he feels. Something. Anything that means he cares in the way you want him to, the way you’re too scared to admit to even yourself, let alone him.

His jaw clenches, suddenly aware of the state you’re in as you stand in front of him. His eyes drift to your completely exposes top half, lingering on your breasts for a moment before moving back up to your eyes, schooling his features. “Darlin’... if you believe all that, then you really are an idiot.” He says flatly, internally trying to calm the inner turmoil brewing within him. He wants to tell you everything. He wants to admit why he worries, why he’s so protective, why he gets aggravated when you don’t listen to him wanting to keep you safe. “Put your shirt on and go to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” His voice leaves no room for argument, but you try anyway.

“There you go again! Telling me what to do, when I don’t want you to.” You turn, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head. “There’s only one reason I’d let you tell me what to do, but you don’t want that.” You mumble to yoursel, bitterly, not expecting him to hear all of what you said. When you turn, he’s stalking toward you, backing you up against the wall, his hand reaching to your waist to stop you right before your wounded spine hits the hard surface. He looks down, inches from your face, eyes almost black.

“You don’t tell me what I want. You don’t know what I do or don’t want.” His voice, at a dangerous level, his breath hot on your neck as he moves to whisper in your ear. “Now, you’re gonna be a good girl, go to bed, and we’ll talk about all of this in the morning.” You gasp at his firmness but you still go to protest. He leaves you no room for argument. “No. No arguments. All I want to hear is ‘Yes, Joel.’ and then go to bed.” He drops his gaze, looking at you to make sure you’re understanding him while waiting for your reply.

“Yes, Joel…” You answer with a small voice. He nods and moves to the side to let you pass by and exit the bathroom. You move slowly to your bedroom, still drunk and even more confused as you drop to your bed with a heavy sigh. As soon as your head hits your pillow, you’re out.

The stabbing pain in your head reminds you of the overconsumption of liquor you had the night beforehand. With your face smushed against your pillow, your fingers tighten around the sheets as the room spins around you. With a groan, your attempt to sit up is over powered by the drastic shift of your insides, a tidal wave of nausea filling up your stomach, weighing you down like a flood filling a once empty pool. As you manage to shift onto your back, the memories of last night play in your mind. Each moment more vivid than the last as they project themselves onto the ceiling above you.

“Fuck…” You mumble to yourself, the heels of your palms pushing against your eyes like a reset button you so desperately need to work, but knowing it won’t. After another five minutes of staring at the ceiling, you manage to sit up, closing your eyes until you gain your equilibrium once again. With an awkward stretch, a sharp pain shoots across your back, making you yelp like a wounded puppy, and ignore the nausea as you shoot out of bed and rush to the mirror attached to the back of your door. You twist your torso with a hiss, attempting to lift your shirt at the same time to see what’s causing the burning sensation on your back.

When you manage to lift the well-worn fabric, you’re met with a giant piece of gauze on your skin, stretching over your spine. With the sight, more of the night comes rushing back to you. You let your head fall back, eyes closed in regret and frustration before looking back into the mirror. Something on the nightstand catches your attention, a scrap of paper. Crossing the room, your chest tightens when you read the words.

We need to talk -Joel.

[warningsine]

(x)

[saduko]

HARD TO MISS

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader 7.9K words

Summary: You had driven sick many times before, but never sick enough to retire from a race. Now Lando was worried about you and how the media was going to react. But maybe this was just about the best thing that could of happened to him. Or in which, reader gets sick during the Spanish GP race and has to face the looming media presence after retiring early with a newfound anger she's never experienced. She was a mess of emotions, acting so different, or maybe it wasn't just her being strange.

Teammates, established relationship, an unexpected surprise?? Note: this unfortunately is a re-upload because my dumbass literally deleted the post the first time I posted it despite it being up for days. Yes I'm mad, and no this isn't edited because of it.

The heat of the Spanish sun beat down on the track, the asphalt shimmering with a relentless intensity that seemed to seep through the cockpit. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your focus on the race ahead, hot, fast breaths heaving through your helmet like a symphony. The familiar roar of the engine, usually a comforting sound, felt more like a distant hum as yet another wave of nausea rolled through you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d raced under less-than-ideal conditions, but today felt different. The adrenaline that usually sharpened your senses now seemed to amplify the queasiness in your stomach, every bump and turn on the track making it harder to push the discomfort aside. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising bile as you powered through another corner, the car responding to your every command despite the growing turmoil within.

The twisting and turning of the track seemed endless, each lap blurring into the next as your vision narrowed, tunnel-like, around the path ahead. You knew you needed to speak up, to let your team know something was wrong, but the words felt heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the fear of admitting weakness. Finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"I'm not feeling very well."

The twisting and turning of the track was making it hard for you to settle your stomach enough to find your voice, but when you had, there was a long silence on the other end. Ears alert with anticipation as nothing came through, before the thick accent of your engineer, Marlow finally sounded in with a panicked voice, "Are you feeling faint?"

"Not really.” You huffed. “I feel quite nauseous though. My stomach is not cooperating."

There was a short silence through your head piece before a shuffle was heard on the other side, followed by a concerned, "Should we retire the car?"

The suggestion shakes you and a quick puff of air leaves your mouth in order to hopefully settle the turning in your stomach, though you think it might have translated more as annoyance to your team despite the intention. You couldn't help but hope it hadn't come off too harshly, however the forceful tone of your next words certainly didn’t do much to calm the idea. "No! I'm not retiring the car... No, I'm okay."

"Please love, If you can't finish there's no shame in retiring. You're not letting anyone down, we understand-!" He knew how stubborn you were and he really didn't want the question to feel like the hit to the ego he knew you would take it as, but it was hard when everyone knew this race was what was separating you from top 3 and the rest in the championship. They knew it wouldn't be that easy, quickly corroborated by the frustrated grunt you let sound through the line.

Your foot braces against the accelerator, bearing down full force as you take the straight right after corner 4 at full speed, you weren't retiring. Subjective to your own harsh perception of yourself, retiring - no matter the circumstance - was one of the most culpable failures you could commit. It was never a rewarding feeling, and whether or not to retire from a race like this was an indisputable no. Six years into the sport and you had never retired from a race on your own accord. Today would not be the first.

"I'm okay for now."

There was no arguing with a driver going over 300 kilometers an hour, and so the team let your decision chart as they sat back and kept on with their roles, no different than before. Except for one thing, noting the conversation, they all made undisclosed motions to keep an extra close eye on the driver cam.

And so the race continued as 10 laps went by, 10 very shaky laps with countless immoderate wobbles, a few oversteers around a couple corners and a very close call with Carlos who made quick work of letting the communal radio know how exactly he felt about that, words that were quickly relayed to you. Though his accent was warm, his words were anything but kind and usually you would have taken it on the chin, laughed at his profanities and apologized with a quick witty comment to follow, but your team watched as you only let out a harrowing breath and shook your head. You obviously were not on your A-game and your entire team could see that.

So with all this, it came as no surprise when the silence in their headphones was abruptly interrupted with the blaring sound of your wheels against the track, followed by your voice, quick yet strained, echoing through the radio.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, guys."

With not a moment to spare, Marlows eyebrows furrowed down at your words, worry clear in his voice as he pressed down on the radio button. And though his words were mostly phrased as a question emphasizing the choice as your own, it was still hard to miss the pleading tone in his voice as he spoke loudly into the headpiece, "Are we retiring? It’s your call, love."

Your end of the radio was silent as the words rang through your headset, though not for lack of connection as the sound of your wheels barrelling against the tar never ceased. They knew you were still there, just not vocalizing your thoughts. They had no doubt this was a tough decision. A huge part of this sport was pride; pride in your team, pride in your car, pride in your abilities. And being the only woman on the grid meant your pride was strong and the backlash was inevitably more harsh when things went wrong. 

It was already hard enough for a driver to admit they needed to back out of a race, let alone for a driver who had something to prove and everything to lose. It was a decision they knew you were avoiding complying with. You had been complaining about feeling ill for days leading up to the race and yet insisted on racing regardless. They knew this was important to you, and to back out now, after making it so far already? Your heart was strong, and your head stronger. But for this one time, it seems your stomach was the strongest, and your nausea was taking the reins of this particular race. And so you bit your lip, hoping to keep the bile from rising for just a little while longer. “I need to stop. I’m retiring the car. I can't help it.”

As disappointing as ending a race early was, your team couldn’t deny the shred of relief that washed over them as you, for once, chose your health first. As fun as racing was, and as rewarding as a race in points felt, none of it was ever worth the increased risk to your safety. They would much rather you all woozy up in the medic bay with a DNF, than halfway to unconsciousness with a p8 finish. This certainly wasn’t your best race anyways, probably one the lowest you’d been in points this season. 

As you began your way around your last lap towards the pit lane, your mind raced with all the dreadful thoughts a DNF brought, the pit in your stomach rearing into a sizeable hole which would of left you feeling melancholy if the twisting and turning hadn’t trumped the discontent. 

As each second passed, you could feel whatever it was you had eaten for lunch earlier with Lando rising higher and higher. High enough in fact, that you found it necessary to press the radio button once more with a request. “Have a bag ready for me when I pull up, please.”

To which a compliant, “Copy.” sounded suit.

It wasn’t too much longer until your orange car could be seen sweeping down the pit lane, no hesitation in your steering as you made a harsh turn into your spot by the garage door. The pit team were prepared to make haste in their actions, ready to prop your car onto the jack in order to wheel it into the garage only to be stopped when two quick hands extended up as you braced yourself up against the halo and pulled yourself out of the seat.

At this point, you were hyper aware of the all the people surrounding you, as well as the multitude of cameras pointing directly at you, recording your every move for all the judgeful eyes to see, and yet you found not a single cell in yourself which cared as you leaned over the car and called out for your assistant, who quickly met you with a large black bin in tow. 

You quickly grabbed for it, pulling your front over the side of the car as far as you could in order to hide yourself from the view of the cameras. And out it came, a slurry of lunch which you had been so looking forward to at the time, and quickly regretting now as it all escaped your stomach.

What in the world had you feeling so ill in the first place? It felt like it had been lightyears since you had felt sick enough to actually puke, and god did you not miss this feeling. Had you eaten something bad earlier in the day? Maybe. But everything you ate Lando had eaten too, so wouldn’t he be sick as well? Well, it’s not really like you could ask him, you thought as you looked up just in time to see him overtake George on the big screen. He looks a little busy. And you should be busy too.

The thought seared through your mind as you spat into the bin, you should be racing too, but at least you feel a little better now that it’s come out; though not completely. Your stomach still churned a little and now your throat burned but you guessed it was better than crashing. You had already nearly done that just by being on the track a little too long and now you were definitely going to receive an earful from Sainz when he finally crossed the checkered flag and found you inevitably moping. 

However, you quickly realized that Carlos was actually the least of your worries and the only person you really had to fear was Lando, for when he heard about the outcome of your race, you were sure to face the lecture of your life. He had been warning you for days leading up to it not to participate. You were obviously unwell and he was aware of the dangers an unwell driver faced under the taxing conditions of a race but you were stubborn, insisting you would be fine. Look at you now. Head in a bin with cameras all around and a bruised ego. 

There was only a little time now until the race ended to recover before everyone came pummeling at you with questions. 

The wheel was starting to feel heavy in his hands and the rubbing of the HANS device against his neck was really starting to hurt. They were approaching the end stretch of the race and as the last 15 laps commenced, Lando couldn’t help but feel a little relieved knowing this would be over soon. This was undoubtedly a tough race. 

From lights out till now, he’d managed to pull from P5 to P4 and had every intention of passing Lewis for a podium position, soon enough he’d be in DRS range but for the time being, he was focused on catching up. The world around him had become mute, he hadn’t even looked up at the grand screen once, all he knew was the car.

So he had almost jumped in his seat when the chime sounded. Just as he began slowing around the final corner leading up to the line for his next lap, the sound of an incoming radio signal had his ears perking in anticipation. Were they planning on pitting him again? Sure he was definitely pushing a little too hard against his tires- not really doing his best at conserving them but he was so close to a podium position and he just needed a little bit more force-

“Lando mate,” Will’s voice sounded through his ears, his tone a little hesitant which left Lando biting his lip with anticipation. Please don't box. “I’ve just been informed by Marlow that y/n has retired.”

Lando's heart nearly fell into his stomach as the words registered in his brain. You retired?! Now thinking about it, you did start only a single position behind him and he hadn’t really seen all that much of you during the race. What happened? “Did she crash?!”

“No Lando, she's okay, it was voluntary. She wasn’t feeling well, I don’t think.” 

“You don’t think?”

“She’s okay Lando, just under the weather.”

Not feeling well? Under the weather? You’d raced a multitude of times before whilst under the weather. Each time he’d advise you not to race, and each time you’d ignore him, swearing up and down you’d be fine- and to Lando’s consolation each time you were fine. You’d come out the other side with a smile, no qualms or grievances and you would save your complaints for him afterwards, when no one else was around to judge. As you had done before, he expected the same this time. You’d never let a little ailment set you back, especially not let it affect you enough to retire. Not unless it really was bad.

Lando’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Will’s voice once more, his tone dismissive, implying the conversation had reached its end and no more discussion would be had about it. “We will contact you again if anything happens.”

And despite Lando’s dismay, he complies. There were still a good 15 laps left of the race ahead and he had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of competitive driving to be had. His focus couldn’t be elsewhere, but what was he supposed to do knowing his sick fiancé has just pulled herself out of a race? What was he supposed to do when he knew you well enough to understand how prideful you could be, and how poor you had to feel to choose to retire?  

He really tries to not let it bother him. During the next lap, he tries to not let it bother him as he forces himself to look anywhere else but the jumbo screen in hopes of a possible update on your condition. He tries to not let it bother him in the lap after that as the team radios in to discuss possible strategies regarding the oncoming overtake he will perform, and he tries to not let it bother him during the lap after that one when he finally passes Lewis. Now 3 laps have passed but he just can't get the questions about you off his mind. It is bothering him. He shouldn’t be distracted, especially while he’s in a podium position but he can’t help it. 

So as he crosses onto the next straight, he finds himself radioing in with the question that had been eating away at him since the news broke. “Uh.. Any updates on y/n? Is she alright?”

There's a considerable moment of silence on Mclaren’s end of the line, the team were honestly tied on what to tell the man and what not to. You weren’t exactly in optimal condition, and word around was slightly worrisome regarding your state. You were okay, but definitely not well, they knew because they had caught the treacherous sounds of your gags a few more times since the first echoing through the mclaren garage. 

As your fiance, he deserved to know these details, but as a driver, they knew it wasn’t smart to worry him. What were they to say as to not stress him out in an already extremely stressful situation? They could tell him a few of your team members were discussing taking you to the hospital. Or they could keep him from driving the car through the wall in order to meet you there. The decision was clear, they needed him to focus on driving. “She’s okay, she's currently being looked at by the medical team.”

“She has the medical team on her?!” Will’s eyes shut hard as Lando’s reply came through. Definitely not the right choice of words.

“Just a precaution Lando, she isn’t well at the moment.”

Lando’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he ponders his engineer's words. He finds himself over analyzing every syllable, every infliction with intentions of unpacking whatever truth was seeping between the lines, and he notices that he’s biting his cheek as he rounds the 8th corner with a little less precision than usual. “Is she bad?”

Landos team take quick note of this change in pace, latching onto the clear oversteer he performs around the corner. They quickly find themselves trying to pull away from the topic in order to keep him both figuratively and literally on track and so Will concludes the conversation with a stern tone. “Please Lando, you can see her when you're done racing. We need you to focus on the race.”

He almost wanted to curse the man out purely due to frustration despite knowing deep down that he was right. But what else was he supposed to do when he knows his fiancé is sitting in the medic bay and all he can do to support her is… well, nothing. He just has to finish this race.

Despite your protests, your team was adamant on a visit to the med bay in order to possibly come up with a reason for your sudden onset of race ending symptoms, and after a quick trip down the hall that took a little longer than usual due to your need to stop once more, you were simply told there wasn’t much they could do long term to crack the bilous case. Shocker. They did however hand you something to ease the nausea which you were beyond thankful for.

You had spent so long counting down the seconds until the anti-nausea medication kicked in that you hadn't even noticed that the race had ended, nor did you notice the approaching sound of hasteful footsteps until the door to your driver's room came barrelling open with a thud.

“I told you not to race.” Lando’s voice was so stern it had you stiff. There was a slight indication of anger lingering behind his words but ultimately his face was a dead giveaway to the worried intention etched behind his tone. 

“I thought I’d be okay.”

“You threw up?” His eyebrows came down as he said it, and you noticed it was less of a question and more as if he was trying to confirm a suspicion. Someone from your team must have snitched on you already. No damn loyalties.

“Only a little.” Your words were sheepish.

“You stink.” He deadpanned and you found yourself scoffing, slightly exasperated at the bluntness of his words. The statement had you petty with offense. 

“You don’t smell very good either-”

“-I don’t smell like vomit.”

Finally you let out a sigh, already tired of the back and forth over something so menial, and unworthy of an argument. You were sick. Shit happens. “Lando, I wasn’t feeling well and I’d been feeling it all week with no real problem so I didn’t think there would be a reason to sit this race out. I didn’t think I would actually need to pull over. It’s done now.”

There was a loud silence between the two of you as he onced over your body with intentful eyes. You seemed okay enough and he guessed this really wasn’t the time or place to start an argument, especially over something as stupid as him being worried about you, you were on the same damn side. So instead he just sighed, bit his lip and nodded at you. “Alright.”

“Guys.” Charlotte suddenly peaked her head through the cracked door to glance at you both. “Come on, we need you at Media now.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, that you knew. The media had given you a hard time for things way less than this so you could only imagine what they had in store for you after throwing up on live TV for half the world to see moments after a voluntary DNF. It just about felt like you were being led to your execution with the way you knew they were about to tear into you. But there was no avoiding this, and the grimaced look etched into your features left Lando very aware of this fact.

“I know you don’t wanna do this but you have to go out there, you’ve got no choice. Not unless you’re willing to cop a fat fine.”

You stuck an eyebrow up at Landos voice, the sides of your lips extending out as you conceptualized his words but your expression quickly had him shaking his head alongside a hearty laugh. “No, no. Don’t even look like you’re considering it.”

Your laugh to match his own soon sounded throughout the room, and his hand swiftly found its place at the nape of your neck, to which he gave a quick squeeze and began leading you out the door into the McLaren garage hallway. “We have a wedding to plan and that means a lot of money to spend. You will not be wasting money trying to get out of media duties.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at how exasperated and sarcastic he sounded.

You both found yourselves trailing along Charlotte's path until the hallway quickly opened up into a large room where a few other drivers had already begun their own separate interviews towards the camera crews which littered every corner. The media pen; may as well be your death site.

Whilst waiting for the race to end; and for the nausea to subside, Charlotte had given you a rundown - more like a lecture; regarding what to expect and how to approach the inevitably condescending questions that would soon be thrown your way. 

This was going to be brutal, you knew that. You had finally made a mistake that the male media could exploit to reinforce their stereotypes about damned women in motorsports. Just another day facing the misogyny of the position, except this time, it was your own carelessness that put you in this position. The only damned thing you’d be was a damned liar if you said the upcoming articles tearing into you weren’t already gnawing at your mind. You could just picture it;

‘’Mclaren Princess’ Just Might Throw Her Way Up and Out of Competitive Driving,’

‘Speed Queen’s Weak Stomach Shows Why She’s Better Suited for Other Races,’

‘Too Glamorous For The F1 Track? or Maybe Not Glamorous Enough; - maybe we should leave the fast cars to the men that made them.’ 

This might just be worse than the ‘Revving Engines, not Emotions,’ article from last year when you teared up in Australia after what was the most frustrating race of your career. This was going to be horrible. 

Your actions were always hyper-criticized, but maybe just once you were being too imaginative for your own good. You needed to calm down because words tended to stick with you. A fact that Charlotte knew all too well, because she was sure to speak words she knew would ring through your ears during those interviews; Take it on the chin, stay composed and certainly don't be snappy. One of those was doable.

The moment you passed the threshold beyond the doorway, officially crossing into the media pen, it's as if every set of eyes and every lens of a camera had turned to watch you move. The room hadn’t by any means gone quiet, but there was definitely a shift in volume as the noise settled from a near unbearable buzz to a tolerable chatter, just enough to notice the change. The influx of attention almost had you doubling over once again, especially when you felt the nausea begin to slowly creep up for the second time that day. But you made notable efforts to keep your head high, hoping that a strong demeanor would at least soften the blow which would soon be dealt.

Lando’s arm had split from your neck not long after entering the room. You guys were always light on your PDA, trying to keep as much of your personal relationship as private as possible; as private as an already public relationship could possibly be. But he still managed to give you a small, reassuring squeeze on the hip before you both set off, being led in opposite directions.

A flurry of reporter eyes seemed to trail your path as your personal PR manager led you to a spot right in between Carlos and Charles, and as you started setting yourself up, you unavoidably overheard their journalists trying to wrap up their interviews, which you could only imagine would be to get a shot at you faster. 

However unluckily for those journalists, it seems your first adversary had already taken the stand just directly across from you with a large, heavy mic and aged, gleaming eyes; eyes that had your own widening in alarm. You were quite familiar with this journalist, very familiar with him actually as he had always been quick to criticize you and your skills on many occasions in the past. He was quite ill-mannered towards you, definitely holding a target out with a gun aimed directly for your career, making it clear he was disapproving of your presence as a woman on this grid. You just knew he had been waiting for you. This was going to be hell.

The journalist quickly began setting himself up, the cameraman behind him pointing the lens directly at your sour face, which you admittedly were not doing a great job at masking. Though, if your interviewer had noticed, he thankfully hadn’t commented on it. However that didn’t stop him from wasting any time beginning to comment on the other mistakes you had made today.

“Always a pleasure to speak with you, Speed Queen.” His gravelly voice spat. “Though I think ‘Pit Princess’ may be a little more fitting after today's race.” A sly smirk quickly spread across his mouth, an act that had your hands bracing against the railing separating the two of you from one another. Charles had quickly taken notice of this from his position just beside you. He admittedly felt he was doing quite well at remaining professional and ignoring the exchange between you and the infamous journalist, but now he was on high alert, ears perked in your direction with the intention of intervening at any given moment.

Despite your peeved sentiment, you did well at keeping your face straight and head high at the insult, feeling it necessary to not crack in front of the person trying to get a reaction out of you. Don’t prove his point. 

“I appreciate the creativity, but I think I would prefer to focus on the race itself rather than nicknames. I’m quite happy with the one I have.” There was a moment in which he tried to intervene, however you were determined to move past the subject. “-And, you know, today’s challenges were significant, but that’s a part of the sport, I guess.” Despite the lingering nausea, you still managed to force a professional smile.

“Is it?” He curled an eyebrow condescendingly, a look which nearly had a scowl slipping past your placid facade. But instead you held strong, that sickeningly sweet smile dripping like honey with disdain. “Part of the sport is the unpredictability of it. So I’d say so.”

The man's eyes gleamed on, a small hum escaping his lips as he nodded absently. “It’s just that no other driver seems to have this issue. Do you think maybe your choice to retire has to do with particular limitations a female might have that the men in this sport don’t?”

And as expected, the indirectness wasn’t so indirect anymore, the true misogynistic intentions of his words slowly crept out with ferocity. 

“No.” Your tone was final, like it hadn’t ever crossed your mind, because it really hadn’t. “No I really don’t. Many men before me have gotten sick during races, I guess I just preferred to voluntarily take myself out of the race than spend the rest of it wiping pesto off my visor.” You snarled. 

A small tap against your arm quickly alerted you to the contention of your PR manager, a disapproving gesture silently advising you to reel it in. But god was it hard when his face was so smug. She should understand that being passive aggressive was much more admissible than being violent, so she may as well let you get your anger out in the socially acceptable way, though you admit it was strange of you to feel so angry. You were usually better at keeping your emotions in check. Hm. But alas, you complied, correcting your face and letting him speak; even if you wanted so badly to interrupt him with your thoughts of how horrible a journalist he was. 

“Well, I think a lot of people agree when I say that this sport tends to reward determination and resilience, not quitting.”

Were you hearing this correctly? Was he really implying that you should have thrown up right into your helmet and just continued through the race like nothing? It was getting really hard to remain socially acceptable. What was this new found anger? “Racing may sometimes reward resilience, however, being sharp minded is more important sometimes. I noticed I was unwell enough for it to affect my performance, so I decided it was smarter to take myself out of the race. Especially after nearly taking Carlos out of the race too.” 

Just as you finished answering the (absurd) question, a suave laugh sounded to your left as Carlos suddenly stepped up beside you, sliding his arm across your shoulder. “I did have some choice words prepared for you earlier Mija, but then I learnt what happened and now I forgive you.” His eyes suddenly turned to the journalist, a glint of exaggerated pity in relation to the topic seeping into his expression, almost as if he was speaking with experience to someone who wouldn’t understand; because he was. “Driving whilst sick is not for the weak.”

The journalist's cold eyes squinted slightly as Carlos’ condescending tone registered in his head, yet he kept his expression neutral and mic high as he nodded. “I’m sure it isn’t.” And nothing was said after that. No rebuttal, no argumentative comment, just a plea of agreement. God, how you wished interviews were that easy for you.

A few voices echoing out from somewhere behind had caught the attention of the trio, and it didn’t take long for you to realize it was Carlos’ team instructing him to move onwards to his next position. So with a reassuring smile towards you and a quick quirk of a brow towards the reporter, he was off to his next interview without another word, taking your fleeting moment of security along with him as he left.

Now it was just you and the reporter once more, and you could tell he wasn’t feeling as cordial with you as he was with Carlos, evident by the slight snarl that had crept onto his face by the interruption in your defense. “Friendly words from Sainz there, as always.” he began, his tone dripping with insincerity, “Do you find it degrading that other drivers always have to come to your defense in order to keep your positive reputation, because there are a lot of people that believe you perhaps, ride off the success of others.” 

Your stomach twisted, and if it was from the nausea growing once again or from the sheer audacity of his words, you couldn’t tell. He was essentially implying that the only reason people liked you was because other likable people vouched for you, and not because of your own hard work and valiant achievements. It seems he wanted defense, you were about to show him just how defensive you could be. 

“With all due respect,” you began, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “I don’t defend myself because I don’t have to, because the genuinity of my character extends far past my words.” you paused, thinking about your next words carefully. “My peers defend me because I’ve proven my capabilities time and time again, and they know that one incident doesn’t define my career. However, I don’t think you share the same sentiment, hm?” 

The taunting in your voice was quickly caught on by your PR manager who swiftly grabbed your arm in yet another warning, except this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as much. The journalist's eyes narrowed at your words, clearly not expecting such a discourteous response and the tugging of your PR manager's grip against your arm was an obvious nonverbal message to wrap it up but you weren't finished, oh no. That new found anger that had been gnawing at you all race was just beginning to trickle out.

“‘Riding off the success of others.’” Your quoted, voice riddled with humor, “And yet you somehow manage to find me every post race interview. Do you write these question’s down in your little notebook while you watch my multi-race winning car fly past you? Or do you wipe the dust from the camera lens instead?”

He quickly opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, your PR manager intervened, her grip on your arm tightening slightly as she stepped forward. “This interview is over,” she announced firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “McLaren will be utalizing the next few days to help Y/n recover for next week's race. If you have any further questions, you can direct them to our media office.”

Your eyes widened in shock at the intervention. You had overstepped your media training a few times before and yet none had ever led to the end of the interview. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised at your PR manager's swift movements as she tugged you back and away from the journalist. “Let’s move on.” Her voice was disapproving but she was obviously trying to remain calm and professional, understanding there was a job to be done. But your anger wasn’t discriminatory, everyone was a potential outlet, and you weren’t having this. “No, I’m finished.” You didn’t even want to participate in media in the first place, this was obligatory. You had done your part and now you were taking charge of the rest of your night. And so you pulled your arm back and made quick haste towards the exit, leading back to your driver room. 

You were only a few meters from the door now, acutely aware of all the eyes watching you retire early from yet another obligation today, when a hand grazing the small of your back pulled you away from the tormenting feeling of the bile rising once again. This time, it was Charles, his sweet face beaming a reassuring smile at you as he began walking in stride towards the exit alongside you. “Mon cheri, that was something else.” 

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, nausea bubbling once again, expecting yet another lecture from someone else. “If by ‘something else’ you mean a complete disaster, then yeah, I guess.”

Charles kept his tone steady, a touch of amusement in his voice as you both walked in stride. “No, I mean you handled it with a lot of, uhh.. What is the English? Poise.” 

You gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks, but it didn’t feel like handling things with poise, It felt like I was about to lose it.” 

His smile slipped into a small laugh before it fell,  and his bright eyes quickly turned into one’s of worry as he began a once over of your body. “Are you feeling okay?” he began the inevitable conversation. “I’m okay, it’ll pass I'm sure.”

Charles’ brows furrowed down, thick accent sounding with worry as he spoke. “You shouldn’t count on it passing, you should take care of yourself. You’re only gonna have more shit thrown at you if you don’t-”

As sweet as his concern was, you were tired of this conversation today, it was becoming tedious to hear and you really just needed to lie down or something. “-Charles, I really appreciate it and I'll be sure to visit the doctor tomorrow, but I think I’m gonna be sick again, so how about you cover me up to the hallway before I end up in another fight with a reporter, or my head in another bin on TV.”

Your words had Charles’s eyes widening, quickly glancing around from side to side in search of his target who was finishing up from an interview of his own, when your hand came up to press against your mouth, skin turning a tinge green. “Lando!”

The video shook a little as the person on the other end fidgeted with the camera, a slight blur shifting the image and the audio cracking with the movement before the frame finally straightened up. The person took a step back. It was you, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the video had been uploaded onto your own instagram, but it was the first anyone had really heard of you in weeks. 

Ever since your race ending ailment back in Spain, you had essentially gone radio silent. Not posting, not participating in interviews; you had missed 2 more races since then. It was worrisome, especially considering you had assured everyone the day after Spain that you were working on getting better for next week's race, which you never showed up to. 

The races went on and the fans asked about you, the interviewers asked about you too, but it seemed everyone involved in the FIA had no comment on your whereabouts nor your condition. The drivers dodged post interview questions, excelling on to new subjects and only had quick fleeting comments in response to concerned fans around the paddock who were only trying to make sense of it all.

Lando copped the brunt end of it though, scoring a P2 podium in Canada that everyone could more obviously care less about in his post-race interviews. The only topic mentioned was you, your absence from the race and why everyone was so hush-hush about it in the first place. The interviews were so off topic that this time it was Lando who had to leave the media pen early to avoid the questions, though opposingly, McLaren had been the ones to encourage his swift exit.

It was starting to become an issue. People were fretful. Were you still sick? Was it something more serious than you had anticipated and now you couldn’t race anymore?

The view they were looking at suggested that perhaps they were about to find out. 

You retreated away from the camera propped up against what people could only speculate had to be your dressing table, as you found your spot upon the large, luxurious bed the camera was pointing towards. Now cross legged upon it, your body clad in a 2 piece short silky pajama set, finally you began to speak. 

“Hello everyone.” You didn’t sound unwell, not stressed or upset. In fact, there was an edge to your voice that almost seemed cheerful; excited. And yet for now you remained composed, nothing but a small, media trained smile dawning your otherwise expressionless face.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence was humorous, calling attention to the silence you had afflicted, and the lack of news upon your whereabouts. “Lando and I are finally home in Monaco for summer break, though I have to admit that I’ve actually been in Monaco for a few weeks now. I think some of you might feel that was a bit obvious given my absence.”

There was a high pitched chuckle off screen, it obviously being Lando out of frame as your eyes flickered over to the side with a playful yet mischievous smile, encouraging his reaction with your expression. It was a fleeting moment as your smile once again fell into something a little more vacant before straightening up and continuing. “I know a lot of people have questions, and I do want to apologize for the lack of communication on my end, I’ll explain, I promise but first I also want to say please don’t be mad at any of the other drivers for not speaking out, they were all just respecting my wishes in not saying anything until I was ready.”

There was a small pause as you took a breath, no sound emitting except for the slight breeze wafting through the room, further exemplified by the sway of the sheer curtains. This was so nerve racking, were you about to announce your departure from motorsport? Were you about to reveal a sickness you weren't aware of until now? The silence, though short lived, was deafening. 

“I-” Finally you spoke, but quickly caught it with a bite to your lower lip. It really seemed like you were processing your words, debating how to present your next statement carefully enough. “How do I-?”

Once again your gaze drifted off to the side of the screen, confused and cautious eyes quickly averting into a bright smile before a laugh escaped your mouth. “Don’t look so excited!” 

Lando, obviously beaming, clear by the tone of his voice, cheerfully yelled back, “Do you want me to say it?!”

“No!” you rebutted quickly with a laugh, “I told you I wanted to be the one to announce it, stop trying to take my shine!”

“Then go on with it!” He was so obviously really excited, impatient to finally announce whatever it was that had him so elevated.

“Okay well-” You stuttered for a moment, quickly catching yourself before continuing. “As many of you saw in Spain, I wasn’t feeling too well,-”

“-Hard to miss-.” Landos voice mumbled, a comment in which you swiftly ignored.  

“-And I hadn’t been for a few days leading up to it but I just took it as a stomach bug and planned to go on with it like usual. What I didn’t plan for however, was the doctor's visit I was forced to go to the day after.”

Your eyes glared off to the side once again, feigning annoyance but evidently not actually upset before looking back at the camera with a smile. “The good news is that we are very much aware of what was making me sick.” Your voice was reassuring, eyes slowly beginning to light up as you continued on. “The bad news is that I unfortunately will not be participating in the rest of the 2024 season, or the 2025 one for that matter.”

It was like you could feel the impending shock of everyone watching radiating through the screen despite it being pre recorded because your pause was almost comically dramatic. And yet it was so wholly conflicting, because regardless of the awful news, you didn’t really seem all that upset despite being such a passionate racer, it felt so out of character. This confusion was only exemplified further when your eyes once again drifted to the left, a large smile engulfing your features as you took notice of what had to be Lando's excited expression once more. “Oh don’t look so happy, you’re the one who still gets to race!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughed that high pitched laugh he does when he just can’t hold it back.

Your eyes flickered back to the camera, sitting straight on with a patient yet humorous smile, a single eyebrow cocked as you waited for Landos laughter to simmer. It took a moment, a moment you thought ended a time or two before he began again, but eventually the room became still again as your face grew just a little more in adoration towards the man everyone could see you loved dearly. It was like the energy had shifted just a little, from what felt so playful before, to something a little more familial and warm. 

“I think some of you may have put the pieces together, but for those who haven’t. Well… I’m pregnant!” Your smile was so big and sheepish, so conscious and just a little shy, it almost felt as if you were announcing it to a friend of many years and it was all just so heartwarming. You were okay! More than that, you were happy, and soon everyone else who would watch this video would be too. Lando's happy laugh from beyond the camera at the announcement finally being made was more than enough to express just how joyous the news was for the two of you.

“As heartbreaking as it will be to not be able to competitively race in the upcoming seasons, I’m not actually that sad about having to step down for a little.” You laughed heartily. “I proudly announce that in my place, the very talented Australian driver Oscar Piastri will be filling my position until I'm off from… maternity leave? I guess. That's a first for this sport.”  You laughed.  “But of course they just had to find the best to replace the best.” You quickly glanced over towards Lando out of frame, clearly expecting an agreement that never came. They could only imagine the disapproving look Lando was sending you.

Your expression never changed, but your tone dropped as you spoke darkly. “I’m carrying your child.” You spat, to which a loud “But of course!” sounded in response, followed by a laugh from the both of you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me around the track a lot considering this muppet,” you pointed to your left, “still gets to race.”

“Don’t be jealous,” the soft voice came from off screen. 

“No, I’ll confidently admit it, I’m so jealous.” You pouted, but the warmth in your eyes belied the playful tone in your voice.

Lando’s hand appeared in the frame for a brief moment, gently squeezing your shoulder before disappearing off-camera again. “We’ll be back out there together soon enough.”

You nodded, your smile returning as you glanced back at the camera, feeling a surge of excitement for what was to come. “In the meantime, I’m looking forward to supporting the team from a different angle. It’s going to be a new experience, but I’m excited to do this as…”

“-As a mother?” Lando finished with a knowing smirk.

“As a mother.” You laughed, a loud one from Lando soon sounded to match your own, one so joyous it left you beaming. Suddenly, Lando jolted in frame, clearly excited as he leaned over the bed to tackle you from your sitting position down into a hug, leaving you both falling back onto the sheets. “Oh my god Lando!” You shout, a hand quickly moving to shield your lower stomach. “God! Nevermind guys, I think Lando just tackled the baby out of me, guess I’ll be seeing you all from my McLaren in Austria.”

“Oh!” Lando gasped. “Not funny!” 

[ivohex]

Hello! Hope you're having a good day ☺️🌸

I have a tiny fluffy request if that's alright... What if MC/reader wears a super fluffy oversized hoodie which makes her look super fluffy and cozy (especially when she puts on the hood) and the lnds boys take one look at her and just wants to glomp her in a bear hug? How do they deal with the cuteness aggression?

Cute Aggression || LaDS

Tara gifts you an extremely oversized hoodie. Your boyfriend finds it... cute. Unbearably cute.

Make sure to reblog and tell me who is ur favorite in the tags 🤭🤭

Pairings: Xavier/reader, Zayne/reader, Rafayel/reader, Sylus/reader (separate)

Rating: G-T (slightly suggestive, blame Sylus)

Tags: gender neutral reader, FLUFFFFF, established relationship, maybe ooc for sylus?? i did my best, cute AGGRESSION from raf, xav being sly, zayne being a nerd (thanks wikipedia), me fighting for my life to write hoodie and not hoddie omg

A/N: tysm for this prompt, I giggled while writing these (esp Raf's and Xav's.) I hardly ever write fluff so this was fun for me. Hope you like them!!! <3

Tara got the hoodie for you as a present. The Hoodie, as she formally dubbed it, claimed a mysterious power: one which made the wearer irresistible. The Hoodie had grown so popular they were nearly impossible to find, but Tara had her ways.

She'd presented it to you with a twinkle in her eyes. "I'm serious! This hoodie is magical!"

"Evol?" you questioned, accepting the package from Tara gleefully.

She shook her head. "No. Magic! Just," she'd said, placing a hand on your shoulder, "Trust me."

After work, you head straight to your boyfriend's place...

More below the cut!

"What's this?" Xavier asks, poking the bag with a finger.

"I got a gift," you say, then clarify, "From Tara," before he has a chance to interrogate you further.

You open the package together and stare at the hoodie. It's so big that you could shove Xavier's oversized beanbag chair in it with room to spare.

Xavier brings a thoughtful hand to his chin. "It looks... comfortable."

You agree. Eagerly, you yank it on, wiggling your arms through the sleeves, which are so long they hang off your hands. Then you turn to face Xavier, and nearly stumble backwards, because he's suddenly right in front of you.

"X-Xavier? What's wrong?"

There's a strange gleam in his eyes. He tugs you to the couch, pulls you to his side, and wraps his arms around you.

Blushing, you look up at him. "What are you doing?"

"Checking to see how soft it is." He squeezes you tighter to his chest.

"Ow," you say, even though you don't really mean it.

You end up putting on a silly drama, one you've seen many times. You expect Xavier will just fall asleep partway like usual.

But that doesn't appear to be the case this time. He keeps nuzzling his face into the hoodie, like a giant housecat trying to soak up your body heat. Every so often, he grips your arms or hips or thighs, and you start to worry he'll leave handprints if he keeps it up.

"You're not even watching!" you chide him softly.

He plays with the too-long sleeves. "Hm?"

Huffing, you start to repeat yourself. "I said—"

"I'm cold," he says suddenly, and he adds on a full-body shiver to boot. You aren't sure you buy it, but... "Aren't you cold?"

"How can I be?" you answer, snorting. You make a token effort to writhe out of his grasp, but he just holds you tighter.

"Yeah, your hoodie looks pretty warm," he murmurs, sighing. Then he looks away again, shivering, and rubbing his arms.

"Pfft. Do you want to try it on?"

Really, you should have known better.

He just smiles at you, as if that's what he'd wanted you to say, then suddenly shoves your shoulder. You topple backwards onto the cushion with a gasp, as he pulls the hoodie up and wriggles in alongside you. Then he pushes his arms through the sleeves and entwines his fingers with your own.

Evidently pleased with himself, he sighs happily and leans against you. "Yeah, this is much better."

"I thought you said your friend got you a hoodie," Zayne says. He reaches forward to adjust the hood's collar, which had gotten twisted somehow as you pulled it on. "This looks more like a tent with arms to me."

You lift your arm and look at the comically long sleeve. "It's... Tara said it's magical."

You feel your cheeks warming. You didn't need to say that, only you couldn't think of how else to respond.

"Oh?"

Zayne takes a seat in his recliner, tugging you along with him so that you end up sitting on his lap. Then he takes the hoodie strings and begins quietly winding them around his index finger. He's quiet for a long moment.

You lightly shake his shoulders, blushing. "...You're not saying anything."

"Your face is red," he replies without missing a beat. "What? I thought we were taking turns stating the obvious."

You open your mouth to say something smart when he suddenly hugs you, squeezing you against his chest. Not too firmly, but with enough strength that you begin to put together what's happening.

You push him back so you can look into his eyes, fixing him with a smug grin. "Zayne, have you ever heard of cute aggression?"

He scoffs, but smiles back. "I probably know more than you do. Should I give you a lesson? When a human sees something they think is... cute, activity in the orbitofrontal cortex increases. Then the body produces neurohormones, which may stimulate feelings of both affection and aggression. They can manifest like this," he says, pinching your cheeks.

"I see." The words come out garbled and strange because he's still pulling your cheeks. He chuckles.

"Or," he says, moving his lips to your shoulder. "Like this." Then he bites down, and you can feel his teeth even through the fleece.

You squirm on his lap. "Hey! You can't just bite someone because you think they're cute..."

"I can't, or you don't want me to?"

"...Hmph. Why do you know so much about cute aggression, anyways? You had a whole lecture prepared. Aren't you a heart surgeon, Dr. Zayne?" You poke his chest to emphasize your point.

He captures your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a small kiss to the back of it. It could be a trick of the light, but you swear that his ears are turning red. "...Finding something cute is a matter of the heart. Wouldn't you agree?"

Rafayel watches you open Tara's gift with a curious eye. You stare at the hoodie together.

Rafayel snorts. "That's a lot of hoodie."

You shrug and pull it on. As you do, you lock eyes again with Rafayel, who just stands here staring at you, a dumb look on his face.

Things snowball from there.

He keeps grabbing your face and squishing your cheeks while muttering under his breath. It's funny at first until he leans forward and nibbles on your cheek, and you realize a little too late that he'd been arguing with himself not to.

"You bit me!" It didn't really hurt, but it did shock you.

"I can't help it," he says, looking as mystified as you feel. "You just look so... biteable. Let me do it again—"

You wrestle playfully until he traps you in his arms, hugging you to his chest so tightly that you actually gasp for air. "Ugh! Rafayel, you big bully—"

"This is your fault! You've turned me into some sort of monster!"

Then, he won't let you go. He holds you against his chest and coos at you like you're a baby. He keeps trying to bite you, and you keep dodging out of the way as best you can.

"Stooop! You're embarrassing me!"

He pays you no mind. "My scrumptious cutie," he says dreamily, giggling. "My succulent pufferfish. My—"

Unable to withstand this torture any further, you yank the hoodie up and draw the strings tight to hide your face.

"Waaaait, you're running away?" he cries. "Is it because I keep squishing you?"

Your answer comes out muffled. "And biting me."

You feel him poking your sides. "Okay, I'll stop! Please come out. Please?"

After much begging and pleading on Rafayel's part, you finally relent. When you push the hood back, you see the guilty look on his face, the tips of his ears bright red. You stare at each other wordlessly for a moment.

You pat his arm in mock sympathy. "Wanna talk about it?"

He leans his head on your shoulder with a groan. "I wasn't myself."

You giggle and card your fingers through his hair. "That's how cats make me feel."

Rafayel shoots you a lighthearted glare. "Don't belittle my feelings. You're a lot cuter than a cat, you know."

Sylus didn't buy your story about the hoodie's supposed power at first, claiming you were always irresistible, so what difference could a piece of clothing make?

Now, he doesn't seem too keen on letting you go, if the hand gripping the small of your back is any indicator. His other hand is petting your hair.

You swat his hand away, but there isn't much fire behind it.

It doesn't matter, anyway. He just reaches his hand forward and pets your hair again. His movements look stiff, almost like he's restraining himself somehow.

At the look on your face, he just laughs. "Sorry, kitten, but you're just asking for it. You look..." He trails off.

You try to play off how flustered you are with a smirk. "I know. I'm dangerously cute in this hoodie."

"You're always cute, sweetie. But you're right on one front. This hoodie is dangerous."

You realize something with a start, and it's like a shock to your system. But then you seize the opportunity to try and fluster him right back. "Are you... blushing right now?"

He ignores you, opting instead to pull you in for a hug that nearly squeezes the life out of you.

"Oof—Sylus—too much—strength—"

"You can handle it," he deflects easily.

After struggling for a bit, you manage to push him back, panting. "Hah, look at you. The big, bad leader of Onychinus, done in by a simple hoodie. Tara was right."

The corners of his mouth turn downward, and you think he's going to pull away, but then he shakes his head with a scoff. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and smirks at you.

"I'm starting to think this hoodie's power is going to your head. Maybe you should take it off."

[liketolaugh-writes]

Thinking about a full ghost Danny AU where he just straight-up dies in the portal. I think there should be more of those. <3

Character death, obviously.

------------

The drive back to Fentonworks was a blur in Maddie's memory, keeping Tucker on the line while he sobbed and stammered, trying and failing to keep himself together and explain what happened.

"-doesn't h-have a heartbeat and he's f-freaking out-"

"It just turned on, we don't know w-what happened, he, he said it didn't work-"

"-trying to keep Danny c-calm-"

"Please come home."

Jack's driving was even worse than usual, veering through the streets in an undisguised panic. Maddie hadn't been able to discern much from Tucker's ramble; the portal had finally turned on, but the kids had been messing around with it and Danny had gotten hurt. How hurt? Tucker didn't seem to be sure, but all three of them were in a state.

Jack pulled into their driveway and flung himself out, half the GAV still sprawled across the sidewalk. Maddie was right behind him, hanging up on Tucker with a quick assurance that they'd be right there.

"DANNY!" Jack yelled.

"In here!" Sam called back, from the open lab door. Of course.

Maddie slipped past Jack and got there first, almost falling down the stairs in her haste. What she saw there made her heart stop.

Danny wasn't there. There were three teens crumpled on the ground in front of the activated portal (a part of her sang, it worked, it worked) but Danny wasn't one of them. There was Tucker, staring blankly at the floor, and Sam, with her arm around a strange, glowing white-haired boy that was in tears - a ghost. A ghost? A ghost!

"GHOST!" Jack yelled in delight. The teen sobbed harder.

"Where's Danny?" Maddie demanded. Sam looked up sharply, her eyes wide like Maddie had never seen, her face dead pale under her makeup.

"I'm sorry!" Sam blurted out, looking nearly in tears herself. "I just, I, I thought it would be cool, it was just a picture, I, I didn't think-"

Maddie's heart skipped a beat. "Sam. Where is Danny?"

Sam looked at the crying boy next to her, huddled under her arm as if for comfort. The boy looked up, radioactive eyes swimming with tears and the water on his skin sparkling prismatically, and met Maddie's eyes.

"Mom," he croaked, his voice tripled and echoing with itself like a movie memory. "What happened to me?"

Maddie's knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, unable to take her eyes from the ghost in front of her. In a moment, she understood.

That was Danny. His colors had partially inverted, his hair turning white, the colors of his haz-mat suit - God, that was his haz-mat suit, the one they'd made for him and that he never used - reversing to white-on-black. He'd huddled into Sam, shaking and gasping, but now was pulling away, looking at Maddie like- like he thought she could fix this.

"I think something's wrong," Danny said, his voice trembling somewhere underneath all the alien reverberation. "Should we go to the hospital or, or something?"

"I don't think the hospital can fix this, man," Tucker said weakly, lifting his head just to stare at Danny.

The portal powered down with a whine. Maddie jerked her head up with a gasp, and found Jack at the control box, backing up silently. Jack stared into the portal. Maddie followed his gaze.

She couldn't stop the scream that tore itself from her throat. Jack yelled too, running inside, tripping over the bundled cables, and collapsing unceremoniously short of the body inside. Careless of that, Jack crawled forward the last few feet, scooped up the body, and then started to sob, cradling Danny's burnt and blistered corpse against him.

"...Do we call 911?" Danny asked, voice cracking. Maddie's head snapped back to him from the corpse, watching him stare in bleak, lost confusion at his father and the body he was hugging.

Danny didn't even believe in ghosts. Neither of their kids hid it, treating their profession with a lighthearted exasperation at home and plain embarrassment outside. Somehow, the fact made all of this worse.

"What's happening?" Danny asked helplessly. Shock, the stable part of Maddie's brain told her. He sees what's going on but his mind won't comprehend it. (He wasn't expecting to die today.)

"Y-yes," Maddie said at last, and then forced her voice to stabilize. "I'll... I'll call 911."

But first, she held out her arms, and Danny all but scrambled across the room to throw himself into her arms, still shaking. He was cold as ice, freezing through her haz-mat suit, and that was before he slipped forward with a yelp and tumbled through her. He scrambled back with a cry and tried again, and this time fell solidly against her, hiccupping. She wrapped an arm around him, shushing him softly, and groped for her phone with the other hand. She couldn't take her eyes off Jack, now carrying Danny out of the portal and staring from his corpse to his ghost, looking shattered.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My son is dead," Maddie heard herself say. Danny hiccupped and clutched at her tighter. There was a brief pause.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. Where are you? Have you checked his pulse?"

"We're at the Fentonworks building, 18701 northwest..." She rattled off the address mindlessly, and reached down to fumble for Danny's wrist. He let her have it without complaint, too terrified to put up any resistance. She shuddered as she felt nothing, not even the tendons or bone that should be there. Then she looked up at the corpse in Jack's arms and swallowed. "Jack, h-his... his pulse."

Jack nodded mutely and fumbled for Danny's wrist, gingerly running his fingers down the burnt skin until he found the right spot.

"What do you mean, his pulse, his ghost is literally in your lap!" Sam half-shrieked, her mascara running and her fists clenched against her cheeks, her breath coming in short gasps.

"No pulse," Jack croaked hollowly, staring at Danny's ghost.

"Maybe they could..." No, it was a foolish thought, and she wouldn't put false hopes into Danny's head just to put off her own grief. She cradled him closer again, feeling him shudder. She spoke to the operator. "N-no pulse, ma'am."

"Ambulance and police are on their way," the operator said, calm and reassuring. "Can you stay on the line with me?"

"Yes." Maddie felt numb, her own hands trembling as she held Danny close.

"Thank you. Can you tell me your name? Is there anyone else with you?"

"Maddie Fenton," she said. "My husband is with me, and my son's two friends, and... and my son's ghost."

There was another brief pause.

"Alright, Maddie." Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought the operator sounded gentler there. They thought she was crazy, of course. Maddie shut her eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I, I don't know. My son Danny was home with his friends, and they called and..." Deep breath. She started over. "There was an accident in our lab. Danny was electrocuted by one of our in-progress projects."

"Is the device still on?"

"No, ma'am. We had to turn it off to remove the, the body."

Maddie continued answering questions on autopilot, most of her attention on her son, her husband, and the body. Danny had stopped crying, but remained glued to her side, shivering and sniffling. Jack continued to cradle Danny's body, but his eyes were now fixed on Danny, grief spread across his face. Sam and Tucker had both quieted, watching them with fearful, guilt-stricken looks.

It seemed to take forever for the police and ambulance to arrive. Sam got up to show them inside without being asked, staggering up to steps on obviously shaky legs. Maddie was too grateful to insist on her or Jack doing it; with Danny's ghost cradled against her and his corpse in Jack's arms, well...

The paramedics arrived first, sharp-eyed and professional, but the first almost immediately faltered as he laid eyes on the scene. But Jack held up Danny's body beseechingly, his eyes wet and miserable, and they jolted into action.

"Thank you, ma'am," Maddie said to the woman on the line. "They're here now. May I hang up?"

"Yes. The paramedics will take it from here. Take care, Maddie."

Maddie hung up, and looked at the two paramedics as they filed down. They looked at each other, one inclined his head toward Danny, and they split up, one heading for Jack and the body, the other toward Maddie and the ghost. Both of them knelt beside their chosen patient, and Maddie fixed her attention on the one with her.

"Are you Danny?" the paramedic asked, unexpectedly gentle. Danny peeked up and nodded uncertainly, and the paramedic glanced at the body before seeming to make a decision. "Okay, Danny. My coworker June is going to check your body for signs of life to see if you can still be revived. Are you okay with that?" Danny hiccupped and nodded, though a new wave of tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Danny hiccupped again, reaching up to wipe his eyes. "M-my friends wanted to see the p-portal," he managed, voice wavering. Maddie squeezed him, her own eyes welling up while the paramedic listened patiently. "A-and it didn't work so I t-thought it would be f-fine. I went inside a-and I d-didn't check if it was plugged in or anything, a-and then I tripped and fell and I think I hit a button and it turned on!" His voice rose until he was almost wailing. Maddie's throat tightened, and she hugged him closer. Her poor baby.

"You were electrocuted?" the paramedic checked softly.

"I guess," Danny sniffled. "I dunno. It just hurt. And then I felt really cold, and then I..." He looked down at himself and sniffled again, tears slipping nonstop down his cheeks. "Am I dead?"

The paramedic looked at his coworker, who met his eyes and shook her head. Maddie had to swallow a hiccup of her own, trying to be brave for her terrified son. The paramedic did a much better job at it, looking back at Danny and speaking gently.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "There's nothing we can do. June is going to call a coroner and explain the situation-" He caught the other paramedic's eye, and she gave him a nod. "-and we'll have your body taken somewhere it can be prepared for burial or cremation, whichever you prefer." Danny started crying again, and the paramedic exhaled and looked up to meet Maddie's eyes. "Obviously, there's no protocols for this situation. But, as his mother, I think it would still be appropriate for you to make a decision if he doesn't feel able to."

[cyber333angel]

DEALER!BARRY X SPOILED!READER X DEALER!RAFE <3

you get a little too “spoiled” when with your boyfriends — barry and rafe!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚

it was the weekend, meaning it was time for shopping spree at the mall! strolling around the coach store of your favorite big building, you struggle to choose which bag your boyfriends would pay for. behind you they walked, talking while watching you happily trudge in front of them. “blueberry or cherry?” you ask holding them both up next to you, posing with them in your pink tracksuit . “you can get both of em mama.” barry tells you and rafe looks at him, “she doesn’t need both, you spoil her too much.” barry rolls his eyes, “s’not like we can’t afford it big bruh, if she wants it she can have it.” you squeal at his retort, and hug him. “thank you bear!” giving him an attack of kisses on his cheek. rafe sighs “that’s not the point. you know how bratty she gets when she thinks she can have anything she wants. don’t act surprised when she throws a tantrum cause she can’t have something.”

“mhm.” barry says walking to the other shelf of jewelry with you, looking back at rafe and stick your tongue at him and say “bleh!” he furrows his eyebrows and power-walks toward you, shrieking at his scariness, you run and hide behind barry.

after shopping, you arrive home at tannyhill. “thank you rafe!” giving him a kiss for funding half the shopping spree “thank you bear!” you give your other boyfriend a kiss for the other half of funding and take your bags up to your room, placing them in your walk in closet.

later on a friday, your sitting on the couch with rafe, watching tv while he scrolls through his phone. bored you say, “rafey can we go to the mall? I smelt this miss dior perfume last week and I really liked it but we never bought it.” he doesn’t look up from his phone. “no. we already went this week, no need to go for a while.” you pout at him, “no but I really need it! im going somewhere with-“ he cuts you off. “what i just say huh? no. getting so fuckin bratty this early in the morning..” you look at him with a vexed face and you mumble. “I bet barry would take me..so infuriating”

rafe looks up at you from his phone. “what’d you say?” trying to escape the scene, you get up and walk to the the kitchen telling him, “s’nothing!”

“what i fucking thought.” he says quietly but harsh enough for you to hear. barry comes home later at night finding rafe in the kitchen opening a can of beer. “yo country club.” he looks for you and doesn’t see you with rafe as you usually are at this time, he asks ” where’s our girl?” rafe chuckles “sleeping off the badass little attitude she had today.”

barry, confused on what attitude you could possibly have, “what’d she do?” sighing, rafe shoots him a look “she started acting like a fucking brat cause I told her she can’t go to the mall again as if we didn’t go this week already. it’s because of you she thinks she can always have her way.”

barry had always been the one to be the most lenient with you, he loved you and would do anything to protect his girl. and of course rafe loves you as well and would do more than anything for you, but someone had to keep you in check and it was always rafe. “well come talk to her with me then. we’ll set her straight.” you wake up to barry picking you up by the armpits, blinking awake and rubbing your eyes with your manicured nails , “mm hi bear..”

“hey princess, we gotta talk so let’s go downstairs and get something t’a eat alright?” he readjusts the satin bonnet sliding off your head, you nod at him still sleepy. gaining energy you sit on the island of your kitchen while barry fixes you some milk and and a grilled cheese. rafe stands in front of you, you roll your eyes following from the earlier argument. he jerks his head back from the sudden sass, “don’t roll your eyes at me, you know your manners.“ he looks back at barry, “ you-you see what im talking about right? she’s getting too fucking rude. what is it, you need some dick? what’s with the attitude?” you look at him with all seriousness in your face “I wanted to go to the mall rafe!” he breathes hard through his nose. “im fed up with you. barry go talk some sense into that girl before i bend her over the table i swear.” barry turns the stove off, finishing your grilled cheese and cuts it diagonally placing it next to you with a glass milk. “what’s going on going on sweet girl? I hear you throwing tantrums round’ this house, what’s that about?” you pout at him “rafes being mean t’me saying I can’t go shopping!”

“well you know if we tell you something your supposed to listen even if it’s something you don’t wanna hear.” he tilts his head at you “hm? now why don’t you gone head and apologize to polo boy over there f’me.” you look up at him and huff, turning your back to rafe sitting on the couch you shout “rafe could you come over here please!” he rises from his seat and walks over to you, “don’t yell in the fucking house. what is it? you gonna apologize for the way you been acting?” you nod, “mhm i just wanted to say m’sorry daddy. I didn’t mean to be a brat, you just get me nice things all the time, and i guess I got carried away! it won’t happen again, promise!” holding up your pinky finger to pinky promise your boyfriend, rafe chuckles, interlocking his pinky with yours. “thanks for the apology baby, your gonna be a good girl for the rest of the week right?” he says nodding his head waiting for you to agree, “mhm.”

barry interjects, “well I think our pretty girl deserves a reward for being a big girl today right?” and rafe bows his head in a agreeing motion diving in to kiss you deeply from the right side of your body. your other boyfriend on your left, slides his rough hands on your thighs. “open your legs f’me mama.” you split your legs apart revealing the wet spot on your pink laced panties and through your thin shorts. barry takes off your short sleeping pants as well as your panties, letting the shorts drop to the floor, he puts your pink lace into his pocket. bending down he kisses you up from your calfs, up to your knees and to your inner thighs. “you gone let me make you feel good angel?” you nod frantically through rafes kisses. barry hooks his biceps under your thighs to bring you now soaked cunt closer to his face. “you smell so fuckin sweet for daddy, love this pussy.” he spits on your bud, sucking it harshly, making you squirm around the table. you whimper into rafes mouth from the intensity of barry’s lapping. rafe lifts up your shirt exposing your breasts and starts to pinch your nipples, with a different hand he unbuckles his pants. he grabs your hand and pulls out his cock letting you stroke his length. whispering “fuck..” under his breath, you paw at him faster. you shiver when barry thrust his tongue into your wet cunt, he takes his tongue out and shoves two fingers in and the other hand rubbing furiously at your clit. you take the one hand you have left and grip at rafes shirt from the extreme stimulation of your cunt. “be a good girl and come for daddy.” your boyfriend below you says, finishing you off. you arch your back, “mmph!” stuttering into rafes mouth, he lets go of your moistened lips, his dick standing tall from your jerking at it. hiccuping you say “that felt so g-good daddy.. I want you in me now please!”

“course mama.” barry gets up and lifts you off the counter, guiding you to the couch in the living room, you take rafes hand and he follows behind you. barry unbuttons his pants and his cock springs out, average height but so unbelievably thick. he sits on the couch and pulls you close to him, you hover over him letting him position his dick into your slick cunt. sinking down he praises you, “goood girl. shit, you taking me so well angel.” you mewl at him “mm it’s so big daddy!” rafe watches the scene and stands in front of you, gripping your jaw to force you to look up at him. “you wanna make daddy feel good too right?” you nod frantically and he lets go of your face, holding up his cock with one hand he slaps it on your cheek and positions it into your mouth. he thrusts his cock into your mouth making you choke, gripping your neck to make your gullet feel tighter. behind you, barry’s fucking up into your cunt with wet sounds heard all around the living room. it makes your head spin and clench harder around his cock “you doing so well for us princess, see how being a good girl gets you a reward?” you can’t answer with your throat being used but you do agree. “this fucking mouth..god you feel so good.” choking, as rafe speeds up the pace, he releases his warm load deep into your throat, thrusting as deep as he can to make it stick. “you better swallow all of it sweetheart..shittt..” he takes his cock out your mouth looking at your face. he grabs you face again “stick out your tongue.” you do as your told, showing him your empty mouth, cum nowhere to be seen but in your stomach. “good girl.” your eyes are half lidded and you smile up at him, still getting pounded from behind. “f-fuck daddy your going too hard..” barry smacks your ass, a firm slap that makes you flinch “don’t say that shit.” you sob at the harsh tone. “m’sorryyy daddy, your just hitting it so deep!”

“yeah I know mama..im bout to finish.” he puts in his last brutal thrust. plap-plap-plap and you cry at the rapid pace, taking your hands and placing them on barry’s thighs, a weak attempt to slow him down. looking up at rafe he tells you to “move your fucking hands.” you flinch, removing them and instead you reach your hands out to rafe, interlocking your hands together. barry at his climax, nuzzles his dick deep into your pussy, burrowing his warm cum into your pussy. “mm felt so good..both make me feel so g-good, oh goddd!” twitching when barry pulls out your cunt, he gets up from under you. they both admire you as the cum leaks out from your abused pussy. “what a fucking view..” after they finish using you, rafe lifts you up “let’s get you cleaned up sweetheart, did so good.” barry cleans up the pillows knocked off from this whole affair and goes to the kitchen, putting your grilled cheese in the microwave for you to eat tomorrow. your boyfriends both clean you up in the tub, they wash you off and clean out the load still buried in your cunt. they change you into one of their shirts, placing you in the shared bed you lay between them. you mumble as you drift to sleep “bear and rafey..can I go shopping now?” they both chuckle at you still acting like spoiled brat. “sure sweet girl.” as you fall asleep in their arms.

<3

[xoxolilixx]

❤︎𝙇𝙚𝙩'𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙭 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩❤︎

𝙃𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙚 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙭 𝙗𝙞𝙢𝙗𝙤 𝙜𝙛!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

✩𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 - Hobie finds out the real reason for you being popular around headquarters, and his honored to fix the problem.

✩𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 - SMUT...with plot. A bit of sexism, name calling (whore, tramp), pet names, virginity taking, oral, unprotected sex(WRAP IT UP), crying

✩𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - this is based on my Hobie brown x bimbo!gf oneshot, but it's not a part two or anything of that nature, but if you want to go back and read that, you can find it here. Anywho, I hope you guys like this story❤️😘

Hobie wasn't a chatter, not even close, but ever since you and him became a thing, he tried to make himself a lot less unapproachable. Instead of sporting a serious, straight-face and expression 24/7, he carried a soft smirk most of the time. The difference sounded small, but honestly it made him seem a lot nicer. More people started conversations with him when they saw him, he was let in on topics that no one bothered to talk to him about before. Topics like you.

Hobie always wondered why it caused such a stir when you and him got together, and it boggled you just as much. If only you knew what people was saying about you. Now, it wasn't a secret to you that people knew you. You were a social person and you talked to a lot of people, but what you didn't know was what people were talking about when you walked away.

Hobie was walking through one of the halls of headquarters, hands in his pocket as he stalked down the hall in his usual attire, the only thing that was different was the bright pink bow that was tied to one of his back belt loops, courtesy of you. "Hey man, you got a little sum back there!" Someone joked as he walked past. He couldn't help but chuckle as he turned to the person who was in the hall. He never cared to learn the names of the people around headquarters, so he definitely didn't know his name, but nonetheless he still interacted with him. "I know, my girl did it," Hobie smirked. "Your girlfriend that real girly one, with the short ass skirt and shit?" The guy smirked, the description of you made him internally twitch with irritation. "Yea, what about it?" Hobie smirked as he tried to keep his cool. "Ya know, almost everybody is plotting on her, right?" He smirked, pushing himself off the wall as he walked closer to Hobie, "she's like…top wanted in all of headquarters." "Really? Why's that?" Hobie's smirk hid his urge to throw him through the wall. "You really don't know? She's the only whore that still has her virginity," the random man laughed, "after that get together last month, everyone been trying to be the first to pop her cherry. It was honestly surprising, giving that she dresses like a complete tramp--" Hobie couldn't help it anymore, one super-powered punch later, and he was laid flat out on the floor. He couldn't help but think this is what he got for trying to be nice to people as he stomped away, his objective now to find you.

You weren't hard to spot, all that glitter and rhinestones made you look like a walking star. You were chatting with Gwen, a sweet smile on your plump, pretty lips as you rambled on about god knows what. It would've made his heart melt if he wasn't so irritated. You barely had time to register his arrival as he came over and scooped you up onto his shoulder like a stack of potatoes, "I gotta borrow her for a second," Hobie uttered to Qwen as he stomped away, a hand holding your skirt down as he carried you away. "Hobs! What's going on?!" You giggled, your legs kicking a little bit as he carried you to a secluded area.

"Love, what happened at the get together?" His rushed tone stirred up worry in your chest, "why?! What happened?" You asked softly, your big doe eyes full of worry as you looked up at him. "Just-- tell me what happened darling. Tell me everything that happened," he sighed softly, realizing that his tone ushered you into a worried state. "Well…nothing really… everyone was chillin', having fun, we started drinking, and we played a few drinking games and after that, gwen took me home cause' i got too drunk," you shrugged. "Then why are people talking about something that happened at the get together and how your a virgin and all this other shit love?" He sighed softly. His hands rested on your hips as a look of embarrassment and realization washed over you. "We were playing put a finger down, and someone said put a finger down if you've had sex, and I was the only one who didn't put a finger down, and everyone made a big ass deal about it," you explained softly as you looked down. He stood there for a second, his expression blank as he processed the information before letting a chuckle out. Was that seriously it? Everyone had the hots for his girl because she admitted to being a virgin?

"Is everyone really still talking about that?" You asked softly, embarrassment evident on your face. He couldn't help but chuckle some more. "Sadly darling, you're a bit of a hot topic~" he said, a sympathetic smile on his face as his thumbs rubbed circles into your hips. You let out a whiny groan as your face fell into your hands, "oh my god~ I was hoping they would forget about that, what's even the big deal?!" You whined as your face fell into his chest, his arms wrapping around your shorter frame as he shook his head at how stupid this whole thing was. People were over sexualizing you because you wasn't sexually active.

Suddenly an idea popped into his head, causing a smirk to spread on his lips. "How about you let me fix it?" He smirked, making you look up at him with a questioning look, but as soon as you see the smirk on his lips you know what he means. Intimacy wasn't hobie's favorite thing, but shit, he willing to do damn there anything for you. "You for real?" You asked softly, your embarrassment melting away into nervousness and excitement. "Of course darling, let me show you how good I can make you feel~" his voice sultry as his big hands gripped your waist "let me fix your problem, love."~

Your head was spinning. You felt hot and everything felt like it was moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were a inch away from breaking into a sweat and what made it worse was nothing even happened yet. "Jus' say the word love, and I'll stop, okay?" His tone was lighthearted but his gaze was serious. The nervousness was coming off of you and waves, and he only wanted to make this easier for you. "M'kay hobs~" you uttered with a little nod of your head. You were on your knees atop his bed, looking up at his towering figure. He was trying his absolute best to ignore the mind-numbing throb that was coming from in his dick as he looked down at the sight. He had a perfect view of your cleavage and the way your big pretty doe eyes looked up at him made him wanna shove his dick down your pretty throat.

"Go on and lay back f'me love," he gently ordered, and you mindlessly obligated, sweeping your legs from under your body, swinging them off the edge of the bed as you slowly laid back, giving him a good view of your entire body. Your thick chubby thighs and wide hips paired with the little chubbiness of your tummy and your perky tits sitting prettily in your hot pink bra that peaked out of your white tank top sent him mentally flying. "You ready darling?" He asked, his voice soft and caring.

With a simple nod from you he sprung into action. His hands sliding up your bare thighs, slipping under your sparkly pink skirt as he gently rubbed and gripped them before spreading your knees apart. Your heart thumped out of your chest as you watched him lower himself down to his knees, making his face level with your heat. You propped yourself up onto your elbows as you watch him bunch up your skirt. Hobie's cock twitched in his pants at the sight before him; you were wearing hot pink lacy panties, which matched your hot pink bra, and he could see the outline of your soft pussy lips and swollen clit through the soaked fabric. "Fuckk" he breathed as he paced himself. The sound you let slip past your lips when he gently pressed the pad of his thumb into your clothed clit made it harder for him to control himself. He had to remind himself that this wasn't for him, it was for you.

His thumb circled your clothed clit a few times before gently pushing on your sobbing hole, coaxing a few soft whines out of you before finally hooking his fingers onto the sides of your panties. You eagerly lift your hips as he tugs the flimsy-and damp- fabric down your legs. Hobie was happy to see that your nervousness were slowly melting away, being replaced by eagerness and excitement. Hobie's mind spun wildly as he caught a glimpse of strings of your wetness pulling away with your panties, you were fucking soaked.

You let out a breathy giggle as you watch him pocket your panties, but your giggle quickly turns into a moan when you feel his finger slip in between your folds. He could feel you clenching around nothing, he didn't even have a chance to slip is finger into you. "Relax darling, I got you," he cooed as his other hand reached up to rest on your lower stomach his thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin as he slowly slid his finger in. Fuck you were tight, he could only imagine how your tightness felt wrapped around his cock and he almost came in his pants.

You quickly found out that Hobie was a pussy drunk, his tongue deep in your soaked cunt as his thumb rubbed tight circles into your clit. You couldn't even squirm away from him as he coaxed moans and whines from you, his strong arms were wrapped around your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted you. You thought you were gonna die the first few minutes, but once he found the spot in you that made you moan the loudest, you were a goner. He was a messy eater too, the sound of him suckling hard on your clit only made your walls clench, which only made him suck and lick harder as he groaned deep in your pussy.

By time he finished his meal, you were two orgasms deep and your cunt was filled with slick and spit, the same mess that was on his face. You panted as you watch him get up off of his knees, thankful for the break, but your mind went wild when you heard his belt buckle and his pants zipper. Hobie chuckled at the sight of your eyes widening when you saw how big he was. 8 inches of pure girth. How the hell was that gonna fit in you?! "Hobs, I don't think it's gonna fit~" you whimpered softly as your thighs subconsciously closed. He could see the fear and nervousness written all over your face and he couldn't help but coo at you.

His hand gently grabbed your jaw, forcing you to take your eyes off of his lower region and lock eyes with him before deeply kissing you, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your eyes rolled back as you tasted yourself on his tongue as it explored your whole mouth, a long string of saliva connecting you both as he pulled away. "Don' worry love, I got you, okay?" He cooed softly, earning a soft nod and a "m'kay" from you. "Remember, jus' say the word, and I'll stop," he reminded you. You were starting to relax again, allowing him to spread your thighs apart with his torso, until he reached down, grabbing his length so he could guide it in you.

His cock was twitching in his hand, leaking precum from the tip. It left you feeling excited and scared. He was just so big, but all your thoughts disappeared out of your mind when you felt his messy, precum slicked tip start to push past your folds, making you clench down as your head lolled back.

You were a complete and utter moaning mess, but Hobie stayed patient with you, pausing whenever you clenched too tightly and constantly comforting you and coaxing you through it. The sight of you under him, face scrunched up with pain and pleasure as strings of moans and whines spilt past your lips as he sunk deeper and deeper into your pussy was enough to make him cum now. "You doin' so good f'me darling, good fucking girl, so wet, so fucking tight," he grunted into your neck, sucking hickeys into your soft skin, his eyes rolling back as you clenched around him at his words. "Hobs! m'cant~ your too big~" you whined as your walls choked his dick. He looked down in between you, you didn't even make it halfway. " shhh i know love, but imma need you to relax for me. It'll fit, jus' stay with me now ," he grunted as you whined out, your cunt milking little bits of cum out of his dick.

By time you got past the halfway mark, you were in tears, clinging onto his arms, which was holding him up on either side of your head. His heart ached slightly as you looked up at him, tears spilling down the sides of your face as you panted, "d-did I do it? Is it in?" You whimpered, making his head spin, it felt disgusting how much it turned him on to see you crying like that. He bit back a groan as he looked down between the two of you again. His whole body momentarily went weak, your small, tight, weeping pussy, stretched wide around his dick. You only had two inches left. "Almost darling, your doing so good f'me, yea? Just a little more, okay? You ready?" He cooed softly, kissing away your tears. "m'kay~" you whimpered.

If he kept dragging this out with you, he was gonna bury before he even got a thrust in. He braced himself before slammed into you, forcing the last two inches into your pussy. Your eyes widened and a silent scream left your parted lips, wincing at the pain as Hobie quickly wrapped a arm around you, holding you close. "Fuckk~ good fucking girl, see love? I got you, its all in now. M'so proud of you darling," he could feel you clenching around him at the praise as you whimpered into his neck, fighting off the urge to scream out.

"Soo fucking big~" you cried softly as you slowly got used to the large intrusion. "Shh I know, I know love, but your doin' so good," he cooed as he waited for the signal to move.

Before you knew it, he was fucking you dumb, jerking your body deeper and deeper into the mattress with each thrust. The mixture of moan, whines, screams, and incoherent babbles left your lips as he held the back of your knees up, giving him the perfect view of your small pussy getting abused by his cock as you left a gorgeous ring of your juices around his base. He watched as your eyes rolled back when he hit that one gummy spot in you, groaning as you clenched down on him tightly. He would sometimes give your cheek a soft tap whenever your watery eyes rolled back, wanting to make sure you were still coherent enough to tell him if you wanted to stop, even if he knew that you wouldn't want to.

It only took a good few more thrusts in the right spot for you to cum all over his dick, clenching so tightly on him that he could move as you screamed out, forcing him to cum too as he groaned into your neck.

You both were a panting mess, your hair messy and hickeys all over your neck, and his arms all scratched up and his mouth and chin still covered in your slick. "m'like when you fix my problems," you panted softly, earning a deep chuckle from him.

[occamstfs]

What You Really Want

Milo mouths off about a man dating his long time crush before immediately learning the lesson that he should be less trusting of strange voices promising to fulfill his desires

Pretty standard straight to gay himbo/jockification! It will also be my final story for some time I believe, so I do hope you enjoy! -Occam

“It’s no fair that they literally have it all.” Like many a ‘nice guy’ Milo has spent an inordinate amount of time skulking social media and disparaging more physically gifted men as he stumbles across them. The root of his despair is not difficult to ascertain, his eyes burning with envy make quite clear the inner monologue of ‘girls always date assholes.’ He sneers as he comes across the most recent post of his friend and crush, Juliet. The jealous man of course knows next to nothing about the character of James, the jock-type now dating her, but judging by the gleaming smirk and the bulky arms of a killer hanging from his shoulders, the judgemental dweeb has more than enough evidence to speculate.

Delving into his memories, Milo’s face burns with embarrassment as he recalls mentioning his crush to Juliet, ‘Oh!’ her bright eyes shift uncomfortably and her cheeks begin to blush enough to match the pink tint she threw on this morning. Milo’s fist clenches as she almost giggles in her discomfort, ‘sorry Milo I guess- Well, I guess I just thought you were gay?’ After this Milo played it cool, he thinks. Hand scratching the back of his head as he asserts his straight identity and the two go on to have a meal far more quiet and awkward than usual. When new-boyfriend James comes to pick up Juliet, Milo forces a smile before staring daggers at his back as the pair walk away. 

This brings us to the present hate scrolling session in which Milo is more than absorbed. Lips curl into a sneer as he traces the impossible to ignore curves of this must-be dullard’s defined body. Milo scoffs as he sees the litany of women that must make up the man’s dating history. “Bet they won’t even last a week, ha! I mean judging by how much the douche spends in the gym I bet he’s just using her as a beard anyway.”

With this final rather homophobic assertion, the nerd’s phone flashes before going dark, “What the-” before he has to determine whatever caused this, he goes stiff as a strange voice resounds through his head. ‘Tired of all the big boys getting what they want, hmm?’ Immediately concerned he’s lost his mind, Milo gets to powering back on his phone to call for help. ‘Now now, Milo. Do not worry your little head. I am here to help. Would you not like the chance to be just like them?’ Just like them. Envy burns through his veins greater than anything. Sensing this immediately, whatever this voice is seizes upon his clearly fragile psyche, its laughter steely and alien, ‘Ah ha ha. I thought so.’

Dropping his phone once more, Milo tries to drill the voice, “Wh- what are you exactly. Are you a dem- hm, an angel?” The voice answers almost before he even finishes the thought, ‘It matters not what I am. All that matters are your desires. Now. Do you wish to be all you desire, all this James embodies? All that he is in your head.” Miles gulps and almost starts drooling at the idea, just like James. Women at his fingertips whenever he wants, a body sculpted by the gods while keeping a far better mind than that oaf could ever afford. With next to no hesitation or forethought, Milo nods and the world goes dark.

When he awakens the poorly mannered man finds it’s the next day. His phone rests in his hand and when opened he finds it zoomed in on a picture of James’ meaty bicep. Milo rolls his eyes and tosses his phone aside before going to stand. Making it halfway up he grunts in pain as he only then discovers morning wood more pressing and turgid than he’s ever encountered. Falling back down he clutches at the pain in his crotch from his cock being forcibly yanked by his underwear. Hands now grasping it he gasps as he finds it filling them far more than it has any right to. 

Well now, while they’re already down there he might as well have some fun right? After briefly struggling to get his waistband over his swollen package his mouth falls open in shock as he’s finally able to appraise the almost unrecognizable cock hanging from his crotch. It’s like none he’s seen before, not that he generally observes dicks of course. Far more impressive than he imagined a dick could be. His fingertips can scarcely meet his palm when he tries to grasp it, and as he begins rubbing it it feels leagues more sensitive than it has before now, as if nerve endings are multiplying. Looking to his awaiting phone he sees the photo of James and what’s her name as he begins masturbating outright.

Seeing a bulge in James’ strained pants he grunts as he returns to stare at his own suddenly substantial cock. More like him. The already thicker rod strains as he reflexively humps into his hand, forcing his grip wider as it expands to simply need more room. The new veins painting the length of his nascent ten inch dick surge higher up its length as he swears he can see them pulse and bulge with each racing heartbeat. Beneath his thrusting hands, bouncing as his hips continue to forcefully thrust with more strength than he has, his balls similarly grow heavier, larger as they send hormones flowing through him enough to metamorphosize and, more immediately, cause pre to stream and coat his fingers. 

Milo leans his head back as he is bursting with a need for release greater than he can understand. He shifts his jaw as it twinges with the pleasure of growth, widening and strengthening into one fit for titan. Below his newly defined chin, his neck thickens and moans grow deeper as an Adam's apple bulges out of his throat. Hearing his voice echo deeper throughout his bedroom, his heady pleasure comes to a head as he is struck with the bizarre urge to lick the pre off his fingers. Before he’s able to acquire or express shock and disgust, his eyes blast open and he is again staring at the image of James, more like- and he blows his load.

The moment of release may as well have shut him down once more, pleasure overloads him like a flashbang as every inch of his body feels at once. Drool drips from his plumper lips as his mind is fried and his hips continue to thrust without any input or awareness, sending stains across his wall and splattering into his darker hair as it begins to pull shorter and tint darker. Eyebrows thicken and cover more of his forehead as his brow hangs lower over his eyes staining brown and growing duller.

His whole form tenses as he finally achieves release, staring at the image of his, uh, competition. Arms flex as his hands crack wider, fingers stretch longer, skin grows rougher. For the first time in his life definition appears on his arms, biceps and triceps compete for which can increase faster, which can catch more eyes, which can rival those alluring arms of James. Beneath shoulders packing on weight are pits that darken with curls now thicker, a deeper brown nearing black as the forest strives to prevent any light from breaking the canopy. Similarly they moisten with the masculine heady musk that they are perfectly designed to disseminate, powerful enough to allure any twink towards his dick, or uh, huh.

Milo moans as this seemingly intrusive thought makes itself at home in his morphing psyche. Barely returning to sentience enough to realize the stray gay thought, he arches his back and stretches as if he were waking up. Mindlessly he wipes the cum staining his larger hands on the new dark treasure trail as it itches and slowly inches up from pubes unshaved. Feeling the hint of an Adonis belt he sits up with a shock, the feeling of something he has long envied bringing back his awareness.

Despite the obvious differences it takes far too long for him to be aware of, to truly notice what has become of him. He struggles to make sense of the effort it takes to move his new larger limbs. He grabs at his new hair and sucks drool through his teeth as he tries to understand how it’s changed texture and color so totally, did he dye it and forget or what? The gears in his mind slowly turn as his fingers move to scratch an itch under his arms, struggling through the dank jungle of curls. Thoughtlessly he brings his sweat-wet fingers to his nose and grimaces. “Fuck man, I smell like an, uh, like a, unnh-” he moans quietly as he’s unable to even finish the sentence, instead an image of James forces its way to the front of his mind and two now-malnourished brain cells spark together and strain to form a thought.

“Oh fuck I’m turning into a imbe-, an uh imbekle? Ugh, an uh- a dumb jock.” Milo bites his lips and flexes an arm to try and assuage his nerves, to get his attention focused on anything but his anxieties. Fortunately to this end, seeing his bulging biceps he feels his larger cock begin to stir. Some semblance of rationality knows ceding to his wanting package is probably what led to this encroaching fog over his mind. His skin begins to prickle as all-around it grows more sensitive. Beyond these skin deep sensations it also seems as if darker hairs are beginning to spread out wherever his follicles will allow.

Seeing hair beginning to prickle his chest and blanket his legs his mind produces images of hairy men he has leered at through the years. His neck twitches as whatever dregs of the pathetic skirtchaser he once was rise up and try to combat his new predilections. He’s straight, he’s always been straight. Right? His mouth goes dry as he tries to remember ever having dated a woman in the past. Barring that, only just able to recall that something is happening to him, only just able to remember that he is transforming into some alien self, Milo tries to produce an image of what he used to look like. And he cannot.

His mouth falls open as it often does whenever he struggles to produce a thought, making it almost his default state. Mouth-breathing mouth ajar he fully experiences the thick air of his bedroom as it fills with his new musk. The room around him begins to dissolve and reform into surroundings that reinforce who he is now, that prove this is who he has always been. Clean pressed laundry dirty and shift into unwashed gym clothes that help cloud the room with his stink. Posters of whatever movies and video games he enjoys corrupt into images celebrating the impressive male form, all distinctly stained from the years of hanging on Milo’s bedroom walls. He hears clanking outside of his bedroom as bookshelves collapse and reform into weights heavier than he would be able to lift.

Milo stumbles to his larger feet and ignores the hefty weight of his balls and cock bobbing in the air as he drags himself out of his bedroom to find a mirror. He leaves sweaty footprints larger than any shoes he owns on the tile of the bathroom as he bumbles in. Leaning over the sink his lips quiver as he sees a razor clogged with hair darker than he feels he should have. Sooner than the doubts arrive they vacate as a thick, stubbled beard rapidly bursts onto his face. Looking up he smirks as he sees a thick mustache surges over his upper lip, looking just like the ones he appreciates,  just like he has always been into. His eye twitches and he grunts as his hair retracts once more into something far more intentional and stylish. At the same time pecs suddenly bulge larger and hang lower as Milo leans heavier over the bathroom sink. 

His eyes glaze over as complex thoughts once more become too elusive in the face of his rising lusts. Muscles bulge larger as his back and legs creak, stretching him taller as thighs and shoulders widen and continue putting on mass. Feet spread like fins on the floor as his hands widen and sweatily slide on the ceramic sink. His mouth continues to water as he inspects all these increasingly masculine changes and his cock continues to throb. Milo bites his lip as new sensations arise from his cock once more, this time the change is apparent as his foreskin regrows, making his cock look even thicker as its head grows hooded and he struggles not to immediately break into masturbation at the powerful image of his own seductive form.

Milo’s barely functioning mind struggles to argue for any reason to not just return to the immeasurable delights of gratifying his all-encompassing urges. He stays his hands for a moment before the greatest horror yet rears its head. A monologue begins in his mind that is not his own, that cannot be his own. Dull laughter echoes through his increasingly vacant mind as a voice even slower and deeper than that which sounds from his new vocal chords, “Yooo broo come onnnnn. Give up, give in. This is what you wanted, ‘s what we wanted huhuhuh.”

He feels a pressure in his balls as they almost churn with the otherworldly need that seemingly always flows through him. He can’t help but imagine the men he’s going to bed with his new endowment, how many cocks he’s going to take in his new powerful ass. Drool trickles from his lips through the dense black stubble that coats his face denser with each second, with each breath. Spit continues down the length of his more defined face before dripping onto weighty, similarly furred pecs. His heavier hands slowly creep towards the hardening cock standing tall and long from the jungle of pubes. Before he’s able to assist his thrusting hips however, his lusty haze is interrupted by his phone chiming. His mind immediately thinks it must be James which fills him with conflicting emotions of rage and giddiness. “Ohh bro maybe he’s inviting us over. It’s been toooo long since we fucked huhuh-”

Milo pointedly tries to ignore his hairier, bulkier reflection as he stumbles out of the bathroom to check his phone. Unfortunately he catches a glimpse which makes it all the more difficult to ignore the throbbing weight dripping, almost pouring, pre onto the floor. Despite it all he stands strong, quieting this other voice as it urgently tries to convince him to give in before he’s able to pick up his phone. In a final act of resistance, or perhaps impotence, he has the lofty idea of calling for help before his mind goes completely blank and, seeing the notification, he instinctually goes to his messages to find who texted him. It’s Juliet! 

First his heart flutters before he’s absolutely confused at the sensation. She’s just his bestie? Weird. He shakes off whatever that was and gets on to reading the message, “heyy girlie- which of these do you want me to post? Oh ya and lmao, are you and james cool if I do the last one?” At the mention of James his pulse again races and there are butterflies in his stomach far more powerful than whatever bizarre feelings he had but moments ago. No time to dwell, Milo starts swiping through the images sent. They’re a photoset of their little group outing to a halloween party last week, the trio, Milo, James and Jules dressed up as a group, as X-men! Respectively dressed as Wolverine, Cyclops and Jean Grey.

He smirks as he starts chubbing up again thinking of how easily he was able to pass as the hairy beast. His eyes then return to see James’ bubble butt in trademark spandex, which only makes it harder to not lose control then and there, moaning as he imagines playing with that ass. Holding to whatever well of willpower remains within him Milo holds strong and keeps his hands above waist level. Finally he gets to the specific image Juliet mentioned, one of him and James messily making out on the dance floor. James yanks at the hairy Milo’s hair, visor half hanging off as Milo reciprocates by shoving his hand into James’ pants. Fuck that’s hot.

Without even touching his needy cock, without any pleading from the new voice in his head, without a single chance to hold back. Simply from seeing the steamy image of him and James, Milo’s mind is overrun with memories and desires of the new man he is. The man he ever was and always will be. And for the second time today, but not the last, he loses control. Cum splatters against his phone as his mind goes blank anew with rushing pleasure. Painting himself once more with his most-used utensil he laughs dumbly as he realizes how swiftly he just came. Almost with pathetic haste, though now he’s quite unfamiliar with any sense of shame. The voice that only just wormed its way into his head spills from his mouth as it fully and forevermore wrests control as the true Milo.

“Huhuhuh guess I should work on my hair trigger,” He grunts as he looks at his phone and texts back some variation of ‘girl that’s porn you can’t post that!!!’ he turns his mind where it goes more often than anywhere in his new life. He wonders what James is doing and immediately texts him. Waiting for a reply Milo heads off to the gym to get a pump in before presumably going to meet him, not worrying about cleaning up or covering his scent. The gym’s for smelling like a man right? He certainly wouldn’t mind if everyone else followed his lead huhuh. Milo bites his lip trying to ignore his hardening cock as he makes his way out of the apartment clad in too-tight, stained gym clothes. 

Before he even makes it out the complex he gets a text from James and promptly changes course. Immediately Milo’s racing down the street to his lover’s apartment. Cock already snaking down his shorts and creating a stain at its nadir, Milo hopes he can keep his needy cock at bay until he makes it. Thinking of the alternative work out he’s to enjoy in bed with James, Milo struggles to not moan obscenely as he waddles as quickly as he can into the lobby of James’ building. Heart racing with excitement he can’t wait to see James in person. Jittery with nerves, it feels like he’s going to meet the man for the first time. Hah! Milo promptly ignores the idea and starts to get some stretching in before their session. Trying to practice mindfulness with a mind thicker than mud he quickly finds himself possessed with memories of their countless times fucking in the past. Easy enough as the pair have been doing so for years. Still nerves assail him as his cock continues to strain his shorts. As the elevator doors click open he smirks as he was able to make it this far without blowing his third load of the day. His cock throbs with anticipation for its release soon to come, and impatiently awaits each and every similar session to follow.

[00valentina-writes00]

OKAY! I legit love your fics so so much! How about ambessa x pregnant reader. Let’s just pretend woman can get woman pregnant (dream) okay so reader gets injured and Ambessa becomes extremely protective of her after it! Super fluff!!! :3

✞⛧Guarding What’s Most Precious✞⛧

Warnings: Pregnancy, injury, protective behavior

Word count: 1.4k

The day had started off like any other. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, casting the world in a muted light. The air was thick with the scent of rain, but you weren’t bothered. You had become used to the dampness, the cool air, and the unpredictable weather that accompanied living in such a place. It was the kind of day where you could wrap yourself in warmth and quiet, and maybe even doze off next to the hearth, with your wife’s strong arms around you.

You hadn’t expected the day to take the turn it did.

You and Ambessa had decided to spend the morning walking through the grounds, where the soldiers were training, taking in the crisp air and the sight of the ongoing drills. Ambessa had been as commanding as ever, her presence towering over everyone else as she observed and offered advice. You, on the other hand, had been content to stand back and watch, keeping distance between you and the exertion around you. After all, you were pregnant now, and while you were still as independent as ever, the changes in your body required a slower pace.

But then, everything had gone wrong in the blink of an eye.

You’d been distracted, watching one of the soldiers execute a particularly difficult move, when you felt a sharp pain in your side. A soldier, unaware of your presence, had stumbled backward into you while trying to avoid a particularly powerful strike. The impact sent you tumbling, your feet slipping out from beneath you as you lost your balance.

It had all happened so fast—one moment you were watching the training, and the next, you were crumpled on the ground with a searing pain in your abdomen. You gasped, clutching your side, but it wasn’t the pain itself that had caused the wave of panic to rush through you. It was the sudden realization that you were carrying the life of your child, and the thought that you might have harmed them sent a chill of fear straight through your chest.

Before you could even think to get up, Ambessa was by your side, her towering figure casting a shadow over you. Her golden eyes were wide with panic, her usual calm demeanor shattered.

“Stay still,” she commanded, her voice trembling despite the authority it always held. She knelt beside you, her strong hands carefully cupping your face, her touch unusually gentle. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?”

Your breath was shallow, heart racing as you clutched at your side, the pain still a sharp reminder of what had just happened. “It’s… it’s just my side. I think I… I just lost my balance.”

Ambessa’s gaze flickered down to your stomach, a protective, possessive streak flashing in her eyes as she placed a hand over your abdomen. “And the baby?”

You nodded quickly, trying to calm her. “The baby’s fine. I think it’s just a shock to my system.”

Her expression softened ever so slightly, though it was clear she was still very much on edge. Without a word, she carefully scooped you into her arms, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. She was surprisingly gentle, her muscles rippling beneath your touch as she carried you away from the scene of the accident.

Ambessa’s mind raced, her thoughts consumed with the safety of you and the baby. She had always been fierce and protective, but something about the thought of you—carrying her child—being hurt in any way made her instincts go into overdrive. It was as if her heart couldn’t handle it.

“Let’s get you inside, where it’s safe,” Ambessa said, her voice low, but still laced with tension. She was no longer the calm and composed General—now, she was simply a woman who loved you and was terrified of losing you.

She carried you straight to the medical wing, her steps long and purposeful as she moved quickly, but with care. Her grip on you never wavered, and the way she held you against her chest reminded you of just how much she cared—just how fiercely she would protect you.

Once inside, Ambessa wasted no time, placing you on the nearest bed and calling for the physician to attend to you. Her movements were swift, but her eyes were constantly on you, ensuring that you were okay, that nothing had happened to the baby. The physician, a calm and experienced woman, moved swiftly to examine you, checking your pulse and your side.

The examination was thorough, but all you could focus on was Ambessa, standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her brow furrowed in concern. Her posture was rigid, as though she was bracing herself for something, and the moment the physician moved to check your abdomen, Ambessa’s eyes never left you.

When the physician finally gave the all-clear, saying that everything seemed to be fine and that you just needed to rest, Ambessa’s posture visibly relaxed, though she still didn’t approach you immediately. She remained standing in her place for a moment, her breathing still a little erratic, her chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension she’d been holding.

“Ambessa,” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. Please… come sit with me.”

Her eyes flickered over to you, and for a moment, she hesitated. But then, as if her concern for you was too overwhelming to resist, she moved toward you, her heavy boots thudding softly against the floor as she approached. She gently placed a hand on the bed, leaning over you, her gaze softening as she studied your face.

“I should have been paying more attention,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with regret. “I let my guard down. I should have kept you away from the training grounds.”

You reached up, cupping her cheek in your hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Ambessa. I’m the one who got distracted, remember?” You offered her a small smile, hoping to ease some of the tension in her chest. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. You don’t have to worry.”

But even as you said those words, you knew it wasn’t that simple. Ambessa’s protectiveness wasn’t something that could be easily calmed. It was in her nature to shield you from harm, especially when you were carrying her child.

She leaned down, pressing her forehead gently to yours. “I’ll never stop worrying about you. About both of you.” Her hand rested softly on your belly, and for a long moment, she just stood there, silent, feeling the warmth of the life inside you.

Your heart fluttered at her words, the sincerity behind them making you feel even more loved than you already did. You could feel the love radiating off her, the deep bond you shared.

Ambessa pulled back just slightly, her gaze dropping to your stomach. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life,” she admitted softly. “But I’d never let anything happen to either of you.”

You could see the fierce determination in her eyes, the same fire that had led her to command armies and conquer battlefields. But now, that fire was directed solely at protecting you—protecting your family.

You placed your hand over hers, gently squeezing it. “I know. And I love you for it.”

Ambessa’s lips softened into a small smile, though her eyes remained intense with the love and protectiveness she felt for you. “I’m sorry if I seem overbearing,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “But I’ll always be here. I’ll always make sure you’re safe.”

You smiled up at her, your heart swelling with affection. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As Ambessa settled beside you, her large frame effortlessly fitting against your smaller one, you let out a sigh of contentment. She wrapped her strong arms around you, pulling you close as if she were trying to shield you from the world.

“You’re everything to me,” she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “You and our child are everything.”

And in that moment, wrapped in her embrace, you knew that you were safe. No matter what the world threw your way, Ambessa would always be there to protect you. To protect both of you.

[bbkoolkatz]

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　mama... I fucked a criminal! k. bakugo!

pairing: prisoner katsuki x prison guard reader!

cw: porn with plot? female reader, explicit adult content, strong sexual themes, profanity, power dynamics, imprisoned!katsuki!, verbal teasing and taunting, consensual sexual acts, embarrassment, spanking, groping, mentions of getting caught! reader discretion is advised.

2.3k+ words!

MDNI!!!

there was nothing that really got to you. you've grown used to the criminals in their cells telling you all the nasty things they'd do to you, if you let them out or if you came in. but it never hit your skull like the way his words did...

"oi, sweets, y' just gonna stand there all day, or y' gonna come in 'n keep me comp'ny?" him —the man behind the reinforced glass, infamous traitor, the explosive ex-hero Dynamight—

you didn't even glance at him, staring straight ahead at the blank wall across from you. you knew better than to feed into his games. yet, somehow... he always managed to get under your skin.

"silent treatment, huh?" he mocked, words rolling off his tongue oh so smoothly. " 's fine. I can talk enough fer both of us." it's like second nature to him with how often he taunted you, feeding off of every little reaction you gave.

you clenched your jaw, refusing to let his words phase you. It had been like this every shift since they assigned you to guard this cell where, the Dynamight, was locked away, and for reasons you couldn't fathom, it was your job to keep him in line.

"yer real cute when yer all serious, y'know that?" he drawled, the grin in his voice clear even if you refused to look. "bet yer just dyin' t' say somethin' t' me."

your grip on your firearm tightened. "shut up."

his laughter was low and raspy, echoing off the cell walls. "oh, there she isss. knew you couldn't resist me, sweets."

you turned your head slightly, glaring at him through the glass. his orange jumpsuit was tight on his arms, veins bulging from them, his blond spikes of hair messier than usual, hanging right above his crimson eyes, that sparkled with mischief. he was lounging on the narrow bed in his cell like he didn't have a care in the world, one arm draped behind his head as he smirked at you.

"don't call me that," you snapped.

"what, sweets?" he teased, leaning forward just enough to rest his elbows on his knees. "would ya' prefer somethin' else? Doll? Babe? Honey? y' gotta tell me what gets ya goin', princess."

your face burned, and you turned away quickly, cursing yourself for reacting, as you squeezed your thighs together. you could feel his gaze like a physical weight on your back, and you knew he was loving every second of it.

"aw don' be like that," he cooed, voice softer but no less taunting. "yer my only entertainment in this place. least y' could do is let me have some fun."

"this isn't fun," you muttered, trying to sound firm, but all he heard was, cute... "this is my job."

"n' yer real good at it, too," he goaded, standing and moving closer to the glass where you stood. "but yer not exactly subtle, y'know." he teased, "I see the way yer hands shake when I talk t' ya', the way yer cheeks get all red." and he glaced down your body, "n' the way those fuckin' thighs squeeze t'gether... y' like it, don'tcha?"

you spun around to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I do not."

he grinned wider, pressing his palm flat against the glass. "yer a terrible liar, princess."

the way he said it, so smug and self-assured, made you want to scream. but you knew that's exactly what he wanted. he thrived on your frustration, on the little cracks in your composure, even if he only saw it for a split second.

"shift exchange." a voice crackled over the speaker, clipped and monotonous.

you exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, turning your gaze back to the glass. katsuki's smirk was nothing short of devilish as he leaned against the barrier, his perfectly crimson eyes locking onto yours like a predator savoring his prey.

"that's my cue," you muttered, hoping the tremor in your voice wasn't as obvious as it felt.

"aww, don' look so disappointed," he drawled, "yer playin' with my feelin's here." his tone was mocking but dangerously, dangerously smooth. "i'll be right here, waitin' for ya, sweets. same time, same place. maybe next time, i'll even sweeten the deal fer ya."

you rolled your eyes, stepping back as another guard arrived to relieve you. his eyes followed you as you left, grin widening when you hesitated at the door.

"don' forget about me, sweetcheeks," he rasped, voice dripping with amusement. "i'll be thinkin' of ya."

you didn't look back. how could you forget about him? you spent months guarding his ass... your boots echoed against the cold floor as you walked away, but his words followed you, curling around and suffocating you like smoke.

you rubbed your temples. katsuki had this uncanny ability to irritate you, to pick apart your defenses with precision. and it was maddening.

yet… there was a heat that refused to dissipate, a knot forming in your lower belly that you couldn't quite shake. the sound of his voice replaying in your mind like a broken record.

"get a grip," you muttered to yourself, but even as you said it, you knew it wouldn't be that simple. there was already an itch he created inside you... 'cause he was as far under your skin as he could get, and he wasn't leaving anytime soon...

the other day, they called you in early, for god knows what reason, and he hasn't shut his mouth from the moment he saw you, till now.

"why don'tcha just admit it?" he teased, in almost a purr as he leaned his head on the glass... "admit y' like the way I talk t' ya... the way I look at yer ass in those tight pants... admit y' thought about openin' this door and lettin' me—"

"that's enough." you cut him off, your voice sharper than you intended. and you took a deep breath, trying to ease the ache he made you feel in the pit of your stomach, "you're wasting your breath."

"am i?" he asked, tilting his head, leaning forward, and studying you like you were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

you tilted your head in the opposite direction and subconsciously leaned closer... like you were leaning in for a kiss, "yes..." you whispered, fogging the glass with the heat of your breath.

-

"i've fucked ya' a hundred times over in my head," he leaned over and groaned in your ear, "watching yer uniform hug them pretty fuckin' thighs instead o' me..." he smacked your plump ass and smirked when it rippled under his palm, plowing himself into you, scratching that itch he embedded deep in your cunt.

"such a pretty fuckin' thing aren't ya," he prodded, landing another stinging smack on the reddened flesh that he couldn't stop grabbing at. his fingers dug into the curve of your waist, pressing you down on the soft material of the makeshift mattress he spent all day and night on, thinking about fucking you.

the sounds of your squelching cunt filled his cell as his hips thwacked mindlessly into yours. and the salty sting of tears pricked at your eyes, as he had you bent over the edge of the platform jutting out from the wall, that he'd called his bed.

"i needa know, sweetcheeks," he huffed, "di'ja fuck yerself t' me when y' left?" and the feeling of him pumping his fat cock inside you stopped...

you hesitantly nodded, whining under him, as a series of incoherent babbles fell through your lips. "use yer words, baby." he encouraged, grinding his hips against you.

you turned away from him, soft moans leaving your throat, "m-mhmm," you whimpered, hoping he'll take that answer... he didn't... smack!

"uh-uhh babe," he goaded, "words, not whimpers." he slowly pulled his length out of your drippy pussy, running two fingers up and down between your lips.

"ahh- y-yes, hah," you whispered, burying your face into his pillow, to hide your embarrassment.

" 'm not hearin' ya baby, louder." he slapped your puffy clit, rubbing his fingers harder and faster between your sloppy folds.

... how did you end up here? well...

"c'mon sweets, jus' confess. promise I won' tell anyone," he playfully pouted, leaning on the barrier between you both, with an arm over his head as he looked down at you.

"you're insufferable," you muttered, turning back to face the dirty white wall.

"maybe," he said, laughing softly. "but ya can't get enough of it."

you tried to focus on your breathing, on calming the rapid beating of your heart sending throbs between your legs, on anything but the man behind you. but then he spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

"y'know," he said, "y' should loosen up a little. let yerself have a bit o' fun. life's too short to be so uptight, sweets."

you refused to respond, refused to give him the satisfaction. but his words lingered and replayed in your brain.

after a long pause, he chuckled again, the sound softer but no less infuriating. "i'll break through that wall o' yers eventually. n' when I do, yer not gonna know what hit ya'."

"keep dreaming." you said, your voice steady despite the heat still burning in your cheeks.

"oh I will." he replied, and you could hear the grin behind his words. "n' guess what? yer always the star o' the show."

now you're here, a pretty little mess pressed up under him as the tip of cock prods at your sopping wet entrance. " 'm not hearin' ya dollface," he crooned, pushing just his fat tip in and out of you, "won' put it back in 'til ya say it loud and clear f'me."

"mh- yes! alright! hah~" you groaned, frustrated with yourself that you gave into him, that he had this kind of hold on you... that it felt sooo fucking good when his veiny cock was stretching your tight pussy out...

"yes what? baby?" he sinks himself into you, inch by painstaking inch, stretching you open again.

"ahg- yes, I touch myself -hngh- thinkin' 'bout you..." your whining was music to his ears, hearing those words fall through your saliva covered lips, only making him grow harder inside you. smack! if only you could see how fucking hot you were as you looked back at him while he thrusted into your aching cunt.

"atta girl~" he grunted, with sloppy thrusts, hands bruising your hips with the hot grip he had on them. you reached a hand back trying to pry them off, but he grabbed your wrist, holding it hostage, using it to plow deeper into you. "don' try t' get my hands off." smack! "been watchin' y' through that fuckin' glass -ugh- fer too fuckin' long fer me t' not leave a few marks."

"shift exchange." . . . fuck. . .

"oh this is gonna be fuckin' sweet." he drawled, dragging you over to the same glass wall that separated you from him, "how long d'ya think we got 'til someone comes in?" he teased, grabbing handfuls of your tits as he rammed you into the glass.

"m-'bout, 5 -hngh- minutes?" you moaned, "l-less?- ahh~" rubbing at your wet sensitive clit.

"want me to stop?" he purred, sucking on the soft of your neck, pinching your perky nipples, "y'could come back t'mo-"

"no!" you gasped, repeatedly shaking your head, desperation taking you over, "please... i-i'm close..."

"didn't take ya fer such a freak sweetcheeks," he mused, using your neck to pull you back, for him to lock his lips with yours, his tongue shoving past yours to explore every crevice of your mouth, and by fuck, you're sweet as hell... you were driving him more insane than he already was.

he didn't care if anyone came in and saw him fucking your brains out and apparently, neither did you... kinda... all he cared for, was making you cum, whining and crying on his throbbing dick. "if ya' beg nice enough maybe i'll let ya'."

"huh?" you groaned, hasn't he embarrassed you enough already? no. "i'm not gonna-"

"'pretty pretty pretty please', 's all y' gotta say princess," he whispered, slowing his thrusts. "n' I'll make sure you cum all over my cock."

you groaned, trying to shove yourself back into him, and he chuckled at your attempt, firmly holding you in place, "mmh- p-pretty, pretty, pretty please?" a single tear fell down your cheek. "please make me cum!" he lapped at your cheek savoring the salty taste of the tears that followed the first.

"good girl~" he cooed, picking up his pace once more, drinking in each moan he fucked out of you, throwing in some of his own grunts and growls. he snaked his hand down your body, to rub and pinch at your swollen pleasure button, bringing you closer to climax.

" 'm c-cumming! ffuck!~" you clenched around him, feeling each ridge and vein of his pulsing hot dick and your legs gave out from under you as he rode you through your high. the only thing keeping you from falling to the cold floor was his toned body pressing yours into the glass, with your tits squished between his pair of musclebound arms. his head dropped to rest in the crook of your neck, as he heaved a series of pleasure filled curses.

"on your feet," he rasped, finally pulling away and out of you, making you whine a little with how abrupt he was, "ya' needa put yer uniform back on," he grinned, picking it up off the floor to throw it at you. " 'm keepin' these." his hands held up the little fabric of your underwear as he shoved them into his jumpsuit.

"huh? i need those!" you complained, reaching to get them back only for him to pull you into another tongue hungry kiss, leaving a string of saliva when he pulled away.

he licked the plump surface of your now pink lips, "i need 'em more, sweetcheeks." and he left one last smack on your sore ass before you got dressed and your shift ended... ꨄ

didn't know how to end it... :/ mlist

[venjras]

CHEATING TROPE - GOJO SATORU.

not my usual cup of tea but here we are. sfw, mention of cheating,

his gaze was always on you. whenever you were in the same room, even from opposite sides, his attentive eyes did not miss even the smallest of your movements.

funny considering the fact that he had a girlfriend. you had met him when they were already a couple, you had heard from megumi that they weren’t going to last long. opposite characters, in the worst possible combination ever, the only great thing was sex and as an answer that was already enough. probably the pressure from the parents had something to do with it too, hers was a powerful family that would benefit their business immensely. since one day it would become his.

anyway, now you were at the fushiguro house, you were there for a group assignment, the house was empty except for you and that raven head immersed in books. a small snort escaped your lips, continuing to write down the results of the research you two had taken the last two hours. you were sure that your head would end up exploding keeping up like this.

“toruuuuu, i don’t want to stay here. let’s go home, my parents are waiting us for dinner.” fuck, no. that high-pitched voice was capable of piercing your eardrums like nothing. a roll of eyes and the kitchen door swinging open revealing their figures behind it. gojo and his bimbo girlfriend who was clinging to his arm, almost as if she were an extension of him and depended on it to survive. now the idea of ​​going back to your house was even more inviting. he went to ruffle his younger cousin’s hair, who muttered something inaudible in response. “you’re such a nerd, at this rate you’ll become a book yourself.” he added with a laugh, then pointed his gaze at you from under the thick sunglasses he always wore. time to realize it and the girl was already pulling him by the arm, muttering as if she were a child extremely in need of attention.

breathe, breathe, breathe.

“do you still keep the chemistry book in your room? we might need it for a more in-depth study of the last part.” you don’t even bother waiting for an answer, leaving the room, which had become too narrow by now, and heading upstairs. running away was your only chance, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten out alive. there was something that was digging under your skin every time you met them, you still had to figure out what, but when you thought you were getting the solution it was as if your mind refused to process it. now you were safe, in megumi’s room looking for a book that you remembered perfectly well that he had forgotten at school, the perfect excuse to waste more time looking for it.

“running away won’t get you anywhere, you know that right sweetheart?” the deep voice echoed in your ears, hitting straight to your head. straightening your back and continuing to search on the desk, moving various papers. “it will definitely take me away from the beautiful voice of your girlfriend who, in my personal opinion, isn’t particularly pleasant.” the answer was immediate, spontaneous, perhaps too much so. seeing out of the corner of your eyes that a sly smile was making its way onto his lips. “actually, if you allow me, I’d go down and save gumi before his eardrums shatter in a million pieces.”

you go to the door but his figure doesn’t move, taking up the entire frame and preventing you from passing. now you were face to face, the perfect moment to realize how he had abandoned his glasses and now his crystalline eyes were fixed on you only. bad, bad idea. you try to pass through the small gap on the right but he promptly covers it with his long torso, making your eyebrows gather. “may i?” you move closer but nothing, he doesn’t show any signs of moving back, on the contrary. he crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking at you amused. “and what if i don’t want to?” he tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. you could do nothing but sigh, placing a hand on his chest, trying to move him but instead feeling only the mass of muscles stiffen. marble, that's what it could be compared to. this must have been the result of who knows how much training.

hold your thoughts, hold your thoughts.

“i want a kiss.” he said it so calmly that you almost had a fit, you must have heard wrong and your expression clearly betrayed your confusion. you saw him lower himself to your height, remaining just a few centimeters from your face, you felt his breath on your cheek. “i want a really nice kiss and after that i’ll move." this time the words reached your ears clearly, there was no possible misunderstanding.

and everything happened too quickly to even realize. his breathing getting closer and closer, the bodies that seemed to attract each other like magnets, he finally detached from the doorframe and obviously you saw an opportunity and took it. you took advantage and moved him enough to have a space to pass, exiting the room and with your foot on the first step. “you can do much better than that, toru.” you said that name purposely with the cadence of his girlfriend, shooting him a wink and rejoining the two in the living room.

the cheating trope had never been your favorite anyway.

maybe i’ll do a part two, i don’t know yet.

©️ venjras.

[rianemorgan]

Title: Stealing HER Fate

Summary: In an alternate take on the Miraculous Ladybug universe, an outsider wakes up in Marinette's world and steals her fate as Ladybug, determined to claim the life and destiny that wasn’t hers. With manipulative cunning, the reader becomes Paris’ celebrated heroine, earning Adrien’s love and the world’s admiration while ensuring Marinette never steps into the role of Ladybug across all timelines.

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️

Gaslighting and manipulation, Villainous protagonist, Bittersweet outcomes,and Character alteration and reimagination.

Word Count: 3,718

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.

You never expected to wake up in Paris—not the Paris you knew, but a version straight out of a TV screen. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep after yet another late-night binge of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir, grumbling about how Marinette didn’t deserve the Miraculous of the Ladybug. She was clumsy, obsessive, and a borderline stalker when it came to Adrien.

“She doesn’t deserve it,” you’d mutter to yourself, turning off the screen. “I could do so much better.”

When you woke up, everything felt… different.

You weren’t in your bed, in your small, cozy apartment back in your real life. Instead, you were in a room you didn’t recognize, adorned with pictures of a family you’d never seen before. The soft morning light seeped through lacy curtains, and outside, the faint sound of Parisian streets hummed. Paris.

No. It couldn’t be.

You bolted upright, scanning the room. It was utterly surreal, yet painfully familiar. The pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the smell of croissants wafting through the house—this was Paris. But it wasn’t your Paris. It was the Paris of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

You stumbled to the mirror, half-expecting to see your usual face. But no, it was still you, albeit… younger. A moment of panic set in, but the surreal reality quickly overtook it. Somehow, impossibly, you were in the Miraculous universe. And if you were here, you knew exactly what was going to happen next.

Your initial excitement quickly morphed into envy. Marinette, in all her awkwardness, was destined to become the heroine, to wield the Ladybug Miraculous and save Paris. But why? You were smarter, more decisive, and less distracted. If anyone deserved that kind of power, it was you.

And then you realized—you could take it.

The memory of the Origins episode was fresh in your mind. Master Fu would soon be in trouble, and Marinette was supposed to save him. But if you acted first, you could claim the Miraculous and rewrite destiny itself.

The plan was simple: stay close to Marinette, wait for the right moment, and steal her fate.

That morning, your new parents—kind strangers who felt oddly warm—called you down to breakfast. They smiled as though you’d always been their child, and while it was disconcerting, you played along. Over croissants and jam, your mother handed you a small box of mooncake. “For your first day at your new school,” she said with a smile.

You nodded, murmuring your thanks. But your mind was already racing. You knew the plot. You knew what today would bring. You were determined to take the chance Marinette was supposed to have. After all, why not? If fate had given you this opportunity, then wasn’t it meant to be yours?

The streets of Paris were just as lively as you imagined, the sights both foreign and familiar. You approached the school with your cookies in hand, keeping an eye out for the key moment.

At the crosswalk, you saw him: Master Fu, the elderly guardian of the Miraculouses, hobbling across the street. You watched from a distance, your heart pounding as you spotted the scene unfolding. This was the moment. This was where Marinette was supposed to step in.  

But not today.

You ran forward, reaching him just in time. “Sir, watch out!” you shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling him to safety. The car whizzed by, the driver honking angrily.

Master Fu looked up at you with a warm, grateful smile. “Thank you, young lady. That was very brave of you.”

You smiled warmly, masking your inner glee. “It was nothing, sir. Are you okay?”

He nodded, adjusting his cane. He wobbled precariously, and you helped steady  him. “Here, let me help you,” you said, guiding him to the sidewalk.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.

You noticed Marinette standing a few steps away, her box of macarons clutched tightly. She had seen the whole thing, but she hadn’t had a chance to act. You shot her a quick glance, a small smirk playing on your lips.

Would you like one of these?” you asked, pulling a mooncake from the box and handing it to Master Fu.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it with a smile. “You’re a very thoughtful young lady.”

Marinette hesitated, her eyes darting between you and Master Fu. “Um… I was going to—”

“Oh, were you?” you interrupted, feigning surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Marinette frowned but didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on her macarons and walked away, her excitement from earlier dimmed.

As you made your way to school, a flicker of guilt passed through you. You now destroy Marinette’s chance to be Ladybug. No. You stole her chance to be Ladybug. But she didn’t need to be Ladybug. You were here now, and you would be better.

The classroom buzzed with energy as you entered. Marinette Dupain-Cheng sat near the front, she stares at you but quickly looks away. It's obvious she didn’t like you when a frown curved her mouth. You didn’t care, you're not here to be friends with her anyways. You took a seat a few rows away, watching as the class dynamics played out like clockwork: Chloé Bourgeois asserting her dominance, and Alya standing up for Marinette, But your focus was elsewhere. Your mind was on what would come later.

Later that day, the akuma attack on Stoneheart interrupted class. You feigned fear like everyone else, though inside, you were buzzing with anticipation. This was how the story began.

Because of what happened, school was suspended, sending every student back to the safety of their homes. You returned home to find a small ornate box on your desk. You opened it with trembling hands, revealing the Ladybug Miraculous. Tikki appeared, her tiny figure glowing with excitement.

You fake shout in surprise, asking what she is.

“Hello! I’m Tikki, your kwami. And Y/N, you’ve been chosen to wield the Ladybug Miraculous and protect Paris!”

You feigned shock, though inwardly you were thrilled. “Me? Are you sure? I’m just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Tikki’s eyes sparkled. “You can. I believe in you. You have the courage and heart to protect Paris! Just wear the earring and say the phrase: Spots On!”

Meanwhile, Marinette couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Her first day had started with such promise, but it had ended with a strange, gnawing emptiness.

She vented to Alya the next day. “It’s just… that girl, she swooped in and saved that man. I wanted to help, but she just… took over.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “You mean Y/N? I don’t know her that well, but she seemed nice enough. Maybe you’re just thinking too much about it, Marinette.”

Marinette frowned. “Maybe…”

But the doubt lingered.

The battle against Stoneheart played out just as you had anticipated, though with one key difference: you were in control and you already knew what to do. With the help of Chat Noir, you used your Lucky Charm to defeat the villain and purify the akuma, restoring Ivan to normal.

The people of Paris cheered as you stood victorious. You had done it. You were Ladybug.

Days turned into weeks, and you quickly became the perfect hero Paris needed. You saved the city countless times, each victory cementing your role as its protector. Fighting alongside Chat Noir was exhilarating. The people adored you, showering you with praise and gratitude.

But Marinette hated you. She didn’t hide it, either. She avoided you at school, her glares sharp enough to cut glass whenever you crossed paths.

You returned the sentiment. Marinette’s bitterness annoys you to no end. 

“I know you’re hiding something!! You’re not what they say you are!” Marinette snapped one day after school. “I know it!! You stole something from me!!

You smirked, leaning against a wall. “I don’t know what you're talking about Marinette, you can’t just convict me without evidence~ who knows I might slip and suddenly post this to the internet~” You said whilst holding a phone with evidence of Marinette stalking adrien.

Her face turned a lot more pale than it already was, her hands balled into fists, but she said nothing, storming off.

Despite your animosity, you excelled as Ladybug. Every akuma was defeated swiftly, every crisis averted. You were meticulous, calculating, and unyielding. Where Marinette would have hesitated, you acted decisively. 

Paris flourished under your protection, and even Chat Noir—still oblivious to your identity—admired your skill and determination. 

“You’re amazing, Ladybug,” Chat said one night after a battle. “I can’t imagine anyone else doing what you do.”

You smiled, leaning casually against a rooftop ledge. “Thanks, Chat. It’s nice to hear that.”

But deep down, you knew the truth. You hadn’t just stolen Marinette’s fate—you’d rewritten it entirely. And while guilt occasionally gnawed at you, the adoration of Paris drowned it out.

This was your destiny now, and you wouldn’t let anyone take it from you.

Marinette remained an ordinary girl, but something in her seemed to shift. She began to grow more suspicious of you, plagued by dreams where she was Ladybug.

The dreams started weeks later. Marinette woke up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding. In her dreams, she was Ladybug—fighting akumas, swinging through the city, standing beside Chat Noir.

“I am Ladybug..”

But when she woke up, reality hit her like a brick wall. That wasn’t her life. It was yours.

“No!! I am supposed to be Ladybug!!”

Confused and angry, she cornered you one day after class, eyes blazing with determination. “I know,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “I know I was supposed to be Ladybug.”

You tilted your head, a cold smile playing on your lips. “Oh? And what makes you think that?”

“It feels real,” she insisted. “Like it’s a memory, not just a dream. No. I know it's real!! I am Ladybug!! You stole it from me! You're a thief Y/N!!”

You stepped closer, your voice dropping to a low, mocking tone. “Maybe I did. and Maybe I am. But let’s face it, Marinette—you’re no hero. You’re obsessive, and distracted by your crush on Adrien. Your stalker behavior is not something a heroine should possess. Paris deserves better, and that’s me. I already have the Miraculous, and doing a REALLY GREAT job at it, what makes you think you deserve it anymore??”

Her face flushed with anger, but she had no response. You walked away, triumphant. The Miraculous was no longer hers to claim, and you will make sure it stayed that way.

Paris sparkled under the moonlight as you stood on the Eiffel Tower, gazing over the city you had come to love—and rule as its heroine. With the weight of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Guardianship on your shoulders, you felt untouchable.

That was until a glowing portal split the sky open.

Out stepped Bunnix, her expression hard and accusing. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk, Ladybug.”

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. “Bunnix. To what do I owe the pleasure of a time traveler’s visit?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Cut the act. You know why I’m here.”

Chat Noir appeared at your side, his baton at the ready. “What’s going on, Bunnix? You seem… tense.”

Bunnix pointed at you. “She’s not supposed to be Ladybug.”

Chat Noir blinked, stepping protectively in front of you. “What are you talking about? She’s Ladybug. She’s saved Paris more times than we can count!”

“She’s not supposed to be here,” she said, her voice sharp as her glowing portal shimmered behind her. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng was supposed to be Ladybug. This version of reality shouldn’t exist! You’ve disrupted everything!”

You crossed your arms, unfazed. “Paris is safe, isn’t it? I’ve done my job. Heck I even did a good job saving this world”

Bunnix stepped closer, her tone accusatory. “You’ve changed it, I’ve seen it. Marinette was supposed to save Master Fu. She was supposed to receive the Miraculous. But you—you interfered. You stole her destiny!!”

Chat Noir stood protectively in front of you. “Hey, back off. Ladybug’s saved this city countless times. Who cares what was ‘supposed’ to happen and who can receive the Miraculous?!”

Bunnix glared at you both. “This isn’t just about this world. The timelines are unraveling because of her!”

You smirked, letting your mask of innocence drop. You gently push Chat noir aside, stepping closer to Bunnix.

“It doesn’t matter what was supposed to happen. I’m Ladybug now. I’m the Guardian, the center of this world. And if Chat Noir protecting me despite what I did isn’t proof enough that her fate as Ladybug now officially belongs to me… *smirk* Haven’t realized it yet? This world is now synchronizing with me, just like how a world favors the protagonist… Marinette wasn’t fit for this responsibility, and I made sure Paris got the hero it deserves. And unfortunately for her, this world agrees, whether you like it or not~” You whispered lowly to her

Bunnix clenched her fists. “You’ve broken the balance. Do you realize what you’ve done? The entire multiverse is at risk!”

You shrugged. “Then I’ll fix it. As the Guardian, I have authority over all the Miraculouses, including yours.”

Bunnix’s eyes widened in realization. “You wouldn’t—”

With a wave of your hand, you summoned the Bunny Miraculous. The portal behind Bunnix flickered and closed as her powers were stripped away. She staggered, powerless, and glared at you with fury.

“You can’t do this!” she shouted as she was returned to the timeline she came from.

“Oh, I can,” you said, your voice icy. “And I will.”

 You donned the Bunny Miraculous and rewrote reality, ensuring Marinette never became Ladybug in any timeline.

You stood tall, the portal you had summoned with Fluff's guidance shimmered with an ethereal glow, its swirling energies casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the rooftop. Beside you, Chat Noir’s green eyes were filled with uncertainty, a rare crack in his usually confident demeanor.

“Ladybug,” Chat Noir said softly, his voice almost pleading, “are you sure this is the right thing to do? I trust you, but... tampering with time feels... dangerous.”

You turned to him, a small, serene smile gracing your lips, the halo of your presence making him instinctively relax. The effect was subtle but undeniable—your words carried weight, as though the universe itself bent to support you. This power, this influence, wasn’t yours initially. You had stolen it, just like Marinette’s fate. But now, it was yours, and you wielded it masterfully.

“Chat Noir,” you began, your voice steady and filled with conviction, “this isn’t about what’s easy. It’s about what’s necessary.”

“But the timeline—changing things could destroy—”

“Destroy what, exactly?” you interrupted gently, your tone laced with practiced sincerity. “I’ve already disrupted it simply by being here. If I don’t act now, the balance will collapse entirely. I’ll vanish, Chat. We’ll vanish.”

He froze, his hands clenching tightly around his staff. “Vanish? What do you mean?”

Your expression softened, your red eyes glistening with what seemed like vulnerability. “I wasn’t meant to be here, remember? If the universe realizes I don’t belong, it’ll correct itself—and I’ll disappear, taking everything we’ve built with me. Paris will lose its Ladybug. You’ll lose me, Chat.”

The thought seemed to strike him deeply. His jaw tensed, his emerald gaze flickering with desperation. “I can’t let that happen. But why go to every timeline? Why stop... Marinette?”

You reached out, placing a gloved hand on his cheek. The gesture was intimate, calculated. “Because Marinette was never meant to have this power. She wasn’t strong enough. Look at what I’ve accomplished, Chat. Paris has never been safer. The people trust us, they trust me. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if someone weaker had been given this responsibility? She would’ve crumbled under the pressure, endangering everyone.”

Chat Noir looked away, guilt and hesitation written all over his face. “But... Marinette never seemed... bad.”

You tilted his chin back to face you, your voice a quiet murmur, dripping with affection and manipulation. “That’s because you don’t know what she would’ve done with this power. Trust me, Chat. I’m not doing this for myself—I’m doing it for Paris. For us.”

His resolve wavered, the pull of your halo overwhelming his doubts. The world revolved around you now, and it was only natural that he would follow your lead.

“I don’t want to lose you, Ladybug,” he finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

“You won’t,” you assured him, your fingers brushing against his. “But I need you to trust me. Together, we’ll ensure that this world—and every other—is safe and whole. I’ll fix everything. I promise.”

With a reluctant nod, Chat Noir stepped back, his staff lowering in submission. “I trust you, Milady. Always.”

The portal grew brighter, illuminating your face with a crimson glow as you stepped forward. Inwardly, you reveled in your triumph. This wasn’t just about fixing timelines or ensuring balance—it was about solidifying your place as the center of this world. The Ladybug. The hero. The one who mattered most.

Marinette would never again have the chance to be Ladybug, not in this timeline or any other. The universes would belong to you now. With one last glance at Chat Noir, you stepped through the portal, ready to rewrite reality itself.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

ADDITIONAL SCENARIO:

The sky above Paris was a canvas of pink and gold hues, a fitting backdrop for the triumphant end of an era. Hawkmoth had been defeated, his Miraculous reclaimed, and the balance of power restored. The Miracle Box was secured, its treasures now beyond the reach of those who would misuse them. For the first time in years, Paris was at peace, its people celebrating the heroes who had brought them here.

Standing atop the Eiffel Tower, you gazed over the city with Adrien by your side. The red and black of your Ladybug suit shimmered faintly in the setting sunlight, a symbol now synonymous with victory, hope, and resilience. Adrien, still in his Chat Noir guise but no longer bearing the same burdens, looked at you with admiration.

“You did it,” he said softly, a smile spreading across his face. “Ladybug, you saved everyone.”

The words should have brought unmitigated joy, and they did—partially. The world was safe, and Paris adored you. People cheered as your identity was revealed, their faith in their heroine unshaken. Even Adrien, your partner in battle and in life, stood unwaveringly by your side, his pride in you radiating like the sun.

Yet, beneath the surface, you couldn’t quite shake an unfamiliar tension. It wasn’t guilt, not exactly. It was a feeling you couldn’t name, a quiet unease that lingered despite the cheers and celebrations.

“Do you think it’s really over?” you asked, your voice barely louder than the wind.

Adrien’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. “It’s over, my Lady. You’ve done more than anyone could have ever asked for. Paris, no—the world owes you everything.” His green eyes met yours, filled with warmth and certainty. “I owe you everything.”

His words should have been enough, and in many ways, they were. You leaned against him, allowing the comfort of his presence to settle over you.

The streets below were alive with celebration. Parisians rejoiced, the weight of fear and uncertainty finally lifted. Even beyond Paris, the world had embraced you as their Ladybug, their symbol of hope. For the first time, everything felt aligned, as though the universe itself had recognized your place at its center.

And yet, in the quiet moments between Adrien’s reassurances and the city’s applause, that tension remained.

Elsewhere in Paris, Marinette sat on the balcony of her cozy apartment, a faint smile playing on her lips as she watched Luka strum his guitar. The melody was soft and soothing, wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” she said, her voice wistful but not bitter.

Luka glanced up, his expression calm and understanding. “The city is safe now. That’s what matters.”

She nodded, her gaze drifting to the distant Eiffel Tower. She didn’t envy you—not entirely. She had carved out a life for herself, a happy one. The bakery was thriving, her designs were starting to gain recognition, and Luka’s steady presence brought her a sense of peace she hadn’t known she needed.

But deep down, there was an ache she couldn’t quite ignore. She had once dreamed of being Ladybug, of carrying the weight of the Miraculous and protecting Paris. That dream had been taken from her, rewritten in a way she couldn’t change. And while she didn’t begrudge your success—how could she? You had saved them all—there was a part of her that mourned what might have been.

“Do you think she’s happy?” Marinette asked suddenly, surprising even herself.

Luka’s fingers paused on the strings. “I think she did what she believed was right,” he said after a moment. “And I think she’s still figuring out what happiness looks like.”

Marinette nodded, her faint smile returning. It wasn’t the life she had imagined, but it was hers. And with Luka by her side, she could find contentment in that.

Back atop the Eiffel Tower, you stood with Adrien as the last rays of sunlight disappeared, casting the city in twilight. Paris was happy. The world was happy. And you were, too—or at least, you told yourself you were.

“Do you feel it?” Adrien asked, breaking the silence.

“Feel what?”

“The peace,” he said with a soft laugh. “It’s overwhelming. I’ve never seen Paris like this.”

You smiled, his words grounding you. “It’s everything I worked for.”

“And you deserve it,” he said firmly, pulling you into an embrace. “You deserve all of it.”

The weight of his belief in you was as comforting as it was daunting. For now, you let yourself believe it, let yourself bask in the happiness you had fought so hard to create.

Paris was safe, and you were its hero. The world had accepted you, embraced you, celebrated you. Yet, as you looked out over the city, the faint tension lingered—a quiet reminder that even in victory, some battles are never truly won.

THE END

[toxycodone]

you should most definitely do a ‘dad’ curly body inspection fic,,, I mean whart who said that…

ship. captain curly x favorite crewmate reader

cw. power imbalance, fauxcest, you call curly “dad” but he’s not your dad.

“You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

It’s a rhetorical question, really. You know Curly would brush off any protest from you. Anya’s busy with something. Apparently Daisuke slipped, fell, almost sent a nail straight through his foot—you didn’t pay much attention to the excuse. What followed after was what caught your favor.

“And to help her avoid getting behind schedule, I offered to conduct your body inspection in Nurse Anya’s place.”

You remember yours eyes widening in disbelief. It seemed like a joke at first. A weird one at that, but not something you’d put behind him.

“Guess you should call me Nurse Curly, huh?” He winks to punctuate the sentence.

And so it wasn’t a joke.

You’re here now. In his quarters, of all places. It’s definitely bigger than the broom closet Pony Express is legally obligated to provide you with as room and board, but not much so. Definitely less than captain-like.

“So,” He claps his hands together, smile bright as ever. “Shall we get started?”

Your captain’s eyes are bright, shining with enthusiasm. The predatory gleam that hides beneath them doesn’t go unmissed.

You simply nod. You’ve been here before, done this before. Anya’s inspections aren’t extremely invasive. Mainly just to ensure you’re in proper working order. Pony Express doesn’t take any chances when it comes to personal health as they want to avoid lawsuits, but also, any notation you’re unable to complete your tasks gives them excuse to dock credits.

They’re a necessary part of your routine health checkups. Nothing to be afraid of. Honestly, having Curly conducting it is good, right? Maybe even better than Anya, when you really think about it. He’s the most trustworthy one on the ship. The one who’s almost like family. It still feels awkward calling him dad the way he likes, but it’s starting to grow on you. You can trust him. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.

“This is just a routine checkup. Don’t think too hard about it.” He’s putting on those blue latex gloves. He must be serious about this. “I know it’s unorthodox for me to conduct this, but it’s a favor for Anya. Captain’s gotta fill in to keep this ship running properly, y’know?”

You hums in agreement. He takes a few steps forward. You never really realized just how large Curly is. His presence is imposing, a stark contrast from his personality. The sheer closeness of him is intimating. You wonder if he notices that too.

He then asks for you to take off your shirt. You oblige. Hesitation shoots through your fingertips, but it’s brushed away by a shake of the head. This is typical. Routine. With shaky fingers, you relinquish the garment.

Curly seems to drink in the sight of the newly exposed skin. Or is he just studying it? Doing his job? That’s it.

Your captain seems to notice the way you shuffle awkwardly under his gaze. He places a hand on your shoulder, giving you a comforting smile.

“It’s okay to be embarrassed. I know it’s awkward, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

You nod. Then he steps closer, curiously eyeing your chest. His hands reach out to touch you, only hesitating for a split second, before ghosting up your ribcage. You hold back and noises. Anya touches you too, this isn’t odd, per se. However, it’s usually with you lying on a medical bed. And with a medical gown on, at least.

She also doesn’t smile in satisfaction like that. Your eyes don’t linger on Curly’s face long.

He has the audacity to be demure at first, maiming some guise that this contact is supposed to be professional. His hands prod your sides, then your stomach area.

“Is there any pain when I touch you here?” Finally, there’s a line ripped from Anya’s script. “Or any pain elsewhere I should be aware of?”

You shake your head, then give a brief answer. Curly nods, then moves to take a couple notes on the clipboard set on at his desk.

There’s a sense of relief at the back of your mind, happy he’s taking this seriously.

He moves on. Now Curly’s hand move up your ribcage again, cupping your chest, thumbs stroking over your areolas and nipples—causing them to harden at the contact.

Your cheeks flush. Good God, your captain should not be touching you like this. Anya has never done this. And you shouldn’t be fucking enjoying it, either. You jump when he gives one a flick.

Curly seems to notice this. He lets out a soft chuckle.

“Seems your reflexes are in good shape.”

Well, there goes any notion that this is purely professional. He gives a last squeeze to your chest, then removes his hands. Curly takes a couple steps back, then starts to circle around you.

“Your pants.” He makes the request almost sheepishly. “Can’t keep those on, unfortunately…” You want believe his shyness, that he wants to preserve your modesty, but he just can’t. It’s out of his hands. But that would be too obvious a lie.

You shuffle those off too. His presence is behind you now, his eyes definitely glued to your ass and thighs. He is, however, scribbling something down on a clipboard. So he has to be doing some sort of work, right?

“Underwear, too.”

Wait. What?

You glance over your shoulder at him, brow raised in confusion. This isn’t part of routine, and you’re not dumb enough to fall for it. Curly’s still standing there, smiling as if he didn’t say anything remotely weird.

“Just being thorough.” He answers before you can ask. “Do it for your captain’s sake? Please?”

Curly’s choice in words is particular. He doesn’t often feel the need to flex his title as captain, but he’ll pull rank when need be. This is one of those times. An indirect reminder of who’s the one with power here.

And so, you oblige. Fingers link under the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down. You’re exposed fully in front of him now. After a few seconds of silence (which you’re sure is spent by Curly committing your body to memory), he places a hand on your shoulder, urging you towards his neatly made bed.

“On the bed, please.”

You’re sat down before you can protest. Curly pushes you onto your back, slowly guiding your thighs open.

There? Of all places, he’s looking there? Panic shoots through you, and it’s not just because there’s a grown man taking advantage of his role getting on eye level with your pussy. It’s the fact he’s going to notice just how wet you are.

His pupils dilate when he gets full view of you. Your thighs are spread wide open by Curly’s thick, gloved fingers. They’re warm despite the barrier and press into the supple flesh. The way he grabs you is as if he’s trying to restrain himself.

Curiosity beckons him on. Still ensuring your thighs are pressed open, Curly allows one hand to delve between your thighs and explore.

He cups your mound with unexpected gentleness, relishing the warmth. You have to hold yourself back from grinding against his hand. Wetness leaks out of your hole at the contact. It’s sick. Totally embarrassing how you’re dying to felt up by your captain, as dubiously consenting as it is. You close your eyes, an attempt at avoiding any eye contact Curly might sneak in.

One thumb carefully traces up your slit. A breathy gasp is elicited from your lips. Curly’s own breathing, the only sound in the room you can make out aside from the ship’s constant humming, is shaky. His thumb gathers wetness without even needing to press into you. Your clit twitches at the contact, causing your hole to flutter, clenching around nothing.

God, you hope he notices. Hope he slides a finger in. Fuck all the professionalism, the way he tries to mask his feelings for you by constantly infantilizing your and calling you his family. You want to feel those thick digits spreading you open. Then his cock, which you’re sure is far more girthy. Maybe if you took him down to the base, rode him like he deserved, he’d see you for the grown up you really are. Could he still call you kiddo after you made him moan your name and milked him dry? You doubt it.

“Alright, I think we’re done here.” Curly retreats from your form, as if you suddenly combust into flames. “You can go now.”

Huh?

You snap from your fantasies, looking up at Curly. His broad back is facing you now, hunched over as he picks up your clothing. You’re clouded by a mix of feelings—relief, confusion, anticipation for more—but you start to dress as he asked. Something sits wrong in your stomach about all this, but you’re unsure if it’s nausea or butterflies.

“I think we’re all done here. I’m gonna write up that report for Anya.” He ushers you out of his quarters with a sense of urgency. The delusional part of you admires how serious he takes his work, but that unmistakeable tent in his pants alludes to this inspection being cut for less professional reasons.

“See you at dinner, kiddo.”

And you’re back in the hallway, left alone with your thoughts.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Yandere young Justice x villain reader

The night was alive with tension, shadows dancing in the flickering glow of streetlights, as Young Justice faced you once more. You were the storm they could never predict, the haunting melody that lingered long after the music stopped. Their nemesis since the team’s inception, you had become something far more dangerous—a fixation, a flaw in the armor of their resolve.

“Give it up,” Robin growled, his staff twirling with precision. He stood at the center of the team, their ever-stoic leader, though his sharp eyes betrayed a storm brewing beneath the surface. “We end this tonight.”

Your laugh spilled into the air like silk, smooth and dangerous. “End it?” you echoed, stepping forward with a lazy grace. “My dear, we’ve barely begun.”

Every word dripped with a taunting charm, a velvet dagger aimed straight at their hearts. Robin’s jaw tightened, his composure threatening to crack. You weren’t just an enemy. You were his enemy—the one he couldn’t quite unravel, couldn’t quite forget.

Superboy lunged, his movements raw and forceful, like a hurricane desperate to prove its strength. “Stop talking,” he snapped, his fists swinging with earth-shattering power.

But you sidestepped him with a predator’s ease, your fingertips grazing his arm as you passed. “Oh, Kon,” you purred, your voice as sweet as it was venomous. “So quick to anger. What’s the matter? Afraid of how much you want me to keep talking?”

The growl that tore from his throat was animalistic, but it didn’t mask the flush creeping up his neck.

Above, Miss Martian hovered, her hands glowing with psychic energy, her voice soft and imploring. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, her words brushing against your mind like a fragile promise. “There’s still good in you. I can feel it.”

You turned your gaze upward, your eyes catching hers with a look that felt like a snare. “Feel it, do you?” you asked, your voice lilting like a melody that didn’t belong in the battlefield. “Or is that just wishful thinking, Megan? Tell me—” you stepped closer, your tone softening to a whisper that somehow felt louder than the chaos around you—“do you want to save me, or do you just want me?”

Her power faltered, her focus breaking as she stumbled back to the ground.

“You’re insufferable,” Artemis hissed, her bowstring taut as she loosed an arrow aimed directly at you.

You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye and dodged, the arrow slicing through the air where you had just been. “Ah, Artemis,” you said with a sly grin. “Always so sharp. But tell me, is it hatred I see in those eyes... or something else entirely?”

She fired another arrow in response, her hands trembling even as her aim stayed true.

Kid Flash zipped around you, a blur of speed and frustration. “Why don’t you ever shut up?” he asked, though his words lacked their usual bite.

You chuckled, spinning just in time to trip him with a precise kick. He tumbled to the ground, groaning as you crouched beside him. “Oh, Wally,” you murmured, your voice low and warm. “If I stopped, you’d miss me too much.”

He didn’t respond, his face red as he scrambled to his feet, but the way his gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat too long said enough.

“Enough!” Aqualad’s voice rang out, his water-bearers crackling with energy. He stepped forward, the anchor of their team, his every movement deliberate. “This ends now.”

You tilted your head, your smirk softening into something almost wistful. “You always think you’re in control, don’t you, Kaldur?” you said, your voice quieter now, almost tender. “But tell me—what do you do when the tides turn against you?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond, his silence betraying the weight of your words.

The battle raged on, but it was clear you weren’t just fighting them—you were unmaking them. Every word, every taunt, was a thread pulled loose from the fabric of their unity.

“You’re all so predictable,” you said as you danced through their attacks, your movements like liquid poetry. “So desperate to catch me. But tell me—” you paused, your gaze sweeping over them, a glint of mischief in your eyes—“do you want justice? Or do you just want me?”

The silence that followed was deafening, your words cutting deeper than any blade.

Robin stepped forward, his shoulders tense, his voice low and dangerous. “We’re going to stop you,” he said, though his words sounded more like a promise to himself than to you.

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, your voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. “Oh, little bird,” you murmured, your smirk curling into something sharper. “You’ve already lost. The moment you let me in, you lost.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you blurring into nothingness. Then, with a final glance at the team, you stepped back into the shadows, your voice carrying through the stillness like a haunting melody.

“Until next time, my darlings. Don’t miss me too much.”

And just like that, you were gone.

The team stood in the aftermath, battered and breathless, their thoughts filled not with the fight but with you. You were their nemesis, their obsession, the fault line that fractured them.

And in the silence that followed, they all thought the same thing:

They hated you.

They wanted you.

And they would destroy anyone who tried to take you from them.

(A/n: hey send request 😿)

[cuubism]

thinking about baby wish and how once she gets sick both hob and dream will 100% get TERRIFIED and very antsy due to their past with their own child :')

funny enough i already had a drabble kind of like this so i've gone and finished it up for you :)

-

Anyone who wants to rob Johanna should probably do a more subtle job of it than leaving the damn door to her flat cracked open for her to find. They’d tripped her wards, too—amateurs—making her scramble home in the middle of a job to catch them in the act.

She pushes the door open carefully, knife held in one hand. The light’s on in her kitchen, which gives her pause. Surely any burglar—especially one stealing magical artifacts—would get what they need and get out?

She really should have been less surprised to burst into the kitchen and find Hob leaning against the counter.

“Finally,” he says.

Johanna irritably puts the knife away. “Why are you in my house?”

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

“I was working. I can’t just drop everything to watch your strange baby.” She’s gotten roped into that a few times. Not a lot of reputable childcare around for supernatural infants, apparently. Not that Johanna counts as ‘reputable childcare’.

At least Dream pays well for it. And Jo’s grown fond of the little critter, to her chagrin.

Hob sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face, and finally Johanna takes a proper look at him.

He looks exhausted. Hair a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it, stubble coming in unevenly on his cheeks, clothes all wrinkled. When he drops his hands from his face again, he gives her a pleading look.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Wish is sick,” Hob says. “I don’t— I don’t know what it is. She doesn’t normally get flus and things like that. She’s just… fading. She won’t wake up.”

Well, shit. “What does Dream have to say about it?”

“He’s been pushing power to her from the Dreaming to keep her stable while we try to figure it out,” Hob says, starting to pace across the kitchen, tugging on his hair, “but now he’s gone under too and I—”

“Hang on,” Jo exclaims, “you’ve been letting Dream drain the Dreaming?”

“You think I get to let Dream do anything?” Hob says, exasperated. “He does want he wants. In any case, we needed to buy time, but I think we’re out of it again. Will you help me or not? Because if not I need to find someone else who will.”

“I’ll help you,” Jo says, groaning internally. “If I can.”

If Dream is actually ill too then she has, unfortunately, at least some degree of responsibility to not let this become a repeat of the sleeping sickness. Besides which… she’s fond of Wish.

Hob looks so relieved that she feels bad for her reluctance. He’s practically vibrating as he helps her gather her things and then leads her, at speed, back across town to his home.

--

Once upstairs, they step quietly into the bedroom. Wish is asleep in her crib, cat plushie clutched in one hand. She’s gotten bigger since Jo last saw her, almost a proper toddler now. And she looks… alright? At least from afar. She’s sleeping very deeply though.

Dream, meanwhile, is slumped in bed like a dead man, one arm trailing down limply to the floor. His skin is even more pale than usual, forehead beaded with sweat. She shakes his shoulder and he doesn’t move. When Jo focuses, honing in with the Sight, she can make out a thin trail of power going from Dream’s hand to Wish’s.

Jo focuses on Wish. Takes her hand. She’s been working on her Sight, and she can sense now that whatever power Dream is funneling into Wish is just going straight through her and out into whatever is draining her. It may be keeping her stable but it’s primarily just getting burned up into nothingness.

Alright so they’ve got to stop that before Dream fucking kills himself because this is a bottomless pit. If they don’t interrupt it he’ll evaporate the Dreaming from the inside out.

“What he’s doing isn’t working,” she tells Hob. “Something’s draining any power he sends her.”

“Can you tell what?”

She can’t sense anything obvious. No malevolent presence. No connection to Wish’s power, other than Dream’s.

“I don’t know,” she says. “But Dream isn’t helping. I’m going to try to break the connection.”

Hob looks concerned, glancing between Wish and Dream, but doesn’t stop her.

Johanna gets out her chalk, and starts drawing an elaborate warding circle around Wish’s crib. It’s a bit of a tossup, honestly, on whether she’ll be able to combat Dream’s magic. He is, after all, Endless. But if she focuses on containing Wish, rather than fighting against Dream, she might just be able to do it.

Hob sits on the bed beside Dream, looking on anxiously, but giving her space. Johanna seals the final stroke of the warding circle, and—

—nothing obvious happens. But the connection between Dream and Wish, visible only with the Sight, slows to a trickle. She wasn’t able to break it completely, Dream’s power is too strong for that, but at least it’s not the flood that it was before.

“They didn’t wake up,” Hob says, clutching at Dream’s hand. “Shouldn’t Dream have woken up at least?”

“He’s probably weakened himself,” Jo says. “He won’t drain himself into nothing now, though.”

Hob looks down at Dream limp beside him. “Now that he’s connected with her power Dream might have been able to tell us how to fix it,” he says, hands twisting together anxiously. “Fuck I wish he would wake up.”

Dream jolts awake in bed, gasping for breath, eyes wild. Hob jumps in alarm, but quickly clutches at him, holding him steady. “Dream.”

Jo looks between Dream and Wish. “Shit.”

“What?” says Hob, jumping up as if to rush over to Wish, but hesitating between her and Dream.

“Her power…” Dream says, his voice still its low rumble, despite his evident exhaustion. “I felt it spike, before I woke.”

“She wished you awake,” Johanna says. “Or, technically Hob did. And Wish’s power made it happen. That’s got to be what’s draining her— all over the world people are wishing things all the time, and she’s granting them.”

“Isn’t that kind of her function?” Hob says.

“No,” says Dream. “Just as I shepherd dreams but do not make all of them manifest in the Waking world, Wish’s power carries wishes, but does not grant them. A few, she can make real—but to grant all wishes would destabilize reality.”

“She’s just a baby, how’s she supposed to know that?”

“Exactly,” says Jo. “It needs to be limited until she can learn how to limit it herself. If you’d like, I can—”

Dream’s eyes flash threateningly. “You dare to hinder my daughter’s power?”

“She clearly can’t control it!” Jo exclaims. “If you don’t put a limit on it, she’ll burn through it again.”

Dream looks murderous, but Hob lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I think Johanna’s right. It’s not like we’d let her run around the city without us either, is it? Kids have to have limits.”

That softens Dream’s expression into something that’s almost a smirk. “Like your leash.”

“Are you seriously one of those people that has a child leash?” Jo says to Hob, incredulous.

“My baby can fly!” he says indignantly. “Not all of us can just grow wings to chase after her.” He pokes Dream.

For a moment Johanna gets distracted by the image of Hob flying Wish like a balloon, but comes back to her senses. “Look,” she says to Dream, “I can put a ward around her if you want—”

“I will do it.” He stands, only slightly unsteady on his feet, and walks over to Wish’s crib. Hob follows him, keeping a hand braced low on his back to support him. Dream picks Wish up, cradling her in his arms. Smoothes a hand over her forehead and hair.

She really doesn’t look much worse for wear, other than still being asleep. Dream’s the one who looks like he got run over by a train. Nevertheless he sprinkles dream sand over her, letting it whirl around her in a big spiral.

“I do not have unilateral control over her function,” he says, “but I will tie her powers to mine again, so—”

“Didn’t we just learn that was a bad idea?” Jo says.

Dream casts her an irritated glance for the interruption. “So,” he continues, “I can use the Dreaming to corral her power and keep it contained around her. As I did before she was born. I will mind her, and be sure the use of her power is moderate.”

The dream sand fades away, and Dream runs his hand over Wish’s hair again. “Wake up, my love,” he says to her, much softer than the tone he’d used with Johanna. “You are alright now.”

She shifts in his arms, nose scrunching up, letting out a quiet whine as she finally opens her eyes. “Mama.”

Johanna still hasn’t figured out why Dream is “mama.” She has her suspicions but she definitely doesn’t want to think about Dream giving birth. Nope, not at all, definitely not.

Dream smiles down at Wish. “How are you feeling?”

Wish reaches up to touch his face, grabbing at his cheek. “Lotsa wishes, Mama.”

“Yes, very many wishes indeed,” says Dream. “Now, you must go to Dada, because your Mother is about to collapse.”

Hob swoops in to grab Wish just as Dream’s legs go out from under him. Johanna is left to catch Dream, and grabs him by the arm, hauling him back over to the bed. Dream collapses back onto the pillows, panting. God, he looks absolutely exhausted.

Hob props Wish on his hip and comes over to him, touching the back of his hand to Dream’s forehead even though Jo is pretty sure you can’t gauge an Endless’s wellbeing that way.

“It is fine, Hob,” Dream says, though it doesn’t look particularly fine. Nevertheless, they’ve solved the problem, so it probably will be fine, sooner or later, or so she hopes.

Wish reaches for Dream. “Stories, Mama?”

“Perhaps tomorrow night, my love,” Dream says, eyes already falling shut.

“Mama needs to take a nap,” says Hob, draping a blanket over Dream with his free hand. “We’ll go read the next chapter of our book, hm?”

“Book!” Wish agrees.

Hob leans down to kiss Dream’s forehead. Wish reaches out with grabby hands, so Hob holds her out to kiss Dream’s forehead, too. “Kiss!” she says.

It’s kind of sickeningly adorable. 

Johanna follows Hob out into the living room, feeling a bit whiplashed by all of it. Hob sets Wish down on the couch, then scrubs his hands over his face, taking a shuddering breath. For a moment, it seems like he might crumple, but he steels himself.

Johanna isn’t really good at this kind of thing, but she rests a hand on his arm. “She’s alright, Hob,” she says, attempting a comforting tone.

“Oh, I know, she’s probably forgotten it already.” He gives her a wan smile. “Not sure Wish was the one much bothered by all this in the first place.” 

Jo feels a pang of sympathy. If anything, Hob got the worst of it, witnessing it all without being able to do much of anything to help.

“Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” she says.

He nods. Meanwhile Wish reaches out her hands to Johanna, crawling towards the edge of the couch. “Auntie Jo!”

Johanna sets her back before she can fall, then shakes her hand solemnly. “Pleasure doing business with you, as always. Let’s hope you haven’t wished anyone the nuclear codes.”

“Nu-clee-ur,” Wish echoes, with surprisingly good pronunciation.

Hob pales. “Let’s not introduce the concept of bombs to my child who likes to play with the electrical sockets, please.”

Johanna just laughs. “Your problem for later, mate.”

She turns to leave, then hesitates. Goddammit, she is becoming so fucking soft.

She gives Hob a hug.

He freezes in surprise. Then wraps his arms around her in turn. “Thanks,” he whispers.

Johanna pats his back, then pulls away before it gets any more awkward. She waves to Wish on the couch. “Be good, Sparkle!”

Wish waves goodbye, and with that Johanna heads out to leave them to it—though she’s sure, with the rate things are going, it won’t be for long.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: A disastrous PTA meeting and an unfortunate grocery store encounter have you and Eddie questioning whether or not you deserve each other.

Warnings: a bit of dirty talk (18+ just in case), feelings of unworthiness, Carol Perkins and Billy Hargrove make appearances, mentions of bullying, small allusion to drug use and poverty, arrest, tiny allusion to Eddie's breeding kink

WC: 7.1k

Chapter 13/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special thanks to @girlwiththerubyslippers & @corroded-hellfire for helping with this chapter!

Your Thursday mornings at Hawkins Preschool usually involve a light tap on the door and a blink-and-you-missed-it wave from Eddie; maybe a wink if no one’s looking. Today, he’s stopped by the classroom with a steaming styrofoam cup in hand.

“I thought you only brought me coffee on Mondays,” you laugh appreciatively. You take the still-hot beverage from him, folding back the plastic tab and blowing on it lightly before taking a sip. It’s made just as you like it and warms you from the inside out.

Eddie smiles, crossing his arms over his chest an leaning in closer so his leather-clad shoulder grazes sweater-covered one. “Ah, but the PTA meeting is after school today.” As if you could forget forty minutes of unpaid work that could be spent reading, resting, snuggling up to your thoughtful metalhead boyfriend… “Figured you could use an extra boost of caffeine to help you power through.” He lowers his voice to add, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it. But Wayne’ll be there.” He squeezes your hand quickly just as Abby Carver approaches you. 

You pull away so fast that you bang your elbow against the side of the desk, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a yelp. “What can I do for ya, Abby?” you ask, smiling through the throbbing pain.

“Joshua said that he’s taller than me!” she whines, messily swiping at her ruddy tear-stained cheeks. Her dad only dropped her off five minutes ago, and she’s already conjured up a crisis. Unsurprising, but exasperating nonetheless.

You peer over at Joshua Harrington, who is currently constructing a racetrack, unbothered by Abby’s distressed state. Your gaze flits back over to the little girl in front of you. “Honey, he is taller than you,” you gently explain, watching as her bright blue eyes begin to well up again.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t havta say it!” she protests, stamping her sneaker on the speckled tile floor. It’s one that lights up, little red and blue and green twinkles dashing along the side.

You nod, sucking in your lips in a feeble attempt to keep a straight face. “Well, you can just play somewhere else. And we’re gonna get started with circle time in a few minutes.” Time to sing the Good Morning song–again. If the kids didn’t beg for it every day, you would’ve scrapped it months ago, but it keeps them entertained.

Once she scampers off, already zeroing in on a group of girls dressing up some time-battered Barbie dolls, you turn your attention back to Eddie. 

“We’re still on for Saturday?” you ask, a subtle reminder of your upcoming date at Enzo’s. It’s a fancier restaurant than either of you are used to, but Eddie had insisted on it.

He nods quickly, scratching at the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous, though you’re not quite sure what’s on his mind. “Y-Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“I can’t wait.”

At 3:15, you and Will trudge into the classroom that’s serving as the meeting venue. It only takes a moment for you to remember that it’s Ms. Marion’s room, and your eyes scan the walls for Harris’s artwork. You find it easily; it’s the best in the class. It’s a drawing based on the saying, ‘March is in like a lion and out like a lamb,’ and each kid drew a picture of the two animals. Harris has meticulously added details to his. He’s drawn a zig-zag line under the lion’s pink nose to represent his aggression and given the lamb a puffy coat of wool, while the other kids just drew smiling lions and a circle to represent their lambs’ bodies. He’s also included a speech bubble hovering above each of their heads; the lion’s says “ROR!!!” and the lamb bleats “BAAA.” 

Will’s gaze follows yours, and his lips turn up into a smile when he sees what you’re staring at. “He’s a talented kid,” he remarks. “We gotta have him sign something now so we can say ‘we knew him when.’” 

You nod your head in agreement and return his grin. You’ll have to tell Eddie to have Harris swing by your classroom after school tomorrow so Harris can autograph some drawings.

Wayne comes in a few minutes later, taking a seat behind you and Will.

“How’s your day going, Wayne?” You turn around in your chair and greet him. Seeing the older Munson always lifts your spirits. He’s wearing a flannel, checks of olive green and white, over a white t-shirt that proudly proclaims: My Favorite Person Calls Me Grampa.

Wayne gives a little shrug; for him, it’s the equivalent of a beaming smile. “Can’t complain. Didn’t get too much pushback from Harris when I dropped him at the baby-sitter’s.” He explains that Claudia Henderson still has a bunch of the games her son had played with, and Harris loves going through the toy bin and finding something new. “Well, new to him. That stuff’s gotta be nearly twenty years old by now.” He scratches the white-gray whiskers on his cheek and chuckles. “Jeez, ‘m old. I remember buyin’ those kinda games for Eddie when he was a kid.”

More parents and teachers file in and, eventually, the PTA president stands at the front of the classroom and calls the meeting to order. The idle conversation gradually ceases, and Linda Wright presses her lips into a thin smile and smooths nonexistent creases in her khaki slacks.

“Welcome, everyone,” she begins, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you all for being here. We have quite a few items to cover today, so let’s get to it!” She’s far too chipper for your liking, and you wince involuntarily as she excitedly announces the upcoming parent-child talent show. It’s an annual school-hosted fundraiser, and apparently a popular one; there’s a soft roar of discussion before Linda wrinkles her nose in irritation and shushes the group.

“Oh, Ed’s gonna love that,” Wayne leans in and whispers to you. “He’ll probably be more excited than Harris.” He sits up straight when Linda clears her throat and glares in his direction.

The president launches into a tirade about kindergarten readiness strategies, handing out little pamphlets to the parents and guardians. The cover displays an overly-enthusiastic teacher surrounded by a small group of students who are closely attending to a fake lesson.

You hear Wayne grumble under his breath: “What is there to be ready for? It’s kindergarten, Jesus Christ.” and you have to stifle a laugh.

Linda luckily doesn’t hear his lament. “I’m opening up the floor to any questions or concerns.” Now is the time that people typically start gathering their belongings and resume unfinished conversations. It’s precisely what you plan to do until you hear an all-too familiar snide voice from across the room. 

“Yes, I have a question.” Carol Perkins stands up. She places her hands on her hips and pulls her lips into a smirk. “What is the school’s policy on parent-teacher relationships? Romantic and…otherwise?” Her gaze sweeps over to you, hovering there for a bit, and you realize with a sense of dread that she’s enjoying this. “Because, to me,” she splays her manicured fingers over the center of her chest, “it just seems completely unprofessional.”

The PTA members start whispering amongst themselves, eyebrows raised in excitement as they try to determine the culprit amongst themselves.

You want to crawl into a hole and die. You can feel Wayne’s eyes on the back of your head, as though he’s silently willing you to remain composed. The only other person who knows of your relationship with Eddie is Will, and you can tell that he’s doing everything in his power not to wrap his arms around you in a hug.

At the very least, the principal is not tolerating the dissolution of the meeting into a gossip session. “Ms. Perkins, we can discuss this at a later time. Privately.” Sue Sinclair’s expression is stoic, unreadable, and you’re not sure whether she’s angry at you or Carol. How would she know it’s me? But logic has no reason with emotion taking center stage, and you’re all too grateful when Chrissy Carver shifts the conversation to organize a ticket sale committee. For the most part, it seems like Carol’s little outburst has been swept under the rug. The meeting concludes as some parents leave while others stick around to schedule playdates, but you remain seated.

A hand on your shoulder startles you from your humiliated stupor, and you look up to see Will looking at you. Sympathy radiates from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he softly reassures you. “I don’t think anyone knows, and even if they do, who cares? Harris isn’t in your class anymore.”

“I-I know.” But Frankie is, which means I’ll have to face Carol every day, I’ll have to deal with her smarmy expressions and backhanded comments. The blood drains in your face when you think about her spreading rumors to the other parents, their amused stares as they drop their children off to be in your care.

Wayne speaks up as he stands, leaning his gnarled knuckles on the seat of the folding chair for support. “Darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. It’s no one’s business who you’re with.” He brushes some dust off of his dungarees and walks with a slight limp towards the door, the remnants of an old injury that flares up in the colder weather. “I gotta go get Harris, but you keep your chin up.” He gives Will a quick head bob that the younger man returns, having developed somewhat of a camaraderie with the elder Munson during the various post-graduation Hellfire sessions held at the trailer.

Carol says nothing as she leaves the room, deep in conversation with Steve Harrington and his wife. If they don’t know about you and Eddie yet, you’re confident that Carol will ensure they do soon. Dread pools in your stomach at the thought of small-town gossip flying, your professionalism being called into question, the possibility of you losing your job. And everyone will know why. 

Eddie’s hands tremor with excitement; his whole body buzzes with energy as he grabs the receiver off of the glass countertop. He dials your number–his favorite seven digit combination in the world–and beams the entire time. As soon as he hears your, “hello?”, he’s practically shouting into the phone. Volume control has never been his forte, especially after years of blowing out his eardrums with loud music.

“Babe, guess what?” He drums his left hand fingertips on the counter, a rhythmic pum-pum-pum to keep his breath steady.

“What’s up?” 

He notes hesitance in your tone, but chalks it up to exhaustion from your extended workday. “I applied for that manager position? The one I told you about on our first date?” He hears your soft “mhm,” before proceeding. “And I got it! Ash just told me now!” He smiles, pressing the receiver to his ear with his shoulder as he organizes paperwork into a pile. “Eddie Munson, getting the girl and the job? Never in Hawkins’ wildest dreams!”

There’s a pause on your end of the line before you reply. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. No one deserves this more than you do.” 

Though there’s still an air of something Eddie can’t quite identify, it’s woven with genuine pride for his accomplishment. His fingertips keep busy as they graze up and down the phone cord. “Now we, uh, really have something to celebrate at Enzo’s.”

Another pause; this one is so long that he wonders if the line disconnected. “Um, about that…” you finally speak up, and Eddie hopes you don’t hear the gigantic sigh of relief that escapes his lips, “maybe we could just do something at my place? Grab takeout, watch a movie or something?”

His relief evaporates almost as quickly as it came, and he puts his weight on his forearms and lowers his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just been a long week.”

It sounds too automatic, too rehearsed to be true. Eddie doesn’t believe you, but he needs to get to Wayne’s and pick up Harris before his uncle leaves for work. “I really wanted to take you out, show you off, y’know?” He clears his throat, scrambling for words. “We can talk more about it later. Try to get some rest, Sweetheart.”

“Mmkay,” you mumble, and Eddie hopes he’s not just imagining the smile in your voice. “I’ll try. Say hi to Harris and Wayne for me.”

He ends the phone call promising that he will, hanging up hesitantly. What happened between this morning and this evening that had you backing out of the date and retreating into your home? 

I shouldn’t have tried to hold her hand, he grimaces, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road towards Forest Hills. That was so stupid; she was at work, and the kids were right there. Way to go, Munson. 

Eddie continues to brood about his faux pas all the way until he gets to Wayne’s, slapping a smile on his face as he relays the news about his promotion. The smile becomes less forced the more he talks. He’s suddenly consumed with thoughts of buying a house with a yard, a pool–well, maybe not a pool; he’s not making that much money–but definitely space for Harris to run around and play.

And in this fantasy world he’s created, you’re standing on the front porch, sipping coffee out of a World’s Best Mom mug–possibly the only mug Wayne doesn’t already have nailed to the trailer wall–made just the way you like it. You’re laughing as you watch Harris sprint back and forth across the grass. Eddie imagines it neatly cut, but the reality is that it would probably be more than a bit overgrown.

He’d sneak up behind you, snaking arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, pressing soft kisses onto the back of your neck–

“That’s amazing, Ed!” Wayne claps a hand on his nephew’s back, drawing him out of his daydream and thrusting him back into reality. He pulls him into a quick hug, not overabundant in affection, but his delight seeps through. “You talk to your girl yet?” 

“First person I called.” My girl. The first person I called was my girl. She’s my girl and I’m her man–

“Good.” Wayne responds pensively, smoothing down his unruly mustache whiskers and reaching for his pack of Camels. He shoves them into his side pocket, right on top of the lighter. “She could use some good news after that shitshow of a PTA meeting.”

Eddie’s brows crinkle, pinched together in non-understanding. “What are you talking about?” he asks before calling out his son’s name to bring him from the bedroom. He can hear the bed springs creaking, which can only mean that Harris is jumping on the old mattress. Apparently, breaking his wrist didn’t result in a lesson learned.

“She didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” He slams his palm onto the countertop as confusion melts into frustration. Weren’t you past this? Past keeping secrets and masking emotions?

Wayne sighs, weighing his options. Ultimately, his allegiance is to his nephew, so he divulges what happened that afternoon, heart sinking as Eddie’s face falls with each word. “She seemed real shook up,” he concludes the story, digging out the pack of cigarettes. Delivering news that devastates his nephew has him urgently craving a smoke. “I wanted to stay and talk to her, but Claudia had somewhere to be at five.”

Eddie chews on his lower lip, pulling off a bit of dry skin with his front teeth. “Yeah, no, ‘s fine.” He calls Harris out of the bedroom again, patience sufficiently thinned. Of course Carol Perkins would shoot off her big mouth about your personal life. It’s not like she had anything better to do. None of that is surprising. 

What worries Eddie is why you didn’t tell him about it. Were you embarrassed that people knew you were together? Is that why you didn’t want to be seen at Enzo’s with him? Would you agree to a restaurant far outside the bounds of Hawkins, or was this shame rooted deeper than small-town gossip?

Wayne can sense his anxiety, and he scrambles to dam up Eddie’s flooding thoughts as he fumbles to put the cigarette between his lips. “It’s pretty damn obvious that you two care for each other. Dare I say, you lo—”

“Wayne!”

“Fine, fine,” Wayne chuckles and grabs his lunch pack. The ceasing of the bed springs indicates that Harris has stopped jumping, and Eddie can hear toy cars clattering into a bag. “But you should just talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.” He lowers his voice as Harris finally emerges. “I know it ain’t been easy to hear rumors your whole life, but this is new to her. Cut her a little slack.”

Eddie looks around the trailer at what was his first real home. He’d bounced from place to place with his parents, dodging angry landlords and their threats of eviction. From a young age, he’d learned to dread the end of the month, knowing that conflict was inevitable. Screaming voices, accusations of hiding money, when anyone with working eyes could see that they’d all but stuffed it in a pipe and smoked it. There was no love; only survival. Wayne was never the cookies and milk, family dinner, Leave it to Beaver type, but he offered Eddie something he’d never had before: safety.

Now, Eddie scoops Harris into his arms and follows Wayne out of the trailer as he locks up. There’s not too much of great value; possibly just the TV, but even that’s on the fritz. And unless a thief had a hankering for hokey mugs and baseball caps, they’d probably leave without taking a thing. “Thanks, Old Man.”

“‘S what I’m here for,” Wayne says, pressing a kiss to Harris’s mop of curls. He pauses, and then does something he hasn’t done in years: he kisses the top of Eddie’s head, too. “Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

On Saturday evening, Eddie finds himself at Bradley’s Big Buy, scouring the aisles until he locates the small refrigerator holding various flower bouquets. The chill hits him in the chest as he opens the door, crouching down to get a better look at the offerings through their tissue-paper wraps. He’s determined to take you to Enzo’s, and he’d hoping this small gesture will show you that he can be the man you deserve.

He finds a bouquet of pink peonies and grabs them from the display case, clutching them proudly. They’re delicate and beautiful, just like you. He raises them up, the petals tickling his nose when he inhales the fresh scent, when he overhears Billy Hargrove speaking in a hushed tone:

“Thought you were stopping by after that parent meeting thing.”

“My idiot husband came home early,” a woman–Carol Perkins, Eddie realizes–punctuates her lament with an irritated sigh. “But speaking of that meeting–I’ve been meaning to tell you: guess who’s also hooking up?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before divulging the gossip, “Frankie’s teacher and Eddie Munson.”

“The teacher and the Freak? No way.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and chuckles maliciously. “Didn’t know she was down for that kind of stuff.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Carol huffs, as though she’s not stepping out on her own husband. “But I’m serious! He brings her coffee and leaves her stupid love notes.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes together as he cringes. Billy’s second round of mean laughter transports him back to the time the jock grabbed his brand-new D20 off of the lunch table and used his basketball skills to chuck it into a far-off trash can. The ruby red die sunk into the mountain of discarded lumps resembling mashed potatoes and half-eaten meatloaf, forcing Eddie to trek across the cafeteria and fish it out of the pile of old food. “Love notes? What, is he in high school or something?”

Carol snickers. “Guess he’s making up for all the times he didn’t bother, since he knew no girl in this town would go for him.”

“Looks like he had to go for an import,” Billy jokes, drawing a hideous cackle from his friend. Eddie can practically hear the man’s ego inflating at the way Carol fawns over him.

“And a desperate one at that,” she snorts. “I mean, can you imagine lowering your standards enough to be with Eddie Munson?”

“Let’s hope she comes to her senses eventually,” he agrees. “So, is your husband home now…?”

All Eddie can think is to run, to get the hell out of there before anyone spots him and notices the pink tinging his cheeks and the tears welling in his eyes. He’s so focused on leaving and getting past the two bullies that he forgets about the flowers in his hand, until an infuriated voice calls after him.

“Hey! Get back here!” The manager rolls his eyes when he recognizes the culprit. “Eddie Munson. Of course. I should’ve known that shoplifting isn't too juvenile a crime for you.” 

Eddie can hear Billy and Carol poorly stifling their amusement at his misfortune. He struggles to find the proper words to explain himself as his entire body is engulfed in the flames of embarrassment, burning him from the inside out. “No…I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”

The manager shakes his head with a biting laugh. He’s a graying man who should have been retired fifteen years ago when Eddie was actually shoplifting. The liver-spotted creases around his eyes are particularly visible when he sneers, “Heard that one before. Prob’ly from you.”

Anger burns in Eddie’s throat, but he swallows it. “Look, let me just pay for these, and I’ll get outta here.” He starts to fumble for his wallet, but the old man shakes his head.

“Nice try. I let you off easy too many times when you were a kid, and look where it got ya.” His cold hand clasps Eddie’s bicep as tightly as his feebleness allows. “I’m calling the sheriff. He can decide what to do with you.”

“Shit-shit-shit,” Eddie mumbles, yanking himself from the man’s grip. “Y’don’t have to hold me; I’m not gonna run away.”

To his surprise, the manager lets him go, though it’s likely due to his advanced age rather than trusting Eddie to do the right thing.

He’s taken to the back room, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor and biting his thumbnail. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he’s supposed to pick you up in 15 minutes. He breathes out a long sigh, scanning the bulletin board hastily fastened to the wall with a lone flyer advertising medical benefit sign-up. Upon closer inspection, he reads that it’s for the 1990 fiscal year, and he can’t help but wonder if that’s the last time the stodgy old Bradley ever offered insurance to his overworked, underpaid employees. 

He says a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening that Hopper is the one who answers the call. The chief will give him the benefit of the doubt and probably tear the old fart a new one for wasting his time.

Purse, keys, lipstick, condoms.

You have everything you need for your date, save for one minor detail–Eddie.

You’d expected him to stop by your classroom yesterday to say good morning like he normally does, but he didn’t show. He would’ve called you if Harris was staying home sick; a brief peek out your window during recess confirmed that the littlest Munson was present. He ran around the playground with one of his friends from the birthday party, blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning within you.

Eddie definitely heard what happened at the meeting, you realize miserably, and he doesn’t want to deal with the backlash he’ll get from dating his kid’s former teacher. From anxiety blooms visions of the convoluted game of telephone perpetuated by Carol, the story getting more absurd with each retelling. 

At 7:30, Eddie still hasn’t shown. He’s not exactly Mr. Punctuality, but thirty minutes is pushing it, even for him. His tardiness does nothing to ameliorate your fears. This was clearly too much for him—you were too much for him. 

You’re about to wipe the makeup off of your face and change into your coziest pair of pajamas when the phone rings, startling you slightly.

“H-Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Hawkins County Jail. Do you accept the charges?” an automated voice bleats, too chipper for the circumstances it’s reporting.

You’re caught off-guard by the question and the tone, and you choke out a strangled, “yes” and the line rings twice.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Relief floods your body until you remember where he’s calling from.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here,” you say, and it’s only when your fingers start to cramp that you recognize how tightly you’re gripping the receiver. “Why are you in–”

He sighs into the phone, and static briefly clouds his voice. “Long story,” he mumbles. “Can you just come and get me? There’s, uh, no bail or anything.”

“I’ll be right there.” You waste no time in grabbing your keys off of their hook, nearly forgetting to shove your feet into shoes in your scramble out the door. You’re ashamed to admit that for a millisecond, you consider the possibility that he’s been busted for dealing, but you shake it off lest it further infiltrate your psyche.

You pull up to the jail exactly twenty-eight minutes later, the fastest you can get there without flying down side streets; the irony of being pulled over for speeding on your way to the police station was not lost on you. Flinging the car into park and killing the engine, you fast-walk through the entrance and hope your nervousness is hidden by the air of confidence you’re faking. 

“I’m here to pick up Eddie—er, Edward Munson?” His legal name is clunky on your tongue, like it doesn’t quite belong to him. 

The officer behind the desk wears a name badge that reads “P. Callahan.” He puts down his copy of the Hawkins Post and presses his lips into a thin line as he reaches for the walkie attached to his shirt pocket. 

“Hop, is Munson ready to be released?” Released. Like a wild animal who needs to be kept away from the general public for their own safety. 

The officer on the other end—Chief Hopper, you presume—confirms that Eddie is good to go, and a door opens shortly after that. Eddie trudges out, shame and frustration marring his beautiful face. 

You sign whatever paperwork is required before silently taking Eddie’s hand and leading him to the car. He holds it tight, a shiver of a tremor rocking through it.

“Babe, what happened?” you ask once you’re safely outside, away from where the officers can hear you.

Eddie lets go of your hand to throw his arm around you dramatically, leaning with his whole body weight. The sudden force of it has you stumbling, but he catches your fall. 

“It’s awful being on the inside,” he whines, trying to lay on an exaggerated pout, but his smile pokes through. “You’ve made me too soft for prison, baby. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you and almost got shanked.”

His joke subtly informs you that he’s not ready to actually discuss it yet, and so you roll your eyes and play along for now.  “Poor thing. Locked up for a whole forty minutes.”

“It was more like forty-five,” he protests, “and every second counts when it’s spent missing my girl.”

“You’re so full of it, Munson.” My girl. If he never calls you anything else but his girl for the rest of your lives, you wouldn’t complain.

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in so your back is pressed against his chest. “Full of longing and devotion!”

“Sshh!” you chastise him lightly through your giggling. “Get in the car, crazy man.”

“Crazy ‘bout you!” Eddie says, booping your nose. As soon as your fingers wrap around the gearshift, he’s resting his hand atop yours. It trembles slightly.

Tell me what happened. Don’t keep any more secrets from me. I won’t judge you or leave you. I’m your girl, remember?

It takes a few blocks before you finally work up the courage to ask, “Is everything okay?” It’s a stupid question; you don’t get arrested if everything’s okay, but the alternative is a more straightforward, Why the hell did I have to pick you up from jail?, so you acquiesce. 

“‘M good.” He gives your hand another tiny squeeze and attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You sigh, poorly hiding your impatience for answers you need to know. “Can we talk about what happened?” 

His slow release of breath is in sync with your foot pressing on the brake pedal as you approach a stop sign. “Not a big deal. Just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that led to you getting arrested?” Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop acting like this is fine when it clearly isn’t. Stop making me feel like you don’t trust me. The words get caught behind clenched teeth, threatening to ooze through the gaps.

“Yup.” He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as though giving a sufficient response to end the conversation.

You drive another few minutes before you spot the sign for Lovers Lake in the distance. There’s only one surefire way to calm his nerves; whatever it is he’s keeping from you, there’s a reason he hasn’t worked up the courage to say it. 

Eddie sits up and peers out the window in confusion when you veer to the exit. “Where are we—”

“You’ll see.”

Parking in a spot secluded by trees and the dark of night, you turn to him and stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Can I make my man feel good?” you coo, taking his earlobe between your teeth and tugging lightly. You can feel the small bump where his piercings used to be.

“Shit, baby,” he breathily groans, adjusting the seat so you have ample space to straddle his lap. His hands fly to his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling the leather strip from its loops. Though his pants aren’t as tight around him now, you can still see the outline of his now half-hard cock beginning to press against his fly. “‘S exactly what I need.”

But it isn’t solely the act of sex that he needs, although it would be a farce to imply that he didn’t crave the feeling of you wrapped around him. It was the public nature of it; the way that anyone could walk by and see you on top of him. Could see you choosing him. The teacher choosing the Freak. 

You roll your hips, denim-on-denim creating a delicious friction that draws moans from both you and Eddie. Your lips chastely graze his neck, trailing kisses upwards until you reach the prickly stubble along his jawline. 

Eddie’s hands grab your ass, claiming it as his. “Feels—mmf—feels good,” he grunts, letting out a soft chuckle when he adds, “gonna make me cream my jeans if you keep grinding on me like that.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, maintaining your tempo. You press your lips to his and he whines into your mouth. “Just wanna ease your mind tonight, Eds.”

“Yeah, but the face you make when you cum? Christ, babe. Makes it even better for me.” He scoots you off of him for a moment, laughing again when he sees your lower lip jut out. “Let me just grab a condom, you needy little thing.”

You bury your head in the crook of his neck and begin sucking on its supple skin as he fumbles for his wallet. “Fine, fine,” you grumble, a teasing lilt in your tone. “The last thing we need is for people seeing that you knocked me up.”

Eddie freezes beneath you, his wallet falling to the weather-mat with a thud. “Wh…what?” His voice is below a whisper, volume compressed by emotion. 

“We’ve only been together, like, a month.” It’s too obvious a point to confuse him. There’s no way he really wants a kid with you right now. “We can’t have a baby—”

Eddie vehemently shakes his head, effectively cutting you off. “But that’s not what you said.” You see hurt in his eyes as you try to piece together the puzzle. The fact that you can’t immediately identify the source adds another element of frustration for both of you. “You said that we can’t have people seeing that I knocked you up. Why…why wouldn’t you want people knowing that I…?”

The imagined swell of your belly that he’d hoped you proudly show off, mindlessly caressing it as you walk hand-in-hand with him, is now covered with layers of clothing, even in summer’s heat. You’re tugging a cardigan closed, determined not to let anyone see the shame you’re carrying along with Eddie Munson’s child.

“I just figured you wouldn’t want people talking about you,” you manage, thinking of the rumor that had spread after Harris’s injury. You bring yourself back to the driver’s seat, and it takes another moment before something else dawns on you. “You wouldn’t be upset by people knowing? I mean, not that we’d, y’know, have a kid right now…because you already have one, and this is all so new…” You clamp your lips together to shut yourself up, having already blabbered on for too long.

Eddie shakes his head, tousling his frizzy curls. “Why would I be upset? You’re my girl.” Worry ripples through him, evident through his expression. His doe eyes grow even wider, and he spins his rings around his fingers. One slips and bounces off of the passenger seat, but he doesn’t move to retrieve it. “You still want to be my girl, right?”

“I still want to be your girl,” you confirm, watching his body decompress with relief. “I just don’t want to make things even worse than they are. I mean, you can’t even tell me why you were in jail tonight. That’s a pretty big deal, Eds.” There’s a lump in your throat as you force out your feelings. You hate confronting people, hate drawing information from an unwilling party. But Eddie is your boyfriend, and this is serious. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mutters, keeping his head on the headrest and eyes trained on in front of him; his unwillingness to look at you serves as an act of defiance. “I had to hear about the PTA meeting from Wayne.”

The contents of your stomach curdle like milk in the sun. “You’d just told me about your promotion,” you stumble, unable to find footing in your meek protest, “I didn’t want to—”

“So, yesterday? Or today?” he pushes, a tango of anger and hurt dancing in his darkened pupils. “You could’ve called me.”

You could have; you’d certainly considered it more than once, but you didn’t want to bother him. It seemed like such an asinine complaint: Oh, Eddie, a grown adult bullied me, another grown adult, at the PTA meeting. Did I stand up for myself? Nope. Just sat there and tried not to sob like one of the kids I teach. “I thought if you knew what people were saying, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. You’d think I was too much of a burden.”

“You?” Eddie gawps, nearly choking on the word. “You think that you’re the burden? That you’re the reason why people are talking about this?” People. Not just Carol. The information slips from his lips, but he doesn’t catch it. “Nah, Sweetheart. In the equation of ‘Teacher’ plus ‘Freak,’ you’re hardly the problematic variable.”

“‘Teacher plus Freak?’” 

“Teacher,” he says slowly, pointing to you, “Freak.” He brings his forefinger to his own chest. “I’m kinda used to it; just sucks when it affects other people.” He looks at you through his soft brown eyes. “People I care about.”

You’re unsure how to respond, so you say nothing. You vaguely recall Jess telling you about his high school nickname, but you had no idea it had stuck after all these years. 

Eddie sighs, shifting his position to get slightly more comfortable. “Tonight, I was at the store getting some flowers for you. And, um, I heard Carol and Billy Hargrove talking about how you had to be desperate to be with me. That you’d realize you’re too good for me and leave.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lowers his head. You watch a tear slide down his cheek, and he sucks in a messy breath as he tries to control the dam of emotions threatening to burst.

“Too good for you?” The notion is almost comical, and you have to hold back an incredulous laugh. “Too good for the man who rescued Grandma after she locked herself in her room? Who came to her funeral? Who gave me another chance after I made an ass out of myself?” You use your pointer and middle fingers to tilt his chin upwards until his gaze meets yours. “Too good for the man who would do anything for his son?”

“No,” Eddie shoots back, “too good for the guy who grew up being taunted because he played Dungeons & Dragons instead of basketball. The guy who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to go on tour. Who treated you like shit just to avoid getting close to you. Who…who got arrested for accidentally taking flowers from Bradley’s because he’d stolen from them so much that no one believed him when he said it wasn’t on purpose.” He recalls swiping candy bars, jars of peanut butter, and the occasional six-pack of Pabst during his rebellious teenage years. After he’d schlepped back to Hawkins, proverbial tail tucked between his legs, there was more than one occasion where he’d ripped diapers from their boxes and tucked them into his jacket pocket, walking as casually as he could until he was a safe enough distance to exhale and run.

You take a sharp breath in. “That’s what happened tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says; the admission is a sack of bricks being lifted from his chest. “Those schmucks got in my head, and I walked out the store with the flowers like a fuckin’ idiot.” He replays the scene in his head, inwardly cringing at his desperation to flee the premises and inadvertently drawing everyone’s attention to him. He starts to laugh, but anger, sadness, and relief all brew together and the dam bursts completely. One tear multiples to two, four, eight, until he’s simultaneously choking on sobs and laughter, the overlapping emotions wreaking havoc on his nervous system.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he manages through another half-laugh half-sob. He swipes at his cheeks with open palms, and you reach for the travel box of Kleenex you keep in the glove compartment and hand him a tissue. “Thanks.”

“You don’t ever need to apologize to me for crying,” you murmur, barely audible as you press a kiss into his mess of curls just behind his left ear. “I want–I need you to be able to show me what you’re feeling.” Eddie blows his nose, loud and honking, and your lips turn up into a small smile. “Why do we let them get to us?” you wonder aloud, a question more for you than for him.

“I was thinking about that,” Eddie muses, stuffing the used tissue into his jacket pocket. He’ll try and remember to toss it later, but part of him knows he’ll find it there tomorrow. “Like, I didn’t give a damn what they said about me back in high school, but now, as an adult, I do?” He takes a deep breath through his mouth. “And I realized…it’s because I never cared about what they thought of me. Not really. But, fuck, I care about what you think of me.” He swallows before stroking your cheek. “I want to be enough for you.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, letting your lips linger there longer than necessary to ensure the feeling of belonging becomes entrenched in his pores. “You’re enough, Eddie. You’ve always been enough.” Your hands find his, and you lace your fingers together. “I have an idea. Why don’t we grab some takeout, maybe pick up a bottle of wine, and bring it back to my place.” You immediately worry that you’ve proven his point of not wanting to be seen with him, so you quickly backtrack. “We can still go out to dinner; I just figured…after the night you had…”

He silences you with a kiss of his own, nose nudging the side of yours. “I’d love that.” Before you can start the car again, he says, “what Carol said at the meeting…did it really make you think I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You nod solemnly, breaking his heart all over again. “You already have so much on your plate. I didn’t want to be another problem to deal with.”

Eddie’s expression hardens, but his frustration isn’t directed towards you. It’s for anyone who has ever made you feel like loving you is a chore. He does the only thing he can think of doing: he takes your face in his hands, fingers tucked behind the smooth skin of your ears, and peppers your face in a flurry of kisses.

“Eddie!” you cry out through a fit of giggles. Your eyes squeeze together as his lips tickle your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your chin. 

He only pulls away to take a breath, and when he does, he’s smiling through shiny eyes as he continues holding your face. “You are not a problem. Never.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “We make each other happy. And if anyone tries to fuck with that, we’ll just…sic Harris on them.”

The gray clouds that were scattered across your brain dissipate at the mere idea of the boy charging at Billy and Carol like a miniature rhinoceros. Insecurity still hovers over you, waiting for the perfect blend of sadness and vulnerability to strike, but it’s not quite as heavy as it was before. 

You aren’t too much for Eddie, and Eddie is enough for you.

And you’re everything to each other. 

--

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