#all of it was just about barb...sigh...

[teemhaunts]

THEY TOOK AWAY THE SIGNAL TALK. AUAYGHHHHHHH. NOW SPIKES JUST BEING MEAN TO ME

[thecoolerliauditore]

oh this is one of those. we're trying to not be weird about women and that makes us even weirder about women things. cool

[tartarusknight]

Steve Harrington who doesn't die. No matter what, he'll wake up afterwards. He learned it young when he survived a car crash that killed his mom. And he struggles after her death, not knowing why he survived when she didn't. As he grows up, he can't relax and parties to try and be full of something lighter. But he drinks too much at one party and he doesn't have a good friend to rely on.

As time goes on, Steve dies by Billy and by the Russians. He doesn't really understand but he begins to accept it. But he also becomes more careless. Which is how Eddie finds him.

Eddie had been able to see ghosts since he almost died from his dad. The first ghost he ever sees is his mom and she passes on after getting to hug him goodbye one last time. After that Eddie sees the few elderly people who died at the end of their lives. And the people who died too early. He got stuck as the freak for all the times he's accidentally talked to someone who wasn't there.

He had talked with Benny who was worried about that young girl. Barb who was so mad about being left behind by her friend. But he hadn't seen Will Byers and it made sense when he was found eventually. But he did hear some things from the agents stuck at the middle school who looked torn apart. Eddie learned of the Upside Down earlier but promised Wayne he'd stay out of it.

Until he saw Steve sitting on the edge of the pool, looking at his body floating in the water. There was some blood swirling in the water and it made Eddie sick. But Steve just stared blankly at his own body before sighing and standing. He froze when Eddie locked eyes with him. He glanced at the pool than Eddie. "Hmm," he gave him a small smile and moved past him.

"Wait!" Eddie called afterwards and Steve paused, "aren't you, like, I don't know needing something? Most ghosts-"

"Oh," Steve chuckled, "this won't last much longer." He stated and walked away but before he even reached the door back into the party he blinked away. Eddie let out a scream when Steve's body spasmed and his head flung up out of the water. There was still blood on the side of his face but he was alive. Steve groaned as he pulled himself out of the pool. "See," his came out hoarse and Eddie was just so confused.

[itneverendshere]

i love bitchy!pouge!reader x rafe soooo much! idk how to explain it but the way you write them brings me comfort. i was wondering if you could write what their first fight was about after exchanging i love yous? 🥺

fight so dirty, but you love so sweet - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe warnings: 70% angst

Feelings—especially yours—came barbed, similar to the way you’d grown up.

A girl with no patience for sugarcoated anything and Rafe Cameron with all his kooky contradictions had somehow slithered under your skin. Which made it worse, because you remember who he used to be.

You’re sitting on your porch, feet up on the railing, a melting popsicle between your fingers and your phone in the other hand, scrolling with vague boredom until your thumb freezes.

It’s a picture.

Rafe, at that stupid-ass annual Kook charity event he swore he hated but always went to.

The one he invited you to, told you you should come, even though he knew you'd rather set your hair on fire than mingle with sweater-vested trust fund kids drinking out of champagne flutes like it’s water. You had rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather get hit by a golf cart.”

And he’d laughed—understood. No pressure.

But now the photo…Your stomach drops.

It’s Brielle fucking Simmons, all pearls and perfect hair and fake everything. Rafe’s ex, standing close, hand on his arm, claiming him.

Both smiling, harmless fun, right? Wrong. You’re already texting him before you know what you’re saying.

You: lol tell Brielle she looked cute latched to your arm tonight. You two looked like a literal J. Crew ad. So wholesome. ❤️

It takes three minutes for the dots to start typing. Then stop, start again, and then he calls.

You let it ring out. 

He calls again. 

“Babe—”

“What the fuck was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The pictures. Your little date.”

“She’s not my date,” He scoffs, “It was a photo. She walked up, I didn’t—what are you doing right now?”

“Wondering how fast I’d get kicked out if I slapped that fake-ass smile off her face.”

“She’s not important.”

“Oh, but she looks pretty important. All over you, dressed like she just walked out of a Lilly Pulitzer wet dream.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being—” You stand up, pacing now. “Wow. Okay. Let’s unpack that, Rafe.”

Rafe exhales hard. “It was a photo. She came up to me—”

“You sure as fuck didn’t stop her.” You’re pacing now, bare feet hitting the porch. “You look real comfortable. Like old times, huh? Bet she knows exactly where to put her hand.”

He groans. 

“Can you relax for a second—I wanted you here. You didn’t wanna be here, and I respected that. What was I supposed to do? Push you to come somewhere you’d hate to avoid a two-second interaction with my ex?”

“You could’ve told her to back off. You could’ve told the photographer to fuck off.”

“She means nothing. You know that.”

Your tongue kisses your teeth.

“That’s what every man says right before he ends up dicking someone in a monogrammed bathroom.”

“Are you fucking serious right now? She wasn’t even—fuck.” He sighs harshly. “You’re jealous over nothing.”

You stop dead. “Did you just call me jealous?”

“What do you want me to say? That I should’ve shoved her off me at a charity event, my dad’s hosting in front of thirty people and a news crew to protect your ego?”

Wow, okay, that one hurt.

“My ego? My ego?”

“You’re not trusting me,” he snaps. “I love you, and one picture sends you spiraling like I’m cheating on you in broad daylight.”

There it is.

He realizes it too late.

You inhale sharply, eyes stinging. “Right. Got it.”

“Wait—no, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t do halfway. If you want me, you want me. You don’t let your ex drape herself over you while you're fucking grinning for a photo-op and I’m at home baking stupid brownies for you.”

“You know I want you. I’m not gonna argue with you over one photo,” he grits out.

“Then don’t,” you say flatly.

Click.

You hang up.

You sit back down, popsicle dripping onto your jeans, and feel that sick, familiar feeling settle into your chest. You knew it was only a matter of time before the Kook fantasy ended.

You were just the wrong shape for him.

You toss your phone onto the steps beside you and stare out at the darkness, but all you can see is her. Her glossy hair, her effortless way of fitting into a world you never had a place in.

And he looked like that old Rafe again, the one who looked at you like you were a problem. You feel your chest rip apart, blooming beneath your ribs. You knew this would happen. You fucking knew it. You chew your thumbnail and tell yourself you’re fine.

You told him when things started to get real—when he began looking at you like you were worth more than a secret thrill—that this wasn’t something you knew how to do; you’d never been the girlfriend.

Guys never wanted you like that, not for long. They fucked you, they laughed with you, and they left, never picking you. You’re the girl who wears ripped shorts and tells people to fuck off before they finish their sentence, who drinks out of bottles and picks fights when she’s scared. You’re not polished. You’re not soft.

You’re not someone a guy keeps.

You know the things they used to say about you. Easy. Fun. Drama. A good time, not a long time. You’d hit, but don’t date her. Too much.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that Rafe said I love you, part of you thinks this was borrowed time.

The stars are out, but you’re not looking at them.

You’re still sitting on that rickety porch with your knees hugged to your chest, hoodie swallowed around your fists, and your phone screen dimmed black beside you.

It’s been thirty minutes since you hung up. It feels like years.

Now the anger’s gone. You know what you did, throwing a grenade and watching it blow—on purpose. It’s easier to burn it down yourself than wait for him to walk away. You chew at your thumbnail, heart beating slow and sick in your chest, that ugly lump still pressing up against your throat.

You knew you were being mean, pushing him in the other direction by accusing him of shit he didn’t do.

Better he hates you than pities you.

You drag your hands down your face and groan into the empty air, not knowing how to fix this. You’re not the girl who apologizes first, you don’t know how to come back after you say things you can’t take back.

You’re just starting to get up—arms sore, heart heavier than it was when you sat down—when you hear tires skidding on gravel.

You freeze on the porch step.

Headlights blast through the trees, and then—

SLAM.

Rafe doesn’t try to park right. The truck is half sideways in the grass, one tire up on the edge of the road, he barely remembered to throw it in park before yanking the keys out.

He’s already out.

You don’t say anything while he storms up the path, chest rising and falling, his shirt wrinkled, sleeves rolled, and hair messy—he likes to drive with the windows down.

When he gets close enough to see your face—the red eyes, the guilt and fear still holding your expression hostage—he softens.

“You’re not answering me.”

You glance away, shame washing over you.

“Didn’t think there was anything left to say.”

Old habits die hard.

Rafe steps up onto the porch, right into your space. You can smell his cologne, expensive and warm and unmistakably his.

You give him your best sneer. “How very on-brand.”

“Are you serious right now? You blew up my phone, accused me of God knows what, and then ignored me for thirty minutes. I thought maybe something happened—”

“Yeah. Something did.” You stand up, jabbing a finger toward him. “I realized I’m the biggest fucking idiot alive for thinking this was ever gonna work.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You laugh bitterly, trying to fold your arms over your chest, but it’s flimsy armor.

His eyes flick over your face—reading you like a fucking map he already knows by heart.

“Don’t run your mouth and act like none of this means shit.”

“It doesn’t.”

His eyes narrow. “Liar.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Say that shit again.”

You’ve always been good at mean. It’s your mother tongue. 

He scoffs, disbelieving.

“God, you’re so fucking nasty when you’re scared.”

Your first instinct isn’t offense or surprise. You could pretend to be wounded. Bat your lashes, gasp like a princess in a soap opera, but that’s not you, you’re not built from satin and sentiment.

You’re made of spunk and fight. 

Now it’s your turn: “Say that again.”

He exhales through his nose. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did. Wanted to make sure you meant it, Country Club.”

“Stop calling me that. I’m in it with you. Whether you believe it or not. Whether you make it as hard as possible or not. Stop acting like you don’t care when I know you do.”

You scoff, tearing your gaze away.  

“Looked real nice standing there with her. She had her hand on your arm, and you let her. You smiled.”

“She walked up,” He throws his hands up, “She put her hand there for two seconds, and the second I stepped away, the fucking photographer was already flashing. I didn’t invite her to drape herself over me like a fucking accessory, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You used to want her to.”

“I used to do a lot of shit that made me want to crawl out of my skin.”

You shake your head, stepping down a stair, praying the distance will dull the hurting. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You know what?” Rafe snaps, stepping after you. “You know what didn’t feel nice? That text. You sent it knowing it would fuck with me.”

“I was being funny.”

“No, you were trying to hurt me first.” His voice sharpens. “Because you saw something that scared you, and instead of calling me, you picked a fight, convinced yourself I’m gonna leave.”

Your silence is confirmation, and he laughs once, exasperated.

“You think I’m gonna run because some Kook Barbie pressed her fucking nails into my arm? Did I look happy?”

You glare at the porch floor, too humiliated to meet his eyes but too stubborn to admit you’re wrong.

“She looked perfect next to you,” You mutter. “And I-I’ve never looked like that.”

Rafe’s whole chest expands on a rough inhale. “Bullshit.”

Your lip twitches. “You don’t have to lie just ‘cause I’m about to cry.”

“I’m not lying.” He steps closer, and now there’s no space between you, “I want you. I’m with you. I love you.”

You remember how his mouth used to curl when you walked into a room. You glance up—and you see none of that. His jaw is flexed, brows drawn, but his eyes are nothing but heartbreak, and it’s you he’s looking at like that. As if you have already been forgiven.

You hate how fast your voice cracks. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

The words hurt him more than the fight did. He moves, hands coming up to frame your face gently, catching your cheeks even as you try to turn away.

His thumbs swipe at the tear tracks, physically hurting him to see them. “I hate that you don’t see it,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You do, barely.

His forehead drops to yours, breathing you in, whispering against your mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m not.”

You swallow. “I don’t believe you.”

“Tough shit, baby.”

Your throat works around a sob that doesn’t quite come. His hands are holding your face like you’re made of glass, but his grip says you’re not going anywhere, even if you try to fight him on it.

So you do. “You’re annoying as fuck.”

He almost smiles. “I know.”

You snort wetly, and it shatters something between you. He’s still close, touching, and you hate how fast you want to fold into it.

You try one last time. “She probably smelled better than me too.”

“I love how you smell.” His eyes roam your face—eyes red, nose pink, hoodie collar pulled up to your chin. “Sunscreen and salt and that stupid coconut lotion.”

Rafe’s smile comes then, unstrained as he kisses you. You gasp into it, and he uses it as an excuse to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, one hand curling around the back of your neck and the other grabbing your hip, pulling you into him.

He pulls back for air, ducking his head to your height one more time, his voice dropping to a rasp.

“I wake up and want you. I get through shit days and want you. I think about my future, and—you’re there. It’s you.”

A single tear slips down your cheek before you can catch it. You hate how fast he’s wiping it away.

“You’re gonna get tired of me.”

“I’m tired without you.”

You let out a small, broken laugh, and Rafe smiles like it’s a fucking miracle.

“You’re gonna leave.”

“I’m here.”

“And if you change your mind?”

“I already made it up.” He kisses your temple, your cheek. “Stop trying to scare me of.”

You sag into him, pressing your lips together, “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He exhales through his nose; you wait for the reminder that you were cruel, but all he does is press another kiss to your shoulder.

“Baby,” he murmurs, “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Your throat tightens instantly. “Even when I say shit I don’t mean?”

He nods once, serious. “Even then.”

“That’s fucked.” You bite your lip, breath catching. “I didn’t mean it.”

Rafe cuts in, hands cradling your jaw. “I know.”

You bury your face in his chest, fingers fisting in his shirt, hoping it will stop your heart from beating so hard. His hands rub slow circles up and down your back.

“Country Club,” you say, and it’s usually a nickname you usually spit with venom. This time it sounds sweet.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You won’t,” he says. “We won’t. “

Then, without looking up, you mutter, “I was gonna call you a privileged little trust fund reject with a savior complex and no taste in women.”

He laughs, loud this time, bursting out of him. “There she is.”

The porch is dark and quiet and way too far from anyone who would interrupt, and that might be the only reason you let yourself tip your head back and look at him like that—eyes blown wide.

Rafe mouths at your lips, doing what he’d been waiting all fucking night to earn back, groaning into your mouth, hand sliding up the back of your hoodie, palm pressing against the skin at your spine.

His tongue licks into you again, and your knees damn near buckle. He catches you with one hand wrapped around your thigh, dragging your leg up to hook around his. He pins you back against the porch post with his body, hard already, and not shy about it.

“You always run your mouth,” He makes that annoyed teeth-sucking sound against your neck, breath hot. “Always talking shit.”

You can feel Rafe smirk against your skin when you whimper. His teeth graze that spot beneath your jaw, the one he figured out three nights into fucking you, and he doesn’t let up—kisses, bites, and sucks until you’re pressing your hips forward, forgetting what pride is.

“And now?” He rasps. “Still got something to say?”

You tug at his shirt, breathless.

“Get your hand under my hoodie and maybe I will.”

He laughs and obliges, fingers sliding up over your ribs, under the hem of your bra. He cups one breast in his hand, his thumb brushing your nipple until you’re mewing into his mouth again.

He swallows every sound. Your hands are under his dress shirt now, scratching at the small of his back, hips grinding slowly against his.

“Rafe,” you whisper, need soaked into the syllables.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, his mouth dragging over your jaw, lips warm and wet. "I know."

You tug at his belt, and he doesn’t stop you, only continues to palm your ass and groans when your hand brushes his zipper. 

Rafe’s breathing is ragged against your mouth, hands still halfway under your hoodie. You roll your hips against him again.

He groans, head tipping back, needing divine intervention.

Your smirk is pure sin. “Problem, Country Club?”

His fingers dig into your waist. “Yeah, you. You’re the fucking problem.”

You giggle, nipping at his bottom lip just enough to make him twitch. “Oh no. Is the trust fund prince gonna lose his self-control on a porch swing?”

He growls this time and presses his hips forward, cock hard against you and very, very aware of the fact that your leg’s still wrapped around him.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You already look tempted.”

“I’m serious.” His mouth is on your neck again, trailing hot, open kisses down to your collarbone, voice muffled against your skin. “We’re not fucking on your porch. Your neighbors already hate me.”

“That’s because you park like a psychopath.”

“They’ll hate me more when they see me bending you over the railing.”

You whimper before you can stop yourself, and his hands grip tighter, feeling that noise down.

“Baby,” he warns, teeth grazing your throat. “We can’t do it out here.”

Your hand slides between you, palming him through his jeans shamelessly. His breath stutters so hard he chokes.

“Oh, my God,” he hisses, grabbing your wrist, eyes wild. 

You shrug, all innocence, “You sure you don’t want the neighbors to know how well you fuck me?”

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you inside if you don’t stop.”

You flash him a grin. “Promise?”

“Fuck. Fine. Inside. Now.”

You don’t try to hide the smug little giggle as he drags you inside by the hand, he’s a man being marched to war—hard, panting, and completely ruined by you.

If fighting gets him this desperate and needy maybe you'll keep doing it.

You love being his problem.

[em1i2a3]

What if the gang were out somewhere and Bob saw someone who reminded him of his father so he starts having a panic attack and y/n has to calm him down <3

Never Let Me Go

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: On a day off, the team arranges to go to a farmers market to do a bit of R and R. But what happens when Bob has an unexpected encounter with a ghost of his past?

Warnings: Spoilers for Thunderbolts (will put this here because there is some plot from the Thunderbolts in here and some of Bob's story in here) Angst baby…Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and some fluff at the beginning. Descriptions of a panic attack, Mentions of Trauma. Bob and Reader are in an unlabeled relationship, they care deeply about one another and they are each other's comfort person they just don’t say they’re in a relationship, there are very minor discussions about sex (nothing graphic or extreme)

Author's Note: I love writing angst for Bob. The sugar puff doesn’t deserve the sadness but writing it is so simple and my brain eats it up like it’s junk food, and things fall into place so easily. Thank you for the request!! I enjoyed writing this very much, and building a backstory and everything. We love creative freedoms lol

Word Count: 5,583

Two nights before everyone’s scheduled day off, the Thunderbolts compound turned into a battleground–but not the kind with blood and broken glass.

No, this one was somehow worse.

It was filled with groaning, dramatic sighs, petty barbs, and the very serious politics of trying to plan a group outing with seven people who had wildly incompatible definitions of “fun.”

The common room buzzed with late-evening heat and lived-in clutter–dim overhead lights flickering slightly, a half-eaten bag of pretzels on the table, the low whir of the box fan doing a poor job of circulating the stale air. The couch cushions were sunken in all the wrong places. Someone had abandoned a trail of dirty socks that led ominously into the hallway like breadcrumbs. No one was taking credit.

Yelena had draped herself upside-down over the back of the couch like a melting spider, boots propped on one armrest, braid dangling down toward the floor.

“How about we don’t do another bar,” She said, idly twirling a throwing knife between two fingers. “Last time we went, I don’t even remember how I got home. And I’m positive Alexei smuggled out at least three ramekins.”

Alexei, currently half-submerged in the compound’s fridge, called out in his usual booming tone, “We didn’t have any here. Useful little things!”

Walker groaned from his claimed spot in the worn recliner, legs extended so far into the walking path that everyone had given up trying to step over them. “I’m all for anything but a cat café,” He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Last time we did that, Alpine almost clawed my eyes out.”

Bucky, sprawled on the other end of Yelena’s couch, arms folded and expression unreadable, didn’t look up from the book in his hands. The aforementioned Alpine–elegant, pristine, and smug as ever–was nestled in his lap, purring like she owned the room.

“You sure it was because you had other cat fur on you,” Bucky said evenly, “Or because she just doesn’t like you?”

Walker rolled his eyes with the resigned aggression of a man who hadn’t experienced real peace since being assigned to this team.

“Oh, please. Like that little cotton ball has a moral compass.” As if on cue, Alpine–silent and serene just moments before–let out a sudden, loud hiss, her ears flattening dramatically. Ava snorted from her perch on the windowsill, one leg curled up beneath her as she scrolled through her tablet.

“Seems like she’s the only one of us with actual standards.”

While the rest of the team spiraled into another round of chaotic banter, you were tuned out–half-listening, half-smiling, but your attention was rooted in him.

Bob was stretched out on the far couch beneath you, lying on his stomach, shirt rumpled and ridden halfway up his back from where your hands had worked their way under the soft fabric. One of his arms was folded under him to cushion his face, while the other reached lazily backward–his hand resting on your calf, thumb rubbing idle, slow strokes over your bare skin like he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t sexual to either of you. It was instinctive, he just needed some part of him touching some part of you to stay grounded, that’s how it had been since the beginning of your friendship and it led into your odd romantic relationship as well.

You were perched on his lower back, straddling him comfortably, your knees braced on either side of his hips as you worked at the tense knots nestled deep in his shoulder blades and neck. The heat of summer lingered in the room, making everything feel a little slow, a little hazy, and super super hot. Bob’s skin was warm under your palms, and the muscles beneath flexed subtly with every careful dig of your fingers, trying to protest the intrusion.

Bob had come to you earlier that day–sheepishly, voice low–as if you hadn’t touched him a hundred times before.

”G-Got a spot I can’t really shake,” He murmured hand drifting to his shoulder, “Kind o-of feels like someone stuffed glass i-in there.” You’d been hunched over your laptop trying to finish your mission report, but without hesitation you immediately responded.

”Give me ‘till tonight,” You said, “I’ll work them out for you.” And you always kept your word with him no matter how chaotic your life got, because here you were–on top of him, pressing out tension filled knots caused by months of stress, uncomfortable nights on the couch, and bad posture.

He groaned loudly as your thumb found another tight point near the base of his neck.

”O-Oh god–yeah right there–w-what is that?!” You leaned down, mouth close to his ear, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper as your fingers kneaded deeper into the knot.

“It’s from you being curled up on this damn couch all the time,” You murmured, letting your teeth graze the slope of his shoulder before giving him a soft, playful bite right where the muscle dipped, where you had left a mark two nights before.

Bob let out a surprised noise–half a laugh, half a groan–and his grip on your calf tightened slightly. “You bite me, t-then go straight back to causing me unbearable pain, you can’t be giving me these mixed s-signals.” You smirked at this comment.

“I don’t make the rules,” You said sweetly, pressing your thumb into the lump again. “I just remove the knots.” He let out another groan, louder this time–squirming under you like he was trying to make some sort of escape from the sensation of you digging your fingers into the coiled lump.

“Does the sadist and her little masochist have any opinions on what to do for our day off?” Ava called dryly from the windowsill, without even looking up from her tablet. “Or should we give you a safe word and circle back?”

Yelena choked on her water.

You didn’t miss a beat. “It’s ’hot lava,’ if anyone’s asking.”

Bob snorted weakly into the cushion, his voice muffled but amused. “I thought i-it was you who suggested that l-last time.”

“Only because you got too cocky with the hot stones and almost passed out. I told you they would be too hot for your skin and you’d get all sweaty.”

“That was one time,” He mumbled. “And I was fine.”

“Fine doesn’t come with tunnel vision and almost putting your head through a wall…’”

“I hate both of you,” Walker grumbled from the recliner, dramatically swinging a leg off the armrest to sit up. “Can we please pick something before I throw myself out a window?”

“Promise you will?” Ava murmured.

“I think we’re all just a little too warm for rational thinking,” Bucky muttered, reaching up to gently scratch Alpine’s ear as she blinked lazily at the chaos. “We should do something low effort that we don’t have to put a lot of thought into.”

Alexei perked up from the kitchen where he was still chewing through what had to be his fourth slice of cold leftover pizza. “How do we feel about outdoors? I could go for rollercoaster ride. Or smoothie. Something festive!”

Ava finally held up her tablet. “There’s a farmers market across town. Live music. Local vendors. Fresh produce, kettle corn, homemade baked goods. Says there’s a guy who does wood-burned art and fireblowing.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I could go for some homemade pie,” You said, half to yourself, still working your fingers gently through the muscle beneath your hands. Bob twitched a little when you brushed against a sore spot, but didn’t flinch away.

“Mmh,” He hummed, shifting beneath you with a drowsy sigh. “If you’re going, I-I guess I’m in too…”

You glanced down at him, an amused curve lifting your lips.

“Yeah?”

He nodded against the cushion, his voice muffled but sure. “We’re a p-packaged deal, after all…Don’t l-like going anywhere without you.”

You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly.

And then–with surgical precision–you pressed down on the knot you’d been circling, just a little deeper. Bob let out a startled, half-choked yelp, his back arching under you before he sank back into the couch with a whimper.

“I was hoping my c-compliment would stop y-you from doing that.” He groaned, as you let out a small laugh.

“Then it’s set! Farmer’s Market it is.” Ava announced.

——————

Two mornings later you found yourself in your room as the sun rose—half dressed, half awake, thumbing through your closet like your brain hadn’t quite caught up to your body.

Sunlight filtered in through the slats of your blinds, striping the hardwood floor in long, amber bars and cutting soft golden edges along your furniture. The light glowed against the rumpled sheets on your bed, warmed the metal frames stacked against the wall, kissed the edge of the mirror you hadn’t quite cleaned. The air still held the hush of early morning. No shouting yet. No Alexei slamming cabinet doors like he was chasing down enemy intel. No scent of Walker’s industrial-strength coffee-sludge. The whole place felt like it was holding its breath.

The rest of the team was still asleep–or pretending to be–but you and Bob had been up since just before five.

It hadn’t been loud, the way he woke. There was no scream, no flailing, no sheets twisted in panic. Just a sound–a single, sharp gasp. Like his lungs had suddenly remembered they were supposed to be working.

You’d jolted upright before he even spoke, your hand already reaching for him.

He wasn’t panicking. But the way he laid there with his chest rising and falling in quick, greedy pulls, told you everything you needed to know. His eyes weren’t wide with fear–just vacant. Like something had pulled him under, and the shore was still a little too far off.

So you didn’t ask.

You just shifted closer, let your hand curl gently into the hem of his shirt, and breathed with him until the rhythm returned to something human again.

When he could finally speak, his voice rasped against the pillow: “I think I’m up for good.”

So were you.

You’d shared a bed most nights since the early weeks of the Thunderbolts forming–before anyone knew what to do with Bob. Back when he couldn’t stand the idea of being alone and you hadn’t yet admitted how much you needed someone to need you. It had happened gradually–shared exhaustion turning into silent rituals. He never asked. He just showed up, and you let him in. That had been the way he communicated everything he needed.

He only ever slept in his own bed when he wasn’t feeling well–emotionally, physically, psychically. And when that happened, no matter how gently you protested, he always said the same thing: “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He never had.

But you understood. You always did.

So this morning, when he pulled away after the nightmare, you let him. You watched him leave quietly, silhouetted by the hallway light, and whispered “Okay” to the empty air after him.

And now, you were here, scanning your closet, still thinking about the way his breathing had sounded—too loud in the silence, like someone had pulled him from deep water.

The knock came softly. Just three taps.

“Hey,” Bob’s voice came from the other side of the door–low, rough with sleep. “Y-You decent?” You padded over from the closet, lips quirking at the way he still asked for permission to come inside the room.

”It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked, Bob,” You said, twisting the doorknob, “We’re way past the point of asking if I’m decent.” When you opened the door, his ears were already pink.

He stood there in a loose, heather-gray t-shirt that clung faintly to his chest from where he hadn’t fully towel-dried, and a pair of soft navy joggers that hung low on his hips. His feet were bare, hair still slightly damp at the ends, curling around his ears and brushing his jaw. It had grown a lot since you first met him–past his collar now, lighter at the tips from all the sun lately. He looked sleepy, and a little shy, and like something beautiful that had just barely survived the night.

In his hand, he held a single black hair tie looped loosely around two fingers.

You stepped aside, sweeping a hand toward the room in invitation. “Come on in.”

He entered quietly, the door clicking shut behind him, and his eyes drifted around like he hadn’t really seen your room in daylight before—even though he’d spent more mornings here than anywhere else in the world. It was familiar, yet it still made him nervous in the smallest ways, like your presence still overwhelmed him just a little. Like he couldn’t believe you kept letting him in.

He turned to you, holding up the tie.

“C-Could you…?” He asked, hesitating slightly. “You always…Y-You do it better than I can.”

You smiled—soft, fond. “Of course.”

He didn’t need any more prompting. Bob crossed to the foot of your bed and sat down on the floor, like it was his spot–like he belonged there. You sat behind him on the edge of the mattress and let your fingers ease through his hair–combing it gently, smoothing it back from his temples, parting it the way you knew he liked. It was soft, a little tangled at the ends, still warm from the shower. You moved with care, as if you were touching something breakable.

“You’re gonna need a trim soon, got some split ends.” You murmured, running your thumbs behind his ears.

“I like it long,” He said quietly, voice reverberating through the hush like it didn’t want to disturb the peace. “Y-You like it too.”

“Mmm. I do,” You admitted, smiling as you gathered the top portion into your palm. “Especially when you let me braid it.”

“That was once.”

“And you looked hot.”

He ducked his head with a flustered breath that almost passed for a laugh, “Y-You just say that so you can make m-me blush.” You didn’t answer that—just wrapped the tie once, twice, and secured the knot neatly at the back of his head, a soft half-up twist with the front strands falling just the way he liked.

He reached back, fingertips brushing the base of the tie, testing the tension.

“…Perfect,” he whispered. Then, quieter still: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You paused.

Your hand was still on his hair, your other braced against the mattress. The warmth of his body radiated through the space between you, and when he tilted his head slightly–craning his neck to look up at you–it hit you again, just how much of your heart this man held without even trying.

You leaned forward without a word and kissed his forehead.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t not romantic either.

It just…Was.

Soft. Slow. Steady. Your lips pressed right against the crease above his brow, where his worry lines always gathered, where the night had lingered like a bruise.

He exhaled through his nose, leaning into it like he was trying to memorize the moment. Like it was the only thing keeping him here.

“I’m right here,” You murmured, thumb brushing behind his ear. “Always.”

Bob swallowed, then reached up–fingertips barely grazing your knee. “W-We should get dressed,” He said softly, not quite moving. “Before Alexei starts a s-small kitchen fire trying to make pancakes again.”

You smiled faintly. “Good point. We’ll tag-team the fire extinguisher if we have to.”

He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder. “P-Partner system?”

“You know it.”

——————

After breakfast–which was somehow miraculously fire-free, though only because Bob caught Alexei trying to flip pancakes with a chef’s knife–everyone eventually piled into the SUV like clowns in a circus car. Bucky had claimed the driver’s seat with a resigned kind of authority, while Yelena took the passenger seat, sunglasses already perched high on her head

Alexei and Ava were wedged into the middle row behind them, their usual brand of bickering already in full swing before Bucky had even started the car. Something about what counted as an appropriate booth at a farmers market.

You ended up squished into the very back row–one of the fold-out benches, technically meant for three, but realistically comfortable for maybe one and a half. Bob had climbed in after you without hesitation, knees bumping yours, and Walker–who drew the short straw after loudly insisting he “didn’t have enough leg room and should technically be at the front”–ended up next to you, with his arms folded and his head against the window.

This left you pinned between Bob’s warmth on one side and Walker’s long-limbed discomfort on the other, with nowhere to stretch his legs. You wouldn’t have minded normally–but the heat was already starting to build, and the SUV’s AC unit definitely didn’t sound promising to you.

Bob, as always, had found you without needing to ask. His hand was resting gently on your thigh, fingers curled softly into the hem of your shorts, not possessive, it was just to know you were there. His thumb brushed back and forth in slow, rhythmic strokes just above your knee, and you didn’t say anything about it. You never did.

He was wearing a pale blue t-shirt now, cotton thin and a little too big, sleeves hugging the curve of his biceps, his tied-back hair still damp at the tips where it clung to the back of his neck. He smelled faintly of cedar soap and laundry detergent, and the lingering trace of your shampoo from the bottle he sometimes used without asking.

Walker huffed beside you, shifting his elbow dramatically. “If either of you start making out back here, I’m tucking and rolling out of this moving vehicle.”

Bob blinked, innocent and mild as ever. “W-We weren’t–”

“You will, though,” Walker muttered. “I can already feel the sexual tension radiating off you like a goddamn space heater.”

“Can’t blame them,” Yelena called from the front, twisting around just enough to shoot you a knowing look over her sunglasses. “At least someone’s getting laid.”

“We’re not having sex,” You said flatly, eyes fixed on the fraying seat fabric beneath your thumb. You weren’t lying when you said it. Both you and Bob had your own reservations about the whole act itself, but it didn’t mean neither of you had your moments of wanting to do it then getting scared to ask. Nothing in the compound was a secret so exposing that to the group wasn’t really a big deal…Or so you thought.

The comment earned a beat of silence–just long enough for everyone to register how serious your voice was–before Ava spoke up.

“…That’s worse,” She said, blinking. “You mean all that flirting and massages haven’t gone anywhere?” Bob’s ears turned a shade of red so deep it looked biblical.

You didn’t flinch. “No. Not yet. We do other things,” You said pointedly, still not looking at anyone. “We’re just…Taking our time.”

“‘Other things,’” Yelena repeated, raising both eyebrows. “So you’re edging yourselves now?”

“Okay–nope,” Bucky snapped from the front seat, his grip tightening on the wheel. “We are not doing this. I don’t want to hear the word ‘edging’ in here for the rest of the car ride please.”

“Sorry,” Yelena muttered, not sounding sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to scare Grandpa.”

“You do realize this means the tension is worse than we thought, right?” Ava added, adjusting her sunglasses without looking up from her phone. “You’re not sleeping together yet, but you’re still all over each other like a pair of Victorian lovers with a shared brain cell and a strict no-penetration clause? That sounds like psychological warfare.”

Walker groaned and slumped deeper into the seat. “Honestly, it sounds like a Cold War for sex.”

“P-Please don’t encourage that line of thinking,” Bob murmured weakly, looking like he wanted to disappear into the upholstery.

“Can we talk about this when we’re out of the car so I can make an escape at least?” Bucky muttered, signaling with more force than necessary before changing lanes.

You exhaled, closing your eyes for a moment. The heat of the van. The smell of sunblock and leather and too many bodies. Bob’s thumb–slow, steady–brushing along the inside of your thigh like it was the only thing grounding him. You felt him shift slightly, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned closer. His voice was low, meant only for you.

“Y-You okay?”

You turned toward him slowly, met his gaze. Soft, steady, still a little fogged from the early morning–but so achingly present. Like he never really looked at anything else when you were in the room.

You nodded once. “Yeah,” You said, quiet as the hum of tires on the road. “Just thinking.”

He didn’t ask what about. He just squeezed your leg gently, his palm warm against your skin, and looked out the window like the worst of the day was already behind you.

The SUV kept rolling–toward sun and stalls and small-town charm–and you tried to breathe past the flutter in your chest.

Because you felt that something was off in the air, you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

——————

The farmers market sat at the edge of town like something out of a picture book–sunlight caught in cloth-draped canopies, booths lined with jam jars and hand-poured candles, the air scented with kettle corn, grilled peaches, and the distant trace of burning sage. People moved in lazy loops past flower stalls and chalkboard signs, kids with balloon animals weaved through legs, and a folk band played off to the side under a vine-covered gazebo.

You stepped out of the SUV, blinking against the brightness, the warmth of the pavement radiating up through the soles of your sneakers. Bob was right beside you, stretching once with a soft grunt, hair tied neatly back, putting on a pair of sunglasses that hung low on his nose. You didn’t even have to reach for him–his hand found yours naturally, fingers curling between yours like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The others peeled off in separate directions almost immediately–Alexei making a beeline toward the smell of roasted nuts, Ava dragging Walker to a pottery booth under protest, and Bucky already halfway to the honey stand, which was conveniently located near one of the coffee tents, with Yelena following close behind, with a shout of “I’ll be back if I get bored!”

Bob stayed with you.

You walked side by side, fingers linked, your shoulder brushing his with every step. It was light between you–breezy, easy, with the kind of soft comfort you’d built slowly over time like a house made of quiet affirmations and gentle touches.

At a booth shaded by a white parasol, Bob picked up a toothpick sample of fresh mozzarella and sun-dried tomato, his eyes flicking to you like he was offering you it instead of him, and you shook your head, watching as he immediately popped the little stack into his mouth, slowly biting down on it like he was worried he may not like the taste. His facial expressions were unreadable to you.

“Is it good?” You asked, nudging him with your hip as he chewed.

He nodded, then grabbed a second one for you, a small pleased smile playing on his lips. “M-Maybe too good. W-We might have to come back.”

You grinned, leaning in to bite it off the toothpick, your fingers brushing his. He was right in the fact that it was indeed too good, even for just a little bit of mozzarella and sun-dried tomato. “We definitely have to come back.”

There were fresh apples dipped in honey, a booth with carved soap that smelled like lavender and woodsmoke, a ceramic artist who pressed your hands into clay to make little thumb-heart tokens. Bob pocketed the one with your prints on it without a word.

And then the shift happened, the one that you were expecting from the beginning of the car ride.

It came all at once–subtle, but immediate if you knew what to look for. Bob stopped mid-step beside the stall with the pressed flower jewelry. His hand slipped from yours. His shoulders stiffened like someone had tugged a wire tight inside him. You turned to ask what was wrong–and followed his line of sight, laying eyes on what he was looking at.

The man was tall. Broad-shouldered. His white shirt was tucked into a pair of work-worn jeans, and his arms were tanned from years in the sun. His hair was cut short and neat, parted sharply to the side. And the mustache–thin, severe, like it had been trimmed with a ruler–made your blood go cold.

He was laughing at something the vendor said, shaking a paper bag open. Just a man. Just a stranger.

But to Bob, he was not, and you didn’t have to guess where his mind was going.

You’d seen that face once before–through the dim gray light of a memory that didn’t belong to you, in a space that pulsed like a wound. You’d seen that man through Bob’s eyes.

You’d been caught in one of his shame rooms with him. Not just as a witness–but trapped. Both of you pulled under by the twisting, coiled maze of Bob’s worst fears and guilt. It had taken hours to find a way out–at least it had felt like hours. You’d fought alongside him against illusions that clawed and mocked and whispered. And when you’d finally made it to the attic of his childhood home, where the air didn’t taste like blood and grief, he’d collapsed beside you like his bones had given out.

You remembered the stillness. The way he fixed your hair with shaking fingers. How he apologized–not for dragging you into his trauma, but just…For being like this. For not being able to protect you from what lived in his head.

You’d caught his chin, tilted his face up with a hand soft as a promise.

“Don’t apologize to me, Bob,” you’d whispered. “You’re the one who went through that. And you didn’t deserve a single thing that happened to you… You were just a kid.”

He’d cried. Silently, terribly, eyes shining like shattered glass. You wiped them away with your sleeve and pulled him against your chest, holding him like you could stitch the pieces back together just by keeping him close.

That was when Yelena had found you both, crouched in the attic like kids hiding from a thunderstorm.

Now, standing in the golden light of the farmers market, you saw the exact moment the past cracked through Bob’s present.

His chest rose too fast, too sharp. The edge of a panic attack wasn’t always violent with Bob. It was quiet. Internal. A collapsing spiral. And you could see it now—the way his eyes were locked on the man across the market, not blinking, like if he looked away for even a second the world might split open beneath him.

You stepped closer, slow but firm. “Bob,” you whispered. “Look at me. Just me.”

He didn’t move. His lips parted like he might say something, but no sound came out. His shoulders trembled. You saw the way his hands curled into fists at his sides—tight enough his knuckles were pale, as if his body was bracing for something that hadn’t hit yet.

And then you saw it. The first shudder in his breath.

You reached for him. “Come with me,” You murmured, and gently–without tugging–you touched his wrist. “We’re gonna move, okay? Just here. Just around the corner. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Somehow, he followed. Wooden, barely lifting his feet off the ground, he let you guide him past the flower stall and behind a canvas tent stacked with baskets of late summer peaches. There was a quiet pocket of shade there, near a fold-out chair and an old milk crate someone had turned into a makeshift stand. The noise of the market faded just enough for you to hear the sound of Bob’s breathing–fast. Frantic. Hitching like he was fighting against his own lungs.

He dropped into a crouch the second you stopped, like his body couldn’t take the weight of standing anymore. His hands clawed into his hair, dragging back against the tied strands, and his whole frame bowed in like he was trying to fold in on himself and disappear.

“Bob,” You said, dropping to your knees in front of him, voice steady despite the panic clawing at your own chest. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

His eyes were wide, glassy with unshed tears, chest heaving. “I–I can’t–” His breath caught like he’d swallowed broken glass. “I can’t—get—air—”

“Yes, you can. You can, just follow me, okay? Just follow me.” You reached out and cupped one of his fists–clenched so tight it trembled–and gently started to peel his fingers apart, one by one.

“Easy,” You whispered. “ Give me your hand.” When his palm was open, you pressed it flat against your chest–right over your heart, where it pulsed at a normal pace against touch.

“Feel that? That’s me. That’s real. I’m here. You’re here. We’re not back there.”You took his other hand next, gently, carefully, and placed it flat against his own chest. “Now match me. Just match me, okay?” Bob choked on a breath, sharp and wet, like he was trying to breathe through water. His heart was pounding wild and disoriented–like it was trying to break out of his body.

“I can’t–” He rasped again, and his voice cracked so violently on the last word that tears spilled from the corners of his eyes.

“You can,” You said, firm but soft. “Just one breath. Just one. In through your nose, nice and slow, okay? Just copy me. That’s all you have to do.” You exaggerated your own breath for him–deep, steady, slow. One hand guiding his against your heartbeat, the other pressing gently into his own chest. “Come on, Bob. In.” You watched his shoulders rise shakily.

”Good. Now hold for one, two, three…” You could see tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

“Now let it out.” You instructed. He shook violently as he exhaled, his hands twitching under your palms. You did it again. And again. Coaching him through each one. Repeating it like a litany.

“You’re doing so good Bob…You’re safe, you’re not back there, he’s not here, and he can’t hurt you…You’re not alone…I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

Eventually, his breath started to sync with yours, and his heartbeat began to ease slightly. Some inhales were a bit shaky and hitched, but it was still an improvement. You watched the color slowly return to his face, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders in uneven jerks. His fingers clenched reflexively into the fabric of your shirt, right over your heart, like he didn’t trust it to keep beating if he didn’t hold onto it.

His head dropped. His forehead pressed into your shoulder. And the dam broke.

Silent, shaking sobs wracked his chest—like everything he’d held in since that attic was clawing its way out now. You wrapped your arms around him, cradling the back of his head, letting him bury his face into your collar as his tears soaked into your tank top.

“I’m right here,” You whispered again, rocking him gently. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. But you felt his arms come up–slow, hesitant–and wrap around you, clutching you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the present.

You stayed like that until the worst of it passed.

Until his breathing settled.

Until his hands stopped shaking.

Until the world tilted back into something resembling solid ground.

And when he finally lifted his head, eyes red and puffy, lips parted with the remnants of a thousand unsaid things–you just brushed his hair back from his damp forehead and kissed it once, like you had that morning, before giving him a small kiss on the lips.

Steady. Soft. A reminder that he was here with you and you weren’t going anywhere.

You stayed with him in the silence, until the panic ebbed like a tide pulling back from the shore.

[reiding-writing]

I need more enemy! reader 😖

SILENT TREATMENT. /spencer reid/

after you took two days off sick, spencer is delighted to have someone to pick on again. but your lack of a voice makes it less fun than he was hoping.

enemy!reader 1.1k fluff? series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | so super self indulgent because my vocal chords feel like they are dying right now

The office feels different after just two days away. Maybe it’s the lingering fog of illness still clinging to your brain, or maybe it’s just the fluorescent lighting feeling harsher than usual.

Either way, stepping back into your workspace feels like an uphill battle. You’re exhausted already, and you’ve barely made it past the threshold.

Your desk looks exactly how you left it—papers slightly out of order, a coffee cup you really should’ve washed before leaving, and a small stack of reports waiting to be reviewed.

But the true indication that you’ve been absent isn’t the minor mess; it’s the fact that everything is… still. No disruptions. No missing items. No sudden shifts in your chair’s height or the keyboard being set to a different language.

You exhale, already knowing exactly what that means.

And right on cue—

“Ah, finally. I Thought you might’ve died.”

You close your eyes, inhaling through your nose, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

Spencer.

You turn, eyes locking onto the gangly menace standing by the entrance to your cubicle. He looks positively delighted, like a cat who just spotted a mouse he’s been chasing for days.

“I was going to send a search party,” he continues, leaning against your desk like he owns the place. “Or at the very least, start drafting my in memoriam speech. Something really touching. Probably would’ve opened with, ‘Despite being a constant source of disappointment, she will be missed.’”

Normally, this is where you’d fire back—some sharp remark about his tragic lack of social skills or a well-placed jab about his questionable taste in ties. But today, all you can do is glare.

Because today, speaking is not an option.

You cough into your sleeve, the force of it rattling in your chest, and you barely stifle a grimace at how awful it sounds. When you glance back at Spencer, he’s still watching you expectantly, waiting for a comeback.

Nothing.

His smug expression falters. “Hello? You in there?” He waves a hand in front of your face.

You clear your throat and attempt something—anything—but the moment you try to speak, it’s like dragging barbed wire through your throat. The only thing that escapes is a broken, raspy wheeze.

Spencer’s brow furrows. “Oh my God. Are you dying?”

You scowl, grabbing the closest thing to you—a post-it note—and hastily scribble down:

I CAN’T SPEAK RIGHT NOW, BUT WHEN I CAN, I WILL DESTROY YOU.

For dramatic effect, you add an angry face.

Then you chuck it at his head.

It bounces off his forehead and flutters to the desk. He picks it up, reads it, and tilts his head in consideration.

“Well,” he sighs, “that pulls all the fun out of making fun of you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, if you can’t fight back, it’s not mutual, it’s just bullying, and I—” he gestures vaguely, “—am not a bully.”

You scoff—or at least try to. It comes out as another pathetic wheeze.

Spencer’s eyes narrow as he watches you cough again, and then, to your absolute horror, his entire expression shifts from mischievous to… something else. Something thoughtful. Calculating.

This is not good.

This is never good.

Before you can even attempt to communicate your distrust, he abruptly spins on his heel and walks away.

You stare after him.

That was weird.

Too weird.

And you do not trust it.

—

For the rest of the morning, Spencer is, alarmingly, nowhere to be found. It would be a relief if not for the nagging worry that he’s planning something. Which, let’s be honest, he definitely is.

Your suspicion is confirmed when he returns just before lunch, carrying a steaming mug with the smuggest look on his face.

You immediately sit up straighter, eyeing him warily.

“Good news,” Spencer announces, plopping the mug onto your desk. “I have found a solution to your problem,”

You blink at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the cup.

“Drink,” he orders, arms crossed.

You stare.

He stares back.

You grab another post-it and write, What the hell is this??

Spencer scoffs. “Tea.”

You give him a long, suspicious look before scribbling again: You don’t make tea. You drink the same disgusting coffee every day.

“Yes, well,” he says, rolling his eyes, “I figured if I’m going to be denied my entertainment, the least I can do is fix you faster,”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Spencer sighs like this is exhausting for him, even though you are the one suffering. “It’s a blend of ginger, honey, lemon, and some herbs known for their medicinal properties. Helps with throat inflammation and vocal cord strain,”

You look back down at the cup.

The colour is… deeply unappealing. Murky. Slightly too thick. Suspicious.

You write, You poisoned this.

Spencer groans, dragging a hand down his face. “If I poisoned you, I’d be way more subtle about it,”

You squint.

He sighs, exasperated. “Look, the ginger helps with inflammation, honey coats the throat to reduce irritation, lemon is antibacterial, and the herbs are—”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off, and scrawl: I don’t trust you.

He makes an offended noise. “That’s hurtful.”

You just stare at him.

“…Okay, it’s fair,” he admits. “But come on, do you really want to spend the next however-many days sounding like a cryptid in the woods?”

You consider that.

You consider the tea.

You consider Spencer.

And then, begrudgingly, you pick up the cup.

He watches with far too much interest as you take the tiniest sip.

The moment it hits your tongue, you gag.

Spencer beams.

You drop the cup like it physically hurt you and reach for a new sticky note:

YOU MADE IT BAD ON PURPOSE.

Spencer smirks. “Obviously.”

You glare.

—

You end up drinking half the mug, mostly because Spencer refuses to leave your desk until you do.

And, annoyingly, after about an hour, your throat does feel a little better. Not by much, but enough that when you whisper a single word—“Traitor.”—it actually comes out without sounding like a dying walrus.

Spencer gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “It works! Who would’ve thought? The genius actually knows what helps,”

You just glare at him again.

He leans against your desk, smirking. “So, how does it feel to know that I, your sworn rival, am the reason for your miraculous recovery?”

You pause, then scrawl another note.

I’m plotting my revenge as we speak.

Spencer grins. “Good. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You lean across your desk so you can cough in his face, throwing another post-it note directly at his disgustedly agape mouth.

I hope you contract my illness and die.

[luveline]

If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️

absolutely no pressure! <33

“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.” 

You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?” 

“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?” 

“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.

He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well. 

Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—

“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.” 

“That’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.” 

“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.” 

He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.

“Pete…” 

His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward. 

You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind. 

“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.” 

There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.” 

“I do?” you ask finally. 

“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.” 

You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs. 

“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.

“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back. 

“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair. 

He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.” 

[dollfacefantasy]

hi! i just finished reading your most recent fic, (amazing btw 💕) and keep reflecting on the part where leon calls reader a little disappointing.. so i was wondering if you could write some angst with DI leon where he’s quite mean and degrading and saying how he’s disappointed and stuff with reader, yk! then leon lovingly fucks reader after as a way to say sorry? (daddy kink included) thank you <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon goes a little too hard on you one night during sex. upon realizing how much it hurt you, he knows he has to make it up somehow.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, praise/degradation, age gap (20s, early forties), mentions of spanking & not using safeword

word count: 5.2k

a/n: part 1 <3 took me a while to figure out how i wanted to do this but i hope you guys enjoy.

Something isn't right.

That's all you could think while watching Leon idly stir pasta sauce at the stove. You were perched nearby at the counter, observing him as if he was under experimentation. While to anyone else his actions would appear completely mundane, you knew that this gesture was only the first step in something larger. 

He never cooked you dinner. In the year and six weeks you'd been with him, he'd only ever made you a real meal twice before. Once being six weeks ago on your anniversary, and the other about four months before that, a couple days after you had a fight that nearly blew the wheels off your relationship.

In each case, there was a reason behind it. Whether to celebrate or make amends, neither was an innocuous decision made at random. You weren't even sure that Leon possessed the ability to be spontaneous, but that was a separate issue for another time. The obvious meaning behind his actions was the cause of the splashing of the noodles being poured into the boiling water making your stomach turn. 

Because today wasn't anything special. There wasn't a birthday or an achievement to make an occasion of. That meant it was the other option, the makeup option, and you were extra sure of this because the two of you hadn't exactly been the perfect picture of being in love lately.

"Honey, could you put these on the table for me?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

He looks at you over his shoulder to make sure you see the plates and silverware he's referring to.

"Yeah, sure," you respond.

You hop off the stool you were sitting on and grab the things he wanted you to. This was even worse. He wasn't going to let you eat in peace at the counter like you did when he wasn't here. No, he was going to stare you down across the dining table.

But you still do what he asks. Sighing, you haphazardly put a plate down on both ends of the table with silverware bordering each side to match. You grab glasses next and put them there too. Once everything is in its perfect place, you plop down at your seat, deciding to wait here until he joins you. This chair was out of view from the kitchen which meant you could get a few moments alone to brace yourself.

It's not that anything terrible was going to happen. It was just going to be a conversation. But it would be a relationship conversation, an emotional conversation, something neither of you were good at.

You weren't good at it because you'd never been good at it. Ever since you were a kid, the slightest spotlight put on your feelings had barbs forming in your throat and stinging, salty tears brimming your lash line. Everything had to be coaxed out of you, or you were sure to break down. 

Leon wasn't good at it because his version of a conversation came across more as an interrogation. When talking about feelings, he never wanted to talk about his own. He'd never share what was going on in his own head, he only wanted to know what was going on in yours. You were the one struggling; therefore, you were the one he needed to help. You were the mission to be resolved.

You supposed that was consistent with everything else about the man you loved. He always wanted to be the one in control, the one managing the details of your life. It came from the desire to protect. He showed his love by keeping you safe, keeping you from being like him. He went away for weeks on end following orders. When he came home, he liked to be the one doling them out.

And that was how you liked it too. You weren't some unwilling victim. When he offered to try this stuff out with you, you couldn't have been happier. You liked being told to do this and do it now. You liked the security of his lap, the promise that no matter how bad things got he would be there to wipe away your tears and make it all better.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You were pretty sure you knew what the specific topic of conversation would be tonight. You'd been distant lately. You could already hear his voice ringing through your head telling you that. For the past couple weeks, you hadn't been you. You hadn't been as sweet on him, kissing his cheeks and stroking his hair while you cuddled. Hadn't been hanging off his body or climbing all over him every chance you got. Hadn't been as eager to squeal daddy when he made you cum.

You knew why, and you knew he didn't. That was by design though. You didn't want him to know. This whole situation had spiraled so far out of control, and you just wanted to sweep your mess under the rug and forget about it. You didn't need daddy's help cleaning it up.

It shouldn't even be that big of a deal. Nothing that bad had happened.

The night that had your panties in a bunch happened a few weeks ago. You'd had a shitty day and so had Leon. You were looking to act out, and he was looking to punish.

You gave him some attitude. A few eye rolls and sharp responses when he asked you things. Looking back, you think maybe you should've sensed he was in a bad mood and just dropped it. That's when the other part of you chimes in and wonders why he couldn't do the same for you. Why couldn't he feel out your emotions and realize you needed him? But then you start to feel emotionally stunted, expecting your boyfriend to be a mind reader. 

This internal conversation never gets very far.

That night he hadn't read your mind. He'd taken you over his lap and given you a spanking. It was pretty standard. You'd had over a dozen of those by his hand at this point. The slaps weren't the problem. His palm hit you all the same, bringing the sting you craved. The part that stuck with you and created this wedge was just him. It was how he spoke, the way he looked at you. 

You could still see the eyes you fell in love with looking at you with nothing but disappointment.

You could still hear him growling in your ear when he had you bent in half and fucked you afterwards. He had you face down on the couch, holding your head against the cushion while he jackhammered into you.

"If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask. You know that. But you never fucking do it. You play these games with me. You think I wanna put up with that? You think I come home and wanna hear you bitching at me too?"

You weren't even sure what about it had got you. It was harsh, sure, but it was supposed to be.

"I want you to be a good girl. To behave. I don't want to deal with a bratty little slut."

He'd said stuff like that before. But in that moment it didn't feel like daddy was mad at you, it felt like your boyfriend was. It didn't feel like you were naughty or misbehaving. It felt like you were pathetic.

"You want daddy's attention so bad, next time you say please like you're supposed to. Don't make me go through the chore of disciplining your ass again. I'm over it."

By some miracle you still got to cum. He came inside you like normal. When he pulled out he'd fallen back onto the cushions of the couch to catch his breath. He lied there, fingers wiping the sweat from his brow as if he'd put in a hard day's work. You sat there unsure of what to do with yourself. After he'd come down a little more, he'd pulled you close, kissed all over your face like normal and taken to you to bed. But you'd laid there with your eyes open, trying not to cry as he snored against the back of your neck.

You're snapped out of your memories by the thud of the pot on the dining room table. Leon stood a few feet away from you, oven mitts on both hands as he placed the dish between your seats. He cracks a smile at you when you look up and meet his eyes.

"I made way too much. I hope you're hungry," he teases.

You respond with a weak grin of your own. Sitting up straight in your chair, you blink a few times and rub your face as if that'd be enough to clear away the past and magically fix everything.

Two of his fingers duck below your chin and guide you to look at him again.

"You ok?" he asks. His voice is tender like it is most of the time when he speaks to you.

"Yeah. I'm just tired," you tell him with a more convincing smile. You're not sure if it works, but he seems to accept it for now.

"Alright," he says, leaning down and kissing the corner of your mouth.

He takes his seat across the table, opposite yours. You get the privilege of serving your portion first. You shovel a helping of pasta onto your plate. The red sauce spreads on your plate, and you grab a piece of toast to soak some of it up. Leon repeats your actions and gets some of the food for himself. He had made too much. You'd definitely have leftovers, but that was nothing to complain about. He made dinner before these conversations for a reason. Like anything else, he was a good cook when he wanted to be.

The meal starts off silent as you had expected it to. You both eat instead of trying to talk. Forks hitting plates and bread crunching into two fills the room in the place of words. A sense of calm comes over you, but you know it won't last forever. Eventually, Leon does break the silence with some basic questions. How was your day, wasn't this summer heat killer, did you see he fixed that thing in the garage you'd asked him to. It's fine. Just fine like everything had been for the past couple weeks.

The conversation reaches another lull though, and this is when he goes for the killing strike.

"Baby, I think we need to talk," he sighs.

You raise your eyebrows as if you hadn't been expecting this.

"About what?" you ask after swallowing your mouthful of pasta.

Now he raises his eyebrows. He's not disappointed, but he knows you're playing dumb and doesn't appreciate it. It's affectionate though. It doesn't look like it did a few weeks ago.

"I know something's bothering you," he tries softly.

"I told you I was tired," you shrug and look away.

"It's not just today though. It's been more than a few days," he says.

You sigh and put your fork down. You're conscious of every part of your reaction in an effort to avoid looking pouty or melting into tears.

"I don't know. The past few weeks I just haven't felt great. It's not like a crisis situation or something," you say.

"Then tell me about it, sweetheart," he says, trying to will you to look up at him with his gentle tone, "I want to help, but I don't know what's wrong. Every time I try, you pull away."

"Not on purpose," you add. It's an important defense to you.

"I'm not saying it's on purpose," he says. You can tell he's trying to be as non-confrontational as possible. Maybe he does pick up on your emotions a little bit. "All I'm saying is that I'm worried about you."

And with one little sentence, you feel the spikes starting to poke through. You look down and place your palm on your eyes. You felt ten times more pathetic than you had a few weeks ago. He can see you're getting closer to breaking, so he continues.

"You can talk to me. If you need something or I did something, I just want to make it better," he continues, "I don't like not knowing what's going on in that pretty head. I like it even less seeing you look so sad."

Your lip wobbles. A last resort to hold in the barrage of emotions. "It's nothing," you choke out.

"It's not nothing if it has you this upset," he counters, speaking quietly, "Just talk to me, little love."

That's all it takes, and you can't hold it anymore. Tears leak from your water line and draw limpid streaks down your face. You bite your lip to nip any audible cries in the bud. It doesn't matter though, he still sees the small droplets of water.

"My baby," he coos, "C'mere."

You rise to your feet in an instant and round the table. He pushes his chair back and takes you into his lap. You're cradled by his warmth, safe against his chest as he rubs your back. As much as you loved mentally complaining about his interrogations, maybe this is what you needed. Maybe this worked for you.

"You're ok. I'm right here," he murmurs. 

He kisses your hairline and cups the back of your neck to keep you close. He lets you cry it out before attempting any more questions. Once it seems you've settled though, the spotlight is back on you.

"What's wrong, sunshine?" he whispers.

Try as he might, you still couldn't bring yourself to say the words. It was like two wires in your brain that just did not physically connect. Expressing pain was hard enough, but expressing pain that he caused? This inability killed you, it really did. Thinking about it brings another sob from your lips. You wanted to beat your own ass till she had enough of a spine to just say a few simple words so this could all be over.

You can't do that though, so Leon continues on with his tender questions.

"Can you tell me when you started feeling this way?" he asks with a hint of hesitation.

There that was one you could answer. "Few weeks ago."

He nods, taking any information he could get as crucial.

"Alright... is there something stressing you out?" he asks.

You shake your head. Technically there was something stressing you out, but while you were breaking down, 'stressing out' was code for responsibilities, so the answer is no.

"Problems with your friends?"

Another head shake.

"Family?"

No.

"...Me?"

You almost shake your head again. You could swing just making something up on the spot. But that wouldn't be right to him. He'd done the work of the guessing game and come to the conclusion fair and square. You nod yes.

A whirlpool of emotion forms in his pupils, but it's almost like he knew he was to blame. He nods and sighs. His hand doesn't stop rubbing your back.

"Ok," he breathes, "You gotta give me a hint, honey."

You found words coming a bit easier now that he had led you this far.

"Remember a few weeks ago when you got mad at me?" you rasp and look at him with your watery eyes.

He blinks at you. "We got into a fight a few weeks ago?" he asks. 

There's genuine confusion in his tone. He didn't remember. Or at least this day didn't stick out in his mind. He hadn't been dwelling on it since it happened, hadn't been wondering if it meant something greater in the context of your relationship. You weren't sure if that brought you relief or frustration.

"No. It was like... it was when I had a bad day and I came home and you were watching that stupid cop show. And I kept talking. And you told me to shut up. And I said you were only watching it cause you didn't know how to change the channel," you list off some of the events that led to the infamous incident.

He smiles upon remembering that little joke. He found it funny. Then why did he get so mean?

"Don't tell me you've been mad cause I wouldn't let you watch your show instead," he teases.

"No, it's not that. Remember after when you spanked me? And then we fucked on the couch..." you sniffle.

He pauses to think about your words. The gears turn in his head, the pieces fall into place. The lightbulb goes off in his eyes.

"Oh yeah. I remember that," he says. He remembers, but he doesn't understand. "What about it?"

His thumb swipes a few tears away while waiting for the answer you were still trying to formulate.

"Well... like... I don't know," you start. You felt ridiculous verbalizing it. "You just kinda hurt my feelings."

His brows furrow. He still doesn't get it.

"Hurt your feelings?" he repeats, "I didn't hit you too hard, did I? You know if that ever happens you have the word. You say it, and I stop for you in a heartbeat. You know that."

"It didn't hurt like that... it's just some of the stuff you said," you say. The urge to pull away is starting to come back.

"Sweetheart," he says. His voice is dripping with concern. He didn't remember saying anything bad enough that you'd still be twisted into knots over it multiple weeks later. "You know you can use the word for that kind of thing too. Please tell me you know that."

"I know that," you start, feeling a little ashamed. This was exactly why you didn't want to talk about this.

"If I say something that hurts you this bad, you need to tell me. Right when I say it. You tell me to stop. You let me remind you it's not real," he says, quiet but firm. He holds you tighter, unintentionally squeezing more tears out of you. "I only say things I think will get you off. I don't say them to hurt you."

You hide your face in his neck. You felt so fucking pathetic.

"Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. It's ok. I just... I want you to understand, baby," he murmurs. He rocks you back and forth on his lap a bit before speaking again. "Can you tell me why you didn't use the word?"

Leon prayed with everything he had that it wasn't because you were scared of him. If that was it, you might as well pick up the fork off the table and jam it right into his heart. You don't answer, and it worries him. All he gets from you is the feeling of tears dribbling down his throat.

"Did it not hurt till afterwards? Did you think I wouldn't stop?" he coaxes.

You shake your head. "Cause... because I don't want you to think I can't take it," you weep.

While he's relieved it's not what he feared, he didn't expect this.

"What do you mean? You can't take it?" he repeats.

"I don't want you to think I'm a bratty little girl. I told you that stuff was ok, and I don't wanna tap out and make you feel all guilty and stuff," you cry, the words rushing from your mouth.

He sighs and his eyes close for a second. He did feel like a piece of shit now, but with what you just said, he didn't want you knowing that.

"My sweet girl," he says against your head while rubbing your back, "I would never think that about you. The word is there for you to use it whenever you want. It doesn't matter if it makes me worry I hurt you. That's not a bad thing."

You cry more into his neck, clinging to him as if you're trying to merge into one.

"I just don't wanna disappoint you," you sob.

"Baby, baby, baby," he whispers, holding you tight against his chest and rocking you again, "You never disappoint me. You don't. Not when you act bratty, not when you break a rule. That shit is all a game. It's a game, and if you don't like it, we don't have to play it.

"I know you're sensitive. I know you get emotional. I'm with you knowing that stuff. It doesn't make me think of you as an obligation. I like being daddy, but it doesn't make me think of you like that. If it makes you feel like that, we can stop. You're more important than any of it."

"I do like it," you weep, "I just... I don't want you to think I'm pathetic."

"I don't think that. I never have," he says and kisses your temple, "You're my baby. My pretty girl. My favorite person on this planet."

You sniffle and snake your arms around him tighter.

"Pathetic or disappointment never cross my mind when I look at you. Half the time I don't even have thoughts when I see you. You're so fucking gorgeous you take 'em all away," he whispers.

He nudges your head out of the crook of his neck so he can see you. His lips land on your forehead first. Then your nose. Then each cheek. And finally your lips.

"Look at me," he whispers.

You do what he asks and look up at him. You look into his eyes. These were the eyes you fell in love with.

"You are not a disappointment," he says before a kiss, "You are not pathetic. I love you. I love you when you're being good or when you're being a little shit. I love when you wanna call me daddy, but you'd still be mine if you decided you never wanted to say that word again."

"I still wanna call you daddy," you sniffle and give him a small smile.

He chuckles and returns the expression. "That was a quick decision," he teases, "Doesn't sound like you thought it through."

"I did. I still want my daddy," you say and put your head down on his shoulder.

"Good. Cause I'm right here," he says softly, "Daddy's got you."

The problem wasn't totally resolved in Leon's mind. Never again did he want to cause you weeks worth of stress over something like this. But for now, he was happy to see you smile. He could accept this temporary fix. He nuzzles your neck and places a few soft kisses on your throat.

"I think daddy needs to make it up to his baby for being so mean to her. For making her cry like that," he whispers.

A warm tingle branches out through your spine and curves around your ribs. You scoot closer to him in his lap and shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Don't give me that shrug. You know you like being spoiled. Being the center of attention," he whispers.

"Yeah..." you whisper in his ear.

He grunts as he rises to his feet with you in his arms. Your legs lock around his waist before his feet even start moving. He'd clean up the table later. Right now was about you.

He carries you through the house, tosses you onto the bed. You squeak at your glide through the air. He pulls his shirt off and drops his pants before climbing on top of you. Always efficient your Leon.

The warm lengths of his muscular limbs encompass you against the mattress. He starts by kissing you on the mouth, but his lips soon trail down to your neck. Tongue and teeth brush over the balmy skin of your neck. He nips a few hickeys along the curve of your throat, listening for every little hitch in your breath or stifled moan.

"Always with those pretty little noises..." he mumbles against your skin.

He inhales you before moving away, gets his fix of your scent before his hands push your shirt over your head and toss to the floor with his. His hands rub up and down your side, gently squeezing and massaging while his mouth migrates towards your chest. He lays kisses at the tops of your breasts. He can feel your heart pattering against his lips. It drives him crazy, feeling what he does to you down to that level.

Your legs wrap around his waist and pull his body closer. You couldn't get close enough after the weeks of distance. He groans as his crotch comes flush against yours. It's as if he can feel the heat of your center through the layers of cloth that separate you.

He kisses between your breasts, forcing himself to remove your bra before he thinks about your pants. He nuzzles the two spheres of flesh with all the care he holds in his body. He'd never been good with words, and the last few weeks proved as much. Showing you physically how he feels is easier.

"Haven't been able to kiss my girls properly in too long," he murmurs and glances up at you, cocky smile in his eyes.

"You're stupid," you laugh quietly.

"Hey. That's not a nice word, princess. Not one you should be calling your daddy," he chides before giving one of your nipples a few sucks.

You sigh contently and arch into the wet embrace of his mouth. "Sorry daddy," you smile.

"I'm sure you are."

He gives your tits some more attention, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't antsy to get his fingers wet. They fumble with the button on your shorts before he lifts your legs and practically tears the garment loose. He kisses your ankle and down your calf to your knee where his hands take over and press them up against your torso. He can feel your slick creating a wet patch on the front of his boxers and ruts into it. His cock grows stiffer beneath the fabric as if trying to get to you.

"You ready for me, babydoll? Dripping like a good girl? Gonna be nice and easy for daddy to slide right in," he says while leaning down to be close to you.

You nod eagerly, your nose bumping against his.

"Nothing makes it better than having daddy inside, hm?" he coos.

"Don't need anything else," you say and sling your arms around his neck.

That's all he needs to hear. He pushes his underwear down his legs enough so that his cock is free. You feel it slot between your puffy outer folds and prod at your entrance.

He slips it inside, and you both groan. Your head tilts back, allowing him to kiss at your neck some more. You'd had sex since that fight, but this was the first time you were feeling full. The first time you were feeling like his again.

"Daddy," you whine and grab at him. Just what he'd been missing.

His hips start to rock. The bones in his pelvis press right up against your ass. He fucks you deep and slow at first. Each thrust glides over a myriad of sweet spots. Every time he pulls back, you just want him to push right back in.

"That's it, honey. Tell daddy how much you missed him," he grunts.

You don't say it with words. You tighten up around him, squeezing his dick like if it gets out you'll die. The sensation wrangles a moan out of him, and his face drops into your neck. He digs his forearms into the mattress and uses the leverage to pump himself into you harder.

"My perfect, perfect girl. Don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers.

Your eyes flutter shut. You just listen to the sound of his panting, feel his heart beating for you. Your thighs tremble while pressing into his waist. Your toes curl as his hips strike the right angle to batter right where you need him.

"You could never disappoint me," he mutters. You feel his lips moving against your throat. "I love you, sweet girl. Nothing you do could ever change that."

The words are almost enough to make you get all weepy again, but you'd cried enough for one day. Instead your body latches onto him tighter.

"Harder," you whimper.

"You sure, baby?" he hums.

Your nod comes quickly. "Need to feel it more. Need it harder."

So he gives it to you harder. His eyes clamp shut and shroud his vision in darkness. He focuses on thrusting hard, clapping his skin against yours over and over. He pounds into you while pressing his face harder against you too.

You show your gratitude with a whine. His shaft hits just right, fills you up just the way you'd been aching for.

"Almost there, daddy- Can I-" you stumble over words.

"Yeah, sweetheart. You don't gotta ask tonight. You cum when you're ready," he says.

That's how you know he's really sorry. He keeps fucking into you until he feels your limbs fizzling from the proximity to release. Everything about you gets shaky. Your breaths are ragged and labored, your hands vibrate while trying to clutch at him.

"Fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.

The spark goes off inside you, and you cum hard. Your body goes taut and rolls through the waves of euphoria. He can't resist your walls pulsating around him. It's only a handful of seconds before his tummy is fluttering and his seed is spilling from him into your cunt.

"Inside, daddy," you whine as if he needed the direction.

"That's what I'm doing, baby," he grunts through clenched teeth.

He drools against your neck while his hips twitch and the last few drops leak from him. The saliva gets smeared in the messy kisses he leaves on you while pulling out. He rolls over but scoops you up with him, cradling you against his chest in a position that isn't necessarily comfortable but you love anyway.

A series of over the top kisses land on your face. You scrunch your nose and shake your head.

"Quit it. I already forgave you," you giggle, "You don't gotta slobber on me."

"Tsk tsk. Ungrateful," he tuts affectionately, "You know if I didn't give you these, you'd be begging for 'em."

"Mmm... maybe," you acquiesce with a little smile.

"Sure, sure. Maybe. Silly girl," he mumbles and nuzzles your cheek.

The playful touches continues for a moment before he calms down and softens up. You look towards his eyes, and his fingers sweep down your cheek.

"You're ok now?" he asks.

You nod. "We're ok now."

To give him the final shred of reassurance that you could, you stick out your pinky. He rolls his eyes, but sticks his out to and hooks it with yours. He knew you were back to yourself since your inability to be serious had made a reappearance. He smacks a kiss on your lips to seal the deal. He can feel you smiling into it.

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (07)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 8.1k

Aliyah's Notes: the way i wanted this chapter to be around 5k... but anyw, the ending to that chapter is pretty good so y'all can rest in peace lmaoo but problems are coming hehehehehe

The sound of her heels clicking on the pavement cut through the evening air, each step echoing louder than the last. You barely registered the chill of the evening as her figure came into view—Chiara Romano, arms folded over her chest, her expression a delicate balance of innocence and something unmistakably venomous. A small, mocking smile played at the corners of her lips, her gaze roaming over you with the kind of appraisal that felt like a slap.

Beside you, Rafe tensed, his gaze hardening as he straightened, clearly prepared for whatever barbs she had in store. You forced yourself to stand taller, meeting her gaze with a coolness you could barely muster.

“Chiara,” you said, injecting a polite edge into your voice that you knew was as fake as her smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, I just felt like things ended a bit... strange at the party,” she replied, her tone sugary sweet yet laced with something bitter. “Especially after seeing the headlines about you.” She let out a small sigh, as though feigning concern. “I couldn’t help but worry.”

A sharp laugh almost slipped from your lips. The headlines. She was talking about the recent media talking about your “potential” relapse… which were true. News of your recent struggles had been going viral, and she was here to dangle them in front of you. The reality of your relapse was raw, but admitting it—especially to Chiara—was out of the question.

“Did you, now?” You kept your voice light, your smile tight as you watched her closely.

“Of course,” she nodded, her eyes darting pointedly between you and Rafe, her expression softening with feigned empathy. “Us girls have to look out for each other,” she added, a hint of mock sincerity weaving through her words. “I just hope Rafe’s taking excellent care of you. I mean, if he’s able to.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes or worse—to let your anger slip through. Instead, you returned her smile with a casual shrug. “He is, thank you,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral. “And I’m doing just fine. I haven’t relapsed—.”

“You sure?” she pressed, her voice a touch too innocent. “You look... thinner than I remember.”

You felt a twisted sort of satisfaction creeping in, an internal smile that you kept hidden. It was strange—almost absurd—but her attempt to make you feel small, to jab at your insecurities, did the opposite. She said it to be cruel; she thought her words would cut you deeply. But instead, they landed somewhere softer, failing to sting the way she intended.

Rafe’s voice cut through the tension, his tone sharp and commanding, filled with an authority that even you hadn’t heard from him before. “Alright, that’s enough,” he warned, his words laced with a chill that could silence a room. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll be the one making headlines.”

Chiara’s gaze flicked to Rafe, her lips curling into a sly smile, undeterred by his warning. “Oh, Rafe, always so protective,” she cooed, her tone dripping with mock innocence. “I thought we were past all that. After all, we did come here together.”

You blinked, the words sinking in like a stone dropping into still water, each ripple spreading through you. “You… came here with him?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, though your heart was pounding.

Chiara’s smile widened, a hint of triumph in her expression. “Of course. We just thought it’d be convenient, didn’t we, Rafe?”

Your eyes shifted to him, searching his face for any denial, some sign that this was just another one of her games. But Rafe stayed silent, his expression tinged with guilt, lips pressed together as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

He had, in fact, come with her.

The air thick, with Chiara’s truth and Rafe’s guilty silence. Every moment he said nothing, the disappointment pooled deeper in your chest, twisting painfully.

You crossed your arms, your gaze hardening as you looked at him. “Convenient?” The word slipped from your mouth, laced with bitter disbelief. “Convenient for who, exactly?”

Rafe opened his mouth, struggling to find the right words, but nothing came out. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he might deny it, try to explain. But his shoulders sagged slightly, defeated, as he glanced away.

Chiara’s voice broke the silence, her tone feigning sympathy. “Oh, don’t be upset. It’s not like you’re the only woman in his life, right?” She leaned back with a satisfied smile, clearly relishing the wedge she’d managed to drive between you.

“Alright, you know what?” you said, forcing a calm into your voice that belied the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t really care what arrangement you two have. But what I’d like to know, Chiara, is why you’re actually here. What do you want?”

Chiara’s smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before she recovered, her expression shifting to a mischievous glint. “I’m here to support my father’s event, naturally,” she replied smoothly. “But I couldn’t resist the chance to catch up with Rafe and see how… everything’s going with you two.”

You felt the anger begin to surge again, but you reined it in, straightening and lifting your chin. “Then let’s hope tonight’s as memorable as you’re expecting.” You threw a final look at Rafe, disappointment flickering in your gaze.

With that, you walked toward the car and sat in the passenger seat, forcing yourself to ignore the ache in your chest as you disappeared into the throng of people.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Rafe and Chiara exchange a few heated words. His jaw clenched as he spoke, his eyes narrowed in a way that told you he was holding back the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Chiara, on the other hand, looked anything but apologetic, her expression smug as she responded with an air of indifference. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but every movement, every flash of irritation in Rafe’s eyes only deepened the tight knot of frustration in your chest.

Before long, they finally turned, heading toward the car, and you forced yourself to look away and just focus on the city lights ahead of you. The silence that filled the car was thick, unbearably tense. The engine hummed beneath you, but the weight of everything unsaid made each passing second feel longer. You kept your eyes on the window, refusing to break the silence, even as your exhaustion began to creep in, your eyelids growing heavy.

Just as you started to drift, you felt him lean forward, his breath warm against your ear as he broke the silence, his voice low and soft. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the apology laced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

You exhaled sharply, holding back the initial pang of anger. “You’re sorry?” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you finally turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. “For what, exactly? For keeping me in the dark? For thinking I wouldn’t notice you driving here with her?”

Rafe’s expression softened, his guilt evident as he held your gaze, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t like that. She… she just showed up. I didn’t think—”

You scoffed, cutting him off. “That’s the problem. You didn’t think. Or maybe you did, and just didn’t care to clue me in.” As his apology hung in the air, you couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, refusing to look at him. “So what, Cameron? You thought I’d just sit there and take it?”

He shifted closer, his voice strained. “I told you, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t invite her. She just… she knew I was coming here, and it felt easier to—”

“Easier?” You turned in your seat to face him, disbelief and frustration clear in your eyes. “Easier for who, exactly? Because it sure as hell wasn’t easier for me.”

Rafe’s gaze dropped, his fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. “Look, I know how it looks, but… she was already in the car before I could even think about it. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

You narrowed your eyes, unimpressed. “So, you thought the best plan was to just go along with her? To let her be seen with you, knowing exactly how that would make me look?”

“Y/N, I know I messed up, okay?” He leaned closer, the regret in his eyes almost palpable. “I was just trying to keep things calm. I didn’t want it to turn into something it didn’t have to be.”

“Oh, so you didn’t want to ‘make a scene’ with her, but now you’re perfectly fine with making me feel like an idiot?” you shot back, folding your arms. “How considerate of you.”

Rafe let out a sigh, rubbing his temples. “Can’t you just trust that I was doing what I thought was right?”

You rolled your eyes, the bitterness evident in your tone. “I don’t trust you.” You turned away, staring at the passing lights outside. "And you’re only apologizing now because you got caught."

He was silent for a moment, the weight of your words settling in. “I don’t want to keep doing this, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to feel like this… like I don’t care.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Then stop giving me reasons to feel this way.”

You leaned against the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the passing city lights. During the car ride, Chiara, for once, seemed to get the hint and kept her mouth shut, though every so often you caught her glancing at Rafe through the rearview mirror. Rafe, on the other hand, drove with a steady determination, occasionally glancing at you as though he was waiting for you to say something—anything—that might break the unbearable quiet. But you refused to give him that satisfaction, and instead, kept your focus outward, on anything but the two people in the car with you.

As the car rolled to a stop in front of the charity venue, Chiara was quick to jump out, immediately making a beeline for her father, who was waiting near the entrance. The flash of photographers’ cameras lit up the scene, and she threw a gleeful smile their way, basking in the attention as she reached her father’s side.

You took a steady breath and turned to Rafe, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry every ounce of frustration you’d been holding onto. He was watching you, his expression caught somewhere between apology and uncertainty.

“Alright, Cameron,” you began, forcing a professional tone. “Let’s get this over with. We need a story to tell about how we met, so listen to me; we met through a mutual friend at some rooftop party in the city. You were immediately smitten.”

“Smitten?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow. His mouth curved into a playful grin. “Strong word there. Don’t know if I’ve ever been ‘smitten.’”

“Well, you have now,” you said without missing a beat. “We sat at the same table, and you told me some fake, but charming story about how you don’t like crowds and would rather be anywhere else.”

“So, I’m just a liar?” he said with a grin.

“Yes, apparently,” you said, your voice flat as you rolled your eyes.

“That’s deserved, alright,” he shrugged, and leaned closer. “But, let’s make this fun. How about we tweak the story a bit? Let’s say you chased me down after that rooftop party, practically begging for my number.”

“You must be high,” you scoffed, looking at him like he’d just suggested the earth was flat. “No one would believe I’d chase after you. Besides, I’d rather walk across hot coals than let people think I was desperate for you.”

Rafe gave a lighthearted shrug, clearly entertained by your reaction. “Alright, but if anyone asks, I’ll just say I was the reluctant charmer who had to be convinced.”

You couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh that slipped out. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘charm’ like ghosting someone for two weeks.”

He winced but quickly recovered, that easy smirk slipping back into place. “Ouch. Alright, I deserved that one too. But admit it, you’d be impressed if I played hard-to-get. It’d add some mystery to our ‘relationship.’”

You deadpanned, “It’d add some credibility if you remembered the actual story. Try to keep up with the backstory, Cameron. We’re supposed to be in love, remember?”

Rafe placed a hand on his heart, feigning a wounded expression. “So cruel. Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you’re just brushing me off like I’m nothing.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “How does that feel, huh? To be brushed off?”

His smile dropped immediately. “I’ll stick to the script. Mutual friends, a little bit of rooftop magic, and me falling head over heels. Got it.”

“Good. And try to remember: we’ve been dating long enough that you’d know basic things, like my favorite color and the fact that I don’t like seafood.”

“Got it,” he said with a nod, giving you a mock salute. Then, with a sly grin, he added, “Anything else I should know? Like, if you’ve got a celebrity crush, maybe?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to smile despite yourself. “This is a charity event, Cameron, not a middle school dance. Stick to the basics, and we’ll be fine.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, boss. Just wanted to know if I’ve got any competition out there.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Trust me, you’d know if there was competition.”

The banter fell into a comfortable silence, the tension lifting slightly as you both prepared for the performance ahead. But as you glanced out the window, watching Chiara drape herself over her father’s arm like she owned the place, the humor faded, and a steely resolve settled over you.

Rafe must have noticed, because he leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. “Hey, I know tonight’s going to be… less than ideal,” he said, his tone softening. “But we’ve got this. Just follow my lead if things get tricky, alright?”

You looked at him, skepticism still lingering, but his sincerity caught you off guard. “Let’s just keep this professional,” you replied, but your tone was gentler, almost reluctant.

“Deal,” he said, giving you a small, genuine smile. “Let’s make ‘em believe it.”

With that, he opened his door and walked around to your side, offering you his hand as you stepped out. You hesitated, then took it, maintaining a cool composure as camera flashes went off around you. The crowd erupted in a flurry of clicks and flashes, and you could already hear the low hum of voices speculating about the two of you.

Rafe leaned down slightly, his hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you forward. “Smile like you’re the happiest you’ve ever been,” he whispered, his tone playful but warm. “And maybe… just pretend you don’t want to strangle me for a few minutes.”

You tilted your head, flashing him a fake, overly-sweet smile. “Oh, trust me, that’ll be the hardest part.”

He chuckled, giving the reporters a charming wave as he leaned in, whispering back, “Keep smiling like that, and people might actually believe you like me.”

You leaned in closer, maintaining the smile for the cameras. “Don’t get too comfortable. This is just for show.”

“Right,” he whispered, a teasing glint in his eye. “But if we happen to have a little fun, is that so bad?”

Before you could answer, Chiara’s voice rang out over the crowd, all fake sweetness as she greeted her father, loudly proclaiming her excitement for the event. You caught Rafe’s eye, sharing a look of silent exasperation.

“Stick to the story. Don’t slip up.”

“Got it, boss,” he whispered back, his tone lighthearted as he gave you a quick wink. “Let’s go give them a show.”

You sipped your champagne, feigning interest in the event as your gaze flickered over the crowd, hoping to find something—anything—to break up the monotony. Conversations about Rafe’s latest matches, your recent shoot for Vogue, and even the upcoming Chanel campaign rolled through the evening like clockwork, the same pleasantries exchanged over and over. Rafe played his part perfectly, always flashing that magnetic smile, leaning in as if every word you said was his world. You kept a poised expression, smiling when necessary, but each compliment and question blended into the next, leaving you restless.

Just as you managed to suppress a yawn, a commanding voice sounded from behind. “Y/N Y/L/N, the woman of the hour.” You turned, and there stood Charles Kensington, a CEO of one of the event’s largest sponsors, known as much for his relentless pursuit of younger models as for his cutthroat business strategies. He extended a hand with a smirk that was more predatory than friendly, his gaze sweeping over you with an appreciation that lingered far too long. “I’m Charles Kesington. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” you replied politely, giving him a polite smile as you shook his hand. “And congratulations on your company’s recent acquisition. Impressive move.”

Charles smiled, clearly pleased. “Ah, you’ve been keeping up, I see. You’re as sharp as they say.” His gaze lingered, a touch too intense, and his hand remained over yours a second longer than necessary. “And I must say, even more beautiful in person. Your upcoming campaign with Chanel is already causing quite a buzz.”

Rafe’s arm tightened around your waist as he turned to face Charles, his smile polite but lacking warmth. “Nice to see you, Charles.”

Charles nodded at Rafe, though his attention stayed firmly on you. “I’ve seen your work everywhere recently,” he said, his voice dropping into an intimate tone. “Chanel made a wise choice—although I’d argue that any brand would be lucky to have you representing them.”

“Thank you,” you replied coolly, catching the faint annoyance in Rafe’s jaw as it clenched. But Charles either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Kensington,” you replied, ignoring the way his eyes drifted over you. “And thank you. I’m honored to be working with such a renowned brand.”

“Oh, please,” he said, dismissing the formality with a wave of his hand. “Call me Charles. You know, I’d love to see you star in one of our campaigns someday. I’d love to discuss a potential collaboration over dinner,” he added, his voice lowering just enough to feel like a private invitation, despite Rafe’s presence.

You forced a polite laugh, though you felt Rafe’s grip tighten again. “Thank you, Charles. That’s very generous but—”

Rafe cleared his throat, the sound deliberate. “Actually, Y/N’s schedule is pretty packed for the next few months,” he said, his tone friendly but laced with an unmistakable edge. “With the Chanel campaign, her other upcoming works, and our time together, I’m not sure there’s room for much else.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe with an amused smile, as if he’d only just noticed him standing there. “Ah, Mr. Cameron. Quite a lucky man, aren’t you?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he managed a tight smile. “I’d say so.”

Charles leaned a bit closer, his attention fixed back on you. “Well, if you ever find a free moment, I’d be more than happy to take you on a tour of our headquarters. You know, just to chat about future opportunities.”

The thinly veiled invitation hung in the air, and you felt a slight discomfort, but you kept your smile in place. “Thank you for the offer, Charles. But as my boyfriend mentioned, I’m quite busy these days.”

Charles’ gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile widening slightly, clearly enjoying the tension he’d stirred up. “Of course. I understand entirely,” he replied smoothly, offering you a final lingering look before excusing himself.

The moment he was out of earshot, Rafe turned to you, his expression thunderous. “What the hell was that?”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “What was what?”

“That guy was practically undressing you with his eyes,” he muttered, his tone low and irritated. “And you didn’t seem too bothered by it.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Maybe because I don’t see the point in making a scene over a harmless conversation.”

Rafe scoffed, his hand still firmly around your waist. “Harmless? That guy was two seconds away from asking for your number.”

You rolled your eyes, barely managing to hide your smirk. “Jealous, Cameron?”

Rafe’s gaze hardened, and he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you think I’m just going to stand there while some old fucker tries to flirt with you, you’re wrong.”

The intensity in his voice sent a flicker of satisfaction through you, though you kept your expression neutral. “Relax, Mike Tyson. It was just a conversation. It’s not like he’s the first man to ever show interest in me.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing, “he should know you’re off-limits.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, amused by his possessiveness. “Is that right? I don’t recall signing any contract that says I’m ‘off-limits.’”

His grip tightened, his face a mixture of frustration and something else—something deeper, something he was clearly trying to suppress. “You’re my girlfriend and about to become my wife, consider it an unspoken rule, then.”

You felt a thrill at his words, but you kept your tone casual. “If that’s the case, maybe you should make it more convincing.”

He leaned closer, his hand brushed against your cheek, fingers lingering just enough to send a spark through you. “Convincing?”

His eyes never left yours, flickering briefly to your lips, and you could feel the heat building between you, a tension that seemed to stretch out endlessly. The hum of the event around you began to fade, and suddenly, it was as if there was no one else in the room—just the two of you, drawn together by something that felt far more complicated than a simple arrangement.

His breath, warm and steady against your skin, made your pulse quicken. You found yourself instinctively closing your eyes as his face came even closer, the space between you narrowing with every passing second. The moment was electric, charged with an undeniable pull that you could no longer ignore.

For the briefest moment, you forgot all the reasons you’d been upset with him in the first place. His proximity, the way he looked at you, the way his lips seemed so close—it was almost impossible to think about anything else. You ached to feel him again, to taste his lips, to feel the weight of his body against yours. All that mattered was the way your skin burned for him, how every nerve in you seemed to come alive at the thought of him touching you again. You wanted him. 

Desperately.

But just before his lips touched yours, a familiar voice cut through the quiet intensity.

"Y/N! There you are!” Aisha’s voice was bright and unapologetic, carrying her trademark liveliness that filled any room. Startled, you and Rafe pulled apart just in time to see her approach, her arms outstretched and a radiant smile on her face.

You could only laugh as she practically tackled you with a hug, pulling you in tightly. Standing just a few inches taller than you, her warm brown skin glowed against the dark emerald of her satin dress, a color that complemented her deeply curly hair that cascaded freely around her shoulders. Her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes sparkled with joy, her makeup accentuating her features with a natural, dewy look and a bold cat-eye makeup.

"Oh my God!" you managed through your laughter. "I had no idea you’d arrived already."

She finally released you from the hug but kept her hands on your shoulders, looking you over with a proud, glowing smile. “As if I’d miss this! You look absolutely breathtaking, girl—that dress was made for you. No one else could do it justice.”

You spun around, letting the fabric fan out as you struck a playful pose. “You really like it?”

“Like it? I am in-freaking-love, are you serious?” she squealed, and the two of you burst into laughter, clapping your hands together with giddy excitement. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, sighing dramatically. “I’ve missed you way more—can you believe it’s only been a year and I’m already involved with a white man? Truly, how crazy is that?”

Aisha’s gaze snapped to Rafe, who stood a little behind you, clearly surprised to be noticed so suddenly. You stifled a laugh as he shifted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Aisha's eyes narrowed slightly as she took him in, her gaze appraising and unblinking, as if she was assessing him for every possible flaw.

“Rafe Cameron, meet Aisha Patel—my best friend,” you said, tugging Aisha closer. “Aisha, this is Rafe, my... boyfriend.”

She didn’t say a word, just let her eyes scan him from head to toe with a critical intensity. You recognized this familiar expression—it was her way of warning anyone interested in you that hurting you would come with consequences. She always put your partners through this silent scrutiny, hoping to rattle them and make it clear they had to earn her approval.

Rafe, though clearly aware of her intent, extended his hand, maintaining an uneasy but polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Aisha.”

For a split second, she didn’t budge, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make him shift uncomfortably. You quickly grabbed her hand, easing it into his before she could escalate the standoff. “She’s usually much friendlier, I swe—”

“My dad has a gun,” she said quietly, her tone so flat it made the tension in the air sharpen. “And he taught me how to use it.”

You laughed a little, trying to ease the weight of her words. “She’s just kidding… right?”

But she didn’t break. Her gaze stayed fixed on Rafe, unwavering. “Only one way to find out, Rafe Cameron,” she replied coldly.

Rafe’s eyes flickered, and after a long moment, he dropped his gaze with a tight nod. “Guess I know where Y/N got her threatening techniques from,” he said with a small grin, the usual smugness back in his voice.

His expression, so casual and light, cut deeper than you expected. It felt like he knew exactly what he was doing, toying with a conversation he’d read from a distance and kept deliberately unanswered. He’d seen your texts, read every one of them, and left them cold and untouched. You felt the hurt creeping up in a way that left you exposed, vulnerable in a way you swore you wouldn’t be around him.

You pulled in a slow breath, forcing your face back to neutral, hoping Aisha wouldn’t notice the flicker of pain in your eyes. She turned to say something to Rafe, and you straightened, pulling your walls up as fast as you could, sealing the hurt beneath a calm you’d mastered. Just one more second, and no one would ever know.

Aisha leaned forward, curious but amused. “So… how’d you two meet?”

You shot Rafe a quick look, and he gave a subtle nod, leaving you to tell the story. “We met a few months back at this party,” you started.

“Rooftop party,” Rafe corrected, unable to resist chiming in.

“Right, a rooftop party,” you agreed, giving him a playful look. “And the second he laid eyes on me, he was enchanted—absolutely down bad,” you teased, letting a smirk cross your face.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, giving a mock-serious nod. “Completely leveled me. Could barely walk straight after that.”

“Completely down bad,” you agreed, tilting your head with a smile. “Apparently, my beauty was just too blinding. He had no choice but to come talk to me, and once he did? Well, he realized I was so much more than a pretty face. He was hooked on how charming, funny, and—”

“And how sassy she was,” Rafe finished, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary.

Aisha looked between the two of you, raising an eyebrow. “Sassy with you? Really?”

Rafe laughed, running a hand through his hair. “That mouth of hers—I swear, there’s not a single day where she’s not giving me that attitude,” he added with a soft smile in your direction.

“Interesting… Very interesting.” Aisha looked between you two with a grin, shaking her head. “And, what happened after that?”

Rafe leaned back, crossing his arms as he tried to act casual. "Well, after that, I pretty much chased her down just to get a date," he said with a smirk. "The rest is history."

You rolled your eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, he’s underselling it. He spent weeks trying to get my number, asking me out every day on Instagram, but I wasn’t having it. I kept hearing all these things about him…"

"Like what?" Aisha leaned in, eyes widening in anticipation.

"That he was a total player," you said, pausing for effect, earning a gasp from Aisha that you matched with a knowing nod. Meanwhile, Rafe just chuckled, shaking his head at your theatrics. "I know, girl!" you went on, shooting Rafe a playful look. "But he finally convinced me to go on a date… and he actually wasn’t so bad. So I gave him another shot, and, well…" You shrugged, glancing over at him with a smile. "Here we are."

Aisha took it all in, folding her arms and tapping her fingers thoughtfully.

“Wow,” she said, eyeing him with newfound curiosity. “I didn’t peg you for the persistent type, Rafe. Especially not with someone like my girl.”

Rafe shot her a confident smile, though there was a quiet warmth in his expression that didn’t quite match the usual cocky bravado. “Yeah, she’s special. Knew it from the moment I saw her.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that rushed through you at his words, a sudden rush of affection you hadn’t expected, especially not in front of Aisha. There was something in the way he looked at you that made the air feel thicker, charged with something unspoken. It sent an unexpected flutter through your chest, a reminder that underneath all the tension, the public facade, and the expectations, there was still something raw between you—something that felt real in a way you hadn’t quite anticipated. 

“Smooth talker, huh?” you teased, nudging Rafe lightly with your elbow. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”

Aisha’s sharp eyes flicked between you both, her protective instincts clearly on high alert. “Yeah, I’m picking up on that. But just so you know, Rafe, I’ve got my eye on you. You hurt her, and you won’t just be dealing with me, you’ll be dealing with my dad, too.”

Rafe’s lips curved into a smile, but there was something more guarded behind his eyes now, as though he recognized the weight of her words. “I get it,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Aisha seemed to size him up for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch just enough to make the air thick with tension. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she gave a slow nod, her stance softening just a little. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” she said, her tone easing. “But I’m still watching.”

You felt a strange sense of pride at that. Aisha had always been fiercely protective of you, and while it sometimes grated on your nerves, you knew deep down it was just because she cared. No one had ever had your back the way she did. You weren’t sure if Rafe fully understood that yet, but from the way he glanced at her—slightly uncertain, but respectful—you could tell he was beginning to get the message.

“Enough of the heavy shit,” Aisha said, breaking the tension with a clap of her hands and a sudden bright smile. “This is supposed to be fun, right? I’m here to celebrate, and I’m done with the interrogation. So, let’s have some fucking fun!”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine as you clinked your glass with hers. The champagne sparkled in your hand, and for the first time that evening, you felt a sense of relief. The weight of the conversation had shifted from uncomfortable to just... amusing. Aisha was nothing if not relentless in her approach, but you appreciated the way she could lighten any situation, especially when it felt like the pressure of your fake engagement was hanging over your head like a storm cloud.

“To my best friend and her very determined boyfriend,” Aisha toasted, her grin widening. “May you both drive each other crazy for a long, long time!”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Aish’. Really. A long, long time,” you echoed, sipping from your glass as she gave you a knowing look.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere began to shift. The crowd mingled, voices rose and fell in an endless tide of conversation, and the hum of background music seemed to fade into the distance. It felt like the world was in motion, but you and Rafe were standing still, caught in some kind of unspoken orbit that neither of you could quite navigate. 

People came and went, exchanging pleasantries, business deals, and compliments, but you and Rafe couldn’t seem to look away from each other. Even when he was speaking with someone else or laughing at a joke Aisha made, you felt his presence, heavy and undeniable.

You’d told yourself that tonight was about putting on a show for the cameras, about playing the part of the perfect couple, and you had every intention of sticking to the script. But as the night wore on, you realized how hard it was to keep pretending when Rafe’s touch lingered just a little longer than necessary, when his eyes followed you across the room with that possessive intensity you couldn’t quite ignore. There were moments when you caught him looking at you like no one else mattered, and for a brief second, the walls you’d so carefully constructed between the two of you threatened to crumble.

It wasn’t just the way he touched you when no one was looking, or the way he’d half-smiled at you in the middle of a crowd, as if sharing some private joke. It was the small things—the subtle ways he’d let you know he cared, even when he was keeping his distance. How his arm would brush against yours when you stood next to each other, how he’d glance at you in the middle of a conversation, as if checking to make sure you were still there, still paying attention. How he’d subtly reposition his hand on your waist, or how his thumb would brush against your back when you’d lean in close to hear something better.

And then, there were the moments when it seemed like neither of you knew how to deal with the chemistry that crackled between you. You’d both been avoiding it for so long, keeping your emotions buried under layers of professionalism and convenience, but tonight, it was becoming harder to ignore. The closer you got, the more the lines between what was real and what was fabricated began to blur.

A sudden vibration in your pocket startled you, pulling you out of your reverie. You slid your phone out, heart still racing from the interaction with Rafe, and your eyes immediately landed on the name that made your stomach drop: Mom.

Your heart skipped a beat as you unlocked the screen, only to see a simple message that made your blood run cold:

“Y/N, we’ve heard the news. This is a disgrace. This is not how we raised you. You’re nothing but a joke.”

You blinked at the message, trying to process it. News? What news? You hadn’t even talked to them in years. 

Before you could think further, the sickening feeling in your stomach intensified. Without even realizing it, you clicked over to the news app, and the headline that greeted you nearly stopped your heart:

“Rafe Cameron Engaged to Model Y/N Y/L/N: A Surprise Announcement”

Your pulse spiked, your fingers trembling as you scrolled down. The article was filled with blurry images from earlier in the evening, showing you and Rafe sharing moments too intimate for the cameras, your faces filled with a mix of affection and tension. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t supposed to be this fast.

How could this have leaked?

Your chest tightened as a suffocating wave of panic hit you. You could feel your breath quicken, the world around you suddenly feeling too small, too fast, and you couldn’t catch your breath. You looked around the room, your vision blurring as the walls seemed to close in. The voices around you grew muffled, the lights too bright, too harsh.

“Y/N?”

Rafe’s voice pulled you back to reality, but it was distant, like it came from a far-off place. You tried to focus on him, on his familiar blue eyes, but everything felt off, like you couldn’t quite make sense of what was happening.

The phone dropped from your hand, and before you knew it, your vision went dark. Your breath hitched in your chest as your body trembled with the onset of a panic attack. It felt like everything was spiraling out of control, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

And then, in the midst of it all, you felt it—something slipping from your bag pocket, a small metallic sound against the floor. But you couldn’t focus on it. Not now. Not with everything else overwhelming you. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the noise around you as you tried to steady yourself, hands trembling at your sides.

You heard the faint clink again, but you were too far gone, too panicked, to care.

Rafe’s arms were around you before you even realized he was there, his voice low and urgent. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” His hand was on your back, guiding you gently but firmly as he led you outside, away from the noise and chaos of the event.

“I—I—” Your words faltered, and you gasped for air, trying to calm your breathing, but it was like your lungs had stopped working.

“Shh, just breathe, baby, okay?” Rafe’s voice was steady, guiding you through it like he’d done this before. His hand was pressing into your back in rhythmic motions, trying to ground you. “You’re okay, I promise.”

You leaned against him, trying to steady your frantic breathing, but it was hard. Everything felt so chaotic, too fast. The news. The message from your parents. Rafe. Your relapse. The engagement. The shame. The eyes on you.

“I… I got a message from my parents,” you managed to gasp between breaths. “They already know... the news... I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready for any of this, Rafe.”

His face softened, but there was confusion in his eyes. He looked like he didn’t fully understand, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he just nodded and gave you a reassuring squeeze, his arms enveloping you in warmth. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll figure this out. I’ve got you, okay?”

You buried your face in his chest, as if you’ve been doing forever, the tears finally coming, and you didn’t even try to hold them back. Your body shook as the sobs wracked through you. Everything felt like it was falling apart, all the control you’d tried so hard to maintain slipping through your fingers. The fake engagement, the pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations, the constant balancing act—it was too much.

“Shhh,” Rafe murmured again, his voice a steady, comforting presence against the storm inside you. “You’re okay, baby. We’re gonna get through this.”

Still shaking, you pulled away slightly, wiping your face with the back of your hand as you tried to steady yourself. Rafe didn’t push you away. He just stayed close, his hands hovering near you, ready to catch you if you needed him.

“I can’t… I can’t do this. Not like this,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you spoke. “Everything’s happening too fast. I didn’t expect it to go like this, Rafe. I didn’t plan for my parents to know about this. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

He seemed to register the panic in your voice, though he still didn’t fully understand why it was affecting you like this. Still, he didn’t question you further. He just nodded again, that protective instinct rising in him. “Alright, we’ll get you home, okay?”

You nodded quietly as he draped his jacket over your shoulders, the fabric warm against your skin. If you weren’t so caught up in your emotions, you might have found the gesture cute. “Yes, please…” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just relax, okay? I’m right here.”

Before you knew it, he was guiding you toward his car, his hand firmly but gently around your arm as he helped you get inside. The drive home was a blur, your mind a chaotic mess of racing thoughts. You tried to fight the exhaustion pulling at you, but it was useless. As soon as you buckled your seatbelt, your body seemed to give up the fight.

You curled up against the seat, closing your eyes, and within minutes, you were asleep. The quiet hum of the car as Rafe drove was the only thing that kept you tethered to reality.

Rafe glanced over at you every few moments as he drove, the concern never leaving his face. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you tonight, not since the moment the tension between you had grown so palpable. He could feel it in his chest—the fear that something would go wrong, that something would happen to make everything fall apart.

As he looked at you now, sleeping peacefully, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him. He didn’t understand it—didn’t fully understand what was happening between the two of you—but the depth of concern he felt for you surprised him. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d wanted to protect you, how he’d wanted to be there for you when you needed it the most.

But now, as you slept, he realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to admit before: he didn’t want to lose you. The idea of seeing you hurt, seeing you break down, sent a pang of guilt through him. He hadn’t planned on this feeling, hadn’t planned on the way he’d come to care about you, but it was undeniable now.

Being away from you for two weeks made him come to a few undeniable realizations. He missed you—more than he’d like to admit. He missed the way your smile lit up the room whenever you looked at him, the playful roll of your eyes when you thought he was being ridiculous. He missed the banter, the little jabs you’d throw his way, always keeping him on his toes. Most of all, he missed hearing your voice, the way it grounded him in ways he never expected.

He regretted everything—the distance, the silence, the mess he’d made—and he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to make it right.

The car approached your apartment building, Rafe slowed down, glancing over at you one last time. You hadn’t stirred for a while, and he didn’t want to wake you up too abruptly, but he knew you needed to get out. He gently reached over and brushed your shoulder, speaking softly.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice careful as if not wanting to startle you. “We’re here.”

You blinked a few times, slowly coming to, the remnants of sleep fading from your face as you sat up straight. For a moment, you looked around, trying to get your bearings, and then your eyes landed on him. You offered him a small, grateful smile, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said softly, your voice still hoarse with exhaustion. “I really appreciate it.”

Rafe nodded, watching you with a mixture of concern and admiration. “No problem. You okay now?” His voice was gentle, but there was an undertone of worry that you couldn’t miss.

You gave a quiet sigh, nodding. “Yeah… I think I just needed some air.”

He stayed still for a second, waiting, as you unbuckled your seatbelt and started to gather your things. The quiet moment lingered before you stepped out of the car and made your way to the front door of your building. Rafe stayed in the car, just watching you, his gaze never leaving you. His chest felt tight again, but this time, it was different. It wasn’t fear of something going wrong—it was the simple concern of wanting you to be safe, wanting you to be okay.

As you reached the door, you fumbled through your bag, checking the contents. You muttered to yourself, growing more frantic as you checked again. A few seconds later, you pulled your head up in alarm.

“Shit…” you whispered under your breath.

Rafe’s gaze sharpened as he watched you struggle, a sense of urgency in your movements. He opened the car door slightly, ready to ask if something was wrong.

“Everything okay?” he called, his voice laced with concern.

You turned back, your eyes wide with panic. “I—I can’t find my keys.”

His brow furrowed. “You sure you didn’t leave them in the car?”

You shook your head, feeling your heart pound in your chest. “I’m sure I brought them with me. I always check for them before leaving... but I can’t find them. Oh god…” Your voice trailed off as the panic began to rise again, a wave of dread settling in your stomach.

Rafe’s gaze softened. He could see the distress building in you, and for a split second, he wished he could take that weight off your shoulders.

“Hey,” he called, getting out of the car now, taking a few steps toward you. “Maybe you dropped them inside, or—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice shaking. “I’m sure I had them when we left the event… Oh my god…” You froze, your hands hovering over your bag again as realization hit you like a ton of bricks. “I dropped them,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Rafe, but he heard you clearly. “When I… when I freaked out. I must’ve dropped them at the event. Damn it.”

You turned around, scanning the ground as if your keys might miraculously appear, but you knew deep down they were long gone. You quickly pivoted and rushed back toward Rafe’s car, your anxiety spiking with each step. Rafe watched you for a moment before following closely behind, his own mind racing as he processed the situation.

“Shit,” you muttered again, coming up to his car and looking inside like you could find your keys by some miracle. Rafe sat there, waiting for you to catch your breath before he spoke. “I’m sorry… I know this is a mess. I just—everything’s falling apart tonight. I didn’t expect any of this, and now… now I’ve lost my damn keys. I don’t know what to do.”

Rafe could see the exhaustion on your face, the mental and emotional toll of the evening weighing heavily on you. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel more alone in this.

“It’s alright,” he said, trying to calm you, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.” He thought for a second, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I can call a locksmith, or we can check inside the building for a spare key. Maybe someone can help.”

You were already shaking your head, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I… I don’t want to bother anyone. And I don’t want to stay out here all night.”

Rafe saw how visibly shaken you were, how overwhelmed you seemed by everything. The night had gone completely sideways for you, and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone, stuck in your apartment, still frazzled.

“You could stay at my place tonight…”

chapter eight

[devildomwriter]

There Is Just One Thing I Need | Barbatos x Reader

1K+ Words | GN! Reader | CW: Suggestive

Barbatos’s two-pronged tail moved side to side as he hurriedly ran about the kitchen. His demon form was out and ready as he prepared for the Christmas formal Diavolo decided to host.

He had expected—as any good butler would—that Diavolo would end up spontaneously throwing a party or ball so he’d prereadied many of the foods in the freezer but this wasn’t enough to prevent a big rush. Even with all the assistants in the kitchen and the Little Ds running about handing him his prep tools, his stress still grew.

You happened to be on your way to the castle when you got what sounded like a calm text from Barbatos asking for Carnal Pumpkins so you paid out of pocket at the nearby store knowing you’d be compensated kindly. But when you arrived in the kitchen, it was anything but calm, things were so busy it was Diavolo who’d greeted you at the door rather than his prestigious butler.

You looked around a bit worriedly seeing Barbatos blip from place to place, too fast for you the fathom. He hadn’t heard you enter as the sounds of oven timers, clanging pots, bubbling water, and popping oil were too loud to hear much else.

You stood there for a moment, waiting for Barbatos to get a break but it didn’t happen so you pushed past the staff to make your way over to his prep table, the only place he stayed more than a few moments.

Barbatos heard the chatter of chefs behind him wondering what they could be distracted by during such a time. Before he could silence them he turned around to see you right behind him. His face betrayed his surprise at seeing you smile at him holding a box with several carnal pumpkins.

“Goodness, ___. I’m terribly sorry I didn’t come to greet you,” he quickly took the box, “and for making you carry such a heavy load.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine. I needed the muscle anyway,” you grinned, and for the first time since he started cooking, he gave a warm smile.

You looked around at the efficient chefs and wondered what could have Barbatos so worried.

“Barb, can you take a break for a minute?”

“Is it important?” He asked, covered and you nodded.

“Afraid so.”

He nodded firmly and quickly followed you out to the hall. You weren’t sure if lying to get Barbatos to take a breather was going to upset him or not as he seemed quite busy but it was a risk you were willing to take.

You decided to involve Diavolo in your farce as this always got his immediate attention. His Young Master was his number one priority after all.

“I brought you these,” you said and took a paper bag of Christmas sugar cookies out of your satchel.

Barbatos looked touched and made a small bow as he thanked you. “Why thank you, ___. But surely this can’t be all, can it?”

You shook your head and placed your hands on his shoulders. He gave you a curious look with a small head tilt that you inwardly gushed about.

“Diavolo and I are worried about you,” you declared and he looked shocked for a moment but hid it with a knowing smile.

“Oh my. Is this about how busy I am in the kitchen?” He correctly guessed. “If that’s all perhaps you can tell the Young Master to give more than two days’ notice for grand parties. Especially ones with very specific themes like Human-World Christmas and vague menus concepts like human world holiday food, of which none but Turkey exist in the Devildom.”

You made a small “yikes” look and it gave him a small chuckle.

He sighed and shook his head, “I’m afraid I’ve no time to relax right now ____. The formal is in a few hours and I need everything to be ready.”

“Won’t it be cold?”

He shook his head, “nonsense. Not with my ability to freeze it in its freshest state.”

That was another perk of his abilities you hadn’t even considered. Food would always be fresh, you could save it forever.

“While I understand you only mean to help my stress, I’m afraid I haven’t time right now, ___.” Barbatos softly scolded. You winced knowing he’d seen through your lie right away. What point was there in trying to hide anything from him?

He paused in his thoughts, “however. If you have any energy left after the formal then I am happy to spend as much free time with you as you’d like.”

“This isn’t really about spending time with me, I’m not selfish like that. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Barbatos nodded, “I understand that. I’m giving you my response. Should you make time for me after all of this, then I certainly will be okay. Your company is the only thing I need.”

You blushed realizing your mistake and nodded quickly.

He grinned in triumph, “Good. Then I shall see you tonight.

You thought back to the afternoon when you’d agreed to Barbatos’s request. Not once did you think the ever-so-proper butler would unlace your outfit the moment you were alone in his room. Not once did you think you’d find yourself naked in his bed, his soft breaths against your neck as he slept with his arms wrapped firmly around you and his tail happily swishing back and forth.

Looking around his room now maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised at his sudden bold move. His room was full of the love you’d shown him that he’d happily received. On his desk was the paper bag of cookies you’d given him next to a few gifts with sheep-themed wrapping paper. On the bars of his canopy bed were paper snowflakes you’d crafted with Luke for him. Thrown on the floor to make room for you both was a throw pillow you’d gotten him on his birthday and the candles that he’d lit for you were a gift from you when there’d been a big sale. Framed on his dresser was a picture he’d taken with you last Christmas when he’d helped you decorate your tree.

You smiled at the thought of having another wonderful Christmas with Barbatos. The way the season was already going with you in his bed, you imagined it’d be the best Christmas yet.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅰ ▬ ⁽ 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓌𝑜𝓁𝒻 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₃˖₅ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW, dubcon, rape/noncon elements explicit content, teratophilia, monster/human, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, very obvious size difference, dacryphilia, ( slight?? ) somnophilia, cunnilingus, knotting. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : you're invited to the bar by your bestfriend, barb. things go awry. ꒰m!werewolf ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

𝒜s you drift in and out of a light slumber, the sudden sound of your phone jolts you awake. The room is enveloped in darkness, and a chill lingers in the air, reminding you that you forgot to close the window. You shift in bed, directing your gaze towards the nightstand, and reach out to grab your phone, squinting against its blinding brightness. Running a hand through your tousled hair, you sit up and flick on the nearby lamp, illuminating the room.

As you settle in, your eyes slowly adapt to the light, allowing you to observe your surroundings. Glancing at your phone once more, you notice the time - it's already 9:27 PM. Your friend tried calling you five times, with the first call going unanswered for ten minutes.

As you slide out of bed, you stretch your arms and legs, grimacing at the sounds of your joints cracking. You brush your hands through your hair and make your way to the bathroom, turning on the light, and leaning against the sink, letting out a sigh at the sight of the bags under your eyes. Your lithe fingers gently pull at the skin under your eyes, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Sighing, your arms drop to your side before lifting them to twist the faucet handle.

You bend down and form a makeshift bowl with your hands, sleepily awaiting the rush of water. The liquid cascades into your palms, filling them with a refreshing embrace. With a swift motion, you splash the cold water onto your face, instantly jolting your senses awake.

Huffing out a sigh, you shut off the tap, taking a brief pause to relish in the quietness of your home, before reaching for a soft hand towel to gently pat your face dry. Tossing the damp towel into the laundry basket, you pivot on your heels and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and shutting the door behind you.

Glancing around the room, you notice the scattered clothing on the floor and your disorganized dresser, and as much as you wanted to clean it, you simply lacked the motivation. Your gaze swiftly shifts away from the mess and you clear your throat.

"Hey, Alexa, Call Barb back."

As her robotic voice obediently chimes, you collapse onto your messy bed, emitting a groan in response to the piercing sound resonating in your ears. A brief moment of silence passes before you're taken aback, startled by Barb's exuberant cheer.

" Thank god! I thought you were dead! What are you doing right now?" The ambiance of music and conversation engulfs her, prompting yet another sigh from you- the nth one since you've woken up. You're now well aware of the reason for her call, but you're not in the mood to socialize or have a drink.

After all, this was your only free weekend for the next month or so; and besides, you had already planned a date with a tub of ice cream and a marathon of horror movies.

"I just woke up from a nap, where are you? It's loud."

The woman softly utters a flustered 'stop', likely to a guy she's flirting with. Barb clears her throat to hide a giggle. "I'm at a bar with Crystal and Kevin. Please come down!" The idea of socializing at that moment sent shivers down your spine. No matter how much you adored Barb, her offer didn't tempt you in the slightest.

Actually, the idea of socializing at that moment sent mind-numbing shivers down your spine, and just as you were about to decline, her following words elicit a gentle chuckle from you.

"And! Before you say no, I promise I won't ask you to come to any events for the next three months." The anxiety in her voice is palpable, and it begins to chip away at your resolve, her small whine finally breaks you and with a sigh, you find yourself smiling at her proposal. "Fine, send me the address and I'll be there as soon as I can. "

The place is bustling with noise and the unmistakable smell of sweat as you navigate your way to the bar. From the entrance, you catch sight of Barb's eye-catching cotton candy pink hair. She's engaged in light-hearted banter with a burly man, and although you hesitate to interrupt, you do so anyway.

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you bask in the comforting aroma that surrounds her. Barb was an absolute doll, and the instant connection you both had when introduced by a mutual friend three years ago is still strong. Barb was practically the sole reason you weren't a recluse.

A small chuckle escaped her lips as she affectionately placed her hand on your cheek. "That you babe?" She turns around as she hears your approving hum, and her gaze falls upon your attire. It wasn't flashy, considering this is just a bar. Your legs are clad in mom jeans, complemented by a band tee and a pair of chunky combat boots. In contrast to Barb's tight red dress, you may seem a bit underdressed, but your intention wasn't to find a hookup tonight; you're here to catch up with Barb.

She pressed her lips together, but eventually gave in and rolled her eyes before pulling you into a warm hug, without getting up from her seat.

" Henry, this is my best friend. " she beamed at you and playfully raised her eyebrows. "Bestie, this is Henry."

You cast your eyes towards him, uninterested."Hey, how are you?"

Without waiting for his response, you plant a kiss on Barb's forehead and gesture towards the other end of the bar. "I'll grab a drink and then search for Kevin and Crystal."

Barb's lips formed a pout as she nodded, her expression turning stern. "Don't leave without telling me okay?" You acknowledged her request with a nod, waving her off and making your way to the stool at the end of the counter, collapsing onto the chair, and releasing a weary sigh.

The bartender looked at you expectantly, prompting you to bite the inside of your cheek before simply requesting water - you had no intention of drinking tonight. Your eyes flit over the bar, taking small sips from your water bottle, looking for any eye candy. Eventually, your gaze landed on a man wearing a red, dirtied beanie, his eyes lowered. He's big and burly, with dark hair covering his forearms and a thick beard.

Your heart stutters in your chest, prompting you to clench your thighs together. His sun-kissed complexion exuded an irresistible aura of feral masculine energy, that made your nipples perk up and harden. You discreetly averted your eyes, taking a gulp of water to quell the sudden and embarrassing rush of desire.

Stealing another glance, your heart skips a beat when his hazel eyes meet yours. Flustered, you quickly look away, feeling the warmth spread across your cheeks. You had just got caught ogling a sexy hunky man, and you'd probably been drooling too.

You set your water bottle on the counter and pat your cheeks with your cold hands. Gradually mustering the courage, you decide to approach the man- the intimidating but hot man who sat in a booth alone. As you prepare to stand up, you are startled to find him just a few steps away from you, gaze searing and unwavering.

Towering at 6'4, he appeared even more imposing in person, his muscles clearly defined beneath his jacket. Despite your jitters, you offer a smile and a nod in his direction. His eyes briefly leave yours, locking with the bartender's. A surge of desire courses through you, his voice is deep and velvet-smooth, and it has your stomach in knots.

"Another bourbon."

His eyes fixated on you, captivating your very being and luring you into a trance. A timid squeak escaped your lips as you retreated into your shell - he exuded an aura of sheer intimidation. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth accompanied a subtle nod, but little else. You couldn't help but feel foolish for even attempting to engage with him because even though he didn't wear an expensive suit or look well off, he was way out of your league. At least, that's how it felt.

As he grabs the glass of bourbon, he disappears into the shadows of his lonely little booth. You feel the urge to approach him but two things hold you back– one- you don't know what you would say and two– you really have to pee.

Downing the last drops of water, you bring the bottle with you to throw in the garbage can. Suddenly, you come to a halt, noticing the lengthy line forming at the restroom — that was like a thirty-minute wait, you couldn't possibly hold your pee for that long.

The longer you pondered your next move, the more your bladder seemed to betray you. Your only choice was to venture outside and take care of business in the back. You clenched your jaw, cursed under your breath, and hurried to the back door. As you made your way, you locked eyes with Barb at the bar and gestured towards your urgent need. She responded with a nod and a thumbs-up before returning to her conversation. With a sigh of relief, you slipped out into the cool night air, feeling its gentle touch on your skin.

The town may have been small, but it possessed an allure that captivated its inhabitants. It wasn't the kind of place where everyone knew each other, yet it still retained an intimate charm. Nestled at the edge of town, this bar stood amidst the endless forest that enveloped the surroundings. It was easy to get lost in there.

Into the heart of the forest, you went, careful to avoid prying eyes as you attended to your needs, wary of the consequences if caught by the property owner or law enforcement. As you made your way through the trees, the dim glow of the bar faded and you continued to walk until you had to squint to see the bar lights.

The sound of your belt coming undone echoed through the stillness of the area and you feel your skin crawl with anxiousness. You can hear the steady stream of your pee hitting the leafy-covered ground and you cringe at the loudness of the sound. After you make sure you're at least a bit dry down there, you stand and pull your pants up. As you adjust yourself, a rustle in front of you makes your heart race.

Your hands freeze at your belt buckle, a deep, low, guttural growl meets your ears and suddenly you can see golden irises looking towards you. It's a wolf. Fear grips you as you step back, trembling with terror. As your eyebrows knit together, your gaze intensifies upon the creature before you. There is no denying its identity as a wolf, yet its sheer size is awe-inspiring, towering over you. Its maw is much too big, its teeth much too large and its physique exudes strength.

What the hell were you looking at?

It takes a step forward, snarling at you. Your body quivers with nervous energy, unable to find calm, unable to focus. Without hesitation, you pivot on your foot and sprint away, your eyes scanning the surroundings with newfound intensity - every obstacle, every tree, every shadow. Uncertain if the predator is gaining on you, uncertain if more have joined in on the chase - you refuse to look back. The snarls and the sound of rapid footsteps fade momentarily. Breathing becomes difficult, and your face is flushed and covered in sweat.

Seeking refuge behind a tree, you struggle to regain composure, your heart racing wildly, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Crack

Sprinting away, driven by an insatiable desire for safety, you disregard the possibility that it might not be the wolf. You suddenly experience an excruciating pain that travels up your ankle, causing an ear-piercing shriek to erupt from your throat and obscure your vision with tears.

Your skull collides with the rugged terrain, engulfing your vision in darkness for a fleeting moment. As your mind gradually regains clarity, you steal a glance at your ankle, recoiling at the sight of the weathered bear trap sinking its fangs into your flesh. Thankfully, the wound appears shallow, and you offer a silent gratitude to God.

Crunch

You lack the strength to budge, even though it's not causing any real harm; the agony is unbearable. The wolf draws nearer, yet its snarls transform into a plaintive whine. Your eyes remain tightly shut, refusing to open, as your body becomes paralyzed by the sensation of its scorching breath against your face.

It continues its advance, until it reaches your leg, eliciting a whimper from you as its jaws envelop it. Although no additional pain ensues, the sound of fabric rending fills your ears. With trepidation, you finally summon the courage to open your eyes, only to find half of your pant leg ripped away.

Crack, Crack

Bones are breaking, you can hear every crack and also see them breaking under the wolf's fur. As the wolf's fur ripples, you witness the gruesome spectacle of bones splintering beneath its skin. A sickening sensation rises in your throat, causing you to retch violently onto the verdant grass below. The cracking stops but you make no move to look again.

The searing agony dissipates, replaced by the faint rustling of metal being pried apart and discarded with a metallic clink. A rough, yet tender and moist touch glides over your wound, gradually erasing the numbness that enveloped you. The scorching pain that once tormented you is now but a distant memory.

Facing the creature, you realize it has grown even larger, standing at an impressive 9 feet tall. Its massive frame is covered in thick, dark fur, making it almost impossible to discern its true shape. The only colors visible are the glowing gold of its eyes and the pink knot nestled against your thigh. You swallow heavily and avert your eyes quickly, eyes flitting to the wolf's face.

Your heart races as you feel its large hand holding your leg, the gentle touch of its claws sending shivers down your spine. The sensation of its tongue brushing against your skin sends waves of pleasure through your body, despite the fear that grips you. His nose twitches, his eyes flicking towards you, the tension in his muscles palpable.

Your body quivers like a leaf, appearing fragile and small beneath the werewolf, so easily breakable. You can feel his cock stiffening even more, almost impossibly so. Reluctantly, you retract your leg from his grasp, edging back slowly. He watches you with intelligent eyes, tracking your every motion. Struggling to rise, you opt to flip onto your hands and knees, clutching a nearby tree for support— still uncertain of your 'healed' ankle.

There's a pressure on your waist, claws teasing your delicate hips, barely breaking the skin, and you cry out as your pants are torn from your legs, the cool air brushing against your exposed skin. He pauses for a moment, snout coming close to your sex before sniffing deeply. As tears cascade down your cheeks, you instinctively lash out, kicking your leg in a desperate attempt to distance yourself.

Your combat boot forcefully collides with its face, a feeble protest that is met with a mocking snort. With a single swipe of its claw, your delicate undergarments are effortlessly torn apart, leaving your hole quivering, and juices leaking without permission. Drawing nearer, its snout radiates warmth, causing you to recoil, your eyes squeezed shut. Yet, they swiftly snap open as its wide, elongated, and moist tongue begins to sensually lap at you, the roughness of its muscular appendage gently grazing your entrance and occasionally slipping inside.

Against your will, you're moaning loudly. Your eyes roll back and your lower lip is trapped between your teeth. The hand that was holding onto the tree is now on its snout, attempting to push it away. Your face is pressed into the ground, your back arched in a deliciously painful curve, and your ass is raised high in the air.

It laps at you eagerly like a thirsty dog, and you're lost in a sea of pleasure, moaning and pleading for more, despite yourself. You love every second of this, and it makes you feel disgusted with how enamored you are at what this monster's tongue is doing to you.

You're enveloped in a sea of pure white, as its tongue explores the depths of your being, gently caressing your sensitive spots and teasing your g-spot. It's tongue fucking you so well, like it possesses an intimate map of your body. Its tail sways rhythmically as your trembling thighs embrace its snout, cum dripping onto its eager tongue. Your body spasms with pleasure, and it revels in its satisfaction.

Your pussy tightens slightly, releasing your desire onto your inner thighs, playfully winking at the creature, enticing it to take you. Its hands encircle your waist, contrasting your size against it. The tip of its red cock is lined with your entrance and it finds it a bit difficult to slip the head in at first, you're a tight squeeze.

" No. No, it won't fit!" It's thick and long, and so much bigger than a normal cock, and that thought terrifies you. You shriek as it inches into you slowly, pussy stretching to attempt to accommodate its thickness. You shake your head, crawling forward and attempting to escape the overwhelming intrusion. However, its deep snarl makes you whimper and freeze.

You weakly resist one last time, wriggling your hips to stop it from completely ruining you for any other man, but as it sinks into your quivering, messy cunt, you stop struggling.

Despite the tension in its muscles, it takes its time. The beast is exceptionally thick, so its cock is heavy inside you. The drag of its bulbous tip on your g-spot has you whimpering and drooling over yourself. Abruptly its massive frame envelops you, hands firmly gripping your hips.

How ironic, a canine-like creature ravishing you in the primal position of doggy style.

With a powerful thrust, it plunges its rigid cock deep inside you, its pelvis pressing against your ass. The weighty orbs of its balls collide against your clit, brimming with cum, and despite knowing you shouldn't, you crave every drop of its hot seed.

Your sight becomes hazy, and the world around you blurs as pleasure consumes you. It's an overwhelming sensation that brings tears to your eyes. Each touch from it sends electric shocks through your body, it's touching every nerve inside of you effortlessly. Despite feeling completely satisfied, a deep craving for more remains. The desire to feel it cum inside of you.

With each thrust, a creamy white residue encircles its cock and you're not sure how you've cum so many times in such a short period, but your eager, filthy little hole is starting to feel tender and sensitive. You're whining and whimpering, a blubbering mess below it. You need more.

It starts to speed up, hips stuttering, and a whine building in its throat. With one final forceful thrust, it buries itself deep inside you. Its primal roar echoes in your ears, yet you lack the strength to shield them.

The wet, erotic sound as it pumps you full of cum makes you orgasm once more. Your poor slutty hole clenching around it. You've lost track of time since you left the bar, and you don't know how long the two of been fucking. Exhaustion washes over you, and all you desire is to return home.

However, it appears that th beast has different intentions. Suddenly, it lifts you up, positioning itself on its hindlegs, and you find yourself sitting upright on its throbbing cock. One of its hands ventures beneath your band tee, discovering your erect nipples, while the other firmly grips your hip, effortlessly thrusting you onto its shaft as if you were its own personal fleshlight. Its muzzle nuzzles against your neck, sending shivers down your spine as you surrender to the overwhelming pleasure, even though exhaustion consumes you.

–

When you came to, you were relieved to find yourself at your house, believing that maybe you had dreamt it, it couldn't have been real. But the evidence of your wild night with that beast is undeniable - the sticky puddle of cum on your sheets and the missed calls and texts from Barb serve as a tantalizing reminder. You can't remember how long he used your body for his pleasure but you do remember leaving a pool of cum where the two stayed that night. Though, one text stands out to you.

"Babe, a man came up to me earlier and said that he enjoyed you last night. WTF?! Bitch, spill."

[karinasbaby]

I was listening to Sabrina Carpenter today and Juno came on and there is a part in the bridge that got me thinking about hybrid!jake

"mark your territory" duh! He's a hybrid.

and the whole song is just so hybrid!Jake coded to me like his lover has been teasing him for a while about making babies and where he really wants to knot his lover and she finally say yes to him.

omg u are so right anon. this is so hybrid jake !!! (let’s picture black panther jake for this one) he’s always wanted to fully mark u, but he kept holding himself back bcs he knows how intense mating with a panther can be for a human. the urges he always had to scent you, mark you & knot u have been very crazy since the beginning. but when you start teasing him over this? knowing that he’s struggling to keep himself in check? that’s when he breaks fully.

it starts off with you cuddling him more in the mornings, u getting all needy and touchy when he’s just trying to leave the bed. whenever he tries to unwrap his tail from your thigh or your waist you quickly place your palm over it, asking him to stay. just a bit longer, just a bit more. and he melts, like entirely. especially when you start to get more touchy with him by kissing him all around the neck, not knowing that your lips r brushing over his most sensitive spots— or well maybe u do know. and ur doing it on purpose.

then it escalates to you not letting him pull away when he’s kissing you, he has you on his lap, hands gripping your hips with his claws completely gone and he’s so gentle with you. cradling you so softly like you’re the most fragile creature he’s ever seen, tail stroking your legs while his ears twitch in excitement when he’s kissing you. but when you start to trail kisses down his own collarbones & extend ur neck to show him the empty canvas that he can mark with his fangs? he almost loses it. almost. “baby, you can’t do that to me..” and he sounds so defeated. so affected like he’s in pain from holding back for so long.

“why not? jus’ want u to mark me .. isn’t that what panthers do with their mates?” and u keep holding him closer to you, hips now grinding unnoticeably on his bulge but his body is betraying him, he’s growing harder in his boxers, grip on u tightening as he exhales shakily. his resolve thinning by the second. “we do.. but i don’t wanna hurt you.” and this time he closes his eyes while ur arms wrap around his neck to litter kisses all over his face. “you’ll never hurt me, baby.”

and when he looks at you, he sees the honesty. he sees the need and the trust. and he knows that if there will ever be a time where he should claim you— it should be now.

that’s how he has you in the centre of his soft mattress— more like nest. his pillows all discarded around u & his blanket half covering both of your connected bodies while jake is talking to u, praising u as u take his length. so big, so abnormally huge and warm. it felt so hot, his cock sat so heavy inside of you and he had to kiss all of your overstimulated tears away. cooing at you when you finally started to whimper in pleasure the more he stayed within your walls that started to adjust to him now.

“so good baby.. you’re opening up more to me now. taking me so well, you’re almost there.” and you knew he meant his knot, the growing swell that pulsed and ached with need at his base that brushed against your entrance with every thrust, he didn’t push it in yet. just softly nudged against your soaked folds just to have u sigh pleasantly when his knot practically nuzzled into your entrance, he was whimpering. animal instincts taking over him to breed, to scent, to claim u. his pretty & pliant mate that’s taking him so good under him.

he’s holding u so close, strong arms wrapped tight around you while your walls sucked him in. fluffy tail coiled around your thigh just to keep you in position n keep u open for him, all the while his nose kept snuggling to your neck, licking over your skin with his barbed tongue to have you carry his scent. “please jake .. please knot me.” the second those words fell so brinkley from your lips jake groaned. holding back a sob as he nodded, kissing you over and over again. lips swollen and sticky with your saliva mixed with his thicker, more potent one that dripped out of his mouth like honey. “of course baby.. i’ll knot you. stay inside you forever till your cunt craves my knot all the time.”

and when he finally sunk inside of you, the burning stretch of his warmth— the most sensitive part of him that got engulfed by your pussy, he sobbed into your mouth. body shaking in overstimulation when your back arched against his. the stretch so massive, so painful but so addictive. the burn instantly making you clamp down around him as you gushed, and jake could only steady himself on twitching arms while he began to fill you up. a steady flow, warm and thick that released right into your cervix. it was so so much. his whimpers and purrs vibrated against your body as he kept filling you up continuously. his cum felt endless. overpowering and overflowing around your tight cunt but his knot sealed everything.

and once he was done, or well not really. he was still releasing— not as intensely as before, but he cradled you in his arms. careful to not tug on his locked knot as he laid next to you, pulling you to his chest and whispering praises all for you. he kept purring, kept releasing slowly while his knot pulsed like it knew it was home.

[littlejoels]

𓇢𓆸 notes: happy sunday!

“aw come on now, sugar, you can tie that thing—hell, i seen you tie my patience up tighter than barbed wire.” his voice was so sexy dipped in that southern drawl and flirtiness. that little smirk of his was cutting very deep through your resolve, but you try to focus because this damn cherry stem isn't bending the way you want it to. your lips push forward with a pout he definitely doesn’t miss, and you glance at him through your lashes like his own jessica rabbit.

“you’re distracting me, baby. if you keep lookin’ at me like that, i’m gonna end up swallowin’ it just so i don’t have to keep tryin’.”

"don’t you dare." joel laughs, in a sweet manner; he steps a little closer, his hand landing on your hip, thumb sliding under the hem of your baby-pink sleep shorts, the ones with frilly lace at the bottom.“i’ve waited ten minutes to see you pull this off. i wanna see that knot on your tongue. ‘fore i get too wound up and start thinkin’ about other knots i could be tyin’.”

you giggle; your hair was curled, big and bouncy like a pin-up princess, and your cheeks are flushed from the wine you both decided you had to drink for date night. the cherry stem pokes out from your lips as you wiggle it, teasing him.

“well, mister miller, if i’d known you were into fruit-based foreplay, i would've bought the whole orchard.”

his laugh rumbles deep in his chest, and he steps in until your back is pressed against the counter, trapping you in that delicious scent of cedarwood and fireside soap.

“ain’t about the fruit, darlin’. it’s about that mouth of yours, the things it does."

you pull the stem back into your mouth and swirl it around, tongue curling and twisting as you try again to form that elusive loop. the stem flicks loose. still no knot. you groan, leaning forward to thunk your forehead into his chest, muffling your whine against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. his hand rubs your back slow.

“you ain’t gotta impress me, baby girl. you already got me all tied up inside.”

you pout again, looking up with those cartoon-wide eyes, lashes batting.

“but i wanna do it. i wanna tie it so bad. i wanna be your cherry stem tying girl.” he leans down, kisses your pout right off. “you already my girl. cherry stem or no.”

you lift your head, sigh, and pluck another cherry from the bowl, holding it up like a trophy.“last one. if i can’t do it with this one, you gotta try.”

“oh, darlin’, i ain’t got that kind of tongue skill. my talents lie elsewhere.”

he wiggles his brows. you snort, popping the cherry in your mouth, pulling the stem free, and slipping it between your lips again. this time, you focus. you ignore the way he’s staring, the heat rolling off his body, or the way his hands slide to your waist, possessively gripping onto you.

your tongue bends. twists. pulls. you can feel it this time. you can feel it slipping, looping, and finally catching. you pull it out—and there it is. a perfect little knot, still wet and wobbly on the end of the stem.

“oh my gosh..i did it!”

you squeal, waving the tied stem like a medal, while joel whoops, loud and proud, grabbing you under the thighs and hoisting you up with one smooth motion. you yelp and wrap your legs around his waist, cherry stem clenched between your fingers.

“well i’ll be damned. look at that, my baby’s got magic in her mouth.”

“told you, cowboy. i’m alllll tongue and talent.”

“now i gotta see what else that tongue’s capable of.”

you let him carry you to the couch, the cherry stem still dangling from your hand while his mouth was already attacking your neck, your giggles bubbling out like champagne.

as he lays you down, your fingers tangle in his curls and his stubble burns a path down your chest, making the cherry stem fall, so you begin to tie knots with your limbs instead. he groans against your skin, “gonna have to start keepin’ cherries in stock, sugar.”

“only if you promise to keep challengin’ me to do stupid sexy games.”

“that ain’t a problem. you just keep bein’ my baby, and i’ll keep bein’ the fool who falls harder every day.”

your legs pull tighter around him while your laugh turns breathy, full of heat. “i like when you’re a fool for me. means i get to tie you up in all kinds of ways.”

“say the word and i’ll be your gotdamn bowtie.”

“joel...”

“yeah, sweetheart?”

“next time? i’m teachin’ you how to tie it. with your teeth.”

“baby..you teach me that, and i swear, i ain’t lettin’ you leave the house ever again.”

“who said i wanted to?”

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @lowrisemiller, @bluemerakis

[sourle]

I have an idea!

how about a story between Taph and Winged Reader

Reader preening their wings but having a hard time reach some places that can't get on their own

so they asked for some help

I hope I word everything correctly

Don't mind the color texts I love using them :D

Angel I'm an angel with a shotgun

WARNINGS: non notes: urghrg winged reader urgrh Lemons. iykyks

You huffed, placing down the specialized brush on the table next to your bed. Your wings started to shed when the round just started and it's really hard to clean, especially your back. You wish you could reach over but sadly you don't have a long arm.

With a defeated sigh, fluttering you wings to dust off the remaining loose barb between the feathers. You got up and stretches your arms and wings. Maybe you should ask Taph to help you with it.

You walk out of your cabin into the wooden stairs, stepping down into the dirty patch that lead to the rocky path. You followed the path that guide you to the main cabin, walking in to be met with Taph jumping at you into a hug followed by Chance jumping higher like foxy jumpscare at you both and plummeting you all onto the wooden floor with a loud thud.

They need to stop doing this, especially Chance.

You groaned, slowly sitting up as Chance wrapped his arms around yours and Taph's waist. Taph moves like he let out a huff, pushing himself up to sit. Before hitting Chance on the head to let go.

"So.. Can you guys help? Just the back, I couldn't reach it." After explaining your struggling, the two nod.

You sat at the edge of the dock, your legs crissed crossed as your wings layed open in Taph's hand. He gently brushed the messy part, whilst Chance pick out some of the loose feather and help some shed. Both are gentle and careful in their touch, more so Taph. You hum out of boredom before Chance spoke up, "Not gon' ask us how the round wen'?"

You paused and hum, "Ha, sorry. I got too caught up with the irritating feeling on my wings. Anyway, how was it?"

"Good, Good. Taph manage to juke the killer and breaks their ankles" Taph placed down the brush and tapped on his puffed up chest confidently. Both you and Chance chuckles.

The three of you stayed there until the next round, talking and laughing. Enjoying the time. For now.

[hanniebaeee]

Hold My Hand - Bonus

Han Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: Nothing

Genre: Established relationship, fluff

Summary: You've been dating Jisung for three months now. And you finally take Jisung and Minho out to a movie, to help them get acquainted. But they're petty as hell.

Hold My Hand

So this may have been one of your weaker (weakest) ideas yet. Your intentions were good - you wanted your best friend to meet your boyfriend (officially). And here you were. 

Sandwiched between Jisung and Minho in the backmost row at the movie theater, a bucket of popcorn balanced on your lap, already regretting the whole thing. Minho has been on your back about you gatekeeping Jisung, your boyfriend of three months. And Jisung has been saying no to your efforts of arranging a dinner with Minho. 

Dinner would never happen, you understood that much. So you went on to booking tickets for something more…low stakes - something that'll help Minho and Jisung coexist without throwing barbs at each other.

But the second you sat down, the passive-aggressive vibes started flying, and now you were playing referee to their whispered warfare.

Jisung, on your left, was slouched in his seat, his hoodie pulled up, glasses reflecting the screen. He was clutching a little fidget toy in his hand (“cos your ex gives me anxiety!”).

Minho, on your right, was impeccably dressed even for a casual movie night, looking perfect as usual. He was leaning back, one arm draped over the empty seat beside him, smirking like he knew his existence was enough to rile Jisung up. 

It started innocently enough. Jisung reached for the popcorn, his hand brushing yours, and he gave you a shy, goofy grin.

Minho’s smirk twitched. He grabs a handful of popcorn too, deliberately crunching it louder than necessary, and leaned across you to stage-whisper, “Hope you’re not planning to whisper sweet nothings the whole movie, Han. Some of us actually want to watch.”

Jisung’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He straightened, turning to glare past you at Minho. 

“Oh, sorry, Lee, didn’t realize you were the movie police.” he bit out, and you sighed, sinking lower in your seat, popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“Guys,” you muttered, “it’s literally the trailers. Chill.”

They ignored you. Obviously. Minho leaned closer, his voice a fierce whisper, dripping with mock politeness.

“Just saying, if you’re gonna be all lovey-dovey, maybe don’t do it where I have to witness it. I’m trying to enjoy my popcorn, not gag on your PDA.” he said. 

Jisung scoffed and whisper-yelled, “PDA? You’re one to talk! You were practically glued to her for weeks, acting like you owned her. Maybe you should take a break from being a clingy ex!”

“Ex?” Minho hissed, leaning over you now, his elbow knocking the popcorn bucket. A few kernels spilled onto your lap, and you rolled your eyes, brushing them off. “We were never together, genius. Learn the difference between an arrangement and a relationship before you start throwing shade.”

“Oh, real mature,” Jisung shots back, pointing a finger across you. “You’re just mad because she picked me  over your fancy suits and trust fund!”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Can you both shut the fuck up? I’m trying to watch the stupid car commercial.” you snapped, shoving the popcorn bucket into Jisung’s chest. “Behave, or I’m sitting somewhere else.”

They both mumbled half-hearted apologies, sinking back into their seats, but the tension was still crackling. For a blissful five minutes, all eyes were on the movie. They were both quiet, and you relaxed, thinking maybe you’ve dodged the worst of it.

Then Jisung, ever the fidgeter, starts tapping the toy against his knee, the faint click-click barely audible. Minho’s head snapped toward him, his whisper sharp.

“Do you mind? My ears are bleeding here.”

Jisung froze, then deliberately clicked the toy one more time, smirking.

“Sorry, your highness. Didn’t realize your delicate ears couldn’t handle a little noise. Maybe you should’ve brought your noise-canceling headphones.” he said and Minho’s eyes flashed. 

He leaned across you again as he said, “Keep clicking that thing, Han, and I’ll shove it somewhere you won’t like.”

“Try it,” Jisung hissed, leaning in too, their faces inches apart over your lap. “I’d love to see you explain to Y/N why you’re starting a fight over a fidget toy she gave me. Bet you’re jealous, huh?”

You snorted, unable to help it, and both of them turned to you, looking betrayed.

“What?” you said, holding up your hands. “You’re both being ridiculous. It’s a fidget toy, not the Holy Grail. And Minho, you’re not helping with the death threats.”

Minho huffed, crossing his arms and slumping back. “He started it.”

“Did not!” Jisung whisper-yelled, and you clamped a hand over his mouth, glaring at him.

“Enough,” you said, your voice low but firm. “One more word, and I’m dumping this popcorn on both of you and leaving.”

They both shut up, shooting each other side-eyes but staying silent. You settled back, relieved, and for the rest of the movie, they manage to keep their bickering to exaggerated sighs and pointedly grabbing popcorn at the same time, their hands brushing in the bucket like it’s a duel.

You watched this dramatic showdown silently, munching popcorn and trying to focus on the screen, but you couldn’t deny the fact that it was kind of funny - your chaotic boyfriend and your smug best friend, fighting over nothing with no real bite.

When the credits rolled, Jisung stretched, his arm accidentally draping over your shoulders, and Minho rolled his eyes so hard you’re surprised they didn't fall out.

“Real subtle, Han,” Minho muttered, standing and brushing off his jeans.

“Eat your heart out, Lee,” Jisung shot back, pulling you closer with a grin.

You sighed, standing and grabbing the empty popcorn bucket. 

“You two are exhausting,” you said, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Next time, I’m bringing earplugs.”

As you left the theater, Jisung’s hand in yours and Minho walking beside you, still tossing barbs at each other, you knew this is your life now. Caught between these two idiots, refereeing their petty battles, and somehow loving every second of it.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

[irishmammonagenda]

Death is a Debatable Thing-Obey Me x Reader

Summary: MC died 😱 and reincarnated as an angel, as per usual; chaos ensues. Word Count: 6.9k Warnings: Mention of Death, Cursing, Torture (mentioned, no torture happens) Michael is featured heavily in this, I just made up a personality for him, I don't play NB a lot (it makes me too sad) and I think he shows up there so if this is different to how he's portrayed there then L for me. Everyone except Luke was written as and can be read as Romantic(/platonic if you prefer)You can read Michael as Romantic, but I wrote him more Platonically.

post dividers from @saradika-graphics on tumblr (their dividers r really cool check them out if u havent fr (sorry for tagging you btw i just wanted to give credit)

"Absolutely not." You say, looking at your new found wings. "I did not die just to be reincarnated with the ugliest clothing I've ever seen."

"Would you have preferred to have been reincarnated as bare as Eve was in Eden?" The man you'd come to know as Michael. His dark skin shone in the blessed light of the celestial realm, his thick curly hair was pinned back in such a delicate fashion you wanted to unpin all the ornaments in it. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

"Isn't that against modesty rules or something...?" You paused, Simeon was an angel, he essentially had his ass out at all times anyway. Whore.

Michael stares at you weirdly, before playing with one of the loose strands of his hair, pulling the tight coil until it was completely straight before letting go and letting it spring back up again. Now you really wanted to mess up his hair. Just to annoy him.

"So anyway..." You start, sitting on a cloud that you fall through. For a moment you think you're about to pull a Lucifer and fall through the sky, but you manage to grab onto something and pull yourself up. That something is Michael's ankle and he's laughing at you, wiping a tear from ruby red eyes that shine just like that of his fallen brother.

"Stop laughing at me! Anyway, when can i go to the Devildom?" You inquire, watching Michael's face turn stern. He glares down at where you're lying, still gripping his ankle

"You're not returning to the Devildom anytime soon." He says sharply.

Your breath hitches. "Why not?! I have to let the brothers and Dia and Barbs and Sol and everyone else know I didn't die!"

"You did die. Why do you think you're an angel." Michael sighs, "and no. You're not letting them know you've returned."

"Why not?!" You repeat, outraged. "No offence though MC, but you´ve just died." "So?" You reply with indignation. "So," Michael says in a mocking tone, pitching his deep voice up high before letting it fall down the octaves once more. "You're barely able to walk on clouds or do anything yet. Letting you down to the Devildom is the equivalent of sending a baby bird into a den of lions."

"But...they'd protect me." You said softly, Michael's tone softens as well, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"They'd also over-protect you, they've just lost you. I don't think you're ready for that smothering just after your death."

You nod. Michael's soft expression turns devious, "Plus, this way, you have plenty of time to think about how youre going to scare my broth-...the brothers and everyone else whilst proving you're alive...well an angel..."

You grin too. "Amazing point Mr Michael."

He plays with his golden locks again, an idiosyncracy. "Anytime" He grins before beginning to walk again, you grab onto his ankle tighter. "Oh and Mc?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Mr Michael again and I'm shaving all you hair off. And trust me. Angel hair does not grow back." He smiles evilly. You shudder.

Well it turns out Michael is a fucking liar.

After being a little bit too bored during your second month of being an angel and first month of learning not to fall through the clouds in Michael's private garden that consists purely of clouds and a singular harp he stole from some poor Irish Deity, you go bored and snipped your unnaturally long angel hair up to your waist. You didn't want to go too short just yet.

In the time frame of a week you learnt two things.

One: Angel hair does grow back, maybe a tiny bit faster than human hair, and Two, Michael was babysitting the harp. Turns out the Deity was called the Dagda and he was visiting France on holidays for some reason, poor man, having to go to France and deal with all the French People there. Turns out he left the harp in Michael's hands, something about Fomoranians not being smart enough to see this one coming.

You just nodded and slowly backed away. Michaels red eyes followed you. He and Lucifer had to be twins.

Another day passed. The more you thought about it, the more Michael and Lucifer had to be twins. After having cut your hair to just below your shoulders, you found a piece of unnecessarily fancy parchment paper and a quill on Michael's desk

Holding the black quill in your hands you felt a sense of familiarity wash over you. Was that?....

No fucking way.

Michael was using one of Lucifer's feathers as a quill. You cackled.

After much deliberation you'd realised you could not write with a quill, but also that you were very good at ripping paper and making blotches of ink on said paper with a quill.

You decided to snoop in Michael's desk for a pen, instead you found a drawer titled, 'LUKE ONLY' in cursive letters, the label was stuck to the drawer so obviously you opened it.

Colouring books, letters written by Luke from the Devildom, Report Cards, Crayons, Drawings, and a pack of stickers were left in the drawer, a notepad lay next to it, Michael's cursive handwriting all over it 'Activities to do', it had things like 'Bowling' and 'Baking' and 'Gardening' and 'Teach him how to knit' and 'Arts and Crafts' and 'Prank Jesus' and 'Take him to Human Realm Cinema' and and anything else really. You cooed, your ivory wings rustling happily.

You grabbed a crayon and began to write.

WHY MICHAEL AND LUCI ARE TWINS one; same eyes two; both evil three; both hot four; satan is basically luci's son if you think about it and michael has blond hair too, if luci and michael are twins that means that blond hair is in the gene pool and thats how satn has blond hair even though luci has black hair five; both like wearing dramatic cape coat things six; both of them baby luke seven; they ha

"What are you doing?" Michael asks, startling you, and ruining your next point of 'they have hands', "Why is my drawer open?" He grabs the parchment from you, reads it and bellows out in laughter.

"We are twins you could've asked." He smiled, "also put the crayon back thats Red and Luke likes colouring in Teddy Bears red."

"Yessir."

You were a master conspiracy theorist.

In the end, you and Michael had decided on visiting the Devildom for 'diplomatic' reasons, but upon seeing the glint in his eyes it was probably more for 'dicklomatic' reasons seeing as he's an utter dickhead.

You had a veil covering your face, seeing as you were still kind of legally and widely believed to be dead.

You know, the usual.

You walked behind Michael, attempting to kick at the back of his knees, it never worked sadly. You took a deep breath as you reached the RAD council room doors.

Michael grabs you by your shoulders whispering into your ear. "Now remember MC im going to use you as a bargaining tool, so keep that veil on till i say so, got it?" He grins.

You nod, knowing that 'bargaining tool' in Michaelish translates to 'im bored and want to see a dramatic reunion'

Michael opens the doors.

You walk in with him but stand at the door awkwardly, steeling yourself so you don't immediately run into any of your idiots' arms.

Luke apparently had the same idea, as when he saw Michael, he let out a happy 'yip!' kind of sound similar to a puppy's and then ran from where he stood beside Simeon and Solomon into the Archangel's arms.

Michael catches him happily, petting his head as the young angel nuzzles into his hair, blabbering on about who knows what. Asmo takes a photo of it, everyone else stares with varying levels of fondness, awkwardness and 'meh'.

Sadly for you however, once Simeon is done greeting Michael, and Michael is now distracted by Luke introducing him to Barbatos who is apparently the 'bestest baker in the world!' (you could agree with that sentiment), Simeon walked over to you, his serene smile on his face.

"Hello, I'm Simeon, forgive me for asking, but do I know you? You have a familiar aura."

You shake your head.

"Oh, never the matter" Simeon smiles, "What's your name then. my friend?"

You clear your throat and put on a deep american accent, "Rupert...Pleasure to meet you...Simeon.."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"Certain." You say in the same ridiculous voice.

Simeon nods, he excuses himself after Solomon calls him over, you turn to glance at Michael who is carrying a now sleeping Luke in his arms and gently stroking the boy's golden hair while stressing out Lucifer with questions. Satan looks on with a smirk on his face.

Glancing around the room you see similar scenes, Mammon and Levi are playing a game on the latter's switch, Asmo, Solomon and Simeon are talking, sometimes glancing at you. Barbatos and Diavolo were watching Michael annoy Lucifer, with both sometimes adding their input, causing Michael to laugh loudly then stiffle it, so as not to wake up the sleeping baby in his arms. Beel and Belphie were near the others but still off in their own twin world, Belphie was awake and watching Michael bully Lucifer from where his head laying sleepily on his twin's leg.

Raphael, Thirteen and Mephisto had been sent out on a top secret mission the day before, Michael had said it was because he didnt want to die and also did not want his death to be put in the RAD Newspapers, especially a picture of him that was less than flattering.

Even though everyone seemed joyous, you noticed an air of sadness, like something was missing. Looking at your old seat in the student council you see the amount of flowers set on it.

Against your better judgement, you walk towards it. Not noticing a few pairs of eyes following you.

When you reach your former desk, you notice a photo of you framed, it was you and everyone, a family photo, everyone was either in their demon, angel or reaper forms, you wore really cheap red horns with a halo you shoved on one of them whilst also wearing an old reaper robe. It looked ridiculous, you loved it.

"Enjoying yourself? Rupert.~" a honeyed voice startles you. Asmo, although, somethings in his voice, maybe anger, maybe suspicion.

"Uhhh.." You say in your fake american accent.

"I'm Asmodeus, avatar of lust.~ Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Guess so." You shrug Americanly, thankful once more the veil covers your whole face.

Asmo's eyes have some hurt in them, he seems...catty, probably because you, who he thinks is a random stranger is just standing at his dead loved one's desk.

L.

You open your mouth to say something, but no sound comes out, especially not when another familiar voice is added to the mix.

"Well hello. I don't believe we've met before. The name's Solomon. You must've heard of me."

Oh shit.

"Oh...I have, briefly! Hello Solomon, my name's Robert." You say in your fake deep american accent voice.

Asmo tilts his head, "I thought your name was Rupert?"

Shit.

"Oh. Yes" You quickly bullshit, "My name's got the hyphens, Robert-Rupert." You avoid eye contact despite the fact you have a veil covering your face that only lets you see out of it, so the sorcerer and demon can't even make eye contact with you, even if they wanted to.

This was getting awkward.

"You seem very familiar Robert-Rupert." Solomon says, you did not like that crafty smile.

"I get that a lot." You nod before walking away.

You walk towards Michael who, has a now awake but sleepy Luke in his arms, he sits on one of the sofas in the council room beside Simeon, with Barbatos, Diavolo and Lucifer facing them on the other sofa. Atleast you'll be safe from Solomon over here. As you walk, you notice Satan, Beel and Belphie have left. Either Lucifer was going to get pranked or Lucifer was going to get pranked but not as prankily because Beel unknowingly made puppy-eyes. Mammon and Levi were bickering quietly in a corner (shocking they could do it quietly) about who won the lat round of Devilio kart.

When Michael saw you approaching he waved you over, beckoning you to sit down in the empty space beside him, "This is an angel I'm currently training, their name is.....Steven."

Simeon tilts his head "I thought their name was Rupert?"

Michael clears his throat awkwardly.

You make your voice the deep horrible American accent, "My full name is Robert-Rupert-Steven...it's hyphenated."

Michael nods aggressively.

Lucifer, Simeon, and Barbatos side-eye eachother. Something was going on here.

"So, Robert-Rupert-Steven," Barbatos begins, his polite smile a little jagged at the edges, "I saw you at MC's desk earlier, how so?"

At the mention of your actual name, everyone there tenses up, Luke, thankfully is too sleepy to have realised, Michael quickly stands up with the small angel in his strong arms, knowing if he heard the conversation about to occur he would be upset, "I should probably go, give this one a walk around to wake him up a little. Simeon, would you like to come with me?"

Simeon nods, Michael and Him leave the council room, with Luke sleepily holding both of their hands and walking slowly along with them.

Now you were stuck with the Prince of the Devildom, the Scary Butler and the Scary Single-Dad. All of which haven't realised that it's you, and all of which thinking you are a random stranger.

"Well, Robert-Rupert-Steven?" Diavolo asks, his friendly demeanor the tiniest bit strange,"What captivated you to go towards MC's desk."

"Who's MC?" You decide to play it dumb. Bad decision, seeing as all three stiffen, Barbatos' being the most unnoticeable.

A very long 3 hour conversation went by, wherein, Diavolo, Lucifer, Barbatos as well as a certain Mammon and Levi who joined 10 minutes in, and an Asmo and Solomon who joined 12 minutes in talked about you, for 3 hours straight.

'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.' was an accurate reprenstation of your mental state actually.

The urge to just rip your veil off right there was almost stronger than the urge to dropkick Maddi anytime you remembered she existed. Keyword being almost.

You just about made it out of the council room with your life. Now for your master plan. Scare the absolute shit out of the Anti-Lucifer-League. That'll get them back for never listening to your amazing prank suggestion of leaving random origami swans around the house in random spots. It was genius!

Breaking into the House of Lamentation was always easy when you knew that Mammon hid his emergency house key behind the garden gnome that now you saw it....kind of looked like a really bad rendition of Michael. With its dark skin, A DnD-esque robe and, a horrible smiley face painted on it, and the worst crime of all, bright yellow, almost neon hair, and also a princess tiara.

You almost cackled.

Taking the key you slowly open the door to the kitchen and sneakily sneak in. Sadly for you, it was they key to the kitchen door to the outside of the back of the house, which meant it opened in the kitchen, and since it opened in the kitchen, you awkwardly waved at Beel, who was having a midnight feast.

Beel tilts his head. "You're the Angel from earlier. What are you doing here?"

You once more, fake your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice and say, "I have Materials for the Anti-Lucifer League as they've suggested."

You are such a good liar.

"Oh," Beel nods, normally he wouldn't let a stranger into the house, but something felt...familiar...and safe with you. "Okay then, do you know where you're going?"

"Yes."

Beel nods, and goes back to eating the pudding labelled 'MAMMONS: BEEL DONT TOUCH THESE'

After much searching, you do not find the Anti-Lucifer-League, but you do unfortunately, open the door to Lucifer's office. The place where Lucifer currently is.

He looks up immediately on guard. You are not prepared to die a second time,

"What are you-" He begins, in demon form and standing up.

You interrupt him, making 'woooooh!' sounds and waving your arms about, and in your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you say "Wooooh! I am the....ghost of christmas past!...Woooh! and I am..." You pause, not noticing your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice has began to slip away, and your natural one has taken its place. "I am here to tell youuuuu.....to woohhhh! Take breaks more! Woooh!....and not overwork yourself! Woooh!"

Lucifer pauses, the danger in his eyes fades into disbelief. He knows that voice. He's spent the better part of a year listening to recordings of that voice and praying to his Father for the first time since the celestial war for that voice to return to him.

"..MC?.."

You've been found out. Quickly you put your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice back on, except it's gone up 12 pitches. "Who's MC?! Haha! What a weird thing to sa-"

You don't get to finish, as Lucifer pulls your veil off. His breath hitches upon seeing your face.

Your covers been blown. All because you pretended to be the ghost of Christmas past. Great.

Lucifer immediately pulls you into a hug, arms tightening around you, as if he's afraid you'd disappear. He chuckles, wiping tears from his eyes, his frame shakes. "I thought-thought I'd lost you forever...I always thought your face was angelic...-...it's fitting."

You hug him just as tightly.

But ever the menace, after about an hour or so, you look up at the Avatar of Pride, "Say, Luci?"

"Yes, my dove?"

"Wanna help me prank the rest of them?"

"Perhaps...I might help with...some setups..." He pauses, "You are telling Barbatos outright though."

You shudder. "Of course I am. I don't have a second deathwish."

Lucifer's grip on you tightens slightly, you kiss his cheek in apology. "Sorry," You grin, "Too soon?"

"Try again in another century dear."

The next day, the first thing you and Lucifer do is travel to the Demon Lord´s Castle.

Barbatos greets you in the Entrance Hall, "Oh, Lucifer," He nods in greeting at the eldest of the brothers (second eldest actually, seeing as Michael enjoys bragging that he's older by a whopping total of 2 minutes) he turns to you, who put the veil back on, "And Robert-Rupert-Steven, Welcome to the Demon Lord's Castle, although, I must ask, why you have shown up today?"

In your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you accidentally, against your better judgement, and rather impulsively state; "I'm here to assassinate Dia-...volo."

A portal opens, dragging you through it, and you land in the feared rumoured dungeons. Barbatos follows gracefully, now in Demon Form. Leaving a sighing Lucifer in his wake in the Entrance Hall. He decides to just journey to Diavolo's office and discuss things related to work. Barbatos wouldn't hurt you when he found out it was you so he really had nothing to worry about. Maybe you'd finally learn to stop joking about assassinating Diavolo, especally when other Noble Demons were around at Balls.

Sadly for you, you were now alone in Barbatos' Dungeons. Now what's scarier than being alone in Barbatos' Dungeons? Being alone with Barbatos in Barbatos' dungeons.

Time to run away.

As it turns out, running away isn't very easy when magic chains pin you to the wall. In your panic, you blurt out, "You know, I'd rather you pin me to the wall haha!" in your normal voice. The fear forcing your horrible puns and jokes to slip out.

Barbatos, who had been approaching menacingly calmly with a torture device pauses so fast it gives you whiplash. (Better than getting whiplash from the whip he was previously holding.)

In some display akin to a cockroach kind of squirming about after you crush it, in your chained up state you manage to twitch enough that you were able to pinch a piece of your veil's fabric just enough that it falls to the ground.

Immediately, the magic chains fall away, strong arms catch you as you stumble. "Hi Barbs..." You say breathlessly.

Barbatos looks like he'd seen a ghost. (You were an Angel, thank you very much.) After your death he had tried and tried to pull a you from another dimension. It would never work, some force stopped him each time. (To be fair, it was probably your jealous ass. No way in Diavolo were you being replaced by yourself from another dimension.)

His bottom lip trembles, much like the rest of his body, as he leans in, "May I, my dear?" You nod, giving him your consent as he kisses you so gently, as if he feared you would break or fade away.

He murmurs apology upon apology for the fact he had no doubt frightened you, he couldn't risk a threat to Diavolo, your 'death' had left him a little...tethered and emotional.

You close your eyes and kiss him again, now noticing you're in the kitchens and not in the spooky scary dungeon.

"Wanna bake cookies? Like we always used to do?"

Barbatos nods softly. "You do have to tell Lord Diavolo you're actually alive though, little lamb."

Your eyes light up. "We could make a cake! And hide me inside it!"

Barbatos sighs, but looking at your puppy eyes, he agrees. Gently he picks a stray ivory feather from your wings, making them rustle at the touch. Devil...you looked angelic.

Baking with Barbatos was always fun, but sadly he did not agree with your attempt at throwing flour at him.

"MC?" He catches your attention, bringing an ungloved hand to caress your face, "Have I ever told you that you shine brighter than all the stars in the Devildom?"

You blush and try to cover your face when he turns away to add more eggs into your batter only to find flour on your face. That sneaky bastard! Psychological warfare is illegal. And that sure felt like it.

It was on.

Apparently it was only on for you though. Though you did get a speck of flour on Barbatos' apron. That was a win, especially if you ignore the fact that your face and apron were covered in the white powder, which you were ignoring! So take that Barbatos!

In the end, the cake was beautiful, Barbatos helped you into the cake, and cut out a you shaped hole out of the layers made.

He then helped you out again, and the Flour War began again only this time with icing.

Hiding in a cake is quite a fun experience. Especially when you can take bites of your hiding space. Yum yum.

You feel Barbatos' wheeling of you stop as he reaches Diavolo's office, he knocks on the door, and as you requested, begins to film on his DDD (you had to promise the video would never get out of your hands.)

Diavolo sat alone, Lucifer had had to leave an hour before, Beel had went on a rampage in Hell's Kitchen again apparently.

"My Lord, I feel you have been feeling down, so here is a treat." Barbatos says, "And as a special treat, I will allow you to cut it yourself." He nods at Diavolo who you can just picture has stars in his eyes as you hear the demon butler walk to a corner of the room, still filming.

Diavolo brings the knife to the cake, as it cuts into it, you grab the blade and pull it forward. Upon hearing Divaolo's confused murmurs, You peek through the tiny hole the knife made, seeing Diavolo distracted, tilting his head like a child and asking Barbatos what he should do now.

You however know what you should do now.

Quick as a flash, you shove your hands through the cake, reach for Diavolo's arms and pull him in face first.

You didn't even care if it was probably treason. Diavolo's suprised screaming and Barbatos' slight surprised chuckle was so worth it.

It was worth it for Diavolo even after 4 hours, as he held you in his big arms, whilst the both of you were still covered in cake. Barbatos, the traitor, snapped photos of this and sent them to Lucifer.

On a great note, Diavolo agreed to help prank the rest of the brothers with you, much to Barbatos' dismay. (The butler was definitely going to help you with a certain sorcerer, however)

After a night and day at the castle and a very extensive bath, you recollected your veil, and snuck out (read: Barbatos and Diavolo waved goodbye to you and gave you some left over cake for the journey home) of the castle, you began your walk to Purgatory Hall.

Michael was staying there, and you needed to tell him everyone's reactions so far.

It was also a Saturday, meaning that Solomon would be out in Sorcerer's society meetings all night and morning.

When you got there you made use of the tree there and climbed up it until you saw something in Luke's room. You paused your climbing and looked in through the window.

Two figures were in the Young Angel's room.

As Luke lay tucked in in his bed, cuddling the dog plushie that Mammon had given him at a carnival last year that he claims to have thrown away, Michael and Simeon sat on his bed, the nightlight on the boy's bedside table created a gentle glow that the two elder were using to read the storybook strew across both of their laps aloud, they appeared to be acting it out ever so slightly. When Luke finally drifted off. Both Angels kissed his forehead then dimmed the nightlight down slightly, dim enough where it wouldn't hurt the boy's eyes but bright enough that the dark wouldn't scare him if he woke up in the middle of the night, keeping the curtains open for added light.

You cooed silently, your white wings rustling.

Snapping out of it, you scale across the wall before finding the spare room Michael was staying in and breaking in.

"Hello Motherfucker." You greet the Archangel.

"You couldn't pay me to fuck your mother."

"Harsh. And here I was about to tell you my escapades..." You sigh dramatically. Michael immediately smiles sweetly. Buttering you up. You cave.

After about an hour of Michael laughing at you specifically, and then changing your contact to 'ghost of christmas past' the bastard finally fell asleep.

Feeling thirsty, you snuck downstairs into the kitchen to get a drink, and also a sharpie so you could draw a mustache on Michael's face. Not bothering to put your veil on seeing as no one would be awake anyway.

As you filled up a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter drinking it, lost in your own plans, mainly of who to prank nest and how to do it.

You don't hear the little pitter-patter of feet until it's too late.

"MC?" A sleepy Luke stands in the doorway in cat themed pajamas no doubt gifted to him by a certain someone, he holds his dog plush loosely as he rubs his eyes with a tiny fist.

He walks slowly towards the cupboard, pouting sleepily when he realises he can't reach it, you immediately grab his favourite mug,(the one with the red tractor on it) knowing to put milk and some sugar in it before placing it in the microwave for 2 minutes.

Luke walks over to you still half asleep, resting his face on your side, you bring him in for a hug. "Simeon said you went to a happy place after you left, he always got sad when I asked when you were coming home..."

You bite your lip and speak softly, "My flight got delayed for a little while," You lie. Luke didn't need to know you died, Simeon hadn't told him in the best of ways to shield the young boy, that worked out in your favour.

You catch the microwave before it beeps, taking the warm milk out and stirring the hot-spots out of it before handing it to Luke. With his teddy now in the crook of his elbow, he sleepily took the mug before putting his tiny hand in yours.

"C'mon Luke, let's get you back to bed." You say softly, he nods tiredly.

"Will you tuck me in? And read me a bedtime story?" He yawns quietly.

"Of course."

After closing his curtains and tucking Luke in, he snuggles up to you and you read him a bedtime story, after drinking his warm milk, he falls asleep quite quickly, so do you.

A mistake, really. Seeing as in the morning when Simeon comes in to wake the small angel up and sees you there he lets out a shriek very out-of-character for him.

A shriek which wakes both you and Luke up.

Luke smiles toothily, "Oh Simeon! MC came back last night! Did you not see?"

Simeon collects himself, "I must've been asleep Luke, why don't you get dressed then come down for breakfast? Michael and I made pancakes. M-MC, why don't you come downstairs now?"

Luke nods and gets up dutifully.

As soon as you leave the room and Simeon is sure you're both out of the earshot of Luke, he pulls you into a hug which you return.

"I thought I'd lost you.." He breathes out softly.

"Me? C'mon Simmy...you know I'd never let death keep me." You laugh, he laughs breathlessly.

"I suppose not...." He captures your lips in a soft innocent kiss before leading you downstairs, hand-in-hand.

When Michael sees the two of you he offers you a pancake, far too casually for Simeon's taste.

Simeon looks between the two of you and glares at Michael. "You knew about this."

"Haha! Funny story actually! I need to go help Jesus! He's gone and ventured into another desert!" Michael laughs nervously before booking it, only coming back when Luke appears, knowing then he's safe from Simeon's wrath....

....for now.

You took out your super serious napkin and crayon that you stole from Diavolo (read: Diavolo gave you) and crossed out Simeon's name.

Your list was now as follows:

Purgatory Hall Simeon Solomon House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

For Satan and Belphie, you could knock out two Anti-Lucifer-League Birds with one stone. It felt a little mean to prank prank Levi and Beel...Mammon and Asmo were debatable, but you were going all out on Solomon. That'll teach him to turn you into a sheep that one time 2 years ago.

After careful deliberation and planning, (20 seconds of thinking.) You'd decided to sneak into the Sorceror's society and jokingly attempt to assassinate Solomon, and maybe fully assassinate Maddi if she was there. Not maybe, definitely.

Veil over your head, you walked in, when the sorcerer guards stopped you, you just pretended to be Michael then walked further in. Apparently they were terrified of the Archangel. Damn this society needs better sorcerers securitying it.

After stealing schedules you realised Solomon would be in a meeting right now with a bunch of no names. Oh well.

You crept into the meeting and attempted to plunge the butter knife Barbatos' gave you from the castle kitchens specifically for this in his neck, knowing he'd dodge. "This is for the Sheep Potion you Rat Bastard!" You screech like a Bean Sídhe. After half a millisecond of shock and slight anger, Solomon realises who it is behind the veil, laughing he grabs the arm you're holding the butter knife in and drags you into his lap, gently ripping the veil off of you and giving you a peck on the forehead, before he turns to the shocked and slack-jawed sorcerers that looked older than he did. "Sorry all, my adorable partner," He puncuates the word partner by pulling you closer to him, "missed me a little too much. and has-" He kisses you on the lips passionately for a moment, leaving you very much breathless and him very much chuckling, "-strange ways of showing their affection."

Bastard.

Some time into the meeting you whisper, "How are you not more shocked?"

"Well Robert-Rupert," He whispers teasingly back to you, "Remember that binding spell we did back when you were alive? It never broke. I knew the moment I saw you."

Your heart stops. "Did you tell anyone else?"

"I debated telling Asmo, but I suppose you wanted to on your own terms." He teases.

"I should've tried to stab you with a sharper knife."

Solomon laughs, "Oh and MC my love?"

"Hmm?"

His eyes glint predatorily, "You look absolutely ravishing as an angel. I can't help but want to corrupt you..."

You bury your face in his chest to hide your blush.

Bastard.

On the bright side, now a rumour that Solomon the Wise and Michael the Archangel are secret lovers has spread around the Devildom. You're counting that as a win.

Purgatory Hall Simeon Solomon House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

After your encounter with Solomon, you'd decided learning to just hide your angel form was the best course of action. Luckily it was fucking easy and you could've done it ages ago. Strange how Simeon and Luke never mentioned it....meh. You're pretty sure Luke just thought Michael thought you were super cool so he made you an angel. You weren't telling him anything otherwise.

´Satan and Belphie watch your fucking backs.´ was the pedal note of all your thoughts currently, you´d snuck back into the House of Lamentation, thankfully Beel was not in the kitchen, he was at Fangol at this hour.

Walking through the halls stealthily, you heard whispers as two sets of feet seemed to enter the room at the farthest end of the hallway. Lucifer´s room.

You fucking caught them.

No time to be caught in Lucifer´s room, seeing as if you were there long enough and Lucifer caught you, you would not be leaving for a good while.

So you crept up to the attic, the official Anti-Lucifer-League headquarters, you climbed the pillars to get on the roof and you waited.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, snickering could be heard coming up to the attic. Satan opens the door, letting Belphie in, both brothers in various fits of sniggering as they walk into the room.

"He'll never see this one coming!" "This is our best one yet."

From your place on the attic ceiling, you spot Lucifer filming on his DDD from the shadows of the doorway. Of course he found out about this.

"Of course it's our best one yet!"

You swing down off of the ceiling beam, swinging lightly upside down. "And you didn't invite me?" You pout.

Satan and Belphie scream, clutching onto eachother, before noticing that it's you and running to pull you down and clutch onto you instead. You notice Lucifer chuckle and put his DDD in his pocket before leaving. Traitor.

You cuddle into your two Anti-Lucifer League Brethren, maybe this wasn't so bad. (Of course it wasn't, you loved your idiots.)

Safe to say, you didn't leave the attic for a long time. Apparently people need time to process that you're not actually dead. What madness.

House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

You had long unentangled yourself with a sleeping Belphie and Satan, making sure to leave a:

it wasnt a dream dont worry lads im alive.

note on their chests just in case.

Sitting in the attic with your napkin and crayon in hand, you ripped the Purgatory Hall part off of it and used the back of it for that note, you scanned through the list. You should save your First Man for last, so your next options were Beel, Asmo and Levi.

Seeing as you've shown yourself to Belphie, it's only natural your gentle giant is next.

Watch your fucking back Beel. Literally

Speaking of, it's been a few hours, Beel should be coming back from Fangol practice any moment now.

As was routine at this point, you crept through the House of Lamentation's halls and quickly ran into Beel and Belphie's shared bedroom.

As Beel walked into the room, his Fangol bag slung across his chest and a pile of after Fangol snacks in his hands, you braced yourself, made a run for it, anf landed right square on his back, arms around his neck to keep from falling.

"Oh hi MC!" Beel hummed cheerfully, before his eyes widened and he dropped his snacks. "MC?!"

"Hi!"

Quick as a flash, Beel maneuvers himself in 'dying cockroach you in Barbatos' dungeons part two' and grabs you into his arms.

"I thought you died..." He said, smelling your hair as he cuddled you.

"I did. I just came back as an angel."

"Really?" His breath hitches, "Can I see?.."

You take a deep breath and your wings and halo pop out, he strokes them gently.

"You're beautiful..." He whispers, enraptured...."I think...out of all of Father's creations over the years since the celestial war...you're the most precious...."

He speaks softly, always the gentle giant, the moment lasts for just a moment, before the moment, like all moments do, has passed. Beel's stomach rumbles and you giggle.

"You should eat your snacks, Beelie.."

"They always taste better when we share." He nods seriously.

House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

Levi or Asmo? You bit your crayon in thought then immediately made a face. Crayons did not taste nice.

Speaking of things that did not taste nice, you remembered that one time you tried to eat Levi's controller because you were bored.

Levi it was!

You had to time this perfectly, waiting in the shadows until Levi went down to get a snack, you snuck into his room, saying the answer to his password out of pure habit, before sitting on his gamer chair and maneuvering it in such a way he would not be able to see anyone on it from the door.

When Levi walked into his room, a bag of crisps in hand, he took a few steps before you swung around "Boo!" and he screamed. Dropping his crisps.

After convincing him you were infact not a ghost (Unlike Lucifer's), you sat with him in your arms, watching anime, and getting caught up on the new episodes released.

You cuddled up to him in his bathtub that night. You grinned evilly. This gave you an idea.

House of Lamentation Mammon LeviSatan Asmo Beel Belphie

It was no secret that Asmo bathed a lot. Funfact, Angels can hold their breath for 30 minutes!

As Asmo was busy picking out which pajamas he wanted to wear after his bath, you tiptoed behind him and slowly got in his bath, hiding under the bubbles.

It took a total of five minutes before Asmo closed the door to his bathroom and got into his bath, this was your chance! Reaching out, you grabbed his foot and pulled him under.

He screeched, when got back above the surface of the water, he grabbed your hand and pulled you over.

He squealed this time, hugging you tightly.

"Oh MC darling!~ I thought you were...well never the matter~...." He punctuated each word by kissing your face all over, leaving you squirming in his grasp out of embarassment. "How naughty!~ Sneaking into my bath like that...~...not that you arent always welcome my lovely!~"

"A-asmo," You say, your clothes soaked, though you couldn't find yourself caring. "Asmo, I love you..." your voice is soft and the Avatar of Lust coos.

It was a nice night.

Time for your final victim. Your First Man. Feeling nice, you decided not to do something too mean.

Painstakingly, you made a trial of grimm from the front door to your First Man's room, more specifically; to his bed. The plan was to hide behind the door and jumpscare him while he was busy collecting the grimm.

Unfortunately for you, seeing as you weren't sure when Mammon got off his modelling shift, you'd finished far too early, and since you and Asmo were up the entire night, you were quite sleepy.

Surely a little 5 minute nap wouldnt hurt?

You woke up hours later to a sobbing Mammon on top of you, cuddling you in his arms like his life depended on it. It seems you'd falled asleep on his bed, more specifically in his nest.

In the nest you would normally sleep in while alive. (While Human technically, seeing as you are alive, just not human.)

You bring a hand to his snowy locks, he sobs harder. Like his brother, kissing all over your face softly, "Thought I lost ye' forever Hum'n" he gasps for air, his sobs quieting down, "Though' you were gone....I prayed ev'ry nigh'...." he says, voice barely above a whisper as he strokes your cheek, looking into your eyes. "I prayed ta Fath'r ev'ry nigh' since ye' died...that he'd bring ye' back te me...."

"And he did..." You say just as softly, bringing your hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes, sharing a soft kiss with him. As always, your greedy lovable bastard would want more, and you'd want nothing more than to give them to him.

And the next day when you told Michael you'd be staying in the Devildom he cheered, then told you to include him in this 'Anti-Lucifer League business' because it 'seemed fun'.

Wow. Now you knew where Satan got it from. Poor Lucifer, he just barely got away from Michael in the Celestial realm, and now he has to deal with Michael 2.0 in the Devildom.

Satan and Michael really were kind of similar....maybe it's a good thing they've only met in passing.

Moral of the story kids. Death sucks, don't do it. If you do do it, reincarnate. Bam! Problem Solved.

This is the longest ever fic I've ever wrote and probably does not make a lot of sense so I apologise for that. I also apologise for any ooc behaviour i'm still learning how to write characterisation😔✊

also i love thinking of Michael being a father figure to Luke and its very obvious