#that or they run out of room and it get to live in the drawer of shame Jazz made the them use for lab stuff the kitchen fridge

[bwabbitv3s]

Want to bet that at some point Danny with Tuckers help rigs up a livestream of the inside of the Fenton Fridge™ to try and catch how long it takes the hotdogs to turn into ghosts. Mostly he just wants some idea of when to clean out the fridge to prevent sudden hotdog attacks. No one outside of Amity Park takes it serious and thinks it is just a joke. A more boring version of a watch the lettuce outlast the politician only they don't know the context of the joke.

Then the live stream starts to glitch. Weird artifacting and fuzzing along the edges of the hotdog package form. A few people start to notice the odd items in the fridge like the specimen sample container filled with what looks like lime green jello. That sometimes the hands that rifle through it to take stuff out are wearing protective gloves.

The ARG people start to trickle into the stream and pick through past footage and Danny's other videos. His channel which had just a dozen or so followers ticks upwards and people join in on the new "Fridge Livestream ARG".

With his friends help Danny leans hard into letting people think it is an AGR. Tucker on the digital side with allowing more controlled bursts of the ecto-interfearence on the stream. Rigging up custom emots, notifications, and a donation page. Sam helps provide creepy ghost vegetables and fruit. Undergrowth's contact in the city has caused some creepy garden hotspots that grow super weird vegetables. Like potatoes that look like screaming faces or carrots with ridges like closed eyes. Danny starts moving the overflow of lab fridge stuff into the regular fridge things. Instead of them being banished to the drawer of shame Jazz created. Timing swapping the stuff into place with the bursts of artifacting Tucker lets through.

[bi-writes]

how would arguments go between simon and MOB? i imagine he would never dare raise his voice at her.

simon does not argue with his wife. if you are in danger or something is wrong, i could see him using a little bit of his lieutenant's voice just to get you to listen to him. to "get behind me" or "i'll take care of this, you go." otherwise, there's no resistance. none at all.

"you know, simon, i..." you stop at the door, swallowing. you rub a hand over your forehead, shaking your head. "i...i-i really don't want to go."

he shuffles in his boots, staring at you carefully. you're all dressed up; you've got a new dress on (that he bought you, eagerly), and you've done your makeup. you clutch your purse with clammy hands, and he narrows his eyes when he sees the tremble in your bottom lip. he clears his throat, taking his jacket off. he removes his boots quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he comes close to you to take your bag and hang it up by the door again.

"okay," simon murmurs. "then we won't go."

he doesn't tell you about the cancellation fee.

"'ello?"

"simon!"

he startles awake this time, holding the phone closer to his ear. the sheer anxiety in your voice cuts his gut sharp.

"wot? wot is it? wot happened?"

"i--i totally...i screwed up, simon--oh, god, i'm so sorry--"

"oi!" simon says firmly. "wot happened?"

"i...i'm at the shop, someone was going to back into me, so i swerved, and--"

"fuck," simon breathes. "are ya olright?"

"the car, it's--"

"not wot i asked," simon interrupts you. "are ya hurt?"

"w-what? i..." you sniffle. "no. i'm okay. just a little sore, i guess..."

simon lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"i'm coming," simon says lowly. "you stay there, baby. don't move."

"but, simon, the walk is--"

"i'll see ya in twenty."

"oh, no, no, no, no!" you gasp. the orange tabby's head perks up at the sound of your voice at the door. she's got one of simon's masks in her mouth, and even from this distance and without the lights turned on, you can tell the fabric is shredded to bits. it's all over the floor, scattered across the couch, flecks of lint in her fur.

"oh, god, how could you?!" you panic a little. she must have gotten into some kind of drawer or basket or the laundry, because as you start towards her, she darts away, leading you across the house where you can see shreds of more masks and simon's socks strewn about the house. "oh, no!"

the front door closes heavy. when you come into the living room, simon is there, dropping his gear onto the floor. he looks tired--his shoulders sag, and you can see his eyes half-lidded and barely opening.

"simon, i'm...i'm s-sorry, she--"

you're holding his tattered clothes, but before you can say anything more, he grabs you by the shoulders and hugs you so tight. you nearly lose your breath from how he crushes you to his chest, and you let out a quiet whimper when his knees buckle and he falls to the floor with you, cradling your head to his chest and kissing your forehead through the mask over and over.

you're here. you're real. you're alive.

you drop the shredded fabric and hug him back, closing your eyes as you breathe him in. he tips your head back finally, ripping his mask off and kissing you hard.

he doesn't care when he sees the orange cat take a bite of his thrown mask and run away with it.

he can buy a million masks. but his girls--he pulls back from your kiss to stare down at you, intense. he hasn't slept in days, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks, camping on different rooftops just to track a shipment, and when that bullet whizzed past his head, all he could think about was you. the cat-bitten plants. the warm food. the cherry dress. some things cannot be replaced.

some brides cannot be ordered again. they don't make them like you.

you are one of a kind.

[murdrdocs]

go about things the wrong way

description. LOGAN HOWLETT proves himself to be a bit of a hypocrite

includes. SMUT 18+, age gap (reader is implied to be mid20s, logan assumed to be mid30s), protected piv, denial is a river in egypt logan fucks them younger, logan calls reader "kid", insomnia trope, slightly brat reader, remnants of angst, set during early x-men

wc. 5k

a/n: photo creds unknown. title from how soon is now? by the smiths

You should be in your own bedroom. 

It’s a nice room, decorated better than your childhood room in your parent’s house, likely because you’ve grown since your mint green and chevron phase. It’s silent in your room, no other inhabitants except you and your pet fish that was somehow still hanging on. There’s no reason for you to leave your room, it has everything you need. But it’s not right. 

The loneliness is uncomfortable amidst your inability to sleep. It hovers over your bed, staring down at your shuffling frame as you try multiple positions, each one leaving you as restless as the last. You know that’s why you venture off to the kitchen, the search for companionship outweighing the desire for a treat. You just need to talk to someone, remind yourself that you aren’t all alone. There are other people like you, and you live with them. You’re safe. 

You ended up finding what you desired—a non-freezer burnt ice cream bar buried beneath frozen waffles, and a warm body to stand opposite of as you steadily made your way through it. 

You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, maybe not even yourself, but you had hoped to run into Logan the entire time. Ever since his return you had been itching to get a glimpse of him, but between shadowing Storm, Scott, and Jean, and tending to whatever menial chore Professor Xavier tasked you with, you didn’t have any time for run-ins. Nothing but quick passing in the hallway where you were too shy to do much other than meet his eye for a second, wave, and then scurry along towards the end of the hallway. 

But you had gotten what you wanted when you heard the soft thud of feet followed by the sound of Logan speaking. 

“Is there another one of those?” 

You face him with your mouth stuffed with ice cream. It takes you a second to chew enough to speak around the food without making a complete fool of yourself in front of Logan. 

“This is the last one …” you swallow, ignoring the sting of the cold at the back of your throat. “Sorry.”

Logan shrugs like it’s no big deal and he steps to the fridge. You move out of the way, even though you weren’t really in the way at all, and try to be casual as you chew the remains of your bar, ignoring the sudden warmth in your body now that he’s here. 

Logan doesn’t say anything. You watch the top half of his body disappear as he reaches into the fridge for something, coming out after a minute and some soft shuffling later with a beer bottle in his hand. You don’t know when it got there, and you’re amazed that it was still there and not stolen by some eager teenager. You try not to stare as he takes his first sip, but you sneak a few glances. 

You finish your sandwich, throwing the wrapper out in the drawer trash can and trying your best to ignore Logan’s eyes on you the entire time. He gets halfway through his beer before he says something. 

Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle and one arm tucked across his chest, he asks, “Can’t sleep, right?”

You nod, not shocked at all that he has you pegged. It’s not unsurprising for a mutant in this place to be unable to sleep. 

Logan nods as if he understands and you know he does, you remember the incident with Rogue just a year or so ago, that and the stories you hear about him wandering the halls at night. It’s why you’d always been so eager to slip down here during restless nights, constantly hoping that this would happen to you. 

And now that it has happened, you don’t know what to do. There’s not much for you to discuss with Logan, the two of you don’t have all that much in common. He’s far older than you, for starters, at least a decade and a half on you from what you’ve gathered. He’s been gone for a while, but you think the others have caught him up on everything that he’s missed already. 

So you just build onto what you have. 

“I just can’t fall asleep. Every time I start, I shake myself awake.” 

Logan takes a swig from his beer and pulls his lips tight, a face of sympathy sliding over his features—eyebrows pinched, lips downturned, eyes a little narrowed. 

“Yeah?” You nod your head. “Sounds horrible, kid.”

Kid. You know you’re younger than him, it’s obvious, but you’re not a kid. You don’t see why he thinks of you that way. Rogue and Bobby are kids and you’re older than them. More mature, no longer a student but now practically a teacher. 

You don’t want Logan to see you as a kid. You know what you want him to see you as, but it seems to become more and more impossible by the day. 

You don’t say anything, lifting your foot enough to press the toe of your slippers into the cleaned grout between the tiles at your feet. 

“Tell you what,” he begins, promoting your head to lift, “next time that happens to you, you come find me, alright? I know how much it sucks to be alone like that so if you need me, come find me.”

That’s what you did. 

After you left the kitchen, finally letting your grin break free since no one was around to see it during the trek back to your room, you told yourself you would only go to Logan if you needed him. 

You tried to sleep, snuggling yourself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows around your head. You lit a candle, counted sheep, made up scenarios to doze off (ones that definitely didn’t involve Logan tenderly holding your hand and stroking your cheek and—), but nothing seemed to work. 

So you found yourself standing in the doorway of Logan’s bedroom, one hand still on the doorknob and the other toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your tee shirt. The bedroom is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through his opened curtains, but from the hallway light behind your back you can see Logan’s frame under the sheets. 

His back faces you until you harshly whisper his name, which at the call of he lifts his head, looking at you, and then rolls over completely to click the lamp on his nightstand on. 

“What’s wrong, kid?”

You feel so meek when you explain, like you are a kid, crawling to your parents after a nightmare. 

“You told me to come find you.”

His squint relaxes. His entire frame relaxes actually. He sits up, jerking his head in a beckon. You click the door shut behind you as softly as you can, approaching the bed timidly until you stand on the other side. 

And then you just hover. You stand there hesitantly, staring down at the slightly unmade side of the bed. Logan doesn’t say anything for a minute, but once the silence and hesitance stretches to an uncomfortable end, he speaks up, his voice groggier and raspier than it was before. 

“You gonna sleep from there? Is that some mutant power that I didn’t know about?” He says it like he’s teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips. It’s similar to the one he sports when he’s messing with Scott but with more softness in his eyes. 

You scoff, trying to play it cool when Logan lifts the sheets for you and you climb under them. This side of the bed is cold and unused and you wonder if you’re the first person to use it. 

You get as comfortable as you possibly can. You fluff the pillow and create the perfect indent for your head, you pull the sheets up to your shoulders, you lay on your side and face the window, and then when Logan clicks the light off, you close your eyes and try to sleep. 

You don’t know how you thought this would be any better than struggling to sleep in your own bed, because it’s so much worse. 

In your own bed, you were left with the out-of-reach fantasies of Logan. You laid in bed, giggling to yourself as you imagined what it would be like to lay next to Logan. You filled your head with blurry images of Logan’s frame, what he would look like with his eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. You tried to imagine the heat of his body in the cold of your room, trying to change your body temperature just with a thought. 

But now it’s all right beside you, left there for you to catalogue so you could never forget this moment. 

The feeling of his body so close yet so far from yours. The sound of his breathing. The smell of his body wash and the way it lingered on his sheets. You’re finally in Logan’s bedroom, but you’re not getting what you want. You truly don’t think you ever will. 

It’s impossible for you to sleep now. You try to keep your tossing and turning to a minimum, only moving when absolutely necessary and doing so with tentativeness. You’re trying to be meticulous with your movements, all with a goal to disturb Logan as little as possible. You’re a guest here, after all. 

But even if he wasn’t an attentive mutant you knew he would’ve eventually gotten fed up. 

He calls your name, soft yet sounding like a warning, and you’re quick to apologize. 

He doesn’t say anything else for a second, then, “Whatever’s on your mind, squash it. Jus’ let it go.”

You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do when you say, “Easier said than done.”

Logan shifts and turns around until he’s facing you. You stay facing the window. 

“What usually turns your mind off?” he asks. “A glass of warm milk?” 

When you laugh it’s halfhearted and maybe this is the final indicator that something about you is off. 

“Look at me.” You obey embarrassingly quickly. 

You can’t really see him in the dark, but the white light from outside illuminates the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. You can sort of see his eyes too, the usually light green darker because of the environment, but the shadowy fan of his eyelashes is as distinct as usual. 

“Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Anything I can help you with?” He lets the question linger in the air for a second before adding on. “You need me to rough a few kids up? You being bullied?” He says it like a joke.

“No,” you say. 

Logan makes an ‘ah’ sound. “Yeah I’m sure you could handle yourself.” The sheets lift again. “Come ‘ere.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

You listen to him, scooting closer until you’re wrapped in Logan’s arms, enveloped in his warmth. It’s nice and comfortable, the sound of Logan’s heart right next to your ear, the security of his arms wrapped around your frame. 

“Does this help you?”

You hum affirmatively, already starting to feel more comfortable than you had before. Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest and you start to get self-conscious, knowing that Logan can definitely hear it.

Right on cue, he laughs a bit against your head. 

“Nervous?”

“No.” God, you’re so obvious. 

Logan’s laugh grows until he’s snickering, doing a terrible job of stifling his laughter. “‘s alright,” he eventually says. “Nothing wrong with that.”

You make yourself as comfortable as possible, pressing your back to Logan’s chest, trying to ignore the hard feeling of his body behind you. You can basically feel everything, the plane of his chest pushing through his tee, the ridge of his sweatpants against your lower back, his legs against yours—tempting you to intertwine them together, his feet hanging right under yours. You’re not exactly dressed for this and your shirt has ridden up, bunched at the top of your ass and exposing your panties. You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he cares. 

This is helping you a lot, but there’s still something on your mind. Something you need to solve before you can go off to sleep. 

You don’t know what it is that makes you confident, that makes you want to ruin a good moment. Maybe it’s the dark providing you comfort, but you lay it all out. 

“You treat me like a kid.”

Logan takes a second. You can just barely make out the hitch in his voice. “...Yeah?”

You’re glad he can’t see you when you pout. It wouldn’t have done much to help your case. “I’m not a kid, Logan. You don’t treat Rogue like a kid.”

“Rogue is different.”

“How? I’m older than her.”

“Just … can we not argue?”

“We’re not arguing.”

“Yeah? Then whaddya call this?”

“A conversation between two adults.”

He hums as if he’s unconvinced. 

You won’t let it go. “How is Rogue different?”

“Go to sleep,” he admonishes.

“Can’t. Not until you answer my question.”

Logan sighs. “‘cause I’m not attracted to her, alright?”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Wait … what?

You’re sure your silence is enough to express your confusion because Logan adds on. 

“I’m trying to set boundaries between us, kid—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He corrects himself with the use of your name instead, but it comes out the same way. “We need boundaries between the two of us. You think I don’t see how you look at me? ‘s not good.”

“If you’re setting boundaries why did you invite me in here.”

“Because I wanted to help you.”

Why is he making you feel crazy? He just told you he’s attracted to you, but he wants to set boundaries? There are barely any boundaries here. You’re alone with him, in his bedroom, tucked away at the end of the hall surrounded by mostly empty bedrooms instead of bedrooms of asleep mutants, curled up against his chest. This is the most opportune time, yet he didn’t want to make a move.

Maybe you were reading too much into it. 

You go to pull away from Logan’s embrace but he keeps you pulled tight to his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” he says it like a command and just to piss him off you consider pulling away. But you’re really comfortable and this is a comfort you aren’t sure you’re ever going to find again. 

“Just go to sleep, alright,” he says your name again, much softer this time. He says it like he’s coaxing you like your name is the final tune in a lullaby. 

Maybe Logan has other powers you aren’t aware of because just that one sentence is enough for you to let it go and submit to the sudden exhaustion that settles over your body like a weighted blanket. 

You don’t know if Logan’s been avoiding you. Mostly because you’ve been avoiding him.

It’s not often that the two of you would have to run into each other, but there were a few times when Professor Xavier extended the invitation to observe an upcoming class, and you declined upon learning that Logan would be subbing. 

You kept your distance as much as you could, even keeping yourself locked up in your bedroom throughout the night, no matter how restless you got. You were miserable, not only because you wanted to be near Logan, but because you were fucking exhausted. 

You could barely stay awake throughout the day, always sneaking off for power naps, taking whatever you could get even if it was only five minutes. 

But you finally have the rest of the afternoon to yourself and you intend to use it to sleep. Uncaring of how much it threw off your sleep schedule, you just needed a solid half hour curled up at the foot of your made bed like a dog, sleeping to your heart's content. 

Of course, it’s on your way up to your room that you run into Logan. You try to ignore him, continuing your path up the stairs, praying that Logan will continue on his path downstairs. 

You don’t know what it is about you that says come talk to me! but Logan stops in his journey, turning to face you. He calls your name, continuing even when you don’t respond. He follows your trek up the stairs and down the hallway, always right on your heels and within arm's reach. 

By the time your hand reaches for your bedroom door, Logan is practically breathing down your neck. 

You know there’s no avoiding him now, but you also don’t want to. 

You stand still, hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for Logan to say his piece. 

“Why’d you lead me to your bedroom?” The way he says it, with such arrogance and assurance woven into that same joking manner as if he wasn’t the one who turned you down just a few nights ago. 

“Fuck off, Logan. I just wanna get some sleep.”

You twist the knob and this is what wakes Logan up. “Okay, wait.” His hand reaches out and rests on your elbow. Just this one touch strikes you still. “Will you look at me?”

You turn around, trying to keep your gaze hard even as you take in his appearance for the first time in days. 

The bags under his eyes, the relaxed smile that’s constantly on his face when he’s around you, the thickness of his eyebrows, the points in his hair. You’re staring at his hair, wondering if it’s naturally like that or if he does it himself, and when you look at his eyes again there isn’t a connection. He’s staring at your lips instead. 

You lift your eyebrows impatiently, already imagining the sleep you’ll get after you ruminate until you can’t form a coherent thought. 

Logan opens his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry if you got a little hurt from the other night. Is just this age gap and your little crush is not gonna wor—”

You’re already turning around, deciding whatever else he’s going to say isn’t important at all, but Logan stops you. His movements are fluid, they flow naturally from his body and straight into yours, causing you to move with a coordination you didn’t expect. He spins you back around and pulls you straight to his chest, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, while his hands rest on your hips and your cheek. 

The movement is quick, it happens within a couple of seconds, and it makes the moment after feel so much longer. Nothing but shared blinks as Logan looks at your lips and you look at his. You’re so close to him, even closer than you were the other night, but neither of you makes a move. 

You’re considering making the first move, opening your mouth as if to ask him a question that was still unknown to you, but then Logan’s grip on your cheek tightens as if he’s holding you still and he moves in closer, and closer, and closer until his lips ghost over yours. 

In the end, it’s you who crosses the bridge. 

Your lips touch, sandwiched together, but neither of you do anything. Not until you take a tiny step closer, really nothing but an adjustment of your feet, is Logan pulling you into him. He digs his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, that one hand possessing all of the aggression that doesn’t exist in the hand holding your cheek. 

It’s like the touch of two different men—one who wants to devour you whole and the other who wants to treasure you. You hope that they’re able to coexist as you desperately want both. 

You let Logan kiss you feverishly, an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen him display settling in his lips. The Logan you knew was always relaxed, walking around the mansion with a carefree, practically laissez-faire, attitude. He didn’t meddle, he kept his hands to himself, always wrapped around a cigar or a beer. 

But now those hands were wrapped around you for the second time this week. 

You press your hands into the shoulder of his white tee shirt, starting to slide them up towards his hair before you resist. You want to get comfortable kissing him, but you’re still out in the hallway. 

Having the same thought, Logan pulls away from your lips with enough time to open the door, latch his hands onto your hips, and blindly steer you backward until you’re in the room. He stares down at you the entire time, that same smirk on his lips as he kicks the door closed behind him with a single boot. 

And then he has you pressed against the wood, sandwiched between a rock and a hard place. 

He looks at you for a second, his gaze lingering, and then he gets back to it. 

If even possible, Logan has more passion this time around. He sinks his hands to your thighs, pulling one up by his hip. He slots his legs into the opening until your center is hovering over his thigh. You don’t know what to expect, but when he flexes the muscle and presses his limb right up against you, you’re already trying to get more. 

Logan smiles as he kisses you, clearly entertained by your anguished need to get off. He doesn’t verbally reassure you, he doesn’t help you grind yourself down, he doesn’t do anything but continue kissing you. 

When you need to come up for air, knocking your head back into mahogany as you intake large gulps, Logan dips his head down and explores as much skin as he can. He creates a path of kisses from your jaw, down your neck, to the exposed parts of your chest. 

You tilt your head down, locking your hand into his hair and trying to redirect his lips back to yours, but he stops you with a hand pinching your cheeks. 

His eyes flick back and forth between yours, nothing but mischief and arrogance in the green. You wrap a hand around his wrist with the initial want to tug him away, but you like the hold he has you in. You like the look in his eyes. 

“Good?” His voice is softer than his grip. 

You nod, trying to grin as best as you can when your lips are forcibly puckered. 

Logan smiles right back at you. “You got a rubber?”

You nod again, scurrying to your nightstand once Logan lets you go. He tells you to get on the bed and you take the liberty of throwing your shirt off and bra as you go. You have enough sense to step out of your shoes, unclasp your jeans, and tug the zipper down in the path. 

By the time you’re sitting on your bed, you can feel the anxiety thrumming through your body. It’s a good kind, the kind you’ve been seeing less and less of lately. You’re still a little tired and still desiring a solid nap, but it can definitely wait. This is your main priority. 

Logan speaks to you as he undresses. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks as he’s pulling his tee over his head. When you nod, he moves to his belt, thick but deft fingers undoing it and leaving it hanging open and hooked into his belt loops. 

“You tell me if you wanna stop,” he says as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them right after he steps out of his boots. You give him a look and he clocks it immediately. 

“You think you can take it, bub?” He laughs. “Yeah? Don’t you think you’re talkin’ a big game?”

Petulantly, you roll your eyes. “Logan, I’m not a fucking kid, I’ll be fine.”

Wrong. So, so, so stupidly wrong. 

You are fine, but the sight of Logan’s dick sends nerves down your spine. You’ve talked yourself up, you can’t go back, so you do what you can. You let him peel your jeans and panties off, hoping you look as seductive as he does. You keep your eyes on his abdomen, tracing the vein that runs from the right of his navel down to his cock, breathing as well as you can while Logan lines himself up. The first push burns, just like you expect it to, but you adjust quicker than you thought. Eventually, all you can feel is pleasure. You’re so full when he’s only halfway in you. You feel stuffed as soon as he bottoms out, his heavy ball sack resting flush against you, a thick forest of pubes pressed against your cunt. 

Logan is so much, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Hovering and staring down at you as his hips rock into yours, slowly and experimentally at first. It’s not until you draw a leg up over his hips that he increases the strength of his rocks. 

He has one hand keeping himself steady and the other holding your waist. It’s so intimate, and not only because he’s fucking you, but because he’s staring down at you the entire time, his teeth bared as he watches you for every single reaction. His eyes rake down your body, watching the way your tits jiggle before dipping lower to watch the way he’s entering you. You can’t see his gaze, but you can feel it, the weight of it comparable to the weight of his cock in you. 

There’s an inhuman nature to it, hidden deep below the surface as if he’s trying to hold back, but it’s there. You’re made aware of it when you clench around him and he growls. It comes from the back of his throat but it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. It’s so Logan, you don’t think anyone other than him could make a sound like that as erotic as it is. You want to hear him more, you want your moans to blend together amongst the four walls of your bedroom, but he keeps his sounds to himself. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the both of you, like Logan’s still holding back even though he’s balls deep in you. 

“Logan,” you whine, getting his attention. He looks at you with concern in his eyes, his hips slowing down. You shake your head, pushing more towards him. “Please,” you beg, praying he knows exactly what you want. 

“What? What d’you want?”

“More.”

Logan gets rougher. He’s grinding up into you like his life depends on it, blunt nails delving into your skin as if he wants to break it. You wish he would. You aren’t regenerative like he is, but you still desire the broken skin, the beads of blood, the marks left behind. 

You’re thinking about it, eyes lidded and falling closed when Logan knocks his forehead into yours once. He moans, closed-mouthed as his head lolls to the side, a shiver shaking him from the bottom of the spine up. 

“Jesus, baby,” he says. It’s all he says, but it’s more than enough. He keeps going, digging his tip into you deeper and deeper until it feels like he’s swimming in your guts. 

He drags his head down until he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples, licking and sucking before moving on to give the other one the same treatment. You desperately want him to mark you up, you want a reminder that this—the thing you’ve been wanting since Storm and Scott came back with two new mutants in tow—actually happened. Bravely, you reach out and tangle your hand in his hair, surprisingly softer than you thought it would be. You don’t hold him down much, just enough to communicate what you want nonverbally. And then after a few tortuous seconds of hesitation, his lips wrap around the skin atop your left breast and he sucks. The strength in it stings, it reminds you just how strong Logan is, but it feels so good. 

Unexpectedly, you feel your muscles seize. It starts in your tummy, deep down near where Logan’s been massaging, and then it just doesn’t stop, likely because he doesn’t stop. 

It’s like he’s spurred on by the feeling of you cumming, motivated by the way your back arches and you reach for the heavens as you clench around his cock. 

He gets a burst of energy, fucking you like he has something to prove when really it’s you with something to prove. 

You’re overstimulated, struggling to keep up with Logan, but you don’t want to tap out. You talked a big game, you can’t back down now. So you remain silent while Logan pulls another orgasm out of you, hoping he won’t notice the way your eyes brew tears without your consent and the way your lips quirk with the impending request to slow down. 

Of course, he notices. 

He’s grinning with sympathy—you don’t know if it’s sincere or faux—when he takes a hand and strokes your cheekbone. 

“I see ya, kid. Feels good, yeah?”

For some reason, when he calls you kid like this, you don’t completely hate it. 

There’s no point in lying, so you nod. 

“So tight,” he winces, eyebrows pinched together as he flashes his teeth, a dimple in his right cheek appearing with it. 

Just as you didn’t warn him before, he doesn’t warn you when he cums. You feel it though, the way his thrusts get sloppier and faster just before he gives you one punctual one, and then you feel the confined warmth of his cum shooting into the condom. 

You wish you weren’t as exhausted as you were, because the next time you’re conscious, it’s dark out and the bedsheet is covering your body. You’re hot, hotter than you usually want to be when you’re sleeping, but you’re bare naked. That and you only have a thin sheet covering your body. 

It doesn’t take much investigation to figure out what’s making you so hot, not when it’s attached to your back with one meaty bicep slung around your neck and keeping you pulled against him. It takes you a bit to fall asleep, but once you do, you’re out for the rest of the night. 

[itgetzweird08]

“You shouldn’t be up this late”

Bakugo’s voice whispered, filling the silence in the dorm kitchen. He was right, and usually you weren’t. You valued your sleep, often being one of the first in the class to call it a night. But tonight was different. Your thoughts, your heart, were restless. Despite following your nighttime routine, which was curated specifically to help you wind down and rest, you still found yourself tossing and turning. Not even your ocean sounds could help you drift to sleep. Thats why when Bakugo spoke, you sighed heavily and let your shoulders droop.

“Yeah. I know.”

He took a few steps toward you, leaning against the countertop. “So what’s got you awake?” You shrugged at him, watching the water in the electric kettle begin to form small bubbles. “Dunno…just can’t sleep I guess.” You looked over to him, taking soft note of his tired eyes and disheveled hair. “And you? You aren’t usually awake at this time either.” He shrugged right back at you. “Dunno…can’t sleep I guess” he echoed your words, and it made you smile just a bit.

You both knew why the other was awake, or at least you both had some inkling. Between how the ambush attack played out and Midoriya running away, neither of you have had time to really process all of what has gone on. You haven’t had time to think about how your lives had been flipped one eighty. But since Midoriya was back safe and sound, and there was no real information on the League or their next move, everything was at a standstill. That meant your brain was finally coming up to speed on what had gone on recently…and it was overwhelming. It felt like your mind was in over drive, thinking so many thoughts at once that it was causing you to lose sleep.

“…There’s a lot of water in this kettle. Would you like some tea?” Bakugo didn’t answer, just walked over to the mug cabinet and grabbed both of your designated mugs. Yours had your hero insignia, and he had his. It was Nezu’s Christmas gift for all of the hero course students. Bakugo opened the tea drawer, grabbing you each a packet of sleepytime zen tea before walking back over to you. You worked in silence then, enjoying each other’s company as you made your own cups.

Your relationship with Bakugo was unique. You admired him, even when he was a bit of an asshole at the beginning of the school year. You’ve enjoyed watching him grow and working beside him as a teammate. You were inspired by his tenacity and drive. You liked how smart and witty he was, and how he could be funny even when he didn’t realize it. It also didn’t hurt that he was actually pretty cute. And all of the same things went for you in his eyes. He admired your kindness and your courage. He was inspired by the way you had such a big heart but you were no push over, standing up to him when he got too rough with his words or during training. In his eyes, it was like you were one of the only people to give him a chance, getting to know him past his rough exterior. You two had gotten closer during the year, training and studying together sometimes. You began to sit next to him for lunch, stealing small pieces of chicken from his plate while he stole beef from yours. You were the only one with that privilege. Eventually, you became this unlabeled, unspoken thing. You didn’t have to confess your feelings because he knew, and you knew how he felt about you even if he’s never admitted it.

You softly sipped your tea, allowing the warm liquid to run down your throat and causing you to sigh. He stirred his own cup, watching the spoon go around and around. Technically, there was nothing else for you two to do in the kitchen. Technically, you could’ve parted ways right here and drank your own cups in your rooms. But you couldn’t bear to leave him. Deep down, you both didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Bakugo?” He looked up as you said his name. “Could I sleep over in your room tonight? I don’t think I want to be alone”

All he did was scoff, pick up his mug and began walking towards the staircase. When he realized you weren’t following, he scowled and turned to look at you.

“Let’s go brat. I’m missing out on my beauty sleep”

Part two

—————

Ps: im starting to do requests! So if you have an idea for me, go ahead and put it in my asks <3

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon grinned at himself through the mirror like a stupid teenager in the changing room as Price, god bless this man and his father figure behavior, tugged on his tie to keep it straight and clean.

Wedding Day had come. His wedding day had come.

“Mate, you must be shakin’ with excitement to marry the pretty face.” Gaz grinned from his spot on the couch, all three of them dressed in their best attire. Even Soap hadn’t complained once about wearing a tie.

Simon’s mind wandered to you in the other room, he hadn’t seen you since last night, tradition, that’s what they called it.

He hoped you were having a blast, because you had to spend so many days and nights over the wedding plans that he had to get you to the hospital once after you broke down from exhaustion.

“Anyone ever thought big bad ol’ Ghost gets married?” Soap teased as he rummaged through the drawers at the desk. What exactly was he searching? Simon didn’t know or maybe he was too happy to question his best friend’s motives for now, they usually end in chaos and today was meant no chaos.

“I always believed Simon would find the one true love one day.” Price nodded and patted Simon’s chest, telling him he was done with the tie.

“Liar.” Gaz laughed and shook his head. “If you want to know who always believed in you, Lieutenant, that’s me. Ol’ Captain and MacTavish over here said you would die a virgin. We got a bet running for a while.”

Simon wasn’t even surprised or mad, maybe tomorrow, or the week after. But tonight he wanted to be on Cloud Nine and looking through the pink tinted glasses of love. Tonight he would say ‘yes’ to the person he loved the most, the one that kept him alive and sane and put up with his antics.

“I’m getting married.” He smiled at himself in the mirror.

“You’re getting married, son.” Price looked at him, through the mirror, a proud smile hidden under the beard.

A minute later his phone rang, your name and picture on the screen.

“Yes? Everything alright, darling?” Simon asked and looked at Price, worry flashing behind his brown eyes.

“I’m scared, Simon. I… I know this will sound crazy and you probably think I’m mad. But… I wanna run away.” You say, followed by a shaky breath. “But at the same time I don’t wanna run away but stay and marry you. Does it make sense?”

Simon relaxed immediately, you were nervous, as you should be. Just like him.

“How about this then, darling, we run away together until you know what you want.” He grinned and picked up his suit jacket.

Soap and Gaz were gasping at him.

“Let’s run away together and if you still feel like running, we blew off this party. And if not, we come back, say yes to each other tonight and live our happily ever after.”

Gaz asked if he was insane. Soap was looking between Simon and Price, who simply had the time of his life while opening the door for Simon to leave.

“Are you sure… do you… I mean…?” You started to ramble and mutter under your breath.

“Darling… For you I would go through hell and back. I am not complete without you anymore. There was a time before you, sure. But there will be no time after you. Together.” Simon spoke gently and could see through the phone who your cheeks turned pink and tears pricked your eyes. “I’ll be out in two minutes, don’t let me wait.”

(Spoiler, in the end Simon and you got married surrounded by friends and family. Price lost a bet to Laswell because they both know you two and knew you would pull such a stunt. Soap had gained a few more grey hairs than necessary and Gaz was pretty sure this was some kind of punishment, why else would you two pull something like that.)

[moonchildstyles]

cloudburst

y/n and harry broke up. he goes on a date, and y/n drives in the rain.

wordcount: 8.5k+

—————

(Y/N) knew it was hypocritical to be feeling jealous at the moment—pathetic, even. She was there that night, she knew she was the one that ended her relationship with Harry. He was single, and there was nothing wrong with him going out with another girl; he could take her to whatever restaurant he wanted, including the one that they had found together last month. 

It had only been a couple of weeks, though. And, he had been the one that wanted to try and work things out with her. Harry had been the one that was insistent that they could work through this—the miscommunications, the lack of time together, the passive aggressive arguments—, but now he was the one moving on nearly immediately. She wanted to cry that it wasn't fair, that he was supposed to still be torn up about it the same as she was. 

It wasn't as if she didn't love him anymore or was itching to get out and meet other people, she was just finding herself more unhappy than she was happy when she thought about him. He had told her that he loved her, that he wanted her—needed her—when she had sat him down, she thought neither of them would be moving on this quickly. 

But, it's fine. It's whatever. Good for him. 

Locking her phone, she placed it face down on her kitchen counter with a startling slam. She didn't double check to see if she had cracked her screen, instead stepping away from the device all together as if it wanted to sulk just as back as she. If her phone was a good friend, it would delete the Instagram app as soon as possible; there was no reason to see any more pictures of Harry and his new friend at dinner. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) padded through her apartment with the intention of cleaning up. The last weeks had left her with heartbreak brain, chores having been pushed to the wayside as she recovered. When was the last time she went grocery shopping? Had she really run out of tissues or did she have an extra stash in some closet she'd been too lazy to check? 

She shook her head, taking the pile of dirty socks to her washing machine while her mind raced with distractions. It was late, but she could go grocery shopping, at least to pick up a few essentials so she didn't order in again for the next couple of days. Seeing the world for another reason instead of work would be good for her, she thought. Even if the thought of putting on shoes that weren't slippers made her want to tear up. 

After starting up the washing machine, she trudged up the stairs towards her room. The cloudy night called for something warmer than the ratted t-shirt and frayed shorts she had on, leaving her to rifle through the collection of sweats she had tucked in her dresser. No matter the garment she pulled out of the drawer, didn't seem to be enough; not thick enough, soft enough, warm enough. Leaving the pieces in a mess in the drawer, she didn't let herself think before she was drifting to her closet where there was a too familiar hoodie hanging up. 

The smell wasn't quite as strong as it had been weeks ago, but there was still a faint scent of Harry's cologne embedded in the fibers. It was truly nothing more than a plain black hoodie, the material showing wear in the way the strings were tied into a bow at the neck with frays at the end, holes lining the sleeve hems, and a lipstick stain smeared on the back shoulder in a shade she had on her bathroom counter. Though it was his hoodie, she had stolen it enough times that it lived at her home with Harry taking it back every now and then, imprinting himself on it for her to revel in once he gave it back. 

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she knew it was a bad idea. There was no reason for her to wear that hoodie. Really, it was surprising that he hadn't asked for it back yet—especially if he was going out with other girls. 

It would be crazy for her to wear it, right? It was not normal to be mourning a relationship she ended. That was not her hoodie.

She slipped it on, anyway. 

As much as (Y/N) was crazy, and hypocritical, and jealous, and insensitive—she missed him. 

This whole thing would be a lot easier if she wasn't still in love with him. If he had just broken her heart and ruined those feelings for him, she wouldn't be feeling insane as she pulled the sleeves over her hands and pretended as if she wasn't breathing in his scent. 

Going out didn't seem so bad when she had this on, though.

Collecting her bag and keys, she made a point to rush through the final steps of readying herself before she was going out the door. If she waited too long, she might end up crying in this hoodie instead. 

Outside, it was raining much harder than she had initially thought. Pulling up her hood, she attempted to protect her hair from the droplets though there were casualties that were immediately pasted to her face. By the time she made it to her car, the hoodie was beginning to grow heavy against her back, rain streaked down her bare legs (in the interest of getting out of the house, she didn't change from her shorts like she'd wanted), and her lashes made heavy with mist. 

Once safe inside her car, she pulled in a heavy breath. 

She could do this. While Harry was out at dinner on a date, she'd go pick up some spaghetti noodles and more cheese than she should eat in a week.

Because she wasn't upset. She wanted to be broken up. She's fine.

With a forceful turn of the key in the ignition, (Y/N) gladly focused on the mechanics of driving through the rain as opposed to everything else on her mind. The clean scent in the air filtered through the cab, comforting her more than she realized. 

No doubt, she could do this. 

Pulling onto the main road, she turned up her music to be heard over the sound of the rain beating against the windscreen. The pavement was slick, dyed a slate black with the help of the droplets, puddles growing in every small divot in the road. The streetlamp twinkled off of the gathered water, rippling with each added drop. Everything was just a bit bleary through the windshield, even with the reach of her wipers going in overtime to wipe away the streaks. 

While she was never a huge fan of driving in less than perfect conditions, especially at night, the scene out here tonight was a perfect match to the pit in her stomach. It made sense for the weather to act this way, she thought; she was too torn up for the world to be given a cloudless, warm night. 

The music playing sifted through a playlist she'd found the other day, her search having been nothing more than for "breakup music". While she didn't know every song, or if she was even allowed to be moping to the tunes considering she was the one that cut things off, the lyrics she could catch were felt in her chest with a weight on her lungs. The ones about the other party moving on before the singer was ready stung particularly sharp tonight.

Especially when an all too familiar song started up, a voice she'd heard thousands of times before pleading with his ex lover to keep from calling her new flame "baby". 

This song had come out long before (Y/N) had met Harry, written with another in mind, but she remembered listening to it back then. She remembered wondering just how heartbroken one would have to be to write stanzas just as these, how hurtful it would be to see your love finding someone else to take your place. 

(Y/N) automatically reached out to skip the song, not even knowing it was on the playlist despite it being an obvious pick, but her hand stopped short. 

It'd been weeks since she heard his voice, even longer since he sang around her. Even if this was through speakers, mastered and fit to music, it was something she'd been missing despite pretending she didn't. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, dropping her and back to the steering wheel as if she hadn't just submitted to self-torture. 

As the tune went on, (Y/N) no longer had to wonder what kind of heartbreak went into poetry like this. She was right where Harry used to be, wishing he would give her just a bit longer of pretending to be his baby before he chose another. 

She hadn't realized she was tearing up until her wipers were unable to keep her view from being blurry. The rain outside now paled in comparison to pools glimmering at her waterline. Her skin felt hot, resistant to the chill seeping through her vents. She didn't even make it through the full of the outro before she repeated the song once more, knowing it would only spur her tears on that much more. 

Before she knew it, her bottom lip was quivering before a broken sob puffed from her lips. She sniffled with tears racing down her cheeks, searing over her warmed skin. 

It wasn't her business, but did he share the same bite of sushi with this new girl that he'd also given to (Y/N) a month ago? Did he order the same bottle of rosé? Did he reach across the table to push her hair out of her face just as he did for (Y/N)? Was tonight going to be the first date they would relay to friends and family when asked how they had found someone so special? She had no right to ask any of these questions, but was Harry going to fall in love with this new girl? 

Did he think of (Y/N) at all tonight, like she was thinking of him? 

The idea of being on Harry's mind at all was enough to have her hands tensing around the wheel, but the thought of not crossing it at all had them shaking instead. Her eyes were flooded, hands wavering on the steering wheel, skin warm and nose wet. The rain beat down against the hood of her car with as much force as her heartbeat, riding the tempo as if she couldn't hear it well enough in her ears. 

She shouldn't've left the house tonight. It would be way easier to sob like this if she wasn't having to also keep track of the road in front of her and the slick pavement beginning to flood with more water than the drains lining the sidewalks could handle. At least she seemed to be the only one out on the road at the moment. 

Scrubbing her hand over her eyes, she attempted to clear them in hopes of regaining her focus. The song was over now and she planned on wiping that song and subsequent album from her vicinity as soon as she made it to the grocery store. 

By the time she blinked her eyes open, lashes sticking to one another under the weight of her tears, she was only a few hundred feet away from the vague outline of a stoplight. She hadn't even seen the light shift from green to yellow, let alone to the blazing red that shone overhead. 

Of course, now would be the time she saw one other person on the road, already creeping out into the intersection to use their own green light. 

In a knee-jerk reaction, (Y/N) stomped on her brakes. Her breath caught when she felt that tell-tale give under her tires, the feel of the back of her car shifting out of sync with the steering wheel. 

The broken rattling of her heart was replaced by the pounding of the beats against her ribs as she realized there was no way she was going to stop. She was currently gliding over the road, her tires unable to grip onto anything underneath them through the layer of rain on the pavement. All she could do was turn the steering wheel and hope that her car followed, hopefully missing the poor bystander who would learn that she wasn't paying as much attention as she should have been when coming to the intersection. 

Every thought in her head seemed to happen in slow motion, but the world around her raced by in a second. She could feel her mouth moving, her voice muttering curses that made no sense, but there wasn't a single sound she heard over her heartbeat. Beyond her windows, the rain blurred every moving shape, her foot still heavy on the brake despite it being a fruitless effort. 

Headlights shone against her face for a brief second before she cranked the wheel, spinning just in time as she hit the middle of the intersection. Her new bleary view showed off the vague outline of the pole of the stoplight for a brief moment before spinning out even further until she was facing the direction she'd come in, her car turning in a complete one-eighty in her lane until everything suddenly stopped with a metallic crunch. 

She heard the impact before she felt it. Her driver's side door whammed into the pole of the stoplight, denting through the layers of metal with the window cracking and breaking. Prisms of glass rained over her, grazing her face and tops of her thighs with prickling shards. Her dented door threaded to push in on her before stopping, leaving a pressure against the side of her body and a complicated way to get out of the vehicle once she found her head. Her dashboard was lit up with every caution insignia as if she had no idea of what had just happened. Through the broken window, rain began to stream in, seeping into the cuts on her face and legs. She shivered though she couldn't feel a single chill from the air, her body beginning to reel from the accident she had just found herself in. 

In the back of her mind, over the pelting rain and pounding heartbeat, she heard her breakup playlist filtering through the remaining speakers. 

A wretchedly familiar voice singing about fine lines and being alright. 

"Hon? Are you okay?" 

Turning to face the nice woman who'd come to check on her after witnessing her blunder, (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond. 

She burst into tears.

—————

Harry really needed to stop wearing this necklace. 

He'd known that for the last few weeks, and, yet, every time he'd thought to unclasp it and put it at the bottom of a jewelry box to never be seen again, he never had the strength to. Instead, he continued to wear it every day, absently playing with the single pearl sitting at the base of his throat. 

Natalie watched as he fiddled with the pendant, but he still couldn't get himself to stop his idle hands. 

He hadn't even wanted to be here tonight, anyway—he had to self-soothe somehow, even if that meant playing with the necklace his ex-girlfriend gifted to him. 

Natalie was nice enough, a friend of a friend of a friend who'd been around to some parties here and there, but she wasn't (Y/N). Harry had only agreed to come out tonight in hopes of giving him a reason to wash his hair and eat something that wasn't bread or coffee while sitting on the kitchen floor. Even with clean hair and an order of his favorite sushi cleared from his plate, he still felt slices of guilt; one for going out with someone while still being very hung up on his ex, and for going out at all with someone who wasn't (Y/N). 

Harry wasn't stupid, he'd caught the cell phones pointed in his direction when he and his date had been seated. If it wasn't up already, it was only a matter of time before those photos would be circulating on all of the socials and appearing on timelines. He could already picture the headlines for tomorrow morning, detailing the mystery woman on this dinner date while questions about his previous flame were posed. He just hoped (Y/N) would somehow be able to dodge these flecks of news—even for only a couple of days. 

Hopefully, he'd have a chance to talk to her before she knew. If she was open to hearing from him, he'd explain where he was coming from in even agreeing to this date, and maybe she'd take him back. If she knew he was still in love with her, willing to change his schedule, relearn how to communicate, start going to therapy weekly again, would it be enough to salvage their relationship? 

"But, what about you?" 

Being pulled from his head, Harry had to face Natalie with a blink of his eyes. She had been talking about a movie or something—or was it her last holiday?—, but he hadn't heard a single word. Another pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

He thumbed over the pearl at his throat. "Um... I'm so sorry, wh—" 

Divine intervention came in the form of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He shot an apologetic smile at Natalie before slipping the device out of his pocket, eager to pick up for whoever was on the other side. 

Until he saw the contact name, anyway. 

(Y/N)'s mother. She was calling him. 

"Who is it?" Natalie asked, canting her head at Harry's startled expression. 

"Um... Jus'—uh—someone I haven't heard from in a while. I have to take this, 'm sorry." 

He didn't catch Natalie's reaction before he was rising from his seat and heading towards the front door with the phone pressed to his ear. Rain sprinkled over his head while thunder cracked in the distance. A darker storm was moving in. 

"Hello?" 

"Harry?! Harry, are you there?" 

"'M here, yeah. Is everything alright?" He'd never heard her voice in such a frantic state, especially not over the phone like this. Was she that upset over the breakup? 

"(Y/N)—It's (Y/N). She's been in an accident, and I—we—Her father and I, we're—She's alone. I-I know you two broke up, but she's in the hospital by herself and the nurse said she's not doing okay, she's—I don't know, I don't want her to be alone but I can't get on a flight until tomorrow morning and there's—" 

Frantic chattering continued on through the receiver, but there wasn't a single syllable that was able to breach his thoughts. 

(Y/N) was in the hospital. She'd been in an accident and was now at the hospital. Alone. She wasn't doing well while she was in the hospital after being in an accident, all alone. 

His stomach turned. 

"Wha—Where's the hospital? What hospital is it?" 

Was he having a heart attack? Every beat of the organ fluttered at the base of his throat, the chambers squeezed tight. 

He needed to find her. She couldn't be alone. She had to be okay and he needed to be there. 

Her mother shakily relayed the name of the hospital and room number, stumbling over the syllables until Harry had them seared into his memory.

"I-I'm so sorry to ask you, I know what—" 

"No, no," he shook off her words, "Th-Thank you for telling me. 'M going to her right now, I'll let you know how she's doing." 

Shaky goodbyes were shared with quiet sobs sounding on the end of the other line. Harry felt breathless as he stowed his phone away, hands shaking with fumbling fingers. His head was a mess. 

All he wanted to do was go—get in his car and go, be with (Y/N). But, there was Natalie sitting at their table, a dessert ordered to the table with their check of sushi and wine waiting with their server. There were people around them who would no doubt post about any kind of commotion he sounded tonight, perhaps even leak his location if hearing he was on the way to a hospital in the city. (He usually liked to see the best in others, but it'd happened before, these wild invasions of privacy). 

Despite every instinct pushing him towards the parking lot and abandoning the night, Harry forced himself to walk back into the restaurant. He held a thin grip on his control, but it was enough to get him back to his table with Natalie so he could quietly speak with her. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked before he'd even taken his seat. 

Swallowing, his throat bobbed as he shook his head. "No, actually. I—'m really sorry, Natalie, but I have to go. My, um, a friend of mine—they're in the hospital. I need to go." 

Natalie's features were marred with surprise, mouth dropped open with her lashes in a glimmering flutter up at him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That's so scary. No worries, go ahead I'll take care of everything. Call me when you can, okay?" 

Meeting the blue shimmer of her gaze, Harry felt his features tighten. She was much too nice for him. 

He wasn't going to call. 

Harry didn't say anything before he was rushing out of sight, only stopping at the hostess station for a slick second to tell the staff to charge the card attached to the reservation. Natalie was open to order whatever she wanted for the rest of the night, but she wasn't paying for a single cent. This would be his apology for never calling. 

It was with shaky fingers that he typed in the name of the hospital (Y/N) was at—all alone—as soon as he was in his car. Though his heartbeat didn't settle much, his head felt a bit clearer knowing that with every mile he was cruising down the street, he was growing closer to (Y/N). His hands couldn't stay idle for very long, consistently reaching up to the necklace around his throat. 

(Y/N) was going to be alright, right? 

The question warmed the backs of his eyes, flushing his skin. As much as he wanted—needed—to be at her side, Harry realized he wasn't sure what he was walking into. Her mother had said she wasn't doing okay—whatever that meant. What kind of scene was he going to walk into? 

Stop lights and brake lights passing in a blur through the growing rain, Harry made it to the hospital in record time. The pavement was slick, reflecting the glow of the streetlamps and the many car lights bumbling through the carpark. He didn't think before he was pulling into the first spot he found, parking at a sloppy angle before he was rushing out. 

With the rain coming down, his hair fell across his forehead, slicking to his skin. The droplets acted as the tears he was unwilling to shed until he saw (Y/N) in person. 

He marched his way into reception, shoes squeaking over the linoleum. Behind the desk, a woman perked up, spotting him with bored eyes before she perked up with recognition he knew too well. 

"Hi, um, how can I help you?" she sputtered. 

Unable to muster a greeting smile, he kept his eyes low. "I—um—I need to see someone, please?" 

The rest of the checkin passed in a daze, Harry only barely able to keep himself from begging to see (Y/N). He relayed as much information as he could, showing any kind of identification needed. He was more than thankful to hear that her parents had approved his visit during their initial phone call, something he filed away for later so he could thank them when he had a clear mind. 

The best thing he heard, the one that stuck glaringly in his mind, was the fact that she wasn't housed anywhere to be treated for critical pain. She was being held somewhere safe and hopefully comfortable. 

Following the given directions, Harry felt like a ghost as he floated through the different doors and elevators. He moved restlessly while he dinged through the floors, feet shuffling while his eyes were trained on the rising numbers. 

Was this the slowest elevator on earth? Or were they always like this? 

Once set free on the correct floor, Harry floated through the halls, sweaty palms pressed into the pockets of his pants. All he could focus clearly on was the room numbers pinned beside the doors, the thumps of his heart bubbling in his ears. 

After going down what felt like endless miles of hallways, the correct room number finally appeared before him. The door was shut, the lights inside dim. His hand hesitated on the door handle.

He had been so consumed with making it to her, to make himself feel better with the sight of her, that he hadn't really considered if she would even want to see him. If she wasn't asleep at the moment, would she just kick him out? She had been the one to break up with him, anyway. 

Before he could doubt himself any more, he pushed through, keeping his steps light over the linoleum. 

Just as he thought, the room was quiet and dark, rain streaking down the window. There was a warm glow coming from the standing lamp at the corner of the room, machines beeping along with the television with a made-for-tv movie playing. A whiteboard marked with her name was pinned to the wall, filled with stats and jargon Harry didn't have the mind to decipher. 

Amongst it all, (Y/N) was laid in the hospital bed with the thin covers pulled to her middle. Her eyes were shuttered, showing off the bruising underneath alongside the myriad of cuts over her skin. As peaceful as she appeared, sleeping away under the crumpled sheets, Harry couldn't help the tears that touched his eyes. 

With the door closing behind him, he drew closer to her bed. It didn't take much examination to spot the tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks, the swollen puff of her lips. It was the same way she'd looked when she had told him she didn't want to be with him any longer. 

Harry wasn't sure what broke his heart more: the obvious evidence of weeping on her features, or the fact that her tears would have skated over every cut and scratch marring her cheeks? 

He shuffled over the floor. He wanted to be at her side, hold her hand and let her know she wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't want to wake her. There was a reason that she wasn't allowed to head home after being checked out by the hospital team, the more rest she received the better. 

Instead, he gingerly made his way to her bedside, taking a spot in the uncomfortable chair seemingly waiting for him in the lamplight. With the way she was laid up in the bed, he had an unobstructed view of her relaxed features, some of the more notable injuries on her face bandaged up while others were left treated with nothing more than a glistening salve. She didn't look particularly comfortable, especially knowing how she usually liked to curl up with her hands to her cheek and legs to her chest, but this was better than nothing. 

Better than being in a wrecked car somewhere. 

The thought was sobering, enough to have those tears he had been urging away to resurface on his waterline once more. 

She was here. (Y/N) was okay—hurt, but well enough to be left to sleep on her own. She was no longer alone. 

He hung his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about what kind of accident would have put her here, blood on her face with machines monitoring every vital in her body. 

With those tears in his eyes, peeking up at her between his lashes, she looked like a watercolor painting. The edges were blurred, leaving the general outline of the person that filled his dreams and became his muse for the better part of the last year and a half. 

He couldn't believe the last month of his life. He'd lost her. And for what? Because he didn't think it was important enough to send her a text when he was going to be out later than initially thought? Because it was easier to let his schedule happen to him, as opposed to shaping his life around making enough time to spend time with her? Because why would he talk to her, tell her where he was coming from, when he could be passive aggressive and sweep everything under the rug instead?

The beeping of the heart monitor was the pitched baseline that anchored him to the room. Every dotted sound kept him from being swept away in the rivers of tears dripping down his heated cheeks. 

He could have lost her today. In the worst case scenario of this day, he would have received a very different phone call. He wouldn't have had the chance to sit at her side right now. He wouldn't have seen these healing injuries on her, instead having only old photographs to remember what life looked like on her. 

As cracked as his heart was at the moment, he would take these cuts and scrapes, this uncomfortable chair, the stiff set of her bedding, over any other ending this night could have had. 

The rain pelted against the window as Harry fixed his gaze to the love of his life. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, if it had been nothing more than a few minutes or if it had been hours at her side, until there was the soft click of the doorknob twisting with the door pushed open. Entering was a nurse in soft purple scrubs, hair pulled back and a clipboard in her hands. She had her eyes trained down before looking up to catch Harry wiping his eyes and (Y/N) unstirring in her bed. 

"Oh, hello," she murmured, voice soft as they were both aware of the patient in bed, "I didn't know she was having any visitors tonight." 

A barely there smile curled Harry's cheeks, his skin smooth of dimples. "Yeah, got here as fast as I could. Have you been helping her?" 

The nurse shook her head, "A little, but she's been asleep for most of it. Poor thing cried herself into exhaustion, so I doubt she really remembers meeting me." 

Her statement had his bottom lip quivering. Harry had to remind himself to be grateful she was even here to cry. 

"She's doing alright, though?" 

With a quick glance at the clipboard, the nurse nodded her head. "Yeah, she's doing much better—now that she's calmed down a little. We've just gotta keep an eye on her for tonight. She got a good crack to her head, so I want to make sure she doesn't sleep for too long tonight." 

Harry gave her a nod, a moment from offering to wake (Y/N) for her before the nurse stepped forward. In gentle tones with a hand to her shoulder, she woke (Y/N). 

Unlike her, she had been sleeping rather lightly, jumping awake after only a single call of her name. (Y/N) fluttered her eyes open, lashes sticking together from the dried crust of her tears, enough so that she reached her scratched hands up to rub the mess away. 

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted, her voice in a croak as she got her bearings. 

"Hello," the nurse responded with a gentle smile, "Sorry to wake you, hon. I just wanted to check on you, then you're good to go to sleep, again." 

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, struggling to sit up. 

Without thinking, Harry surged forward, helping her as much as he could. The second he put his hands on her, (Y/N) jumped, having not seen him prior.

It was clear she was more than surprised to see him with the way her eyes widened, blanching at the sight of him. 

"Harry?"

He offered a quiet, thin smile, sitting back in his spot once she was stable, sitting up for the nurse. "Hi." 

Before much else could be shared between them, the nurse began running her tests. Small talk was shared between the two, (Y/N) glancing more than once in Harry's direction. His hands were a fiddling mess in his lap, watching with rapt attention as every evaluation was run. 

"Everything's looking okay—what I expected we'd be seeing," the nurse mused, writing down her information on the clipboard in hand, "But, how are you feeling? Any extra pain, anything you want me to take a look at or mention to the doctor?" 

"I'm fine," (Y/N) smiled, the expression less than convincing, "Nothing hurts any more than earlier." 

"Okay, okay," the nurse nodded, "That's good, let me know if that changes. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours, so get in your rest while you can." 

A pointed look was placed in Harry's direction at her last statement, a teasing curl to the corner of her lips. (Y/N) gave a sheepish nod. 

"Right, thank you." 

The nurse departed with a couple of well wishes and a reminder that she'd be back in a few hours. Once the door clicked behind her, a stiff silence settled between them. The only sound came in the form of the mechanical beeping of the machines around her and the ending of the television movie playing. 

(Y/N) had her eyes facing ahead, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Harry stared at her. 

"(Y/N)—" 

"You're here." 

His throat bobbed as he heavily swallowed. "I am," he nodded, dropping his gaze to his picked cuticles in his lap, "Your mum called me." 

A furrow had her brow pinched. "Her and my dad are on vacation right now." 

Another nod, a strand of hair touching over his forehead. "They'll be back tomorrow morning, but she wanted someone to be with you tonight." 

Maybe it was the way her shoulders tensed, the glassy look that took over her gaze, or the pinch to her features, but something brittle settled in the air between them. Every breath felt delicate as he waited for any kind of response. 

"I'm sorry." 

It was his turn for his brows to knit together. "For what?" 

That fragile tension between them cracked. 

"You were on a date." 

Harry hung his head, lips thinning. He thought he would have more time to explain this. 

"'S not what it looks like, (Y/N)." 

She shook her head, voice quiet under her breath. "So it wasn't a date?" 

Sucking in a breath, his lungs squeezed. "I mean—It—Yes, it was a date, but—" 

The beeping of her heart monitor heightened, the pitch seemingly hitting higher than a moment before with the pace quickening. "So it is what it looks like." 

"(Y/N), 's more—there's more to it than that." 

(Y/N) only shrugged at his half-hearted response, her head hanging between her shoulders. 

Harry felt just as defeated as she looked now. This wasn't how he wanted to reunite with her, but he guessed beggars couldn't be choosers. This was the opportunity he had, and he wasn't going to turn it away. 

"What happened tonight?" he murmured, shifting the conversation away from his own blunders. Unfortunately, this avenue would be an easier section to stomach than anything she would want to know about his date. 

"I got into an accident." 

"I know," Harry gently prodded, "But, what happened? Y'usually only hit curbs, not anything else." 

His shoulders loosened when his teasing was enough to draw a huffed laugh from her, a slight smile softening her features. 

As much as they may have deteriorated recently, he did know her. He knew her better than he knew himself. 

"It was just raining really hard, and—I don't know—I wasn't able to stop like I thought. I slid and hit a pole, and... yeah." 

As much as he did like teasing her about her more precarious driving habits, he knew more than anything that she was cautious. It wasn't like her to settle into accidents like this—she rarely ever drove in weather like this anyway, let alone at night. 

"Y'never drive in the rain," he pressed, an unaired question bookending his words. 

"I know." 

Harry looked at her, waiting for more than those two syllables. It was fruitless, he knew. 

He hung his head, running an absent hand through his hair before his fingers found the pearl at his throat. Eyes on the floor between his feet, he couldn't look at her as he spoke once more. 

"(Y/N). What happened tonight?" This isn't like you. Why did this happen? 

The air in the room seemingly went still. 

When he chanced a look up once more, he saw her sitting in her hospital bed with sparkling tears in her eyes. His chest panged at the sight. He knotted his fingers tighter together, forcing himself to see from reaching out. 

"(Y/N)...," he started, voice decidedly more gentle than a moment before. 

She shook her head. "I didn't want to be home—and I was crying, and I wasn't paying attention and the rain was heavier than I thought—and just... Everything happened." 

What was worse? Hearing that she had cried more than once tonight, before she'd even got in her accident, or seeing her recount it with another set of tears racing down her cheeks? 

This time he couldn't help himself; Harry reached out to touch her wrist. Her skin was warm under the chill of goosebumps on her skin. While she didn't move to hold his hand like she used to, she didn't flinch away. That was enough, he thought. 

"Why were y'crying, lo—(Y/N)?" He internally cringed at his slip up. He had no place calling her anything but her name. "What happened?" 

Another shake of her head. "It's stupid," she sniffled, fluttering her eyes closed with the tears clinging to the tips of her lashes. 

"Not if it made y'so upset that y'ended up here tonight," he crooned, words a quiet lilt only for her to hear, "What happened?" 

"I—It's..." she cut herself off more than once, throat bobbing, "I don't... I was the one that broke up with you, I-I'm not supposed to be upset. It-It's not fair." 

Her voice was barely a whisper by the time she finished speaking. His hand on her wrist tightened, a snug warmth against her skin. He ran his thumb over the bone, pretending he didn't feel the cut just on the underside. 

He waited. 

Another made-for-tv movie started on her television. 

He waited. 

She took a deep breath. Her eyes still closed.

"You went on a date tonight." 

Harry's shoulders deflated. 

"(Y/N)—"

"No," she peeped, shaking her head with her arm stiffening under his hold, "No. You were on a date, and I'm crazy and I'm not supposed to be upset, but I couldn't handle it—I didn't want to be home alone an-anymore. I didn't think you'd be over it already since I'm not, but you-you can do whatever you want an-and I need to be okay with that. And, then you—your music, it started playing while I was driving and I-I—Harry, I couldn't stop crying and then I crashed." Her voice was clogged in her throat, muddy and thick. Her tone came in waves, ebbing and flowing until it gave out. "I'm sorry." 

There was no chance Harry had of keeping his own tears at bay as he listened. It was too much—all of it; hearing her beginning to sob over the thought of him being over their relationship, how just the sound of his voice over her speakers brought her to tears while driving, the fact that she'd seen photos of him out on a date had driven her from her home to get away from herself. 

He felt his skin flush, the warmth heading down his neck the same way his tears did. He sniffled his nose, his lips rolled between his teeth to keep himself from blurting out each thought he couldn't help but to have. 

He doubted telling her how much he loved her was going to be much help when she was so dedicated to the thought of him already finding someone new to replace her. 

"You—" he cut himself off when his voice came a croak, clearing his throat with his hand on her wrist. "Y'don't have to be sorry, (Y/N). You're not crazy, either—I don't know what I would do if I'd seen y'go out with someone else, either. Y—'M jus' sorry, I never—I didn't mean to—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head as she slid her arm out from under his hand, curling into herself while she refused to open her eyes. "It's not your fault—you—I ended our relationship, you can do whatever you want." A shuddering breath had her shoulders shaking, lungs rattling. "I-I'm sorry you're here instead of with her." 

Just short of climbing up on the bed beside her, Harry pulled his chair as close to her side as he could. There wasn't anything he could say—nothing that he could imagine would shift her mind on what she'd seen and decided was the truth. All he could do, even if it involved uncomfortable bending of his joints, was collect her into his arms and hold her. It was only then that the slow roll of her tears were let loose into full weeps, her face buried into his neck. 

She burrowed against him, sinking into him as if the last month hadn't occurred. His hands spanned over her form, familiar with every plane and curve. His fingers caught on the raised abrasions that could be felt through her thin gown, but Harry could only be grateful that those were the only evidence of her accident. The mechanical beeping of her pulse skittered high, enough so he worried that the nurse could be alerted of the disturbance. Nonetheless, he held her tighter. 

"There's nowhere else I want to be," he murmured into her hair, his voice watery like the tears running down his cheeks. 

Reaching towards him, (Y/N) wrapped her hands in the wool of his jacket, fingers clawing into the fabric in a tighter grip than he'd expected from her state. "E-Even tonight?" 

Her cry was thin and pathetic, causing Harry to pulse his arms around her once more. "Tonight—every night. As long as 'm with you." 

He could feel the flutter of her lashes as she cinched her eyes shut tighter. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, just audible given how closely he had her wrapped around him, "Wh-What about her?" 

He shook his head against her hair, his nose skating over her crown. There would be a time to really unpack why he found himself at a candlelit table with Natalie, including everything that was going through his head every time she spoke to him, but that wasn't tonight. She needed him, and all of the reassurance he could give more than he needed to clear his conscience and monologue over his feelings. 

"She's not you and that's all that matters to me," he told her, sincerity dripping in his tone, "All I want is you." 

(Y/N) cried in a blubbering sob, "I didn't think you loved me anymore." 

Harry's own eyes had to be shuttered closed then, a fruitless attempt in hopes of stemming the tears falling out of his eyes and into (Y/N)'s hair. "I didn't think y'loved me anymore, darling." 

"I-I do, I do," she countered, shaking her head in his neck with her grip tightening on him, "We-We just never saw ea-each other anymore, and I-I thought you were mad at me all th-the time and I thought we'd be happier apart—b-but I was wrong and—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed her, starting a circuit of his palm over her back, "I-I understand. But now we know—you're all I want, an-and I'll do anything to make it work with you." 

"You're all I want," she whimpered, voice tight, "Don't leave me." 

While a part of him was soaring knowing that she was still in love with him, that this wasn't over the way he'd thought, he was still more than heartbroken to hear that she was so torn up and broken herself. She thought she had no choice but to end the relationship in hopes of making both of them happier elsewhere. He never imagined himself making someone he loved feel that way. 

"I won't." 

—————

Rubbing the lack of sleep out of his eye, Harry stood back as (Y/N) checked out of the hospital. Her mother was twined to her side with her father looking just as distraught, though he was better at giving his daughter space. They'd come straight here as soon as they landed only a couple of hours prior, walking in on Harry who had stayed far longer than the originally carved out visiting hours with (Y/N) still in his arms. 

Gratitude was exchanged between them—Harry for coming to (Y/N)'s side at a moment's notice, and her parents for telling him at all and letting him be there for her—with a thread of stiffness lingering afterwards. Harry couldn't blame them; the last they'd heard about him was the fact that he'd been dumped by their daughter along with all the reasons why. They didn't know what had come of the night before, yet, only seeing the aftermath of their tear puffed faces and his arms wrapped around her.

Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure where he stood with (Y/N) at the moment. Promises uttered through sobs after a traumatic event wasn't something he was going to hold her to. Even if he wanted to believe she was still in love with him and wanted to be with him like she'd said last night. 

Armed with paperwork and parents at her side, (Y/N) nodded to the nurse at the checkout with a plastered smile. Though they were still clear on her skin, the cuts and scrapes she'd earned in her accident didn't look so bad when she smiled with light in the eyes. 

Though he was still a bit too far away, he could hear the mumblings of a quiet conversation happening between (Y/N) and her parents. He was sure she was going to go home with them, and sort out everything else that couldn't be helped with a night at the hospital, but he'd wait until he knew she was safe before he'd leave himself. 

He watched from the corner of his eye, giving them privacy, though he could see (Y/N) waving off her parents before stepping towards him. It was a lingering departure, her mother refusing to let go too readily, though she eventually resigned herself to head down the hallway towards the bank of elevators with her husband and her daughter's paperwork. 

(Y/N) took shy steps towards Harry, empty hands a fiddling mess. 

"You're still here," she said, voice quiet to match the waiting room. 

He shrugged, a small smile having curled the corner of his lips. Was he supposed to remind her that she had asked him to stay, or keep that ex-boyfriend barrier in place? (If it was even still standing, given the way she'd fallen asleep in his arms just hours before).

"You're doing alright?" he asked instead, scanning over the planes of her face as if he didn't have them memorized already. 

She nodded. "Just sore, but I think I'm just going to feel that way for a little while. My head's doing better, though—I still have a headache, but I don't think it's because of the accident." 

Though she ended with a laugh, Harry figured she wasn't sure what to make of last night anymore than he did. 

"'M happy you're alright," he told her, sincerity weaved through his words, "Are your mum and dad taking y'home?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, looking over her shoulder to the couple waiting at the elevators, "I think my mom wants me to stay at their house tonight, but we'll see." 

"Oh, y'don't want to spend hours watching soap opera reruns tonight?" Harry teased, a sly smile touching his lips. The curl only stretched when (Y/N) laughed. 

"Not particularly, but who knows," she said, sparing another glance over her shoulder to see the audience waiting on her, "Um, we talked a lot last night." 

"We did, yeah," he nodded, throat bobbing as swallowed, eyes dropping from her own, "But, we don't—'m not—If y'don't feel the same way as y'did last night, 'm not going to ma—" 

"I do," she cut him off, a bright chirp that matched the spark in Harry's chest. "I do feel the same, I mean. We should probably talk a little more, though, right?" 

A dimple dented Harry's cheek, suddenly feeling incredibly more alive than just a heartbeat before. "Probably." 

"Are you busy tomorrow? In the morning?" 

It didn't take a second thought before Harry was moving his schedule around to keep his morning stark open tomorrow. Those meetings could be moved—maybe even made into an email or a quick phone call. 

"Not for you." 

The blooming smile she gave him was reminiscent of the first time he pulled that flirtation on her. 

"Good," she quipped, "I'll call you tonight or something, then. Maybe we could get breakfast tomorrow?" 

"I'll be there," he cemented, "Jus' tell me when." 

The rewarding light in her eyes made it easy for Harry to forget the last month of his light (except for the night he'd just spent with her, of course). 

"I will," she told him, "Bye, Harry." 

Maybe it was the way she hesitantly stepped towards him, or the shy way she had her lips rolled between her teeth with a budding smile, or the memory of her warmth against his chest, but Harry didn't think before he was collecting her into his arms. (Y/N) melted into his chest on instinct, wrapping her arms around his middle. He could feel the mush of her cheek against the cuff of his shoulder. Despite the sterile scent of the hospital clinging to her, underneath it all was the familiar fragrance of her shampoo and sweet body lotion she somehow never ran out of. 

Drawing away first, (Y/N) only put enough space between them to get a look up at Harry. Though her eyes were bloodshot, bags darkening underneath, and the shadow of her tears lingering in the corners, he'd never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N)'s eyes. 

"I'll see y'tomorrow." 

"See you tomorrow." 

Long after she untangled herself from his hold, Harry still felt (Y/N)'s warmth long enough to carry him home and keep him company until his phone rang a familiar tone later that night. 

—————

ahhhhhh I never write angst so I hope this turned out all right! thank you sm for reading, and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or anything at all send them in!

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader request (s): grocery run, Simon talks about “the move”

“These look good.”

You’re holding a carton of strawberries, lifting them to the ceiling to check the bottom. “Huh big guy? Do these look good?” You lean close, tickling his toes from where he’s hanging in the baby carrier on Simon’s chest. Orion giggles, beaming at you like always, and you smile right back.

Simon tries not to blurt out right then and there how much he loves you. He stems the stream fighting to fall out of his mouth, walking mindlessly behind you, Orion kicking his feet and babbling, something new that started when he was away. He’s so proud, thrilled to watch his son start to grow, start expressing himself, and it pains him all the same. He’s missed so much, and he’s going to keep missing things.

“What about some pasta?” You’re turned with an eyebrow raised, and he blinks.

“Hmm?” He palms Orion’s belly.

“Pasta. For dinner tonight?”

“Sure honey. Whatever you want.” Your head cocks, slightly, and you put a dry bag of linguine in the cart.

“Want to go pick out a jar of sauce and I’ll meet you at the yogurt?” You stretch your back. “Not sure I feel like going for scratch tonight.”

“Okay. Come on bub, let’s go get mama her sauce.”

There are too many options. He didn’t realize there could even be this many options, white, pink, red, garlic, no garlic, the list goes on.

It’s a bit of a puzzle. What do you like? He should know these things. He wants to know these things.

“What a handsome little man.” A woman appears at his elbow, leaning past him to peek at Orion. “He’s so cute.” He gives her his only attempt at a polite smile, though it’s strained and looks like a grimace.

It’s hard, pretending to be a civilian. Walking around in a grocery store like he wasn’t just pulling a trigger a week ago. His instinct is to size the woman up, analyze her for potential threats, cover the back of Ry’s head with his hand. He grits out a thanks. “Thank you.”

“He looks just like you,” she continues, smiling, “handsome like his daddy.” The sentiment curdles his stomach, and he narrows his eyes.

“His mama agrees.” Her smile turns a little embarrassed, awkward, but still present, persistent.

“I’m sure she does if she’s got two big men around.” Bloody hell.

“If you’ll excuse-“

“Simon?” You’ve just turned into the aisle with the trolley, confused at first, and then catching up quickly. You sneer at the stranger, stepping around her to point to a sauce on the shelf, your breasts grazing his forearm. “I like this one.” You say softly, sliding a hand to his lower back, glancing over at the obtrusive woman. “Will you get it for me?” He smirks.

“Of course mama.”

“Is that it?” You eye the three bags, two duffels and a backpack. He shrugs.

“Don’t really have a lot. I have a storage unit for some things in Manchester, family stuff, but I’m pretty used to jumping around. Flat I rented came furnished.” You suck in a breath, like you’re all the sudden realizing what a daunting task it is, being his. Belonging to him. Being loved by him, a man who kills for a living, a man whose possessions only fill three, four bags at most.

“Okay, well, there are drawers… in the dresser, and half the closet of course. I cleaned out some bathroom drawers too, I wasn’t sure what you’d be bringing so I made some room in the kitchen too, in case you had dishes, and-“

“Hey.” He steps close, snaking a palm around the back of your neck and stroking over your pulse point. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just… this is a big deal.”

“It is.” He hums.

“I’m not… changing my mind, just like… my flat isn’t exactly… Simon sized.” He swallows his grin, pleased at how you’ve walked right into his next topic of conversation.

“About that…” your brow creases. “I think we might be a little cramped here, mama.” You slump.

“I know…” you sound defeated and he thumbs your cheek. “I just… I don’t know what comes next. I’ve been here so long, you know? It’s my place. And what do we do?” He does know it’s your place, knows how much you love your stacks of books, your small hanging house plants that sun by the window. He loves how you decorated Orion’s room, dark green with gold stars, loves how your plates and cups and bowls are all a mix of painted pieces, ornate designs that don’t really match but always seem to fit together.

He knows it will be hard, these next steps, but he’s not afraid. He trusts he knows what’s best for his family, knows how to keep you safe, and happy. He knows you’ll love it, the one he’s picked out.

He just has to tell you now.

[moon7jay]

Carnal (p.sh)

Warnings : stepcest, dubcon, sunghoon is a pervert, sex tape, cum eating, just filth tbh, porn without plot

a/n: Im functioning on 2 hours of sleep so it's not proofread,there might be some errors,pls ignore them. reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ♡

"fuck, just like that " sunghoon groaned, squeezing himself from above his boxers, his red rimmed eyes tethered to the passionate sex scene playing on his laptop screen.

His breathing was heavy, pupils dilated as he watched the man's dick assault the bounded woman's pussy, coming out covered in white cum juices. She was trying to get away from him, but the restraints were not letting her. She had no choice but to take it.

Fuck. He needed sex.

As Sunghoon rubbed his clothed dick, sighing at the delicious friction, his mind drifted off to you.

Pink.

He swallowed the spit gathering in his mouth and reached across the table to open his hidden drawer. Rummaging impatiently with one hand while his other was busy touching himself, sunghoon groaned when he found the one thing that he was looking for. The pink lace underwear in his hand was old and dirty with cum stains. Sunghoon knew that he was responsible for its sorry state. That's what he gets for jerking off in it like an animal anytime you so much as smiled at him.

But he wasn't the only one to blame. You were equally responsible for fueling his perverted tendencies. Prancing around the house in your short little pink skirts. Sunghoon was never the one to go for hyperfeminine women but turns out you were an exception. With your pink bows and pink gloss and pink skirts and pink tops, you were like the sweetest candy that was waiting to be bitten into and tasted. sunghoon craved you with every fibre of his being.

The fact that you were forbidden only increased his desire tenfold. You were his step sister for fuck's sake but his dick throbbed at the mere sight of you. Blasphemous. But who cared? Not HIM.

Sunghoon buried his nose in your panties in hopes of inhaling your addicting scent but groaned in frustration instead. It no longer smelled like you. Fucking hell.

He was drunk and horny and you were the only thing running laps across his mind. He wanted to bury himself into your tight little body. Now.

Sunghoon briefly paused his ministrations and listened for the football match still playing in the living room across the hallway. the volume was loud enough that his parents would not be able to hear the nasty sounds of fucking from your room. He quickly shut down his laptop and tredged his way to your room right across from his own. His dick hung long and heavy in between in legs, straining painfully against his boxer briefs.

Your door was ajar, like always, a careless habit of yours that had given sunghoon countless opportunities to sneak inside and act out his perverse desires.

But he'd never gone this far. Never gone as far as to actually touch you. As he watched your scantily covered body resting so sinfully against the pink sheets, an inexplicable heat spread throughout his limbs. His body worked faster than his brain and he reached inside his back pocket to take out the handcuffs he'd picked up from his room. quickly setting up his phone right across from your bed , sunghoon hastily took off his boxers, ready to ravage you the entire night.

You stirred up when you felt a heavy weight settle onto your body, you tried moving your hands, mumbling and squirming in your sleep but your hands refused to move. Something was holding them down. A sharp pain in between your legs punched a gasp out of your chest, your eyes flying open at the sudden intrusion into your body, your mouth opening in a silent scream. Your bleary eyes met sunghoon's who was breathing uncharacteristically heavy on top of you. Tears gathered at your waterline, the sting in your lower region spreading throughout your pelvis. your core was throbbing from his cock tearing through your hymen so mercilessly. you tried to free your bound hands, but to no avail.

"Wh-what are you doing" you asked with wobbly lips but sunghoon's eyes were dark and unseeing as he stared into yours. You had never seen him like this before. "Gonna use you to satisfy my dick" he whispered and started pistoning his dick in and out of you. A pained moan left your lips as his thick dick dragged against your dry gummy walls. You could have screamed and begged him to stop, but you'd be lying if you said that you'd didn't dream of this every single night. Your step brother was hot and he made you hot. Your mother had kept you away from boys your entire life, so you had never given much thought to your sexual desires, never indulging in pleasures of the flesh. But all of that changed when sunghoon came into the picture.

He grabbed your wet cheeks and stuck his tongue inside your mouth forcefully, tasting your hot mouth with a fervent passion. You moaned and arched into his touch as he began pounding into you. His lips were harsh on your pillowy ones, his tongue moving languidly inside your warm cavity. The pain mixed with pleasure made you sob, your fingers curling around the handcuffs around your wrists.

"God , always wanted to fuck your virgin little pussy, waited for so fucking long" he moaned into your mouth. You pushed your chest up against him as he rotated his hips in a circular motion, grinding into your cervix, his cockhead rubbing and poking your g spot in a delicious rut. "h-hurts" you cried, your pussy struggling to fit him inside, the stretch was too painful.

"Mhmm bet it does baby" he panted on your face and reached down to rub against your clit to make your pussy wetter. the stimulation against your sensitive bud made you squeal and thrash under him. You sobbed as the pain started turning into sweet pleasure, your pussy began to drool, wet sounds coming from the continuous collision of his pelvis with yours. His teeth dug into your lower plump lip with an intention to hurt, your red swollen mouth was too tempting for sunghoon to resist.

"You feel so much better than my hand baby, fuck, so hot and tight" His fingers dug into your soft waist, bruising the flesh with his harsh grip while his thrusts became faster, the headboard now slamming against the wall. A fleeting thought of your parents came into your mind but you weren't able to dwell on it for long, the heat spreading inside your pussy overshadowing every other thought. His hand left your clit and he folded your body into half. He cursed upon seeing your fucked out face, your tongue hanging out while drool escaped your mouth. Fuck. Sunghoon's palms moved up to grope your chest, pinching and twisting your pert nipples painfully from above your flimsy nighty, a whine leaving your lips at his actions.

"we could do this all day baby, you just have to keep quiet and we could-mhmm god-fuck all day" His hands slid down to press upon your abdomen, eyes rolling back upon tracing his own cock through the bulge in your tummy.

"B-but it's wrong" You mewled, your toes curling when he applied more pressure on your lower stomach. He bent down to nibble on your earlobe, his thick dick reaching deeper in this new angle. "Yeah, it's so fucking wrong baby, you shouldn't be drooling around your step brother's dick like a slut" He grunted into your ear and grinded his groin against yours. The Squelching sounds resonating in the room were disgusting but so, so hot, your sweaty bodies rutting against each other to reach carnal pleasure.

Sunghoon pulled all the way out and thrusted inside, snapping his hips into your cunt again and again. Your silky walls wrapped around him so snugly, his breath coming out in harsh pants. "Nasty little girl, what will your mom think if she found you bouncing on my dick like this?" His dirty words made you cry out in disgust mixed with arousal. He swore under his breath upon feeling you clench on his dick. You felt So wet and So fucking tight, he swore he could taste heaven at the top of his tongue. he watched your legs flailing around while he forced himself into your tight hole repeatedly, without mercy, the sight so erotic that he could feel his orgasm approaching. He was pounding you into the sheets furiously, all the pent up sexual tension causing havoc on your cervix. You tried to stifle your moans but he was too big and too rough for your tiny, inexperienced body. The pace of his hips became faster and harsher, his grunts and groans reaching a fever pitch, the pressure in his balls ready to burst.

"Take my dick baby, take it like a fucking whore" he punched out with a few more thrusts, his hips stuttering and then stilling inside of you all at once, filling you full of his hot cum. "Ah fuckk fuck" He moaned through his orgasm, he was cumming so much, his hips still moving back and forth. Before you knew it, he began thrusting into you again, your cries of pleasure turning him into an insatiable beast.

"cant stop fucking this cunt" He groaned and started edging you, angling his hips in such a way that it felt good but not enough to make you cum. Your eyes were blurry and you started sobbing in frustration, moving your hips up to grind against his dick. His calloused palms held your waist and helped you move your hips on him, stilling his movements while he watched you fuck yourself dumb on his cock. Your eyes were dizzy with pleasure, small whimpers falling from your swollen lips, but you couldn't stop rotating your hips, thrusting upwards to make his dick reach your delicious spots. Sunghoon clenched his jaw at the sight of his cum leaking out of your hungry hole while he was still buried inside you. the way your arms struggled against the handcuffs above your head while your hips chased his hard cock was driving him crazy in lust. You looked like his fucking wet dream.

"Yeah, keep fucking it baby, fuck it like it's yours" He grunted, moving your body back and forth on his dick like a fleshlight. It felt too good, his dick throbbing inside your warm pussy. He wanted to start fucking you again but his pervert instincts took over instead. You whined in disappointment as he pulled out of your needy whole, your pussy trying to suck him back in. You watched in confusion while sunghoon came back to the bed with his phone, he turned on your tv which was set up right across your bed and connected his device to it. reaching above you to free your hands, he threw the handcuffs to the side.

You hissed and rubbed against the red marks on your wrists, freezing mid movement when you heard moans coming from your tv screen. Your moans, specifically. Your wide eyes turned towards the tv and you saw yourself. Saw your own body tied up to the bed as sunghoon pushed himself inside of you, rutting against you while you cried. In disbelief, you looked over to sunghoon and gulped at the scene in front of you. His hand was wrapped around his thick dick, jerking off to the footage of you two having sex. Hot arousal rushed through your lower body and your hand moved down to apply pressure to your throbbing clit. You should have been angry at the fact that you had been recorded without your consent, but you didn't think sunghoon cared much about consent and its synonyms.

"Fuck yeah" sunghoon groaned, this was hotter than any porn he had ever wanked off to. The way your tiny body struggled underneath his big one on the screen, his dick moving in and out of you without mercy, your eyes rolling to the back of your head while his hips clenched as he fucked into you passionately. All of it was too much. He could see you rubbing your clit, getting off to the obscene sounds on your tv. He squeezed his tip and cursed "fuck baby make yourself cum, it's so fucking hot isn't it?"

You nodded and whined, your moans overlapping with the moans coming from the speaker. Too good, it felt too good. You rubbed your clit faster, looking to the side to watch sunghoon jerk off furiously. His palm moved up and down, playing with his own balls, his entire chest covered in a sheen of sweat. "Im-im so close" you whined and he groaned, watching you gather his cum out of your abused hole with your free hand and suck onto your fingers, basically slurping on his cum. "Oh my fucking god " He sighed, his own eyes closing shut at the pleasure.

The Squelching sounds on the screen mixed with the filthy sounds of you both masturbating like perverts pushed you over the edge. The orgasm hit you like a damn train, your back arched off the bed while you kept rubbing yourself to ride your high. The filthy taste of sunghoon's cum on your tongue was too good. Sunghoon came just moments later, eyes fixated on your swollen pussy, spilling all over his palms and thighs "oh yeah, shit shit shit" he hissed while he rubbed himself raw.

Small sighs of pleasure and satisfaction filled the space between your heated bodies. As you both came down from your mind blowing orgasms, the bodies continued rutting against each other on the screen. It was starting to get hot again. The passion permeating your senses. You squirmed and met sunghoon's eyes which were already set on you. They were dark and blown in lust. Before you could say anything, he was hovering over your spent body again, rubbing his cockhead against your swollen clit, making you whimper in overstimulation.

"let's fuck while we watch us fuck"

[hoe4hotchner]

Zoomies | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader | WC: 1.7k  | CW: fluff, no use of Y/N.| Summary: Reader gets the zoomies while being restless on a case and Hotch is the only one who can calm her down.

A/N: I've been laughing so hard while writing this. It's most probably the stooopidest idea i've ever had, but it's so crazy and I love this fic a lot!!!!

It had been a long case, the air in the precinct felt heavy with tension, thick enough to cut like a knife. Everyone was drained, running on fumes, but you felt it the most. The team had been stuck in the stuffy bullpen for hours, waiting for intel, and the endless waiting always gnawed at you. It clawed at your nerves, picking apart your focus, making the silence unbearable.

At first, the restlessness was small. A tap of your foot under the desk, fingers drumming lightly against your notebook, anything to keep moving. But the energy in you started to grow, buzzing under your skin like a live wire. Sitting still wasn’t an option anymore. Your chair felt too small, the walls too close, and before you knew it, you were up, pacing the room. Your movements were aimless, driven by the jittery need to do something. The more you tried to control it, the worse it got. Anticipation surged through you like a shot of adrenaline, nerves firing on all cylinders.

Soon, you were practically bouncing from one side of the room to the other, your body filled with boundless, chaotic energy. You had the zoomies - no better way to describe it - and nothing was going to stop you.

Emily tried to pull your attention, cracking jokes, attempting to reel you in with her sarcasm, but that only seemed to wind you up further. Spencer suggested deep breathing exercises, but his voice barely registered. You were already off again, moving to another corner, your body refusing to settle. Even Derek, who usually found your hyperactive moments amusing, was starting to watch you with concern.

“She’s like a rabbit on a sugar rush,” Derek muttered, crossing his arms as he watched you dart from the coffee machine to the board plastered with crime scene photos, then back again in a blur of movement.

“I don’t know how she has this much energy,” Emily sighed, shaking her head as you bounced on the balls of your feet, eyes scanning the room for your next destination. “But we’ve got to get her to calm down before she drives us all insane.”

Just then, Penelope popped her head into the room, her eyes wide and flustered. “Okay, so… I love her energy, don’t get me wrong, but she’s one wrong move away from knocking over something very expensive and very important. And I'm trying to run background checks on all the suspects, please get her to stop.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Penelope had a point - you were like a wildfire, buzzing from corner to corner, leaving a trail of chaos in your wake. Every drawer you opened slammed shut a little too hard, every step you took a little too fast.

Morgan chuckled softly, his gaze still following your movements. “I know someone who can get through to her,” he said, his voice low with a smirk.

Emily glanced at him. “You don’t mean - he's gonna be pissed if you pull him out.”

“I do.” He nodded confidently. “If anyone can calm her down, it’s Hotch.”

Without another word, Morgan pushed off the wall and strode out of the room, weaving through the bustling precinct with purpose. He knew exactly where to find Hotch - deep in the middle of an interrogation. He didn’t slow down as he reached the interrogation room door, his hand gripping the handle with determination. Without hesitation, he swung it open, the door creaking slightly as it interrupted the tense atmosphere inside.

Hotch was mid-sentence, leaning forward as he questioned the suspect with his trademark intensity. The sharpness in his voice cut through the silence, but it faltered the moment he noticed Morgan standing in the doorway. His eyes flicked up, brow furrowing in mild irritation at the intrusion.

“Can I help you?” Hotch asked, his voice low and calm, though the edge of annoyance was impossible to miss.

Morgan didn’t flinch. He just nodded toward the main room, the flicker of amusement in his eyes betraying the seriousness of the situation. “We’ve got a situation.”

Hotch’s brow raised a fraction higher. “What kind of situation?”

“It’s uhh..." Morgan said, trying not to laugh. “She’s… uh, bouncing off the walls. Literally. We tried everything, but she’s got a serious case of the zoomies, and it’s getting out of hand.” He gave a helpless shrug, knowing if anyone could handle it, it’d be Hotch.

Hotch blinked once, his expression unreadable as he processed Morgan's words. There was a moment of silence before he straightened up, his posture stiff yet composed. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said coolly to the suspect, rising from his chair with the kind of calm authority that suggested nothing rattled him - not even this.

He followed Morgan out of the interrogation room, his footsteps steady and purposeful as they headed back into the bullpen. The scene that greeted him was one of controlled chaos - or at least, controlled by you. You were darting between desks, fingers trailing across papers, pens, and anything within reach. Your pacing had turned into something close to spinning, an endless loop of movement that seemed unstoppable.

Hotch’s gaze swept over the room, the tension in his jaw barely visible, though his eyes darkened with a hint of resolve. He didn’t need to say a word; his mere presence was enough to shift the atmosphere. But you were so caught up in your own restless energy that you didn’t even notice him at first.

Then, like a sixth sense, you felt it - that solid, commanding presence behind you. There was no mistaking it. That steady, magnetic pull that could only be Hotch. Your steps slowed a tad, just enough to make you aware of the weight of his eyes on you, and suddenly, the energy swirling around you started to settle.

The moment you turned and saw him standing there, hands casually tucked into his pockets, those deep, dark eyes locked on you with that familiar mixture of sternness and calm, everything inside you stilled. Your breath caught in your throat, a ripple of tension releasing as his gaze held yours. He didn’t even need to say a word - his sheer presence was enough to command your attention, to quiet the whirlwind that had been spiraling out of control in your mind.

He took a single step forward, and instinctively, you stopped moving, the restlessness evaporating like steam. His eyes, intense yet soft in a way only he could manage, seemed to weigh on you, grounding you in place. There was a hint of amusement in the subtle curve of his lips, barely noticeable but there all the same, though his voice remained steady, unwavering.

He called your name, just your name, low and authoritative, and it was all it took.

Your pulse slowed, the frantic energy that had been pulsing through your veins fading as if he’d flipped a switch. The world around you quieted, the room narrowing down to just him. You exhaled slowly, blinking up at him, feeling the wildness ebb away.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice like a calm tide, pulling you in, his eyes never leaving yours.

You obeyed without a second thought, your feet moving toward him as if on autopilot. The restless buzz in your mind began to fade with each step, the chaotic energy that had consumed you moments ago slowly dissipating. It was as if his presence alone acted like an anchor, pulling you back from the whirlwind inside your head. The entire team looked on, wide-eyed and quietly amazed, watching as you came to a stop in front of him. The zoomies that had been running rampant through your system were now completely subdued, tamed by nothing more than his commanding presence.

“Take a breath,” Hotch instructed, his voice firm but gentle, you couldn’t help but follow. Without a second’s hesitation, you inhaled deeply, the weight of his gaze still on you. The tension that had tightened every muscle in your body started to unwind, the frantic energy melting away like snow under the sun. His calmness wrapped around you, a steadying force that made everything seem simpler, quieter. You felt the tightness in your chest loosen, your breathing evening out as you stood there, finally still.

“Good,” Hotch murmured, his deep voice holding a trace of warmth in the otherwise stoic demeanor. The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he cast a quick glance at the team - who were still watching in stunned silence - before his eyes returned to you. There was an understanding in his gaze like he knew exactly what you needed without you having to say a word.

“Better?” he asked, his tone carrying just enough reassurance to ease the lingering embarrassment you felt.

You nodded, the flush of heat creeping up your neck as you tried to fight the sheepish smile pulling at your own lips. “Yeah,” you breathed out, feeling a mix of relief and slight self-consciousness at how quickly you’d gone from bouncing off the walls to standing perfectly still in front of him. “Much better.”

He gave a small nod of approval, that familiar flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, before leading you over to one of the chairs positioned around the table. As you sank into the seat, you finally felt a wave of calm wash over you, the whirlwind of energy that had previously consumed you now fully under control.

With a subtle, reassuring pat on your shoulder, Hotch turned and walked back toward the interrogation room, his presence lingering even as he moved away. Morgan watched him go, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, I don’t know how he does that,” he remarked, still a bit stunned by the transformation he’d just witnessed.

“Whatever it is, I’m just glad it works,” Emily chimed in, a smirk dancing on her lips as she crossed her arms, clearly impressed by Hotch’s effortless ability to handle the chaos.

From her spot in the corner, Penelope giggled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s like magic,” she teased, playfully throwing her hands up as if conjuring a spell, making the atmosphere feel lighter despite the tension of the case.

But you knew the truth. It wasn’t magic - it was Hotch. Something about him, the quiet authority he carried, had the power to center you like nothing else.

[mead-iocre]

Trick or Treat | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: you and your son go trick or treating and meet your neighbour

warnings: none

wc: 4.1k words

You arch, massaging away the kinks around your lower back with your fingers. At your age, you should not be getting back pain this often, but the reality is that having a good, flexible back is a privilege afforded to women who did not get pregnant at 19 years old, and are now a single mom to a very active 3 year old boy. 

You glance at the pile of boxes still stacked up against the wall and groan. The fun part of moving to a new place was knowing this was a new chapter in your life. There were new places to explore, and new people that could walk into your life to replace the ones you left behind. You forgot that having to unpack all your stuff was an essential hurdle you needed to get through first before you can even get to the fun part. 

At first, you were nervous about moving so far away, packing up your life to go to an entire continent away from home. Mom tried to talk you out of it, but you knew you needed a fresh start. And the further away the better.

You are knocked out of your thoughts by a soft thud coming from your son’s room. Since there was no crying that followed, you don’t rush out of the room but you quicken your pace regardless. You would’ve count on your rowdy child to injure himself somehow if left alone for too long.

You poke your head into the room. “Hey, bubba” 

A head of brown curls pop up from the other side of the bed. “Mama!”

The love of your life, and a tornado in the form of a little human, comes barreling over to you, struggling slightly with his little legs. It’s as if his mind is telling him to go fast, but his legs can’t catch up just yet. You crouch down to catch him before he knocks you down like a bowling pin. 

“What’cha doing?” You look around the room and sure enough there are crayons, farm animal figurines, and plastic toy tractors scattered everywhere. It was a mess, and it was only 11 am the morning. 

His room is still pretty bare aside from a small, low bed with little astronauts on his sheets, the blankets rumpled to the side from his nap earlier.

A simple dresser stands across the room, a few drawers pulled open and hurriedly filled with folded toddler clothes. Nearby, a lamp casts the only real light in the room. There's a small red spaceship-shaped rug near the bed, for little feet. In one corner, a couple of cardboard boxes that were stacked a while ago, containing toys and books, has now been tipped over.

Turning your attention to the boy in your arms, you are reminded exactly why you learned not to mind the mess. His brown eyes, with specks of green, round and framed by long dark lashes have you wrapped around his pudgy finger. He snuggles into the crook of your neck and you feel your heart melt all over again. 

“Playing dinos” 

You feel something pointy digging into your stomach, and when you feel around for the culprit, you find a plastic little t-rex in the pocket of his shorts. Obviously. 

You wave the plastic mammal at him, lightly poking one rosy cheeky with the head. “Bet you’re having fun, huh?”

Giggles ring out, and all you want to do is bottle up that sound forever. You heave him higher up your hip and use your mom privilege to rain as many kisses all over his face. 

The doorbell ringing catches your attention. You walk out of Reid's room and into the living room; allowing your wriggly son to slide off of you, to which he then promptly runs towards his basket of toys by corner of the sofa. You haven’t even opened the door yet before the unmistakable sound of wooden toy cars and blocks being dumped onto the floor can be heard. Lovely. 

You open the door and your find one of your neighbours, Liz standing on the other side. You haven’t met all your neighbours, and you probably won’t ever get the chance to considering the building has multiple floors, with multiple units on each floor, but you tried to take the time to introduce yourself to your neighbours when you see them. You blame the urge on the American in you. Making an effort to know your neighbours has always been the way you were raised.  

“Hello, Liz” You greet her. She is always so impeccably dressed and today she was sporting the comfiest looking green sweater you have ever seen. 

“Hi, dear. Just wanted to check on ya” You and Reid got the warmest welcome from her and her husband, Ben. Most of the people who live in the apartment were single professionals, or couples without kids. You could probably count with one hand the amount of families with kids that lived in the building. 

You open the door wider, inviting her into your home. She strolls in, leaving the scent of fresh lilies and ripe pear wafting in the air. “How’s the little man?”

“He’s good. He’s excited to go treat or treating tomorrow” You pull out a chair for her to sit and walk over to start the kettle. 

“I bet he is! What’s he going as?” 

You grab the tea bags and the spoons from the cupboard. “We’re still deciding, but we’ve narrowed it down to Spiderman or a Dinosaur” 

“Brilliant choices. I can’t wait to see him! You will stop by our door right?” They lived a few floors below you.

“Of course! Yours will be our first stop!” 

“Make sure you check the leaflet they gave out that tells you all the houses that are handing out candy. Remember, only the houses with pumpkins on their doors will be giving out candy” 

You nod, stirring the tea. Liz had warned you about this when you first brought it up days ago. You knew that trick or treating wasn’t a big thing in England, compared to back home but you were glad some houses around the area were planning on handing out candy. A part of you wanted your son to experience Halloween like you did growing up, but life just does not work that way. Maybe one day.

“I know. I think he’s more excited to wear his costume then actually trick or--”

You both turn when the crashing sound of wooden building blocks ring out. 

“Uh oh!” a sweet little voice calls out.

You pause for a second. No wailing, no yells for "mama", which is a good sign. It means no broken bones.

"Are you alright, bubba?”

“I’m okay!” You hear back. Then you hear the sound of wooden blocks tumbling again. He's fine.

Liz and you share a laugh before tucking into your mugs of tea. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Did you buy any candy?” Lia asks, picking up her plate and taking it to the sink. The other girls follow suit, cleaning the table free of pumpkin guts, and pumpkin carving supplies. Viv takes the intiative to wipe down the table, while Lotte starts going around with a black rubbish bag.

Leah furrows her eyebrows at the Swiss midfielder, confused. She stood up with her own plate to follow her teammates as they crowd by her kitchen.

The Swiss rolls her eyes at the questioning look from the her English teammate. One eyebrow raised so high it's nearly touching her hairline “For the trick or treaters”

“No?” Was the Arsenal defender's response.

“You won’t be having trick or treaters over?” 

“Nah. I might have an early night. Alex is having that party the night after tomorrow…” Alex always throws a halloween party every year, complete with costumes, loud music and lots and lots of drinks. Apparently this year, she rented out an entire club for the night.

Lia dries the plate that she’s been washing and places it on the rack. She turns to the English blonde, a hand on her hip. “Yeah but you know-- just in case. What if kids come knocking?”

The Arsenal defender pauses in the middle of washing her cutlery, and actually cares to think for a second. “Well then I’ll hand them a can of tuna” 

Lia gives her an unimpressed look.

Leah just shrugs. Halloween just isn't as celebrated around here. And especially not the whole trick or treating thing. “It’s trick…or treat, Lia. I reckon I should give them kids a trick once in a while” 

“The real trick would be that scowl on your face, Leah. No need to bully them with a can of tuna too” Beth pipes up, making a face, imitating her captain. 

The girls all laugh but Leah is unfazed. She's used to her "captain face" being the butt of jokes.

Lia was still not ready to let go of the topic of conversation. She presses, “I still think you should run down to the shops and grab a bag at least. Just to be safe” 

Leah fights the urge to roll her eyes. Lia was currently drying her hands with a tea towel, and the blonde has no doubt that the Swiss will use it on her if she catches an eye roll. “I’m pretty sure there are only two families with kids in the building. I could just chuck a few bags of crisps and a can of diet coke at them. It’ll be fine.” Surely she had a few packets of crisps lying around in her pantry somewhere.

“Just for that I hope you get a hundred kids knocking on your door tonight.” Lia threatens lightly. Walking over to the coat rack by the door, she picks up her coat, shrugging it on.

Leah stands off to the side as she watches her guests grab their things. “Slim chance of that happening, mate. I’m not leaving a pumpkin out tonight” 

“But we carved them for a reason” Beth points at the pumpkins all the girls are carrying in their arms. Being the only American on the team, Emily had somehow roped all the girls into carving pumpkins to celebrate the holiday. They had a fun time, and it granted everyone a chill night before tomorrows party kicks off.

“And I’m not inviting trick or treaters to my door.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The girls pile out of the door, each carrying their own freshly carved pumpkin. The girls say their goodbyes to each other by the door, promising to see each other tomorrow evening for the halloween party. Muted partings are shared by the door, and the smell of fresh pumpkin filling the hallway. Beth clutches Viv’s pumpkin in one hand while the other carries her own-- albeit struggling to keep her balance. 

“Beth, can you grab the keys from my pocket? I can’t do it while I’m holding Myle”

The blonde raises an eyebrow, gesturing at her hands that were currently occupied by two festive orange vegetables. “I’m the one holding both of our pumpkins?”

Viv shoots her lover an exasperated look. Leave it to Beth to state the obvious and leave it at that. Sometimes Viv wonders how her girlfriend survived without her for so long “Put one down then, darling” 

Beth complies, but not without exaggerating her groans as she bends towards the floor, still mindful of her knee many months later. “Maybe if you didn’t spoil the princess so much,” quick glance at the content spaniel nestled in Viv’s arms. 

“Ignore her. Mummy’s grumpy” Viv whispers to the dog. 

Beth crotches down to place one of the pumpkins on the door, right by Leah’s door. She reaches over to fish the car keys from Viv’s pocket, steals a kiss from her lover’s lips, and marches towards the elevators. Unbeknownst to her, leaving behind a lone pumpkin by the Arsenal defender's door. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Leah cracks open a can of diet coke. She glances at the time on her phone, the clock reading 8:05 pm. Unsurprisingly, she has not had any knocks on her door. Usually there would be trick or treaters around 6pm, around the time school finishes. In the years that she has been living in this building, most of the kids are done trick or treating by 8pm. Where are the hundreds of trick or treaters you wished would evade my house, Lia?

She settles on the sofa, stretching out her legs and grabbing the remote to turn on the television. When she finally settles on a live tennis match, she grabs a throw blanket and gets comfortable. 

Ding! Dong!

When her doorbell goes off, Leah doesn’t think much of it. She slips on her slippers, and drags her feet towards her front door. Pulling it open, at first she sees no one. When she lowers her eyes downwards, she is met with Spiderman. A small Spiderman, with little brown curls sticking out from underneath his face mask. He was holding a small bright orange pumpkin bucket. 

Leah is frozen at first. Partly amused by the sight of the mini Spiderman, she was also internally panicking at the fact that she cannot give this child (who looks below the age of 5) a can of diet coke. She mentally tries to remember if she had Fruitshoot or Ribena in the fridge. Of course she doesn't.

Then she hears a woman’s voice whisper from somewhere, “say trick or treat, bubba”

The little boy shuffles on his two feet. A cute little thing. “Oh. Trick or Treat!” He holds up his pumpkin bucket, already filled with mini bars chocolates and a colourful array of sweets. The bucket is practically half his size, and he falters slightly in his step trying to hold it up for so long. 

The female voice belonging to the mystery woman finally steps into her view and Leah’s heart stutters. 

Wow. She’s beautiful. 

Leah didn’t have to think to hard to come to the conclusion that this stunning woman was the little boy’s mother. Her heart drops slightly. Mentally cursing whoever the lucky bastard was that got to see this woman everyday. Obviously a pretty woman like her could not be single.

Meanwhile, you failed to notice the blonde’s blatant gawking. Far too focused on your son, and how he has now stuck his hand in his pumpkin bucket and was fishing out a mini bag of sweets. He hands you the bag of sweets with a charming smile, “Mama, open?”

You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to decide to do dinner early tonight. It meant that you did not need to worry about Reid’s appetite for the rest of the night so you took the mini bag of candy from him and ripped the bag open.

Leah couldn’t help it, but she watched your hands. She couldn’t help but steal glances at your ring finger in particular, half-expecting to see a gleam of gold or silver that would hint at a commitment or a partner waiting for you at home. Just in case. Just out of curiosity. 

But there it was—nothing. Just smooth, bare skin

There was no ring. Your ring finger was untouched, not even a hint of a tan line that some couples might get from wearing their ring for so long. 

“There you go, bub” You hand him the opened pack of fruit roll up and he eagerly grabbed for it. It was then you remembered that you were standing in front of someone’s front door. You turn your head to find the owner of the house, a tall, pretty blonde leaning against the side of the door frame. Her hair was tied up in a low ponytail, tendrils of blonde hair frame her face. She was dressed in grey sweatpants, paired with a loose black oversized sweatshirt. You eye the familiar logo on the right side of the shirt– Arsenal. The football club. She must be a fan. 

When you tear your eyes away from ogling the woman, she meets your gaze with a gleam in her eyes. As if she knows you were checking her out, and she didn’t shy away from your attention either. 

You break the eye contact, picking at your fingers, a nervous habit you never broke out of all these years later. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” Leah was rarely nervous in front of new people, but for some reason she was shifting from side to side, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you guys new? I mean– I would remembered you–”

She stops herself, clamping her mouth shut. She was seriously about to embarrass herself in front of not just any neighbour– but a pretty neighbour too.

You blink at her, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. You prayed the shitty lighting in the hallway did not make it obvious. Clearing your throat, you give her what you hoped looked like a friendly, neighbourly smile.

 “Yeah. Yeah– we moved in a little over a week ago. We live in the floor below you actually”

Leah nods, trying to make sure she was making appropriate eye contact. How many seconds is appropriate eye contact anyway? Has she even blinked yet? She shifted her gaze from your face, to the floor, back to your face, and then to the ceiling. She was totally not nervous, not even a little bit.

“It’s nice to meet you, then. I’m Leah” She takes a chance and holds out a hand, and to her utter delight, you take her hand in yours and shake it. Your hand was warm against hers, no noticeable cuts or scars which makes Leah think that your job didn’t require you to use your hands too often. Not that she was taking note or anything.

You introduce yourself, before gesturing to the mini man beside you. “It’s nice to meet you too. This is my son, Reid” 

“Oh yeah. Spiderman.”

“Trick or Treat!” Both of you startle out from your staring contest and turn to the boy by your feet. Remnants of his fruit roll-up plastered all over his cheeks and chin like a paint palette. He grinned up at you, his eyes wide with the kind of mischief only a sugar rush could inspire. 

“Trick or Treat! Trick or Treat!” he shouted gleefully, holding up his hands, sticky fingers wiggling in the air. Bits of bright colours clung to his lips, making him look even more ridiculous.

“Oh! I haven’t given you anything. Give me a minute, Spiderman”

Leah dashed to the pantry, rummaging through shelves filled with old boxes and canned goods. “No sweets, no chocolate bars, nothing!” she exclaimed, frustration mounting. She cursed herself for not heeding Lia’s advice to go out and buy a packet of sweets earlier. She opened her refrigerator, hunting through take out containers and cheeses, her mind racing through the bare options. A can of diet coke? Definitely not appropriate for a three-year-old.

Then she spotted it—a lone banana resting in the fruit basket. It was slightly overripe, but it would have to do. With an unwilling nod, Leah grabbed the banana and headed back to the door, her cheeks flushing slightly at the absurdity of it all. She was about to hand the kid of the hottest woman she has ever seen a banana. All because she couldn’t be arsed to go to the store earlier and pick up a couple bags of sweets. Shit. 

As she arrived back to the door, there you stood with your son beside you. His tiny basket held high, expectantly. “Trick or treat!” he chimed. Again. A demanding little thing.

Leah crouched down, a sheepish smile on her face. “Well, Spiderman, I don’t have any sweets…but how about this?” She presented the banana like it was the greatest treasure in the world.

The boy blinked, his eyes wide. “A banana?”

“It’s a healthy treat!” Leah said, trying to sound enthusiastic. She side-eyed you, trying to gauge your reaction. You were watching on with a palm over your mouth, trying to smother the laugh threatening to spill out. You were cute, Leah thought.

But back to the kid. “Perfect for after all that candy you’ll be eating tonight!”

Spiderman looked at the banana in her hand, then back at Leah, and finally broke into a giggle. “Okay!” He nodded, holding up his trick or treating basket so she could slip it inside. It thumped lightly on top of the small pile of sweets and chocolates. The kid peered into the bucket and giggled seeing his latest treasure sitting right on top. Leah couldn’t exactly see under the mask, but he could see his cheeks were perked up and it looked like he was smiling, so she took that as a win. She risked another glance at you, and you were smiling too-- without hiding it behind your hand this time. A big win for sure. 

You glance up towards Leah, noticing the slight flush on her cheeks and how attractive she looked when she tucked her loose hair behind her ear. It was also then that you noticed she had blue eyes.

You tuck that fun little fact in the back of your mind.

Snap yourself out of gazing at your neighbour like a creep, you pinch yourself lightly on the arm. Ouch. “Thanks for the healthy treat” 

Leah smiles hearing the teasing glint in your voice. Leaning against the doorway, she brings a hand up to massage the back of her neck, her bicep flexing nicely against her shirt. Not that you noticed, of course. 

“Yeah sorry ‘bout that” 

“Nah it’s alright. I appreciate it actually– more than candy,” You look down at your son, who was completely enamoured by his latest haul. He kept staring down at his bucket, his head halfway inside the thing already. “And he seems really happy about it” 

And as if he suddenly remembered what he was there for, Reid yanks his head out of his halloween bucket and looks up at you with wide eyes, exclaiming loudly “Mama, more candies!” 

Giving your pretty neighbour a sheepish smile, you grab Reid’s hand before he can go bouncing off to find the next door. “And that’s our cue to go. Thank you again for”

You both speak at the same time. 

“…for the banana” “the banana”

She laughs when she notices, and it's the most attractive laugh you have ever heard. It spills out naturally, unrestrained. And you find that you like the way her eyes crinkle at the ends. Her laugh was infectious as it was beautiful.

“So…uh– I’ll see you around?” Leah says, picking at the sleeves of her black sweatshirt. You want to say she sounds hopeful at the thought of you two bumping into each other in the near future because you feel the same. You hoped to see her again. “I mean– obviously we’re neighbours” 

You find yourself not being opposed to that idea at all. “Yeah. Maybe we can talk or grab a coffee sometime?”

Where the sudden bravery came from you have no idea, but the words had already left your mouth and you weren’t going to take them back. 

She smiles at you, her lips curving, and her eyes do too. “Definitely. I’d love to go for a coffee with you”

Perhaps you both stare at each other for a second too long, but that’s a secret only the both of you share. You linger, internally saddened at the thought of having to say a temporary goodbye, but you’ve got a coffee date to look forward to now. Steering your son and his Halloween bucket away from her door, you share one last smile with the pretty blonde who lives in the floor below you.

“Happy Halloween, Leah” 

“Happy Halloween, neighbour” 

You don’t hear the sound of her door closing until you and your son have turned the corner. 

here's a little bedtime story to celebrate the last night of october. this is story #3 of Butter's Meadio-cre Mayhem (the Spooky Season collection)

(if you're going to any halloween parties tonight, stay safe my loves <333)

comments and reactions are always appreciated!

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[bi-writes]

mail order bride meeting 141 for the first time 🙏

mail-order bride

he likes the way this moment sounds. it will end soon, when you both walk out the door, but for now, he sits, and he doesn't want it to end.

it's not just the sound of the television. his favorite football team has finally fucking put one into the corner of the net. the announcers cheer, but this isn't all that he hears.

the cat is in the kitchen. he can't see it, but he hears it (the little fucker). she's pawing at the cat grass that sits above the sink now. when he leans forward, he notices her little nose pushing it around before she takes a bite out of it.

she leaves the basil alone.

and then there's the sound of you. your feet in the bedroom. when you pass by the doorway, he can see you in different states of getting ready. when you pass by this time, he can see your eyeliner is on both eyes now, not just one, and your hair doesn't have clips or pieces to hold it in its style anymore. it lays perfectly now; he did a double-take when he saw it this way for the first time. you're rifling through the closet now. your clothes used to be in their own drawers. separated. socks not touching one another. your half of the closet, and his half. perfectly divided.

he doesn't remember when it happened. he found your bra under his t-shirt today. he was going through the jackets because your dresses were now between them. in the bathroom, he almost stuck your toothbrush in his mouth because they rest side-by-side in the holder.

when he looks around the room, he can't see where you begin, and he cannot see where he ends. he doesn't see where he started.

but he can see where you will go.

you bounce into the living room, holding up two hangers. there's dresses on each of them, one a dark color, the other light, and you hold them in front of simon who's still sitting on the couch, his head in his hand as he concentrates on the game (where he pretends like he hasn't been thinking about you too hard to really focus).

"simon?" you call, and he grunts, looking over at you. "which one do you like?"

he looks over the two dresses before looking at you. he hums, leaning back against the couch. he shrugs before looking back at the telly. you would look like perfection in either of them, but that isn't what you asked, and that isn't the answer you want.

"the darker one. like ya in tha' color."

you smile a little before going back into the bedroom, hanging the other dress back up and laying the other one out on the bed. you rummage through the dresser for proper undergarments, picking a soft lace pair of panties with a matching bra. you slip them on before stepping into the dress.

you reach around for the waist, and when your attempts to grab it are futile, you look over your shoulder towards the door.

"simon?" you call out gently. "could you come here, please?"

there's a shuffle of sound before simon steps into the bedroom. you point to your back, smiling at him shyly.

"c-could you help me? i can't reach the zipper."

he makes his way over to where you stand in front of the mirror. you watch as his eyes roam over your back, as he takes in the sight in front of him. you swallow as he drags a few knuckles down the length of your spine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror before he takes the zipper in his hand and pulls it up. when he finishes, he steps a little closer, dipping his head to look at you from over your shoulder. you turn your head to look up at him, smiling.

"everything okay?" you ask softly, and he clicks his tongue, sliding his hand from its place on your back to wrap around your middle. he spreads a big palm over your tummy before dragging you backwards, your backside pressing against his front.

"mmm..." he scrunches his nose a little, running a pink tongue over his teeth. "look fuckin' beautiful."

you giggle, looking away, spreading your palms along your cheeks to try and make it less hot, less warm--fuck, it's so hot, isn't it?

you pull away to go for your shoes, picking them up from the closet. you take a seat on the bed, trying to ignore simon's stare (impossible), and you put the shoes down to slip your feet into them. just as you bend to buckle them, simon tsks, and you sit up as he kneels down in front of you.

"simon, you--"

"shut it," he mutters, reaching down and picking your foot up by the ankle gently. he wraps the strap around it, fastening the buckle, and you open your mouth to say something, but then he bends, giving your knee a soft kiss before reaching for your other foot.

your eyes meet again as he wraps it around your ankle. he smirks, just enough, and your lip wobbles a little as he fastens the next shoe before setting it back down on the floor. he puts his hands on his knee to get up, standing to his full height, and your neck strains as you try and look up at him.

at times, you feel at odds. he anticipates your needs before you even know what they are yourself. he pushes your meals in front of you just as you realize you're hungry. he helps you to the top shelf whenever you need it, picking you up from your waist without even a grunt. he feeds the cat when she cries, he wipes the tears from your face just as they fall.

you want to be more. you want to be his wife. your life is leisure and warmth, you are cared for like a fine porcelain doll, but what are you to him? what do you do for him? what is it that you bring, why are you here, why did he ever even want you if he provides and all you do is take, take, take?

the pub is alive. the lights flicker and glow a warm orange, and there's many crowds around tables, cheering and laughing and clinking pints together. you swallow as you look around; a crowded place with lots of unfamiliar faces. you freeze at the door, blinking, trying to take it all in. just as you stiffen, there's a presence right at your back.

an arm circles around your middle protectively. simon's warm hand rests at the curve of your waist, and you look up at him. he stares down at you knowingly. he's wearing his mask, obscuring his entire face except for his eyes, but you've learned to read him all the same. his hood darkens the shadows over him, but you see what he's telling you easily.

'm right 'ere.

simon moves you in front of him, walking just behind you, and he leans over to murmur in your ear as he guides you forward.

"in the corner, luv."

you barely have time to register that your husband just called you love when you see an enthusiastic wave meant for you out of the corner of your eye.

simon showed you their pictures, but the grainy selfies from his phone don't do them any justice. kyle has a pearly smile and round cheeks (troublemaker, he could get away with anything with those eyes). johnny has an infectious grin and wild curls that fall in a line down his head (a wild card, he's got eyes that you can't read and a leg bouncing from his terrible inability to sit still). and then there's john, hidden under a beanie and a rough smile (all business, all thought, because even out here, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the papers on his desk and the cries for help he can't ignore).

johnny's smile drops a little when you come near. he eyes the hand that simon has on you, the proximity of your bodies. he raises a brow when you hold out your hand to shake, gawking when he eyes your other hand, the ring that sparkles there.

"ach, LT..." johnny swallows hard. "is this...is she--?"

simon clears his throat. "this is my wife."

"steamin' jesus," johnny breathes, leaning back in the booth. he picks up his drink and knocks back the entire thing, choking a little as he looks between the two of you. "what the fawk?!"

you blink, stepping back, and simon takes a seat beside john, shaking his head.

"fuckin' hell, johnny. behave," simon mutters. "'s not--"

"ye said y'were showin' us yer new lass," johnny quips. "not yer wife!"

you look at simon, laughing a little.

"simon, you didn't tell them you were married?"

"tha' was need t'know," simon mutters, rolling his eyes. you giggle, looking around for somewhere to sit. simon doesn't give you much time to choose--you let out a shaky breath as he picks you up from your hips, sliding you up and onto his thigh. he spreads his legs a little to accommodate you, but he's such a big man.

simon holds one hand at your back, and the other lays flat against the table. it's easy, falling into conversation with them. they don't talk about work. they're infatuated with their lieutenant and his surprise wife. they ask if he owns pajamas. they ask if he takes the mask off to sleep. they ask if simon whittles, if he listens to music, if there's a snack that puts him in a good mood (jaffa cakes, you tell johnny, who cackles with delight).

when simon gets up to have a smoke, you're surprised. simon never leaves you alone in a public place, ever. he's always at your back, even at the grocery store. he likes to take you aisle by aisle, and he doesn't care if it makes the trip longer, because he doesn't like to have you out of his sight for very long.

he gives you that look, one that you can read. you're safe with these men.

you agree. they bring simon home, every single time.

"awwww, no' gonna give yer lass a smooch, LT?" johnny winks. "'s alright, we don't care. won't think ye a big softie cuz o' it."

simon rolls his eyes, pocketing his cigarettes as he stands by the table. he dips his fingers into johnny's pint and flicks him with it before leaning over and kissing you lightly through the mask, a chaste kiss that already leaves you reeling.

you blink, caught off guard, and you blink up at simon so slowly, a syrupy smile falling over your face.

"LT, that wasnae a real one," johnny rolls his eyes. "wut, are ye scared of us?"

"shut your fuckin' mouth, sergeant, i'll make y'do laps tomorrow."

"big baby."

you watch simon take the back door, letting it swing shut behind him. you excuse yourself, following after him, pushing the door open and blinking to adjust to the dark light of the alleyway.

there's stars out. they sparkle, and you pause to stare up at them for just a moment before making your way to where simon leans against a brick wall.

it all reminds you that you're just small. not small, but smaller than simon, and compared to what stares at you across a violet sky, you are nothing but specks in time. you're drifters, composites of organic matter that somehow, for some reason, exist at the same time.

simon's eyes find your own in the dark. it's hard to see; the only light nearby flickers, and it's hard to focus, but you can see his eyes clearly, magnetized even when the rest of him seems so obscure, hiding from your view.

your smile is clear, too. the watery lines of your eyes, they glow, and when you come near, you and simon are in your own bubble, a pocket of the universe that cannot be explained. he has found you, and you have found him, and even when the night sky tries so hard to hide the things you know are there, it isn't strong enough to take away what exists in the in-between.

you slide your fingers under the hem of his mask. this kind of thing is practiced. the same thing you do when he comes home every day. the only acts of service he ever allows, the only things he ever lets you do.

you ask yourself always what it is that you provide. what it is that he sees in you that you can't seem to see in yourself.

maybe it's this. maybe it's the grounding. the gravity he never used to feel, the orbit he could never quite get himself to maintain, the taut line of connection that's been severed ever since the only people he's ever loved were ripped right out from underneath his ribs.

he puts his hands over yours when the mask is over his nose. his palms over the backs of your hands, warm skin over soft, something broken over something seeking.

"you don't want this," simon whispers, and you frown a little, shaking your head.

"how...how can you say that?"

"i'm not..." he flinches a little. "not made for this. 's not wha' y'think."

you're eyes water. you aren't sad. you're upset.

"y-you have no idea," you whisper. "i know what i want. you can always tell when i'm lying, am i lying now?"

"'s not--"

"simon," you stop him. "look at me," you sniffle, and he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, before finding your gaze again. it's frightening, what he sees. he sees nothing that he expects. no deception. no fear. the honesty, it terrifies him. the reality of accepting what he can't understand hurts inside. it trickles deep, down to his toes, along his spine, a curdling in his stomach that he can't believe because there's no way that someone can love me when i can't fucking love myself. "am i lying now?"

"no," he breathes, and your smile is sickly sweet. he doesn't understand. he doesn't get it. nothing in his life has ever been this easy. nothing in his life has ever been just for him, all for him, just his, and no one else's. there has never been a piece of life that has ever pitied him enough to let him have it exactly as it is, and yet here she is, my perfect girl, arriving on my doorstep.

like you dropped straight from heaven. angels with soft hands and a timid face and a shadow with soft fur and big eyes and terrible little temper.

simon's hand is an anchor on the back of your head. tilting you to the side, drawing you near, until you are on your toes, and your face is canted up.

you kiss in the dark. your mouth slots over his, hands gripping the front of his jacket as you try and get even closer to him. he's a little shy at first, letting you lead while he follows, but it only takes a few seconds for you to feel his hand stiffen against your head as he kisses you feverishly.

you smile between kisses. he smiles, too. you giggle, and he huffs, and he chases you with more kisses as you cradle his face between your hands and whisper between soft presses, i'm sorry and i know and it's all i've ever wanted.

when you pull away, he doesn't let you go. he presses your forehead to his, connecting you somehow, breathing in the warmth that you radiate to try and calm the pulsing of his blood that rushes in his ears.

when your eyes open again, and you look at each other, everything is suddenly clearer. whatever he saw before, everything must have been in black and white.

he sees in color. the stars align. they fall, one by one, sparkling as they form a pattern, one undiscovered by anyone before him, one he will keep all to himself in the time that follows. when he kisses you again, he memorizes that pattern.

he knows it will always lead right back to you.

[toxicanonymity]

THE LEAK

PAIR: billy loomis x f!reader WC: 2200 filthy words SUMMARY/NOTES: AU where billy lives and is acquitted of the murders. he's your sleazy landlord, and he's obsessed with you. big ty to @clawdee for a thot that did a lot. love this moodboard by @aurorawritestoescape for the vibes. WARNINGS may not have full detail. 18+ adult content. stalking and other perv behavior, detailed fantasies of each other (in yours, he's forceful and can lift you), jerking off, dark use of cum, light degradation, (explicit) reference to billy x stu. sex toy, what the ask says, oh and idk, what if he sucked it?

You haven’t saved his number, but you’re starting to recognize it. His text says, you’ve got a leak. gotta come inside sry. Great, so this psycho is slinking around when you’re not there. And what’s worse: you won’t be back for days. He must have seen you packing your car. While you’re trying to remember if you put all your toys away at home, another whoosh from your phone startles you. He’s sent an image. Not of the leak, no… This image makes you hot with the primitive urge to be bred. 

The pic is from Billy’s point of view, looking down. It shows the bottom half of his sweat-stained white tank, a peek at his happy trail, and, god help you--a massive bulge in his light-wash jeans. His big, tan fist is holding a wrench. And finally, framed by his poorly-tied work boots, his toolbox sits on your kitchen floor. It’s definitely not the focal point. 

You quickly close the picture, but less than a minute later, it’s open again, and you’re zooming in. Your primate brain is saying sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it, and a heartbeat throbs between your legs. Ugggghhhghghgh. Does he have to look like that? Does he have to be so big?  Does he have to hold a wrench? Does his belt have to be tilting like something might escape from his jeans? A stiff, veiny vision springs into your mind, and you try to push it away. Your panties are already at slip-and-slide status. 

Meanwhile, Billy is making himself at home at your (his) place. He takes his time stalking around your space with the eyes of a predator. It feels like it used to when he wore the mask. There’s something about you that stirs his darkness awake. He’d never stab you, although he doesn’t mind the vision of a knife at your throat. 

He walks past your dresser, bypassing your underwear drawer. He’s more interested in the dirty laundry. He pokes through your unwashed clothes and finds something to his liking: a red thong with a white-streaked gusset. He shoves it in his back pocket, but not all the way. The glimpse of red fabric is a nice touch, like a pocket square for his ass. Too bad you’re not there to see it when he squats to look under your bed. Maybe one day you’ll get smart and buy a security camera–one that you control.

-

Oh, and you didn’t put the toys away, you little vixen. At least not the big dong anchored to the edge of your bathtub by a suction cup, standing proudly with a slight curve.  He can't help but smile as he bends over and braces one hand on the tub. He wraps his hand around the shaft and pulls. Strong suction cup.

/// He imagines you straddling the side of the tub and sinking onto the dick. A little “uh!” when it bottoms out. You gently rock on it, then fuck yourself thinking of him, unaware that his is thicker. ///

He palms the growing lump in his pants, then unbuckles his belt. He sighs through his nose and gently grabs his crotch, relieved to have more room for growth. 

He squats down, panties hanging out of his back pocket. He sniffs the dildo–smells like silicone. Lame. But he opens his nostrils and inhales deeper as he runs his nose down the shaft and could swear he gets a little whiff of you. He kitten-licks it with curiosity and detects the slightest hint of something tart. Then he licks up the shaft and gives the tip an open-mouth kiss. Billy’s never approached a cock this way before.

/// Normally it’s his meat between someone else’s lips. Always in control. It’s not every day he has a dick in his face, but if he does, it’s usually in sixty-nine. And he’s probably jerking it with his hand, choking it like it might kill him first, letting it slap his open lips with each stroke before catching it in his mouth and straight gobbling it, greedily consuming it, commanding it with his tongue, dead set on flooding his mouth before he shoots his own load down Stu’s throat. ///

He lets one knee down onto the discolored vinyl floor, then takes the head fully in his mouth, hand wrapped around the base. As he lowers his head on the shaft, it becomes apparent this is not just a dong. It’s not going to curve down his throat. It has a rigid core. He inspects the dick and finds buttons near the silicone balls, but when he presses them, nothing happens. It’s dead. Maybe he’ll charge it for you while you’re gone. He’s a nice guy like that. 

He returns his mouth to the tip and takes just a few inches. In a few days, you’ll be riding a toy that has traces of his saliva all over it. He sucks hard, harder, then tastes something. It's heady and chemical. He lets most of the shaft out and sucks just the head. He tastes it again. He takes his mouth off the dildo and there’s a little drop of cloudy liquid beading at the dickhole he hadn’t noticed. Holy shit. 

He looks around the tub, picking things up, putting them down–how many bottles of shampoo do you need? Some of these feel almost empty, begging to be re-homed to his bathroom. He gets up and searches your cluttered counter, rummaging around, looking for the juice. He checks himself out in the mirror, and his little smirk widens. He looks hot: Biceps swole from working out. Cock straining his unbuttoned jeans.

He snaps a pic before resuming his search. When he looks under the sink, jackpot. A bottle of synthetic “kum.” He unscrews the lid and you sure have used a lot of it. He sees the bottle half-full, ha ha. Until he pours out just little. He'll replace it.

Billy's phone dings with a text from you. Thought this day might never come. Your text reads, all good? Hah. Of course there’s no real leak, aside from his cockhead. 

You’re stopped at a gas station. At the moment, you care more about what's in his pants than your complete loss of privacy, so you’re playing along. The urge to text him had been too strong, and now your heart is racing, awaiting his response. When he hasn’t replied in five minutes, you feel like an idiot. . And then you’re just mad. Of course he hasn’t responded. He must be feeling so smug right now. You get back in your car. If you weren’t two hours away, you’d speed home to confront him. 

/// As that plays out in your mind, it devolves into a filthy fantasy. When you bust in the door demanding to see the alleged leak, he gets a wild look in his eyes. I'll show you the leak. He charges at you and you don't move. He manhandles you up against the wall, pinning you there while he smells your hair. Oh, he’s strong, really strong, and he’s rock hard pressing himself up against you. You’re dyin’ for this cock, he growls in your ear. Oh, how you wish he was wrong. He’s there to lay pipe, and you want it. ///

Back in real life, you’re staring into space until a van driver's stare snaps you out of it. You find your hand between your legs, heel of your palm pressed against your throbbing front….still parked right there at the gas pump. The man quickly looks away, and your face catches fire. You can’t drive like this. Soaking wet, you get out of your car again. You know the gas station chain has clean bathrooms. Clean enough. 

You lock the bathroom door behind you and are confronted with your face in the mirror--wrecked with horny desperation. You wash your hands with that pink scented soap, dry them, then unbutton your shorts. Leaning with your back against the wall, you plunge your hand into your shorts. What a mess-no panties, soaked through. You rub your puffy cunt, then gather some slick and slide it up to your sweet spot for a quickie. 

Closing your eyes, you pick up the scene right where you left off, this time grinding your bare, dripping pussy against your hand. 

/// You imagine he’s got you up against the wall. He cups your crotch over your obscenely short daisy dukes, then easily slips his middle finger under the inseam for a dip. Found the leak, he taunts as his thick finger pushes into your needy hole. Already got your panites off for me? He tilts his head, making a strand of hair fall in his face. You're dyin' for it.

Don’t - fucking - move, he warns with a glare, then takes his arm off your chest to unbutton his pants, freeing his cock in a hurry. Once his bare cock is grazing your midsection, both his hands end up between your legs. He rips the pathetic, dripping inseam of your “shorts.”  Then he forcefully grabs both your thighs and lifts you against the wall.

And just as he’s shoving his stiff cock into you, just when his girth is stuffing you full, the tension snaps in real life. ///

You shudder and your thighs quake and your mouth opens wide with a nearly silent moan. Slowly rutting against your hand with each bursts of pleasure, you hear yourself whisper, billy as your hips slow to a stop. 

He knows you want it bad. Of course you want it. He’s him–He was pre-trial detention for a week before he started getting fan mail. Now he’s far from Woodsboro, out of Cali, out in the sticks of a town that’s not even on the map. He’s a nobody with a trailer park. He likes it that way, and he’s still got it. You’re playing hard to get, and that really gets him hard.

Getting a text from you at all feels like a runway traffic controller is waving him in for the kill...so to speak. He doesn't reply right away, but it's not because he's playing it cool. He's just mulling how far to go with his reply. He tucks his erection into his waistband and takes another POV shot with his legs framed by open doors of your under-sink cabinet. The smushed head of his cock barely visible against his abdomen.

Too far? Maybe. He’ll save that one for later. Right now he has something to take care of anyway.

. . .

Ten minutes later, he’s reclining on your bed, edging himself with the kum as lube, open bottle on the nightstand. He doesn’t use your panties, or the pics he’s secretly taken, or the audio he’s recorded from outside the thin walls of your trailer. He doesn’t need anything but his mind, and the fact that when you get off in private, you stuff yourself with imaginary cum. You’re that much of a cumslut. He’s never been so stiff and swollen. 

/// It’s so clear in his mind. You ride that cock with one hand braced on the tub, one on your breast. Your eyes are closed and you're moaning. You mutter billy under your breath, fuck, billy, gushing at the thought of him fucking you raw. Your thighs tremble, desperate for his load. Fill me up, billy. When you’re just about to press that button on the dildo, in real life he sits up and grabs the bottle of kum. He brings the open bottle to the tip of his cock.

Then, you press the button and moan please, please. As you begin to fill yourself with his cum, panting yes, more— his whole body shakes. He moans out loud in your room. His thick ropes join the fake cum as he thinks of you blasting more than one load up your cunt. He just knows you don’t stop at one. You don’t stop until you’re spent, and a big mess of his jizz is leaking out of your used, over-stuffed cunt.  ///

He loses count of how many ropes he shoots into that bottle. The last of his load dribbles out. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand, take off his sweaty shirt, and collapses on his back, just breathing for a minute, looking at your ceiling.

-

When he’s recovered enough, he tucks his cock back into his boxer briefs, sits up, and looks in the bottle. His cum is visibly different from the synthetic stuff. He screws the lid closed, holds the bottle near his unzipped jeans, and shakes it in a jack-off motion. He opens the bottle again. “Yeahhh,” he says to the mixture. He’s gonna have to do that again. While you're out of town, he'll be adding a lot more to that bottle. 

His phone lights up on the nightstand, reminding him of your text.  He slings his dirty shirt over his shoulder on his way back to your bathroom. He puts the bottle back where it was.

Then he takes a mirror selfie, disheveled and flushed, with a visible farmer’s tan. His bare skin glistens, and his belt is left unbuckled. 

He sends you the pic and a text: yea just finished

---------

---------

masterlist

fic notifications: I rb on @toxicfics after at least one person has enjoyed the fic bc it calms my nerves lol

Thank you for reading and tysm for interacting with my stories!! I've been going through it recently, as you may can tell from my lack of fics. Your enjoyment and encouragement makes a difference on a personal level, not just as a writer - I'm grateful for you all ♥️

[pucksandpower]

All Locked Up

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: your boyfriend losing the key to your handcuffs was bad enough … but him calling Max and Lando to help look for them? You may never be able to show your face in public again

Warnings: 18+ content implied, mentions of accidental bruising, wrongful assumptions of violence

“Mon amour, have you seen the key to the handcuffs?” Charles calls out from the bathroom.

You strain against the metal cuffs locking your wrists to the headboard. “No, I thought you had it!”

Charles appears in the doorway, eyebrows knitted together. “I could have sworn I left it on the nightstand, but it’s not there.”

You rattle the chain connecting you to the bed. “Well you need to find it, because I’m starting to lose feeling in my hands here.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” Charles says, running a hand through his hair. He starts opening drawers and peering under furniture.

You watch him scramble around the room searching fruitlessly. After ten minutes you sigh. “Any luck?”

Charles slumps down on the edge of the bed. “No, it’s gone. I don’t know where it could be.”

You give him a pointed look.

“I know, I know, this is my fault,” Charles says. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure this out.”

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. After a moment, he puts the phone to his ear. “Max? Hi, I need your help with something ...”

You groan quietly. Calling Max for help with this is guaranteed to be embarrassing.

“So here’s the thing,” Charles says into the phone, “Y/N and I were having some fun with handcuffs, and I seem to have misplaced the key ...”

You let your head fall back against the headboard. This day is just getting better and better.

“Yes, she’s still cuffed to the bed,” Charles continues. “I’ve looked everywhere for the key. Can you come over and help me find it?”

Charles looks over at you sheepishly. “Okay, see you soon.”

He hangs up and gives you an apologetic smile. “Max is on his way.”

You sigh. “Wonderful.”

Soon there’s a knock at the front door. Charles jumps up to answer it. You hear Charles and Max’s muffled voices for a minute before they enter the bedroom.

Max takes one look at you handcuffed naked to the bed and immediately spins around. “Whoa, okay, wasn’t expecting that.”

You feel your face flush. “Hi Max.”

“I told you she was still cuffed to the bed,” Charles says with a smirk.

Max keeps his back turned. “Right, you failed to mention she was naked though!"

“It must have slipped my mind,” Charles laughs.

“Can we focus please?” You cut in. “Find the key so I can get out of these cuffs.”

“Yes ma’am,” Max says. He and Charles start searching the room, checking under the bed and nightstands.

After twenty fruitless minutes, Charles collapses on the bed next to you. “It’s hopeless, the key is gone.”

You rattle the cuffs in frustration. “What are we going to do? I can’t stay chained up like this forever.”

Max thinks for a moment. “Maybe Lando can help? He’s good at finding things.”

Charles perks up. “Good idea! I’ll give him a call.”

You close your eyes in dismay as Charles calls Lando. This day just continues to spiral.

Soon Lando arrives, thankfully a little more tactful about the situation than Max. The three of them scour the apartment, but still no sign of the lost key.

You’ve resorted to making small talk with Lando to pass the time. “So how’s your season going so far?”

Lando leans casually against the dresser. “Oh you know, up and down. But I got a few podiums, so it could have been worse.”

You’re impressed. “That’s awesome, congrats!"

“Thanks! I think if I keep consistently scoring points, I might be able to beat Max in the championship this year,” Lando jokes.

“In your dreams!" Max yells from the living room. You and Lando laugh.

But then, Charles and Max return to the bedroom, both empty-handed.

Charles runs a hand through his hair. “I think we have to face it — the key is gone.”

You rattle the handcuffs in frustration. “So what, you’re just going to leave me chained up here forever?”

“Of course not, mon cœur,” Charles says, sitting down beside you. “We’ll figure something out.”

Max nods. “There’s always plan B.”

You look between the three of them hesitantly. “Do I want to know what plan B is?”

Lando grins and holds up a paper clip. “Lock picking. I found a YouTube video.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “That does not seem ideal.”

“Do you have a better option?” Charles asks, taking your hands in his gently. “I promise we’ll be careful. And if the paper clip doesn’t work, we can always call a locksmith.”

You sigh, relenting. “Okay, fine. Just please be gentle, my wrists are already sore.”

The three of them get to work carefully trying to pick the lock on the cuffs with the paper clip. You try to stay still, watching them fiddle with the tiny metal piece.

After several tense minutes, you finally hear a click. The cuff around your left wrist springs open.

“Yes!” Lando cheers. “Told you I could do it.”

Charles kisses your freed wrist gently. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

With a bit more work, they get the other cuff unlocked too. You bring your arms down with a groan of relief, stretching out the sore muscles.

Charles pulls you into a hug. “I’m so sorry about all this. Next time we’ll be more careful.”

You laugh, hugging him back. “It’s okay, it all worked out in the end. But next time let’s stick to something that doesn’t require a key.”

Charles smiles. “Deal.” He turns to Max and Lando. “Thank you both for your help, I really owe you.”

“Anytime,” Lando says. “This was way more exciting than my usual Sunday plans.”

“Now, I believe you gentlemen should give me and my girlfriend some privacy,” Charles says, slipping an arm around your waist.

Max and Lando quickly start heading for the door.

“Have fun you two,” Lando calls over his shoulder. “But maybe put the key somewhere obvious when you decide on an encore!”

You and Charles collapse into laughter as the apartment door closes behind them. Charles pulls you into his lap and kisses you deeply.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, it made for quite the adventurous morning! But going forward, let’s keep the handcuffs between just the two of us.”

Charles grins. “No complaints here.”

***

Later that evening, you and Charles are having dinner with his family. You’re seated at a table on the patio of a stunning Italian restaurant with a beautiful view of the water. The conversation flows comfortably as you all eat.

After the main course is cleared, you reach for your wine glass. As you lift your arm, the sleeve of your dress slides back, revealing the light bruising circling your wrists.

Pascale notices immediately, her eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Y/N, what happened to your wrists?”

You quickly tug your sleeves down, cheeks flushing. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little accident this morning.”

Lorenzo and Arthur lean in to peer at your wrists curiously. You self-consciously tuck your hands under the table.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” Pascale asks gently. “Those bruises look quite bad.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Charles chooses that moment to get up from the table. “Excuse me, I’m just going to run to the restroom quickly.”

He squeezes your shoulder as he walks past, oblivious to his family’s concern. You watch him disappear towards the bathrooms, internally screaming.

Pascale reaches across the table to take your hand. “You know you can tell us anything, right? We just want to help.”

You shift awkwardly. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

Lorenzo frowns. “Did Charles do this to you?” Arthur nods, looking worried.

“What? No!” You say quickly. “Charles would never hurt me.”

Pascale rubs your arm comfortingly. “You don’t have to cover for him, dear. If he’s hurting you-”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” You interrupt, face flaming. How do you even begin to explain this?

Just then Charles returns to the table. He immediately senses the tense mood. “Everything okay here?”

“Y/N has some bad bruising on her wrists,” Pascale says seriously. “Do you know anything about that, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes widen almost comically. “Oh, that! No no, it’s not what you think.”

“Can one of you please just explain what happened?” Lorenzo asks in exasperation.

You and Charles share an awkward look. There’s no getting out of this now.

Charles clears his throat. “So, Y/N and I were, uh … having some intimate time this morning. And I may have accidentally … handcuffed her to the bed … and lost the key.”

You cover your flaming face with your hands as Charles’ family stares at you both in stunned silence.

Arthur nearly spits out his drink. “Handcuffs? You kinky bastard.”

“Arthur!” Pascale scolds as Lorenzo tries and fails to hold back laughter.

Charles squeezes your shoulder apologetically. “It was just a silly accident. I promise I didn’t hurt her.”

You peek out from behind your fingers. “I tried to tell you it wasn’t a big deal.”

Pascale pats your hand affectionately. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, dear. But thank you for being honest with us. Even if there are some things I wish I didn’t know about my son.”

Charles kisses your temple. “No more handcuffs though, lesson learned. Right, mon amour?”

You chuckle, relaxing now that the awkwardness has passed. “Right. I think we’ll stick to the fluffy ones from now on.”

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when you accidentally burn yourself but you two are not talking to each other. 

Mark Lee

Mark hears a loud scream and the pot falling down. As he reached the kitchen, he sees you teary-eyed with your hands red. He approaches you and you flinched at his presence. But he only gave you a small smile, grabbing your wrist and bringing you to his room, Mark grabs his burnt ointment from his drawer, approaches you and gently treats it. You watched as he gently taps the ointment to your burn and after that, he only gave you a nod, telling you to be careful next time. 

Huang Renjun

Renjun finds you screaming strings of curses in the kitchen with the pot on floor. He lets out a sigh, telling you to get out of the kitchen, and take care of your wound. You told him that you need to cook, given that it was the start of your argument with him, (who's going to cook) but he insisted that you need a time out. And before you could argue, Renjun drags you to the living room, grabs the ointment and then started tending it, you only became quiet and as Renjun finished, he looks at you gently, apologizing that you ended up hurting yourself. 

Lee Jeno

The good thing was that, Jeno was in the kitchen when you accidentally touched the pot without a hand mitten. Jeno was quick to approached you, grabbing your wrist and running it through the tap water. He tells you to stay put and even though you two are in a silent treatment after an argument, you followed his instructions. Jeno returns with an ointment, immediately tending it. You watched as he gently massaged your burn and as he finishes it, Jeno kisses your burn and then looks at you, "I'm sorry, because of me, you got hurt." 

Lee Donghyuck

Haechan finds you in the kitchen running your hands on the tap water, he approaches you and sees that your hands were burning red. He started nagging you, telling you that you're not being careful and what will happen to you if you're not being careful. His words went on until you burst and started arguing with him as if you two didn't argued earlier. Haechan gave up first, leaves you and when you thought that he left you alone, he returns, slamming the burn ointment on the kitchen counter. 

Na Jaemin

Jaemin only realized that you burn yourself when you're trying to find the ointment while searching it with only one hand. He grabs your wrist and saw how huge the burn was, he made you sit on the couch and found the ointment all by himself. As he returns, he tends your wound but he started nagging you, telling you that you're not being careful and what will happen if things got worst. Overwhelmed by everything, you couldn't help but to cry, making your boyfriend stop, pulling you to a hug and apologizing for nagging you and having an argument with you earlier. 

Zhong Chenle

"Look at you, you can't do a thing without me," Chenle teases sassily. You know that you two are having a silent treatment because of an argument earlier, but you accidentally burn your hand when the pot holder broke. Now Chenle's tending your burn and he's been teasing you nonstop ever since you two started. "If you're just going to tease me, I'm fine tending my own wound," you said snatching your hand away. "No! no, I'm sorry, come on now, I'll shut up now," Chenle apologizes, grabbing your hands again. 

Park Jisung

You were in daze because of an argument with your boyfriend earlier that you didn't realized that you touched the holder without any mittens. You let out a sharp hiss but it was enough to alert Jisung. Your boyfriend went to the kitchen and finds you holding your burnt hand. As he approaches you, he stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do given that you are two are not talking to each other. He wanted to ask if you're okay but his tongue is holding him back. You two had a small staring contest before he give up, grabs you and then drags you to his room so that he can tend your wound. 

[anniebeemine]

baby fever- s.r. x fem!reader

Warnings: established relationship, unprotected p-in-v sex, praises, slight breeding kink (I tried to make it as mild as possible),

You’re not ready for a baby. 

At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. A baby takes time and energy that you can barely spare for yourself and your husband. Your job drags you around the country, chasing after murderous criminals. You’ve seen some of the most evil things in the world, and yet, a baby seems to immediately push the thoughts away. 

With baby Michael having been recently born, you and Spencer decided it was time to visit the family. You carried a small wrapped box for Henry. Afraid he’d feel left out with a new baby brother, you decided to bring him a new toy. Spencer carried the gift bag with a few outfits for Michael and some gift cards for his parents. 

"You okay?" Spencer asked, glancing at you with concern as you approached the front door.

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just thinking."

Spencer gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before ringing the doorbell. Within moments, the door swung open to reveal JJ, her face lighting up at the sight of you. Despite having just had a baby, she was beaming.

"Hey! Come in, come in!" JJ ushered you inside, taking the gift bag from Spencer. "You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you."

"We wanted to," Spencer replied, stepping inside. "How’s Michael?"

"Sleeping, thankfully," JJ said with a soft laugh. "Will’s got him in the nursery."

Henry came running into the room, his face lighting up when he saw you. He wrapped his arms around your legs in a tight hug. Hey, Henry!" you greeted, crouching down to his level. "We brought you something."

Henry’s eyes widened as you handed him the wrapped box. "For me? Really?" He tore the wrapping paper open to reveal a new toy car. “Wow! Thank you!"

You ruffled his hair, feeling a warmth spread through you at his joy. "You’re welcome, buddy."

JJ smiled, watching the interaction. "You’re going to make a great mom someday, Y/N."

You glanced at Spencer, who was looking at you with a soft expression. "Maybe," you said, your voice tinged with uncertainty. 

Spencer caught your eye for a moment, a flash of something spreading across his face before he greeted Henry. “Let’s go find some batteries,” he said, following the young boy into the kitchen. 

JJ seemed to pick up on it and changed the subject. "Come on, let’s go see Michael."

You followed JJ to the nursery, where Will was gently rocking the baby. He looked up and smiled when he saw you. "Hey, guys. Look who’s awake.” 

"Can I hold him?" you asked, stepping closer.

"Of course," Will said, carefully transferring Michael into your arms.

You cradled the tiny baby against your chest, feeling the weight and warmth of him. You gently rocked him as JJ led you back into the living room, chatting about how things had been since Michael’s arrival. You nodded and responded, but your focus was mostly on the baby in your arms.

You settled into a chair, still holding Michael, who looked up at you with wide, curious eyes. You smiled down at him, softly cooing as you held a pacifier to his lips. He latched onto it, and you felt a surge of tenderness as he began to suck contentedly.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Spencer and Henry were rummaging through a drawer for batteries. Spencer’s mind, however, was elsewhere. As he found the batteries and helped Henry place them into his new toy, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. When he finished, he excused himself, unable to resist the urge to see you again. He walked into the living room, his breath catching when he saw you holding Michael. You looked so natural, so serene, with the newborn nestled in your arms. Spencer watched as you smiled down at the baby, your expression one of pure love and gentleness.

A flash of longing spread through Spencer. He’d always wanted children of his own and he was getting there. He has a beautiful wife, a home full of empty bedrooms, and a stable-ish career. He had always known you would be an amazing mother, but seeing you with Michael made the reality of it hit home. He imagined you holding your own child, the love and care you would give, and felt a swell of emotion.

Later that night, you felt an inexplicable emptiness since handing Michael back to his parents. It was a void you couldn’t quite place, but it gnawed at you as you moved through your nighttime routine. Spencer sat on the bed, a book in his hands that he wasn’t able to focus on. Instead, he listened to the sound of you humming to yourself as you got ready for bed.

As you walked into the bedroom, Spencer closed the book, setting it on the nightstand. "Do you think we’re ready for a baby?" he asked, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

You paused, turning to look at him. "Do you?"

Spencer shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I’m just thinking out loud." He saw the blank expression on your face. "We’re probably not ready for one."

You swallowed. “Yeah, probably not,” you said with a breathy laugh. 

He scooted down into the bed, adjusting his pillow. “It’s kind of scary to think about.” 

You nodded, lying down beside him. "Yeah, it is. But you know, you’d be a great dad, Spence.” 

Spencer smiled softly, turning to face you. "Thanks. You’d be an amazing mom, too. But I like how things are now. Just us."

"Me too," you agreed, though a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to expand your family.

You both settled into the silence, pretending to fall asleep. But instead of drifting off, your minds wandered to the possibilities of raising children together.

You imagined mornings filled with the sounds of little feet running through the house, Spencer patiently explaining some scientific fact to a curious toddler. You saw yourself cooking breakfast while Spencer read stories to your child, his soothing voice filling the room with warmth.

Spencer’s thoughts drifted to bedtime routines, reading books and tucking in a little one, their sleepy eyes looking up at him with trust and love. He pictured teaching them to ride a bike, holding on until they found their balance, and the proud smile on your face as you watched.

You both thought about the challenges, too—late-night feedings, temper tantrums, balancing work and family. But even those scenarios brought a sense of fulfillment, knowing you would face them together.

Life resumed its usual pace, filled with work, cases, and the daily routines you and Spencer had grown accustomed to. Yet, the thoughts of starting a family lingered in the back of both your minds.

One evening, after a long day at work, you and Spencer were relaxing on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. Spencer was flipping through a book, while you were curled up next to him, your head resting on his shoulder.

Out of nowhere, Spencer closed his book and looked at you, his expression serious. "I want a baby with you."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden declaration. "What?"

"I’ve been thinking about it a lot since we talked," he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "I want a baby with you. I want to start a family. I don’t want to wait any longer."

You sat up, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation. "Spence, are you sure? This is a big decision."

He nodded, reaching out to take your hand. "I’m sure. I know our lives are complicated and our jobs are demanding, but I’ve realized that I don’t want to keep putting this off. I want to share this experience with you. I want to be a dad."

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity and love in his eyes overwhelming you. "I want that too," you said softly, a smile spreading across your face. "I want to have a baby with you, Spencer."

You kissed him, feeling a sense of completeness and a deep love for the man you had chosen to spend your life with. You pulled away, studying the dazed look on his face. “Y’know, we could start trying soon.” 

A smirk appeared on his lips. “How soon?” 

You shrugged, wrapping your arms around his shoulder. “Like… now, soon?” 

Spencer's eyes widened slightly, and then he smiled, the excitement evident in his expression. "Now works."

“Does it?” You teased, brushing hair away from his forehead. 

You leaned in, your lips meeting his again, this time with more urgency and passion. The movie playing in the background was forgotten as you both embraced the possibility of starting a new chapter in your lives. Spencer's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened.

Breaking away for a moment, you whispered against his lips, "I love you, Spencer."

"I love you too, more than anything," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity and affection.

You guided him up from the couch, leading him toward the bedroom, your hearts pounding with anticipation and excitement. As you led Spencer into the bedroom, the excitement and anticipation between you both were palpable. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his, filled with love and determination. Spencer's hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"This is it," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "We're really doing this."

You nodded, a smile spreading across your lips. "Yes, we are.” 

Spencer leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, his hands moving to your waist as he pulled you closer. The kiss quickly deepened, filled with the promise of the future you were about to embark on. Walking over to the bed, his arms held out making sure not to run you into anything. Feeling the two of you connect to the side of the bed, he guided you to sit. His lips trailed from your lips to your neck, his hands running over your body as if he were afraid to forget what your body felt like. He pushed you back onto the bed gently, giving you a soft chuckle before climbing on top of you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. 

You blushed, placing a hand on his cheek. “You’re just as pretty,” you whispered back. “I’m kind of nervous.” 

He smiled, unbuttoning the first button on your shirt. “Don’t be,” he said softly. “I’ve got you, my love.” 

You could feel your heart race at his words. He used one hand to undo the rest of the buttons, helping you shrug the fabric off. He peppered kisses across your chest and shoulders, one hand snaking up your back to undo your bra. You shrugged off both articles, moving your hands to help him out of his shirt. “I will never be able to say how much I love you,” he said between kisses. 

You gently pushed him off of you. He stood up, shimmying out of his slacks as you did the same with your own pants. Though you’d been naked in front of each other dozens of times, this time is different, more vulnerable. You scooted back on the bed, opening your knees for him to kneel between your thighs. 

“I need you to tell me if you get uncomfortable with anything,” he said, voice caring as he brought his hands to your knees. “I would never get over it if I do something wrong.” 

You nodded, propping yourself up. “I promise.” 

Spencer ran his hands down the outer part of your thighs. You were used to praises and tender touches, but this quiet, almost methodical way he scooted back to lie down was new. He pressed gentle kisses to the skin of your thighs, inching closer and closer to where you need him the most. He pressed a final kiss to your clit before pulling away. You bucked at the sudden contact, humming. He licked a long stripe up your folds, eyes locked with yours. 

“Spence,” you moaned, voice already hoarse. 

He gripped your hips, pulling you closer. Using what was most likely muscle memory, he began lapping at your clit, alternating between swipes and circles. Your thighs began to quiver beside his head, your fingers lacing into his hair. His fingers created little bruises on your hips from hos hard he held onto you. 

You felt your back begin to arch into him, burying his face deeper into your cunt. He pulled away with a particularly loud slurp, chin glistening as he wiped it off with his discarded shirt. 

You could do nothing but stare as he did his, his eyes going wide as he met yours. “Did I-” 

“Fuck me,” you breathed. 

At this point he had your legs wrapped around his waist, fingertips digging into your thighs from how bad he needed to feel you wrapped around him. His eyes gave you a look, asking for permission before sliding his cock into you. You gave him a slight nod and a blush rose to your cheeks. “Please,” you whimpered. 

He slid the tip of his cock between your folds collecting slick, a hiss sliding between his teeth. You could feel his cock twitch between your legs. Before you knew it, he was sliding deeper and deeper into you. Stretching you slightly as your back arched and your brain went foggy from the feeling. 

Spencer brought himself down, his forearms on either side of you. “You’re perfect for me,” he whimpered as he rolled his hips. 

You tangled the fingers on your right hand in his hair. Your left hand rested under his arm, palm on his back. You rolled your hips against his, catching your sensitive nub against his pelvis with each stroke. You screwed your eyes shut, panting against his lips. His face grew redder and redder, his nature becoming flustered at the feeling of you around him. 

His thrusts became deeper, his hips snapping against yours in an instant. Grunts, moans, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. He was trying to keep himself from letting off too soon in fear you'd both be embarrassed. You couldn’t care less if he finished, just as long as it wasn’t wasted. 

“Spence,” you muttered. “I love you. So much.” 

“I know.” 

His hand trailed down the valley between your breasts, past your belly button and to your clit. He rubbed slow circles to match his pace. Heat split itself in your body, some riding to your cheeks and the other lowering itself to your core. He let out another whimper, like he was ready to say something. 

You guided his chin, locking eyes with him. “Talk to me, Spencer.” 

He bit his lip again. “You drive me crazy. I can never get enough of you,” he squeaked out. 

You wrapped your legs tighter around him, locking him in. “I want you to tell me what else you want to do to me. Please?”

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the finish line, whining and writhing beneath him. He somehow moved closer to you, holding you down to the mattress. “Let me do all the work, baby.” 

“I can’t wait to make you a mommy,” he whispered into the shell of your ear. 

Your body shivered at his words, his voice husky and deep. You let yourself go, no longer able to hold on as he showered you in praises and begs to let him make you a mother. Your legs kicked out and he was quick to raise one over his shoulder, deeping the angle. You threw your head back, chanting his name between pants and moans. Your climax came quickly, placing stars in your vision as you screwed your eyes shut. Your hands roamed over his body, exhausted. 

“I want you to cum inside of me,” you begged. “I want you to, Spencer. I need you to.” 

He tilted your hips up, grinding against you. He caught your lips in a sloppy kiss. You saw the clench in his jaw loosen as he came, white strands of cum painting your insides as a warmth ran through your spine. 

The two of you laid like that for a few minutes. He let his eyes close, his head dropped to your shoulders. He let the leg that was over his shoulder drop, your foot flat against the mattress. 

“Thank you.” 

Spencer pulled back to giggle. “I should be thanking you.” He kissed your forehead before sitting up to pull out. He hissed at the feeling, lying beside you. 

You laced your fingers through his. “I can’t wait to see if it worked.” 

He agreed. “And if it didn’t, we can do this again and again.” 

You rolled over to place your head on his chest. His heartbeat echoed into your ear, the rhythmic thumping putting you to sleep.

[mirohlayo]

LIP BALM

( Lando notices that your lips are chapped, so he fixes that. )

warning : none, just pure fluff, all fluffy

note : i'm in love with this one cuz my lips are always chapped

word count : 927

You finish spreading the cream on your face, before closing the lid on the already half-finished pot. The tap water flows as you lather a bar of sweet-smelling soap in your hands.

You hear the door to your apartment close with a loud thud, indicating that your boyfriend has returned from his round of golf with a few of his close friends. A faint smile appears on your face when you hear Lando call you in a soft voice.

"Baby, I'm back. Where are you?" He asks you in a calm manner and his footsteps seem to trace every inch of your living room. You let out a small laugh, knowing full well that Lando can't wait to see and kiss his girlfriend. “In the bathroom” You reply simply.

And not a second later, the door suddenly opens to reveal your boyfriend all smiles, his eyes admiring you with tenderness and affection. He can't help but giggle when he sees his pretty girl, just like you can't hide your gaping, silly smile. He then leaves the door handle to approach you.

His arms come delicately around your waist, as he squeezes it gently. He lets himself be transported by the softness and graceful beauty of your face, his look as loving as ever. “You're beautiful baby” He said in a low voice to address this compliment to you and only you.

Your cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, your smile growing bigger, as his eyes slowly drift to your lips. You thought he was going to kiss you, like he does every time he comes back from a long day, but when he stops on your lips, it's his eyebrows that furrow.

You're confused for a little while. “Your lips are chapped, princess” He remarks, while naturally running his thumb over the bottom of your lip. "I know. I always have chapped lips, I hate it" You answer in such a way that Lando can effortlessly guess that you're used to having this dead skin on your lips.

His hands come to rest on your hips, as he presses a light kiss to your temple. His arms tighten the grip he has around you, pulling your body closer to his. “Wait, I'll fix that” You say suddenly, pulling back to get out of his grip, but his arms hold you so tightly that he comes to trap you in his embrace again.

You smile shyly at the action, and then you try as best you can to open the small drawer under the sink. After reaching there, your eyes finally fall on the little blue lip balm placed at the bottom of the drawer, hidden between several other skin products. You grab it quickly and close the drawer with your elbow.

Lando examines the small blue object between your fingers, understanding that it is indeed a lip balm. You then remove the cap from the tube to apply the product to your lips, but a hand grabs the object before you can bring it to your lips.

"Let me do it for you, sweetheart.” Your boyfriend delicately holds the tube in his hands, and you let yourself do so since you know that he will never give up applying balm to your lips. With his fingers, he carefully lifts your chin so that your head is higher, and accompanied by soft and careful gestures, he applies a generous layer of balm to your pink lips.

His eyebrows furrow slightly and his lips purse, signs that he is focused on his task. You can't help but admire his beautiful blue eyes, his shiny curly hair, the beauty spots on his tanned skin. He is just sublime.

He continues to apply product to you, then he stands up and stops the contact of the balm on your lips by putting the cap back on the tube. "All done. Much better." He smiled to himself, proud of himself. You rub your lips together to disperse the balm evenly.

“Thank you, Lan” You tell him simply. Then, the corner of his lips stretches to form a smirk. “Wait, I have chapped lips too” He announces while looking at you mischievously. Your eyes drift to his lips as you try to grab the lip balm from his hand. “I’ll put some on you too then” You offer.

“I have a better idea than that, princess” And without further ado, he presses his lips against yours. His hands come to caress your hips with their thumbs, while his arms close to bring you closer to him. He delicately and tenderly moves his lips on yours, in order to spread the balm of your lips on his. He is careful with his gestures, there is simply love and affection escaping from this kiss.

Then he pulls back, pleasantly surprised and above all amused to see your face so red and embarrassed. He smiled shyly, his cheeks also taking on a rosy tint. He rubs his lips together, reveling in the neutral scent of the balm. “I think our lips are hydrated enough as it is” You finally say shyly.

“I don’t think so, baby.” His lips come to rest on yours again in a quick kiss. “I think I love it when your lips are chapped.” He places another light kiss. "I just want to kiss them. I want to kiss you."

And with those words, he ends up pulling you into another deep and passionate kiss, which ends with a cuddle session under the covers of your bed.