#benson or something... FUCK

[sopadeleon]

My friends don't use social media as much anymore but it's mostly their OCs and Deneb LOL

[doodlemeimpressed]

how long can you stand with me? how long can you stand for me?

[brainwormnation]

i obsess over the idea of benson being the only coworker randy was really comfortable with. he’d only ask him questions or ask him to help if he was fucking something up. he’d always feel a sense of relief when he found out him and benson were working the same shift. he’d love when they had to close together. sigh… they make me insane.

[charleemoon]

just watched the passenger im about to be sooo normal and well adjusted about this

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

WAIT, is there seriously not a single fic on AO3 where Don Draper fucks Andy the motel con artist who he has such insane sexual tension with in episode 7.13 The Milk and Honey Route that everyone thought they were actually going to fuck while the episode was first airing? Like, look at this! Don has angrily thrown this man onto his bed and is standing over him, this echo of his past self, who Don sees making all the same mistakes he made, who is abandoning his past and his former life just like Don did, who Don just took a beating to protect, who Don is trying to guide and instruct even as he yells at him, and no one has written a fic where they fuck? No one thought to write a fic where maybe Don takes Andy under his wing and helps him create a new life for himself?????? I am frothing here.

(via @madmen-caps)

Please god, am I actually going to have to write fanfic???

LOOK AT THEM! (screenshot from tomandlorenzo.com)

[kazooyah]

btw I CANT STAND HITS 1 RADIO

[gonethroughthevhstapes]

the passenger was such a good film!! randy is literally me. like holy shit it's like watching myself.

[coldblooded-angel]

Randy would be the type to ask “would you love me if I was a worm?” through snot and tears and alot of crying

While Benson would look at him and say “no, are you fucking insane” and gag because he fucking hates bugs.

[wheelercore]

If not holly then im going to be the guy who makes the case for ted. A character with ted glasses gets swiped from under nancys nose like every 2nd episode of every season (exemption: s2). "the vanishing of edward wheeler" would blow my cock clean off.

[hislittleraincloud]

Yeah that's probably what I'm doing.

[robinsnest2111]

anyway that post about putting Randy into the world of Silent Hill 2 has me thinking about the other Kyle Character wearing Maria's outfit:

[ants-personal]

plauged with the idea of a benson being closer to age to randy 22 or 23 and he is trying still to get randy to DO something so he tries goading randy into hitting him and of course randy doesnt he doesnt want to benson shoving him back calling him any insult he can think of making fun ofal the things hea ashamed of escalating as he punches randy makes him bleed as they stumble benson landing on top trying to get anything from randy besides the blood and watery eyes the panting at somepoint it becomes more about benson betating and punishing himself than it ever did about randy who eventually sits up as benson throws himself off him holding back sobs as he repeatedly apologizes to randy and all randy does is call bensons named voice rough till benson stops and stares at him hands shaky and knuckles bloodied tears atreaming out of his redrimmed eyes

Randy wetting his busted lips hands flexing as he slightly shakes his head eyes wet with a small smile telling benson its okay taling slow tentative steps towards him and benson for once looks like he doesnt know what to do eyes darting like hes looking for whatever trick randy is playing mind racing but unable to focus on them for long as and once randys close enough he slowly reaches out benson flinching back heart pounding but randys brusied face still looking at him with sympathy hand hanging between them and the dam benson had spent so much time trying to build crumples breaking down in sobs and harsh breathing he can only choke out another apology as he lets randy pull him into a tight embrace burying his face into randys shirt

[rootedinrevisions]

Terrified to Lose You

Summary: It was supposed to be nothing—just one reckless night to get each other out of their systems before he shipped out. But when cocky, insufferable Jake Seresin lets his guard down, and she lets herself lean in, the lines between want and something deeper start to blur. With the weight of tomorrow pressing in and unspoken feelings lingering between them, neither is ready to admit just how much this night really means. Because once the sun rises, he’s gone and there are no guarantees he’s coming back.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Sexual Content/Smut. Strong Language, Military Themes (Looming Deployments, Uncertainty of Returning from Deployments, etc.)

Word Count: 9,514

Author’s Note: This is a combination of a request I received for enemies to lovers with Jake Seresin. As well as the @elixirfromthestars writing challenge using the song Death Wish Love by Benson Boone from the Twisters soundtrack…but using it for the Top Gun: Maverick Fandom instead. Hope you guys like it! xx

The Hard Deck is buzzing with the usual chatter, but there’s an edge to it tonight. The music is a little too loud, and the pool tables are too noisy, but no one is really having fun. Not tonight.

The squad has gathered, everyone gathered around the bar, half-heartedly pretending to be relaxed. The pitchers of beer on every table are the only thing that seems to lighten the mood, but it’s forced. 

Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow evening Coyote, Hangman, Rooster, Payback, Fanboy, Phoenix, and Bob head out for a mission they’ve been preparing for for weeks. There’s a lingering sense that no one knows exactly what’s waiting for them on that aircraft carrier.

Coyote and Rooster are at the pool table, the clack of cues against balls filling the space. Payback, Fanboy, Phoenix, and Bob are crowded around one of the tables laughing at some half-hearted joke. But even they can’t ignore the quiet weight of what’s coming. The deployment is looming, the jet engines roaring in their minds even as they try to unwind, and everyone knows that tonight could be the last time they are all together.

But you? You’re on the outside looking in. You had been on the shortlist. Had been the key phrase. Your name was in the mix for this mission, and for a moment it felt like you would finally get your shot. Then the final call came, and you weren’t picked. The rejection stings more than it should, but you push it down. You try to drown it in a gulp of your drink.

You shouldn’t be bitter. They chose who they thought was right for the mission, but that doesn’t stop the resentment from bubbling up in your chest.

Then of course there’s Jake. He's sitting at the bar, that cocky smirk never leaving his face. Even as the weight of tomorrow presses on him too. His eyes flicker toward you once in a while, the usual game between you two never stopping. There’s always a silent challenge in the air when the two of you are in the same room.

Even now, with everything so tense, you can feel his gaze like a weight on your back.

“Stop staring, Hangman,” you mutter to yourself, but you know he’s already aware.

You shift on your stool, and a sudden urge to leave this place sweeps over you. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You should be out there with them preparing for the mission. Not stuck watching them go off and do it while you sit on the sidelines.

And yet, every time you turn your head, you catch his eye again. That infuriating, self-assured smirk.

He tipped his beer toward you. "Gonna miss me when I’m gone, sweetheart?"

You scoffed, reaching for your own drink. "I don’t even like you when you’re here, Hangman."

A chorus of groans erupted from the group.

"For the love of God," Phoenix muttered, rubbing her temples like she was developing a headache. "Just fuck already and put us out of our misery."

Bob sipped his drink and shook his head. "I’d rather not have to witness that, actually."

You rolled your eyes. "As if."

Hangman, the smug bastard, winked at you like he knew something you didn’t.

You gasped, feigning outrage, which only made his grin widen. "You are unbelievable."

"And you," he countered, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse skip, "love it."

Your lips parted, ready to fire back, but the weight of everyone’s eyes on you made you hesitate. It wasn’t the first time the team had accused you two of having some kind of unresolved tension, but the last thing you wanted to do was give them more fuel for the fire.

So, instead of acknowledging the warmth creeping up your neck, you simply took another sip of your drink and turned away. Hangman let out a quiet chuckle, low and knowing, and you knew this wasn’t over.

A few hours passed, The Hard Deck was nearly empty now, and the warm hum of conversation long faded. Penny wiped down the bar, occasionally glancing your way, but she knew better than to interfere. Everyone else had trickled out, heading back to base or wherever else they were spending their last night before deployment. 

But you were still here. And so was Hangman.

He leaned against the wall near the back pool tables, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you like he had all the time in the world. That infuriating smirk of his hadn’t wavered, even as exhaustion tugged at the edges of the night.

"You worried about me, darlin’?" he drawled, voice low, lazy like he already knew the answer.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as something inside you twisted tight. "I don’t have the energy to waste worrying about you."

That should have been the end of it. But of course, it never was.

Hangman pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward you. His eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. 

"That’s a lie."

Your jaw clenched. His confidence was insufferable, unbearable even. Because it wasn’t just arrogance. It was accuracy. It was him knowing you better than he should, seeing things you weren’t ready to admit.

The pressure building in your chest needed somewhere to go, so you shoved at him. Hard. Your palms met the solid plane of his chest, and even though he barely budged, it made you feel like you had some kind of control over the situation.

You turned on your heel, needing distance, needing air. Footsteps followed, steady and unhurried. 

"You know what your problem is?"

You didn’t stop walking, didn’t answer. But when you heard him getting closer, and felt the heat of his presence just behind you, you couldn’t stop yourself from turning back around, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Oh, please, enlighten me," you snapped.

He was right there. Close enough that the scent of his cologne curled around you. Close enough that his breath, slow and even, ghosted against your skin. The space between you had evaporated, leaving nothing but heat and the heavy weight of everything unspoken.

"You talk a big game," he murmured, voice low and edged with something that made your stomach tighten. "But you don’t know what to do when someone calls your bluff."

The words hit like a challenge. And for the first time all night, you didn’t have a comeback.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster than you wanted to admit. He always did this. Pushed you right to the edge, just to see if you’d jump. And God help you, but you always did.

"Fuck you, Seresin."

He grinned, but this time, there was something sharper behind it, something more dangerous. "Yeah? Say that again."

Your teeth clenched as you shoved him, both hands flat against his chest. He barely moved, but the warmth of his body beneath your palms sent a jolt through you, one you refused to acknowledge.

"I swear to God if you don’t back off—"

"Or what?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it, something dark and crackling in the air between you.

You were breathing hard now, but so was he.

"You drive me fucking crazy," you gritted out.

Jake huffed a short laugh, tilting his head. "Likewise, sweetheart."

Silence. Charged. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, and without thinking, you wet them. It was the smallest movement, but he caught it. Of course, he did.

And then he moved.

His hands were on your face, fingers pressing into your jaw as his lips crashed into yours, hard and desperate, like he’d been holding back for way too long. There was nothing soft about it, nothing careful. It was fire and fury, an explosion of everything you’d been choking down for months.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands found his hair, twisting and pulling, nails scratching just to get a reaction. And God, did you get one.

Jake groaned into your mouth, deep and raw, before spinning you, pushing you back against the wooden wall of the bar. The impact sent a shockwave through your body, but you barely noticed. Not when his knee slipped between your thighs, pressing just enough to make you gasp.

"I hate you," you breathed, head tipping back as his mouth dragged along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

He grinned against your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. "You love this, though."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because the way you pulled him closer, nails digging into his shoulders, said everything.

His teeth scraped against your throat, and your grip on his shirt tightened like you were trying to ground yourself, trying to remember why this was a terrible idea. But then his hands slid down your sides, rough and unrelenting, and suddenly, thinking wasn’t an option anymore.

Jake pulled back just enough to catch your gaze, green eyes dark and wicked under the dim light of the bar’s exterior. His lips were swollen, his breath coming just as fast as yours. 

"We should get out of here," he murmured, voice rough with something you refused to name.

You scoffed, even as your body betrayed you, already aching to follow him wherever he was about to lead. "Oh, and I suppose you just happen to have a place in mind?"

His smirk was immediate, cocky as ever. "Darlin’, I always have a plan."

The arrogance sent a fresh spark of irritation through you, tamping down the heat pooling low in your stomach. You pushed against his chest, though it wasn’t nearly as forceful as it should have been. 

"Jesus, Hangman, do you ever turn it off?"

"Not when I’m winning," he shot back, and that stupidly cocky grin widening.

Your eyes narrowed. "This isn’t a game."

Jake tilted his head, taking his sweet time looking you up and down, his hands still resting on your hips like he had every right to touch you. 

"Then why," he murmured, voice low and smooth as honey, "does it feel like you’re losing?"

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. He was insufferable. Absolutely unbearable.

And you were going home with him.

God help you.

The drive to Jake’s place was tense, thick with something neither of you was willing to name. You sat in the passenger seat of his truck, arms crossed tight over your chest, gaze fixed on the road ahead as if you weren’t acutely aware of him beside you. As if every nerve in your body wasn’t tuned to him. The way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel, the way he shifted gears with that effortless, cocky ease, the way his tongue flicked over his bottom lip like he was savoring the anticipation.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It was loaded.

You exhaled sharply, shifting in your seat. "Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna keep glancing at me like a damn creep?"

Jake huffed a laugh, glancing at you sideways. "Oh, sweetheart, I was gonna let you sit there and stew, but since you’re practically begging me to talk…"

Your head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. "I am not—"

"Admit it," he cut in smoothly, lips curving into a smirk. "You like this. You like me."

You let out a bark of laughter, turning back toward the windshield. "You’re delusional."

Jake clicked his tongue, shifting gears again. "That so?"

"Yes," you snapped, but it lacked bite. 

Maybe because his hand had just settled on your thigh, warm and heavy, his thumb brushing idly against your jeans.

It was infuriating how casual he was about it, like he did this all the time like he knew you wouldn’t push him away. And the worst part? He was right.

You glared down at his hand but didn’t move it. 

"I hate you," you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Jake chuckled, squeezing your thigh just slightly, sending a slow wave of heat curling up your spine. 

"Sure, sweetheart," he drawled. "Keep tellin’ yourself that."

You clenched your jaw, staring straight ahead, determined not to react. You could not let him win this round.

But then he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur, right against your ear. 

"I bet," he said, his breath fanning warm over your skin, "that by the time we get to my place, you’re gonna be begging me to ruin you."

Your stomach clenched. Your breath caught.

You turned sharply toward him, ready to rip into him, to tell him exactly where he could shove his ego. But one look at his smug, knowing expression, and suddenly, the only thing you wanted more than to slap him was to kiss him.

Jake barely had the truck in park before you were unbuckling your seatbelt, ready to throw the door open and escape the suffocating tension between you. But before you could make your move, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

"Uh-uh," he murmured, voice like silk and sin. "Not so fast, sweetheart."

You turned, mouth already open to argue, but whatever insult you had locked and loaded died in your throat when you saw his face.

Jake looked at you like he was savoring every second of your frustration, drinking in the flush creeping up your neck, the way your lips parted just slightly as you struggled for a retort. His grip on your wrist was firm but not tight, thumb ghosting over your pulse, which, much to your horror, was racing.

You swallowed hard, yanking your arm free. "Are we going inside, or are you just gonna sit here looking smug all night?"

Jake grinned, slow and cocky, before pushing open his door. 

"Oh, we’re goin’ inside," he said, stepping out like he had all the time in the world.

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to get a grip, then followed suit, slamming the truck door a little harder than necessary. You stomped up the walkway behind him, practically vibrating with the need to do something. You didn’t even care what. Punch him, kiss him, you just needed something.

Jake reached the door first, unlocking it with ease, but instead of stepping aside to let you in, he turned, leaning against the doorframe.

"Last chance to back out, darlin’," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as your body screamed at you to get closer. "Like you would let me live that down."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I’d never let you live it down," he agreed, then tilted his head, eyes dark and burning with something that made your stomach twist. "But we both know you don’t want to back out."

And just like that, you snapped.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, you yanked him down, crashing your mouth against his.

Jake groaned, deep and satisfied, as if he’d known this was coming. He let you take control for a split second before flipping the script, crowding you into the door, hands gripping your hips like he was staking a claim.

The kiss was fire and fury, all teeth and tongue. His hands roamed, rough and sure, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

You pulled back just enough to gasp, "God, I hate you."

Jake grinned against your lips, fingers curling into your waistband. "Yeah?" His voice was pure arrogance. "Show me, then."

The door had barely clicked shut before Jake had you backed against it, his body flush against yours, heat radiating off him in waves. His lips found yours again, just as greedy, just as needy as before, like he’d been starving for this and now that he had a taste, he wasn’t letting go.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and he groaned against your mouth, low and rough, before yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it aside like it was offending him.

"Jesus, Hangman," you muttered, taking in the broad planes of his chest, the way his muscles flexed as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

He smirked, stepping back into your space, hands finding your waist again. "Was wonderin’ when you’d finally admit you liked lookin’ at me, sweetheart."

You scoffed, shoving at his chest. "I don’t."

Jake caught your wrist mid-shove, his grip firm, the heat of his palm branding against your skin. "Liar," he murmured, and then he spun you, pressing you against the door, his chest flush against your back.

Your breath hitched.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "You know what I think?"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jake chuckled, feeling your stubborn silence. "I think you like it when I get under your skin," he continued, voice thick as honey, hand sliding along your arm before settling at your hip. "I think you like fightin’ me ‘cause it makes this—" he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, biting down just enough to make your fingers twitch—"so much better."

You shivered.

"Tell me I’m wrong," he murmured, lips trailing lower.

You hated him. You hated how right he was. How much you wanted this, wanted him.

So instead of answering, you turned, grabbing his face and pulling him into another kiss, swallowing his smug little chuckle as you pushed him backward.

Jake let you lead—at least for a few steps—until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he took advantage of your forward momentum, twisting you both so you tumbled down with him.

You gasped as you landed in his lap, his hands immediately finding your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to make you ache.

"Well, would you look at that," he drawled, looking up at you with pure, unfiltered arrogance. "Right where you wanna be."

Your glare was instant, but whatever insult you were about to hurl at him got lost in the way his hands slid up, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin at your hips, his gaze dark and knowing.

"Say it," he murmured, voice softer this time. "Say you want this."

You exhaled sharply, fingers threading into his hair, pulling just enough to make him grunt.

"Jake—"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

You clenched your jaw, breath coming short and fast.

"I hate you," you whispered, leaning down, lips brushing against his.

Jake grinned. "That so?"

You nodded, eyes locked on his.

"Good," he murmured, tilting his head up to kiss you again, all teeth and heat. "Hate me all you want." His fingers dug into your hips, his voice dropping to a growl. "Just don’t stop."

His hands, hot and steady against your hips, didn’t push—didn’t take the way you half-expected him to. Instead, he just looked at you, gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing the way you looked right then—cheeks flushed, lips kiss bruised, breathing heavy.

You swallowed, suddenly too aware of the weight of his hands, the heat of his body beneath you. "What?" you muttered, shifting slightly in his lap.

Jake’s fingers flexed at your waist, his jaw tightening like he was holding something back. Then his eyes lifted to meet yours.

"Want me to take this off, sweetheart?" he murmured, toying with the hem of your shirt, voice softer than before. More careful.

Your breath caught.

You weren’t sure what surprised you more. The fact that he asked or the fact that it sent a different kind of heat through you. Something deeper. Something that settled low in your stomach, curling tight.

"You don’t have to ask," you muttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse was suddenly hammering against your ribs.

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, one hand leaving your waist to push a strand of hair from your face, thumb grazing your cheek for just a second longer than necessary. "Yeah, I do."

And that? That threw you. Because it wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t teasing. It was real. For a split second, it wasn’t about the fight, the tension, or the way you constantly tried to push each other’s buttons.

It was just him.

Your throat felt tight, and you hated it. Hated that something so simple made your stomach flip.

But you still lifted your arms.

Jake didn’t hesitate after that, peeling your shirt off in one smooth motion and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. But then he stopped again, and Jesus Christ, the way his eyes raked over you, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, the way his breath shuddered just slightly. It made your skin prickle and made heat lick up your spine.

For the first time that night, you didn’t have some sharp remark ready.

And Jake noticed.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as his hands skimmed up your sides, settling just beneath the band of your bra. 

"Well, would you look at that," he murmured, eyes dragging back up to yours. "Speechless."

Your glare was instant, but before you could snap at him, his grip tightened, pulling you closer, lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, "And beautiful."

And just like that, he shattered every thought in your head.

Jake's fingers trailed up your spine, slow and deliberate, making you shiver before they settled on the clasp of your bra. He didn’t rush. There was no quick practiced flick like you might have expected. Instead, he lingered, thumbs tracing idle circles against your skin, his breath warm against the hollow of your throat.

"You good?" He murmured, lips brushing against your collarbone, his voice lower now, less teasing, almost gentle.

You swallowed hard. You weren’t used to this side of him, the part that asked, the part that wasn’t all sharp-edged arrogance and cocky smirks.

"Yeah," you muttered, but your voice was quieter now, and that was enough for him to notice.

Jake hummed like he wasn’t quite convinced, but he popped the clasp anyway, dragging the straps down your arms with an almost painful slowness before finally tossing it aside.

Heat bloomed across your chest, your arms twitching with the instinct to cover yourself, but before you could even think about being shy, Jake’s hands were there, skimming up your ribs, curling around your wrists to stop you.

"Nuh uh," he murmured, his grip firm but warm, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, dragged over every inch of you, taking his damn time like he was committing every detail to memory.

"Jake," you started, but your voice wavered, and you hated how small it sounded.

His gaze flicked back to yours immediately, something sharp flashing behind all that heat. "Don’t," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don’t get shy on me now."

You huffed, shifting slightly in his lap trying to grasp at something. Control, defiance…anything. But then his hands were back tracing up your sides, his thumbs skimming just beneath your breasts. His eyes were locked on yours.

Your stomach flipped, and God you wanted to look away. You wanted to fight the way your heart was hammering against your ribs. But then his hands slid higher, fingers splaying wide across your ribcage holding you there.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, and it was so genuine and unguarded that it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Jake Seresin. Cocky, arrogant, never shuts the hell up Jake was looking at you like you like you were the best damn thing he’d ever seen.  Like he’d imagined this a hundred times over but now that you were here, in his lap, chest rising and falling under his hands, he was afraid to blink in case he woke up and it was all gone.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze dragging over every inch of you with a hunger that wasn’t just lust, it was something more, something you didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Fuck,” he muttered almost to himself, his head tipping back against the couch for just a second before he looked at you again. 

His pupils were blown wide, his breath uneven and God you’d never seen him like this. It was like you had him completely undone without even trying.

His hands moved then, fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your waist before sliding up, fingers brushing the undersides of your breasts.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice rough. “How long I’ve wanted you like this.”

A slow, satisfied smirk curled at the corner of your lips as you took him in. You slid your hands into his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers as you gave a firm tug. His breath hitched, his grip tightening instinctively, but he let you guide him, tilting his head back until his chin rested against your sternum.

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling beneath you, the sharp angles of his jaw and throat bathed in the warm glow of the lamp beside the couch. He was completely at your mercy, and fuck, you liked the way that felt.

You leaned down, slow and deliberate, until your breath ghosted over his parted lips, your nose barely brushing his. His hands twitched on your waist, but he didn’t move. He was waiting. Watching. Wanting.

A smug little hum left your lips, and you let your fingers tighten just slightly in his hair as you murmured, “Well, Hangman… you finally got what you wanted.” You dragged your lips down, grazing along the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse jumped beneath your mouth. Then you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, voice turning to a whisper. “What are you gonna do about it?”

His hands flexed against you, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes locked onto yours as if you’d just lit a match and dropped it into a trail of gasoline.

Then he grinned, lazy and sharp, green eyes dark with intent.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with promise as his fingers skimmed higher, teasing along your spine. “You have no idea.”

One second you were in control, straddling his lap with hands in his hair. The next his hands slid down gripping the backs of your thighs as he stood, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

A startled gasp left your lips, hands flying to his shoulders as he adjusted his grip, his fingers pressing firmly into the curve of your ass to keep you steady. His smirk was downright insufferable as he took a few steps toward the hallway, completely unfazed by your sudden shift in position.

“Jesus, Hangman—” you started, but he only chuckled, the sound vibrating against your chest as he carried you with ease.

“What?” he drawled, like this wasn’t affecting him in the slightest. “You wanted to know what I was going to do.”

Your stomach fluttered at the effortless strength in his hold, but you rolled your eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, you crossed your arms loosely around his neck, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You know, you don’t have to carry me.”

Jake slowed just slightly, glancing down at you with something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You sayin’ you don’t like it?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening against the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like it. If anything, you liked it too much. But there was something about being held like this—about the way he handled you so effortlessly, so casually—that poked at an old insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind.

Guys like Jake Seresin always went for the kind of girls who looked effortless in their arms, who didn’t overthink the way they were being held, who didn’t worry about whether or not they were too heavy or too much.

Your silence must have said more than you intended, because Jake’s hold on you tightened just slightly, his smirk fading into something softer.

His voice dropped, quieter than before. “Darlin’.”

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “I just—” You huffed a short breath, shaking your head like you could physically dismiss the thought. “I’m not some dainty little thing, okay? You don’t have to—”

“Stop.” His tone left no room for argument, and before you could protest, he adjusted his grip, bouncing you slightly in his arms as if to prove a point. “You really think I’d be doin’ this if I couldn’t handle it?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head before dipping down just enough to catch your gaze. His eyes were serious now, all teasing gone. “I like carrying you,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “And not just ‘cause I can, but because I want to.”

Your breath caught, a different kind of warmth blooming in your chest, one that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the way he was looking at you.

He tightened his hold, tilting his head with a smirk that was softer than before, but still undeniably him. “Now, you gonna let me take you to my bed, or you wanna keep pretendin’ you don’t like this?”

Your heart stuttered, fingers gripping the back of his neck as you huffed, finally letting your head drop against his shoulder.

“Fine,” you muttered, and you could feel his smirk against your temple.

“That’s my girl.”

And with that, he carried you the rest of the way, leaving no room for argument.

Jake nudged the door open with his foot, the hinges creaking slightly as he carried you inside. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the space. His bed which was big, unmade, and ridiculously inviting was only a few steps away, but he didn’t rush. If anything, he seemed to savor the moment, taking his time as he moved toward it.

You felt the muscles in his arms flex as he shifted his grip, lowering you onto the mattress with deliberate care. His hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary, fingertips trailing lightly along your sides before he straightened to stand over you.

The air between you was thick, charged with something that was no longer just heated banter and reckless tension. This was something else. Something weightier.

Jake’s green eyes raked over you, dark and unreadable, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “You look good like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.

Your stomach clenched, your breath coming a little quicker as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “You just gonna stand there and stare, Seresin?” you teased, but the slight hitch in your voice gave you away.

His lips curled, but there was something softer behind the smirk this time. “You in a hurry?”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “I—”

Before you could finish, Jake was moving. He crawled onto the bed, hands bracing on either side of your hips as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours.

“You got nowhere to be,” he murmured, the words a slow drawl against your lips. “So why don’t you let me take my time?”

A shiver rolled through you, but you forced yourself to keep your expression even. “You always this much of a tease?”

Jake chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. “Only when I got something worth taking my time with.”

Your breath caught, but you refused to let him see how easily he unraveled you. Instead, you reached up, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to earn a soft grunt from him. “Stop talking and do something about it, Hangman.”

Jake’s weight pressed you into the mattress, his hands roaming slowly and deliberately as his lips ghosted over your collarbone. Every touch sent heat curling through your stomach, every kiss stoking the fire that had been burning between you since the second he’d crowded into your space outside The Hard Deck.

His hands drifted lower, skimming the line of your jeans, fingers toying with the button as he watched your face.

He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “You gonna let me take these off, or you wanna fight me on it?”

You huffed a breath, fingers still buried in his hair. “What do you think?”

Jake grinned like he already knew the answer, but he still waited. Waited for the tiny nod you gave him, the permission you offered without hesitation. Only then did he move.

The sound of your zipper being undone was deafening in the quiet of the room, your breath catching as he dragged the denim down, slow enough to make you squirm.

He chuckled, low and knowing. “You always this impatient?”

You lifted your hips, helping him rid you of the last piece of clothing between you, and shot him a look. “You always this slow?”

Jake’s eyes darkened. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you want me rushing this.”

His hands traced up the length of your legs, teasing, exploring, his touch sending little sparks dancing along your skin. And then his fingers dug into your thighs, parting them just enough for him to settle between them.

That cocky smirk never wavered as he leaned in, his breath hot against your jaw. “Told you,” he murmured. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

Jake’s lips found the inside of your knee first. His lips were soft and teasing as they brushed your skin. His hands ran up your thighs, squeezing, but his mouth followed at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Your breath hitched as he kissed higher, his lips trailing a warm path along your skin. Every inch of you was tense with anticipation, waiting, bracing, needing.

He was right there. Right. There.

And then he exhaled a laugh against your skin, his breath warm and taunting, before shifting away to press his mouth to your other thigh instead.

Your hands fisted in the sheets. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Jake looked up at you through his lashes, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?”

Your head fell back against the pillows with an exasperated groan. “You’re insufferable.”

He hummed in agreement, his mouth continuing its slow, torturous exploration. His hands slid under your thighs, gripping tight, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“You love it,” he murmured against your skin, voice dripping with amusement.

You wanted to argue, but then his teeth grazed the soft skin of your inner thigh, just enough to make you gasp, and suddenly, words weren’t coming so easily anymore.

Jake's teasing had you teetering on the edge of frustration and something far more desperate. He knew exactly what he was doing. Drawing it out, making you squirm, feeding off every sharp breath and roll of your hips. But just when you were about to snap at him again, his lips finally ghosted over where you needed him most.

A strangled sound caught in your throat as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against you, his tongue flicking out just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling harder than necessary, but if anything, it only spurred him on.

For once, you were grateful Jake Seresin never shut the hell up because he really knew how to use that mouth.

His tongue worked in slow, devastating strokes, a perfect rhythm that had your back arching off the bed in seconds. He groaned against you, the vibrations sinking deep into your bones, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach.

“Jake—” His name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, breathless and wrecked.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice smug and husky. His grip on your thighs tightened. “Say my name, sweetheart.”

Jake was relentless.

Every time you thought he was going to give you what you needed—really give it to you—he’d slow down, change rhythm, pull back just enough to keep you on the edge but never quite over it.

It was maddening.

Your legs trembled beneath his hands, every nerve in your body burning with frustration. He was drawing it out on purpose, keeping you right where he wanted, his mouth and tongue working you into a fever pitch only to ease up the second your muscles tensed, the moment you got too close.

You let out a frustrated groan, fingers tugging at his hair in a warning. “Jake.”

A hum vibrated against you—satisfied, entertained—but he didn’t relent. He kept up his slow torture, his tongue pressing in firm, deliberate strokes, his lips ghosting over you with just enough pressure to make you crazy.

“Fuck, I swear to—”

But just when you were ready to snap, just when the tension in your stomach coiled tight enough to break, he pulled away.

You gasped, blinking down at him in disbelief, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Are you—”

He grinned, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he settled between your legs, looking so damn smug it made you want to throttle him. “Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?”

Your glare could’ve burned a hole straight through him. “I hate you.”

His hands smoothed up your thighs, fingers kneading into your skin as he leaned up, his lips hovering just over yours. His breath was warm when he spoke. “No, you don’t.”

And then, just to drive the point home, he slid two fingers between your legs, pressing into you with the same slow, torturous precision.

Your breath hitched, your head falling back against the pillows. He chuckled against your jaw, lips brushing your pulse. “See? You love me.”

Your body betrayed you before you even had time to think of a comeback. Your hips rolled instinctively, seeking out more friction, chasing what he’d been cruelly holding just out of reach.

Jake groaned, low and rough, his fingers still deep inside you as he watched, transfixed. His free hand splayed across your hip, feeling the way you moved against him, the way your body took what it wanted.

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with something dangerously close to awe. “So goddamn greedy for it.”

Heat flooded your face, but embarrassment never stood a chance against the need coursing through you. You didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—even as his eyes dragged over every inch of you, taking in the way you worked yourself against his hand, the soft whimpers slipping past your lips.

Jake fucking loved it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his fingers curling just right, pressing exactly where you needed. His mouth found your throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue. “Use me. Get yourself there.”

Your stomach clenched, muscles tightening as that coil in your core wound impossibly tighter. Every stroke of his fingers sent sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, and the way he watched you like he’d never seen anything more stunning only drove you higher.

You were close. Too close.

And Jake knew it.

His lips brushed your ear, his voice a rasped promise.

"That’s it, baby. Come for me."

There was no question in his tone just certainty, confidence, command. Like he already knew you would, like you had no choice but to obey.

His fingers never faltered, his pace steady, relentless, pushing you closer and closer until there was no stopping it. Your body tensed, every nerve lighting up as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, ready to snap.

"Jake—" His name tore from your lips, a desperate, breathless cry as the release hit you, hard and all-consuming.

He groaned, low and satisfied like your pleasure was his own personal victory. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, working you through it, dragging out every last wave, every aftershock, until you were trembling beneath him.

His hands never stopped moving, slow and teasing now, like he was savoring the way you came undone for him. His lips ghosted over your hip, smug but reverent. "Damn, baby," he drawled, watching you with something almost like admiration. "That was real pretty."

Jake made quick work of his jeans and boxers, shedding the last of his clothing without a second thought. His confidence was effortless like he had no doubt in his mind that you'd want him just as much as he wanted you.

Crawling back onto the bed, he took you in, his hands smoothing over your skin, possessive and reverent all at once. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped you over. You barely had time to react before he was guiding you forward. Instinctively, you pushed up onto your forearms, shifting to all fours, but Jake had other plans.

He let out a low chuckle, running his hands down your spine before gripping your hips and pulling you back against him. 

"Not like that, sweetheart." His voice was rough, heavy with want.

Before you could question him, he slid a firm hand between your shoulder blades and pressed down, guiding you back down to the mattress. Your cheek met the sheets, your back arching instinctively under the pressure of his touch.

"There you go," he murmured, his voice all smug satisfaction. "Much better."

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as he aligned himself with you, his body hovering just above yours. His breath was shallow, and you could feel the heat of him so close, yet not enough to satisfy the aching tension between you both.

With a slight shift of his weight, he brought his hand down on your ass with a sharp, satisfying slap. The sound of it echoed in the quiet room, making your body jump forward at the contact. You let out a small yelp, the sting sending a rush of heat through your veins, mixing with the desire that had been building all night.

You glanced over your shoulder, your chest rising and falling quickly. "What was that for?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice gave away the sudden, surprised pleasure.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "Because I can."

You opened your mouth to snap back, to say something, anything to regain some control in this situation, but before you could get a word out, Jake shifted his weight and pushed forward, the feeling of him filling you completely. The words you’d been about to say caught in your throat, replaced by a breathless moan as he stretched you in ways that sent your body reeling.

Your back arched, and your grip on the sheets tightened as you fought to stay composed, but the pleasure of him inside you was too overwhelming. The cocky grin on Jake’s face was evident, even as he moved slowly, savoring the moment just as much as you were.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he began to increase his pace. The sounds of his breath, sharp and steady, mixed with the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, filling the air between you. Each thrust had you gasping, your body rocked forward with every press, his rhythm pushing you further toward the edge.

With every stroke, you felt him deeper, filling you completely. The intensity of it had you gasping for air, your heart racing in time with the beat of your pulse. And for a split second, amidst the rush of sensation, a thought flashed through your mind—Why the hell hadn’t you done this before?

The idea lingered for a heartbeat, but Jake’s hand moved to your back, pressing you down into the sheets, and that fleeting thought was gone as quickly as it had come. All that was left was the heat, the pressure building inside you, and the undeniable pull of him—his rhythm, his touch, the way he moved inside you, the way his breath caught when he pulled you closer, driving deeper.

Jake could feel the way your body clenched around him, the tightening of your muscles making him groan, his rhythm faltering for just a second. He had been watching you, noticing the way your moans had shifted from his name into breathless nonsense, and he could tell you were on the verge of losing it.

With a smirk curling at the corner of his lips, he leaned down, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “You’re about to come, aren’t you?” His voice was rough, low, and cocky, but there was a softness to it that sent a shiver down your spine. “Damn, baby. You sound so fucking good. I’m gonna make sure you remember this.”

His hand slid down your body, fingers pressing into your lower stomach, feeling the way your muscles tensed and quivered, and that only made him press harder, driving deeper with each thrust.

Jake could feel the way you were unraveling beneath him, and he couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, knowing he was the one pulling these sounds from you. He was the one making you lose control. There was nothing like this—the power, the rush of it—and hell, he fucking loved it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rougher now, “I’m not letting you go until I’ve got every last sound out of you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, a soft whimper escaping your lips without meaning to. It was just enough to fuel Jake further, his grip on your hips tightening, his thrusts becoming harder, more determined. He heard the sound you made, felt the way it vibrated in your chest, and that drove him wild.

“God, you like that, don’t you?” Jake murmured the cocky edge to his voice sharper now. He moved faster, his rhythm relentless, as if he was determined to make you fall apart in front of him.

The sound of his name left your lips again, a whimpering gasp this time, and Jake couldn’t help but smile against your back.

“I knew you’d be this responsive,” he said with a breathless chuckle, “Just let go for me, baby. Let me hear it.”

The way your body responded to him, so soft and needy, only made him push harder. Each sound you made, every tremor that ran through you, sent a wave of satisfaction crashing over him. He couldn’t get enough, his need for you only growing as he felt you getting closer, his hands tightening on your hips as he set the pace.

You were almost there, and he knew it. And that, more than anything, was what had him pushing to give you exactly what you needed.

Jake’s movements were growing more erratic, his control slipping as the pressure inside him built. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, every muscle in his body tense and straining with the need to finish. But he wasn’t going to let go just yet. Not without one more from you.

You were a mess beneath him, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, your body trembling as you met each of his thrusts. The way you felt, the sounds you were making…everything about you was driving him wild. 

He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you back against him as he pushed harder, faster. “One more, baby,” he growled. “Give it to me.”

He didn’t ask; he commanded, his voice rough and demanding, as if there was no room for hesitation. His breath was coming in hot, heavy bursts against your skin as he drove you both closer to the edge. 

He needed to hear you. Needed to see you fall apart again.

“Don’t hold back. Let go for me,” he growled, his voice almost a low, possessive growl as he felt the last thread of his restraint snap.

Your body finally gave way, the tension that had been building between you two snapping as you let go. A sharp cry tore from your throat, your body shuddering under him as your release hit. The pressure and pleasure of it all flooded your senses, and you collapsed onto the bed, breathless and spent. Your legs shook, your mind hazy with the aftermath of what he had just pulled from you.

Jake’s movements faltered for a moment, his rhythm becoming more desperate and sloppy as he chased his own release. His grip on your hips tightened, but his breath was heavier, ragged now, his body trembling against you.

“Where do you want it?” He muttered.

It was then that the weight of it all clicked for you.

Your chest heaved with exertion as you finally managed to get your thoughts together, eyes widening slightly. You gasped, the realization dawning. You hadn’t even thought about the condom. You hadn’t talked about it.

“Jake,” you murmured, still breathless, trying to collect yourself enough to speak clearly. “I’m on birth control.”

The words had barely left your mouth before he groaned low and deep, and in the next moment, he surged forward, driving himself all the way into you, his pace finally faltering as he pushed to the brink. His fingers dug into your skin as he stilled, and then he let go with a final, possessive grunt. He filled you, the intensity of his release flooding you both, leaving you both trembling in the aftermath.

His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling as he slowly came back to himself. He stayed there, resting against you for a moment, his forehead resting against your back as the two of you tried to catch your breath. It felt almost like a release for him too. Not just physically but in the tension between you both that had been building for so long.

“Damn,” he muttered against your skin, his voice hoarse. “That was...”

He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. You both knew exactly what it was.

Still, the weight of the moment hung in the air between you two. Neither of you moved immediately, just feeling each other’s presence, the exhaustion slowly taking over.

You sighed as you sat up, feeling the cool air against your skin as the heat of Jake’s body left you. Your limbs felt heavy, your body spent, but you forced yourself to move, slipping off the bed and padding toward the bathroom.

Jake didn’t say anything as you went, just watched you go, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the room.

Inside the bathroom, you turned on the sink, splashing cool water on your face. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, lips were swollen, the lingering evidence of Jake’s touch still visible on your skin. You exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the counter for a moment before straightening up.

This was…something. Whatever it was. And now, in the quiet of Jake’s bedroom, the weight of what came next started to settle over you.

By the time you emerged, Jake was pulling on a pair of sweats, his movements slower, more languid now. You grabbed your underwear and the oversized shirt he had tossed your way earlier, slipping them on before crawling back into bed beside him.

It was quiet now. The charged energy from before had settled into something softer, something heavier. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind drifting as the reality of tomorrow pressed in.

Beside you, Jake shifted. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze settling on you. You felt it before you saw it. The weight of his stare, studying you, tracing over your features like he was trying to memorize them.

“What?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kept looking at you, his expression unreadable but intent. Finally, after a beat, he murmured, “You’re worried about tomorrow. About me..”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Your breath caught slightly, but you didn’t respond. You just swallowed, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Jake exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound in the stillness of the room. “You’re gonna tell me to be safe, aren’t you?”

Your throat tightened.

“Just…” you swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper. “Just come back alive, Jake.”

The teasing smirk he had worn all night. Hell, the one he wore all the damn time faded. Something more real passed over his face, something softer, something unspoken.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You finally turned your head to look at him, and for the first time, neither of you had anything smart to say.

You just held each other’s gaze, both thinking the same thing.

Jake’s fingers lingered against yours, his touch warm but tentative. You weren’t sure how long the two of you just lay there like that staring at each other in the dim light of his bedroom, words unspoken but understood.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his lips barely ghosting over yours in a way that wasn’t cocky or teasing or demanding. It was softer. Almost hesitant.

You could feel the way he exhaled against your lips like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Like maybe this, whatever this was, was throwing him off just as much as it was throwing you off.

His lips pressed to yours, just for a second. Just enough to make your breath hitch. And then he pulled back, hovering so close you could still feel him.

The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. You stared at the ceiling, your mind drifting, already trying to brace for the morning.

You turned your head, glancing at him in the dim light. He looked so at ease, so different from the cocky, sharp-tongued pilot you had spent so much time arguing with. His expression was softer now, the teasing smirk gone, replaced by something quieter.

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your body unraveling as you shifted closer, tucking yourself into his side. His arm draped over you, and you let your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

His free hand rested on his stomach, and without thinking, yours followed, finding it easily in the dark. Your fingers brushed his, tentative at first like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to reach for him. Like you weren’t sure if this was something you were even supposed to want.

But Jake didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled around yours, lacing them together like it was second nature. Like holding your hand was as easy as breathing.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you had to.

The weight of the morning still lingered in the air, but for now, just for this moment, you let yourself have this.

Let yourself have him for just a little longer.

Jake’s breathing evened out long before yours did. His arm was still draped over you, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something that almost felt like peace. Almost. But no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself in the warmth of his skin, in the weight of his hand still tangled with yours, your mind kept drifting.

You stared up at the ceiling, the quiet pressing in.

And I'll ask the stars at night, how I can slow the time…

The words echoed in your head, unspoken but heavy in your chest. The night felt too short, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it.

Your grip on Jake’s hand tightened just slightly like that alone could keep him here. Keep him safe.

But you knew it wouldn’t.

God, I’m so terrified that I’m gonna lose you.

You turned your head, your gaze tracing the sharp lines of his face softened in sleep. His brows weren’t furrowed for once. His mouth, the same mouth that had spent the night pressing cocky remarks against your skin, was relaxed.

He looked peaceful. Like he didn’t have to wake up in just a few hours and walk into the unknown. Like he wasn’t about to get into a jet and disappear into the sky, leaving you behind to wonder if you’d ever see him again.

And I’ll die if I do.

Your throat tightened, your chest aching under the weight of everything you weren’t saying. Everything you wouldn’t say.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this. Weren’t supposed to want him to stay. Weren’t supposed to feel like the world was tilting beneath you at the thought of him not coming back.

But you did.

And that scared you more than anything else.

So you did the only thing you could. You curled further into him, pressed your face against his shoulder, and let your fingers stay laced with his. Holding onto him for just a little longer.

Just in case.

[noellawrites]

Belly of the Beast - Sonny Carisi x reader

summary: Reader has been hooking up with Sonny and gets kidnapped by William Lewis, who is determined to get them pregnant against their will. Reader does eventually become pregnant and is unsure of the paternity of the baby.

AFAB reader but no specific pronouns used.

warnings: rape, abduction, torture, pregnancy, discussion of abortion, canon-typical violence

The night before you were taken was completely normal. No alarm bells ringing in your brain, no voice telling you not to go into work the following day. You were spending the night with your co-worker, Sonny Carisi, and having amazing sex as usual. It was the kind of intimate intercourse that was normal with him, making you feel so special and loved.

As detectives in the same Manhattan SVU squad, you had to keep your companionship a secret. You both loved your jobs and you knew it could cause trouble if anyone found out. Besides, Sonny was brand new to the squad, and you knew Liv would transfer one of you in a heartbeat if she found out.

It happened so fast. One moment you were grabbing a cup from the cabinet in your apartment, the next moment a gun was being held to your head.

“N-no, please—“ you gasp, mind racing. You were wearing your holster, but your gun was still locked in your safe. You weren’t thinking this morning. Your mind was scattered from last night’s events, and it was about to massively screw you over.

“Gotta say I’m offended, sweet cheeks. No warm welcome for an old friend?” William Lewis says with a sinister smile, “I just knew I had to come back for you, such a sweet young thing. Couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do to you, to Olivia Benson’s protégée. Hit you both where it hurts.”

His sentence is punctuated with a swift slam of the gun to the side of your head, knocking you out cold on your kitchen floor.

—

The first thing you notice after regaining consciousness are the handcuffs attaching your hands to the pipes on the wall and binding your feet together.

The room you were in was bare except for the pipes, the cuffs and you. It looked to be a utility closet with no windows, only a lone lightbulb above you with a string attached.

Duct tape covered your mouth, leaving you unable to scream. You thrashed around, tugging on your cuffs, hoping someone might hear.

Your eyes darted around the room. Were you still in Manhattan? Were you even in New York anymore? You had no idea what time it was or even what day. Your squad had to be looking for you by now, after you didn’t show up at work.

You didn’t have to guess for long, because the door swung open to reveal William Lewis, smiling down at you.

“God, you’re even cuter than I remember. Knew I needed you right away,” he sighs, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

“You scream, I shoot,” he says, hand moving to his side as he pulls out a gun and fixes it on you.

He leans over, tearing the duct tape off your mouth along with some of your skin.

“Gotta say, I’m pretty hurt. Detective Amaro leaves, new guy comes in and you start hooking up with him?” Lewis sighs, shaking his head.

“What do you want from me?” you huff, tugging on your handcuffs again.

“This time, I’m taking what’s mine,” he smirks, “I’ve got a bed set up for us. Thought of you with all the other holes I fucked, and I knew I had to get my hands on you myself.”

“What, you mean all the women and children you raped, beat and killed?” you snap, writhing around as he un-cuffs you from the pipes and then re-cuffs you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you the royal treatment. I’ve got something special for you, little one. You might’ve started out as Benson’s protégée, but you’ll end up carrying mine,” he laughs.

Your blood runs cold at his words, knowing he must be planning on raping you. You wracked your brain for all the delaying tactics that Olivia’s taught you, and everything she’s told you about Lewis’ temper.

Lewis leans over and pulls you up, grabbing his gun with the other hand and fixing it on you.

“You’re insane, you know that? I’m not letting you do this,” you grunt.

Lewis yanks the door open and pushes you out, hand holding onto your cuffed ones. You look around what appears to be an abandoned warehouse for a few seconds before you are pushed down onto a dirty mattress.

“Olivia wasn’t enough of a thrill, so you just had to come for me, is that it? What about Amanda, is she next?” you challenge.

“Olivia is boring and Amanda’s all used up,” he laughs, “you, however, are perfect for this.”

“What are you gonna do to me?” you hiss as Lewis turns you over, pinning your hands under your back.

“This sweet little womb is going to carry the next rapist, the next little life-ruiner,” Lewis says, fingers tracing over your lower stomach, “first, he’ll rip out of you, ruining your body forever. And then he’ll follow in his daddy’s footsteps when he grows up.”

“What makes you so sure you’ll get me pregnant? And that it’ll be a boy?” you huff.

Each word that came out of William Lewis’ mouth made you even more terrified, your mind racing to rescue yourself from this situation.

“I’m more than just a pretty face, Detective (y/l/n). Right now is your most fertile time, according to the chart you keep in your desk. And we both know you’re too sappy and weak to get an abortion,” he laughs, shaking his head at you. So weak, so pathetic. An SVU Detective who couldn’t even save themself from becoming a victim.

“That’s— you have no idea what you’re talking about,” you gasp, thrashing around.

“Now you’re gonna make this hard on me? Fine,” he sighs, grabbing a bottle of alcohol from beside the mattress and unscrewing the cap, “drink up, baby.”

—

Over the next few days, you were out of your mind. If you weren’t passed out or asleep, you were drunk or high at Lewis’ force, shoving edibles down your throat and washing them down with bottles of cheap vodka.

Your throat burned, stung red with pain, and your body was dirty and disgusting. As if the drugs weren’t enough, Lewis was getting off on burning and scarring you, too. Lighters, cigarettes and metal objects were on rotation across your skin.

The worst was the rape, for which you preferred to be unconscious for. At least if you weren’t mentally there, you weren’t being traumatized again.

After the first few times, you knew you would never get a good night of sleep, never have a calm moment, never become intimate without feeling what you felt when William Lewis forced himself inside you, fucking at a brutal pace, spitting and screaming and grunting horrible things as he used and abused your body for his own pleasure.

He came inside of you as much as he physically could, getting off on mocking you for becoming his rape victim and eventually the carrier of his monstrous offspring.

After a few days, he figured SVU would be catching onto him, ever loyal to their own. He couldn’t risk moving you so he cuffed you back to the pipes, kissed your lips and disappeared. William Lewis had his fun with you, but he needed to keep moving if he was to avoid arrest.

You hadn’t been fed the entire time, barely given any water and mostly having had drugs and alcohol forced down your throat. You didn’t hear anything as SVU busted in, Olivia and Sonny leading ahead as they sprinted towards your weak figure.

“(Y/n)? Oh fuck— oh ma’ god—“ Sonny’s voice breaks, looking up at Olivia with tears in his eyes.

Liv pulls out her radio, immediately ordering a bus for an officer down.

“Baby, c’mon, it’s Sonny. ‘M right here—,” he coos, taking off his jacket and laying it over you to give you some privacy. You were fully naked and chained up, blood and burn marks everywhere. It didn’t take a genius to understand what had happened.

“Mmmph—“ you mumble as he unlocks the cuffs with the standard key used by NYPD.

“Ah know ‘ya can hear me, jus’ hold on. We’re gettin’ a bus, okay?” he sniffles, hand on your arm. Sonny wished more than anything that he could take your pain and make it his.

Sonny scrambled to grab a water bottle before Liv stuck her hand out, keeping him back.

“I know you want to help, Carisi, but the inside of their mouth could have DNA evidence,” Liv says with a pinched expression.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill whoeva’ did this,” Sonny growls, looking around as his blood boils. You had only been gone for three days, but it had felt like an eternity. Sonny had never been so afraid in his entire life.

—

If you ever had any question of what you and Sonny were to each other, it was answered in the days following your attack. Sonny spent a week and a half straight with you in your apartment, doing anything you needed. He bathed you, cooked for you, gave you space if you needed and held you when you woke up shaking or crying from a nightmare.

You returned to work a month later, even though Liv wanted you to take a longer break. She kept a close eye on you, having gone through multiple horrific William Lewis experiences herself, although none included rape itself.

A week into your return, Olivia pulled you into her office and gave you the grim update that there were basically no updates. Very much unlike him, Lewis had disappeared or gone into hiding. And Liv had one request for you: she wanted you to take a pregnancy test.

You laughed, taken aback at the absurd notion. Sure, you hadn’t had your period yet, but it wasn’t uncommon for survivors of extreme trauma. But Liv wanted to be sure, as Lewis’ mission with you was to force you to carry his offspring.

“I-I think the worst part is—“ you gulp, “he was right. I don’t have the balls to get an abortion. I’ve always wanted a baby, and I just— god, Liv, if I’m pregnant by my rapist, I have no idea what I’ll do.”

“And what about you and Carisi?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Me… and Carisi?”

“(Y/n), I’m not blind,” she smiles softly.

“We haven’t— you know, since the assault. I just can’t. But that would be even worse, I mean, I know Sonny would stick around. Both of us together, raising Lewis’ baby? A-and with the threat of him coming back and wanting custody? It’s just too much. I would put that poor baby up for adoption,” you sigh.

“Take the test and we’ll figure things out from there, Detective (y/l/n). I’ll be here for you every step of the way,” Olivia promises.

You both stand up and she gives you a hug, noticing how your body trembles. She had a hunch you’d been like that since the assault, and she couldn’t blame you. She’d be lying if she said Lewis didn’t haunt her dreams sometimes, too.

You took the test in your apartment, alone. Sonny’s shift ended two hours after yours, which gave you enough time to grab some tests from the bodega and take them with your fingers crossed praying to not be pregnant.

You still had flashbacks to those moments, the ugly ones where you were drunk or high and still awake with Lewis on top of you. You saw his repulsive smile every time you closed your eyes, hearing him babble about knocking you up and wrecking your life even more.

Your job was everything to you and you loved helping people, but you had never fully understood how it felt to be a sex crimes victim until it happened to you. Until your power was stripped away, every piece of your humanity torn to shreds. You never knew what it felt to want to burn your body, to destroy the evidence, to put an end to the agony plaguing you day in and day out.

You never wanted to die as much as when you flipped over those tests, seeing the plus signs and knowing you were giving William Lewis exactly what he wanted.

After a few days of moping, Sonny sat you up in bed and reminded you of the small, but still possible, chance that it could be his baby. You hadn’t used a condom with Sonny on the night before your abduction, though you usually did.

“Baby, jus’ get it checked. If it’s ours—“

“And what if it’s not, Sonny? You really want to raise a baby conceived with my rapist?” you cry, burying your head in your hands.

“Wouldn’t want t’give Lewis the satisfaction of lettin’ him raise it himself, doll. ‘N it’s still gonna be ‘ya baby, have ‘ya DNA either way,” Sonny reminds you, stroking your arm softly and gently.

“I-I’ll go in for a fetal DNA test,” you agree, allowing Sonny to call and make an appointment for your next day off.

In those moments between, you lived in a sweet purgatory outside of your body. The only times you felt grounded were when Sonny’s hands were on you, holding you, kissing your forehead, lacing your fingers together.

You couldn’t believe a tiny organism was growing inside of you, relying on you for nutrients and nourishment and love. Something so innocent that might be born from something so awful. You couldn’t even close your eyes when you thought about it, you just saw Lewis’ scarred face and his eerie, victorious smile.

“You’re sure you don’t want me t’come with ‘ya?” Sonny frowns, turning to face you as he buttons up his dress shirt.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” you say, though you’re not so sure.

“If not, call me or Liv, alright? One of us can come, we don’t want ‘ya t’be alone,” Sonny says, stepping towards you and placing a hand on your shoulder gently.

“I will, Sonny. Don’t worry,” you smile, leaning into his warm embrace.

You were told the results could take up to two weeks to arrive, so you went back home and looked around your apartment. It was a one bedroom, barely big enough for you and a baby. If the baby was Sonny’s, would you move in together? Would you have to switch departments? Would you get engaged?

And if it was Lewis’? You loathed the thought, but it was the more likely possibility. You wish you could give it up for adoption, but the truth was that it would be your baby too. Could you really give your baby away just because it was conceived through rape?

—

Two weeks later, like clockwork, your phone rang. The caller ID was your doctor’s office, so you glanced at Sonny. He was none the wiser, sitting on the couch and reading through case files.

“H-hello?” you answer, ducking into the bedroom. Your hand shook as you held your cell phone up to your ear.

“Hello, is this (y/n) (y/l/n)?”

“Yes, that’s me,” you say nervously.

“I have the results of your fetal DNA test. The sample from Dominick Carisi Junior is a 99.7 percent paternal match.”

“Wh— a-are you sure?” you whisper. Your shaky hand comes up to your mouth as you blink slowly, hardly believing your ears.

“Yes, with a match that close, it is virtually impossible to have another paternal match,” the voice on the other line explains.

“Okay, thank you. So much. I-I really appreciate it,” you smile.

You exchange pleasantries and hang up, tiptoeing out of your bedroom as you glance at Sonny again. Your last look at him before telling him he would become a father.

“Sonny? I have some really good news.”

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 8

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: Eddie tries to make a connection, but unfortunately he is Eddie Munson

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of Rachel, Rise of Hellfire characters

Word Count: 4.5k words

Authors Notes: Okay, this chapter is all over the place and I'm sorry about that. I re-wrote this a few times and I'm still not happy with it but it gets us where we need to go, like a sketchy gas station. Also this is ANGST.

Master List

Eddie felt confident about three things about himself; he knew he was a good Dungeon Master, he knew that he was skilled on guitar, and finally he was able to get a fairly good read on people if they could talk to him like a normal person for three fucking minutes.

That third thing was very helpful with the first. By knowing his players and how they worked and what made them tick, he was able to craft amazing stories that were satisfying to his players and their characters. 

It was also helpful when Eddie was earning his extra money on the side. Knowing who was genuinely safe to sell to was important when it seemed like everyone and their mother had a target on his back for no good reason. Stacy had been safe to sell to with her no-bullshit approach. The art kids were a safe bet in most cases when they needed to be “inspired”. And Chrissy Cunningham... well, he gave that shot but she never showed up. 

You had talked to him as a person the day that the two of you had snuck off for a smoke break when you were supposed to be calling businesses. You made small talk with him about his club. In those moments you treated him like an actual person, and he thought that maybe he had been wrong about you. 

And then he walked into school and saw you talking to Stacy. You looked pissed and Eddie, being the virtuous man he was in a small town, decided to eavesdrop on the conversion. 

“What’s your problem this morning?” Stacy laughed as you rummaged through your locker as best you could with one hand. 

“Eddie. Eddie is my problem. He’s always my problem.” You groaned. “I’d be perfectly fine and dandy otherwise.” 

Right, of course. You were just humoring him these past few days. Eddie always thought that you wore your emotions on your sleeve like he did. You had shown your dislike, but he thought you would have calmed down after the time you had spent together. 

Eddie kept listening though, because he wasn’t about to be that dipshit that heard something out of context just to misinterpret it. Maybe you weren’t talking about him. Maybe there was another Eddie he didn’t know. Hell, maybe you had a personal grudge against Van Halen. He’d have to judge your taste, but at least it wouldn’t be about him.

Why did he care so much?

“I’m really just exhausted.” You sighed. “I’m feeling too much at once lately, and all I want is a normal boring day. Between the wrist, my grades, Benson, and the whole Eddie thing- I’m just about running on fumes.” 

The whole Eddie thing. So there was a thing with him. Was he why you were exhausted? No, you just said it was more than him. Eddie found himself hoping that he was closer to the bottom of the list. 

The two of you had, what he had thought, was a really pleasant conversation when the two of you hung out behind the school. You had listened to him talk about his hobby, you two had discussed the alignments of water fowl. Eddie thought that things were going to be more amicable between the two of you. 

Guess not. 

Eddie moved away before he was caught eavesdropping. 

He tried to shake it off. It’s not like this was unusual; Eddie was used to people (usually his customers) playing nice in private and then ignoring his existence once back in society. 

It just didn’t make any fucking sense to him, no matter how he turned it in his mind. Those people never listened to him ramble about his game, let alone remember enough details to bring up so naturally with him. 

The whole Eddie thing. The conversation between you and Stacy shifted to other things and Eddie walked away. He’d rather you just come out and tell him what was wrong rather than just seeth at him from a distance. Everyone else in this shithole had the decency to make it clear what about him they didn’t like. And what a list there was! His hair, his clothes, his music, his grades, his speeches, his outspokenness, the way he’d lean into being a Satan Spawn to piss everyone off even though it was a load of bull- there was a long list that you could pick from!

If anyone had to make a guess, it was probably because you were so quiet about your dislike that pissed him off. If you would have just given him any of the reasons you didn’t like him then he could shrug it off and move on. Eddie wasn’t as self-aware as he would assume he was in this situation, and so your continuous ire irritated him to no end like a scratchy tag on a new t-shirt. It was always just barely there, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. 

All he needed was one reason to drop it and to just carry on. And so, at the end of Benson’s class he offered to carry your books for you again and escort you to the cafeteria. You had gaped at him for a moment, probably for continuous nerve he had to speak to you when others were around, but accepted his help. 

The small talk was nothing to write home about; the test, Spring Day, your “extra credit”, and of course the infamous Pep Rally Incident. 

“You looked like you would have been anywhere else during the pep rally.” you had said. 

“I tried to skip, but I got caught.” Eddie had been skipping pep rallies for so long, and no one had ever given a shit before. In his humble opinion, they should be begging him to stay a thousand feet away from the gym at all times, lest his lack of school spirit affect and disillusion his fellow classmates. 

“Try breaking your wrist next time. It got me out of it.” Eddie hated that you amused him. Why were moments like this so easy, but you always looked at him so intensely? What was The whole Eddie thing?  

“You broke your wrist trying to apologize, I wouldn’t apologize to anyone in this shithole.” Eddie said without thinking. He’d be willing to apologize if he was wrong, being no stranger to humble pie as one Ronnie Ecker would know. Other than that one summer of groveling so that he wouldn’t lose his best friend, there was no one at Hawkins Hell that was worthy of his forgiveness. 

“Not even your friends?” 

“If I had an issue with one of my friends we’d talk about it.” Eddie looked at you, hoping that you’d get the hint. He just needed one reason, a single reason why you didn’t like him so that he could file you away with all the other people in this town. 

He tried to pinpoint the expression on your face. Surprise, or maybe embarrassment for being called out? Whatever it was, Eddie had struck a nerve and he knew it. 

Stacy, the busybody, interjected before you could say anything and promptly shoo’d him away when he declined to join them. 

The rest of the school day went by as usual. He did get caught trying to skip last period but as he was already serving Benson after school, he was let off with a warning this time. Eddie was beginning to suspect that the teachers here were growing bored of targeting him, especially with graduation looming over the horizon.

Eddie pushed aside his pride as he pulled your desk towards his as the two of you worked on the test. He tried to ignore your presence, pretending he was a wizard deep in study as the two of you poured over the books. He tried to imagine you as a toad, but your hair looked (and smelled) too nice for that. A cat would have to do. Eddie wasn’t particularly fond of cats, but they always seemed to like him better than anyone. 

With the test turned in, and with his dismissal, Eddie booked it out of the classroom with you not too far behind. He made sure to give you the slip, not wanting to be more of a thing than necessary. 

Outside, it was pouring rain and he was parked on the far side of the parking lot and he really wasn’t in the mood to get drenched or struck by lightning. So he figured he could dick around school while teachers and clubs continued their more voluntary after school activities save for the detention room where Eddie passed by and waved with a wiggle of his fingers to the teacher. 

He supposed it would have been too much to ask that the rest of his day could go by without incident. 

“Forget about the freaks, I need your help!”

What the fuck had that been about? Everything had happened so fast, he barely had time to register it until him and Dustin had been out of Danny’s sight. The cause of the fight didn’t matter, Danny had probably said something stupid and Dustin had said something too smart for his own good and Eddie had shown up seconds after Dustin had been slammed into a locker. 

It had been a while since someone had picked on his friends. Eddie had made a point to be such a spectacle that the worst that they could expect most of the time was a snide remark or a look. No one wanted to fight someone who they thought was genuinely out of his mind. 

The incident would have been unremarkable if you hadn’t shown up, drenched to the bone and screaming about homework. You looked almost as insane as he had felt. Was that your way of trying to help, or were you that shook up about your school work that you demanded help from someone who had probably never even opened a book before? 

“That’s the girl that keeps staring at you.” Dustin said, once they were out of the way. “Guess she saved our asses.”

“Right. Saved.” Eddie said, not fully convinced. He had met a lot of people in this small town, but none of them were as confusing as you. 

Once Dustin was safely in his mom’s car, Eddie ran through the rain to get into his van where he cranked up the stereo as loud as it could, hoping to drown out his thoughts. If that didn’t work then a sample of his stash at home would. 

---

Eddie would know Kenny’s copy of The Shady Dragon Inn anywhere. The edges were singed from the time the original dungeon master decided it would look cool to set the front cover on fire a little to give it the feel of having been burned by a dragon. There were tears and creases and notes all over the pages from past campaigns, and it filled Eddie with nostalgia for his first party with Kenny and Ronnie and the others. 

This module was less of an adventure and more of a guide for DMs to create NPCs with a few pre-generated ones, as well as a layout for the titular Inn. Eddie would never admit it, but creating NPCs could feel monotonous and was his least favorite part of creating his campaigns. He’d rather be designing villains and crafting dungeons and puzzles and monsters. Besides, there were a few in here that Kenny had used before that he thought would work for the next adventure. 

The last time he had seen this book it had been sitting on the dining room table at Kenny’s place over winter break when they had met up to shoot the shit. So how was it now sitting on his desk in the middle of school? Eddie doubted that his kid brother knew his schedule well enough to plant the book and he had thought Kenny would be showing up this week for Hellfire just to say hi. 

Forgot to give this to you yesterday. 

The sticky note that was slapped onto the front cover wasn’t signed, but Eddie had seen enough of your handwriting the other day to know it was yours. How the hell had you got your hands on this?

Every time Eddie thought he was going to leave you alone, you pulled him back in. 

This time, when he offered to carry your books, you didn’t stare at him so dumbfoundedly. You just nodded, and kept your head down at the floor as you two walked. 

“Where’d you get this?” Eddie asked, holding up the module. 

“I met your friend while talking to Zack.” you said, looking like you had personal beef with the linoleum. “He wanted to drop it off to you and I said I could hand it over. Then you ran off before I could.”

It was as good a reason as any. 

“You didn’t read any of it, did you?” Eddie asked, his voice overly suspicious for dramatic effect. “It’s full of dark magic and satanic spells. Really intense stuff.” 

“I opened it out of curiosity and my wrist started hurting again.” your voice was deadpan. “I told my mother and she took me to a priest who immediately performed an exorcism. I am no longer allowed to have pea soup.” 

Eddie laughed, genuinely laughed harder than he meant to. He threw his head back like a little kid, and the sound of his mirth echoed through the hallways and forgot that he didn’t know what your deal was with him. In a moment like this he could pretend that you two could have been friends. 

For a second, he wished you two were, unknowing in that moment you were wishing for the same thing. 

“I didn’t read it.” you lied after his laughter had died down. You juggled your books as you swapped them out at your locker and grabbed your lunch box. Eddie would never know that you had rushed your math homework this morning at school before handing off a copy to Danny, as you had stayed up far too late reading the module and taking notes. 

“Good, I’d hate to be the one to corrupt your pure soul.” Eddie said, which made you snort loudly in turn. 

“Good, because I’m saving that for someone special.” you said, looking at him for a moment before realizing you were mad at the dirty floor and looking away. You were quiet for a few seconds, and Eddie was about to say something before you spoke up again. “Sorry about yesterday. I panicked.” 

Once again, you were apologizing but he wasn’t sure what exactly for. Was it for calling him and Dustin freaks? Probably not, that was just true. 

“Guess you really needed that homework, huh?” Eddie asked. 

You just shrugged, with a nonchalance reminiscent of how he’d responded a few days ago when you were asking about where he lived. He knew a touchy subject when he saw it.

“He’s not hurt is he?” you asked. “Your friend, I mean. The freshman.” 

“Henderson? He’s fine. He’s a fighter.” Well, technically he was a bard which didn’t exactly have the best hit points. But the kid was scrappy, and had faced worse bully encounters. 

“That’s good.” you sighed. 

“He says you saved his ass.” Eddie said casually. “If you hadn’t shown up and freaked out things might have been ugly.” 

Your face scrunched up. “Well, glad I could help. Danny’s an idiot. It was a crap shoot if he even knew what the homework was.” 

Once again, Eddie delivered you to Stacy and declined her invitation to sit with them. For a moment, he considered taking up her offer just to see what you would do. He imagined the faces you’d make if he sat across from you and Stacy; if you had been that mad at the floor just from him walking next to you, then you’d probably end up burning a hole in your lunch by sitting with you. 

---

With the final bell of the day rung, Eddie found himself walking into Benson’s class with you as the last student staggered out. The two of you sat at the front desks, waiting for your marching orders. 

After a few minutes, Ms. Benson looked up at the two of you. “What are you two doing here?” she asked. 

Eddie looked at you, and then back to Ms. Benson. “We’re here to help with Spring Day?” It was more of a question than an answer. 

“Hm? Oh, no you’re not.” she said. “That’s what the Student Council is for.” 

This time you and Eddie looked at each other, and you spoke up. “But you said that if we helped you’d give us extra credit.” 

“No.” Ms. Benson said again. “That wouldn’t be allowed. I had you two come to do personal detention to make up work. That’s all. You two can go now.” 

“This was detention?” you asked. 

“Am I still banned from Spring Day?” Eddie added. “And what was all that work for anyway?” 

Ms. Benson sighed deeply and spoke slowly. “I would never have any of my students take over any part of planning a school event if they were not part of the student council. Even if I did I would never give them a task that I, myself, was given. You two are done. Go.”

Neither of you needed to be told twice. The two of you got up and left the room quickly, closing the door behind you. 

“....Did she just pawn her work onto us?” you asked, looking at him with so much confusion that your issues with him or the floor were ignored for the moment. 

“Yup.” Eddie said, shaking his head with a chuckle. 

You rubbed your face, looking out a deep sigh. “At least we did get some extra credit?” 

“Looks like I’m still banned from Spring Day.” 

“Is it really that fun anyway? None of the places we called seemed... fun.” you said. 

“It’s more fun than sitting in detention all day.” Eddie replied. “I was just gonna skip anyway.” 

“I guess we’re done then.” Did you sound disappointed? Must be his imagination. 

The two of you walked in silence to the parking lot. Eddie found himself unusually quiet, reflecting over the last few afternoons with you. He would be the first to deny it, but he was almost disappointed. When the two of you were alone, you were nice to be around. 

“Ah. Well, shit.” 

Eddie looked at you, and then followed your gaze to the parking lot where he saw Stacy riding off  with Chrissy Cunningham. 

“I take it that was your ride?” Eddie asked. 

“Not officially,” you sighed. “Thought I’d catch her before she left. I wouldn’t wanna be the third wheel anyway.” 

Third wheel? Chrissy’s sparkly signature on your cast didn’t give off ‘third wheel’ to him. 

Eddie considered leaving you here, you probably had a ride home with your parents later in the day. 

“Need a ride?” he asked, not knowing which answer he wanted from you. 

“I... really?” you looked up at him. “I’m in the opposite direction of Forest Hills.” 

It would be so easy to decline, rescind his offer. 

“I’m going that way anyway.” Eddie shrugged, lying through his teeth. “I need to swing by somewhere first anyway if you don’t mind.”

If he scrounged up some change, he could make a quick stop. 

“I’d honestly really appreciate it.” you said, sounding genuine. “I don’t mind if you need to stop somewhere. I’d rather be anywhere else right now.”

Taking to heart that you meant the school and not his presence, he led you to his van. He strode forwards faster, using the distance to shove some things into the back seat as quickly as possible so that there was room for you. His van was messier than usual, it usually was in the colder months and he’d been telling himself for weeks that he’d clean it soon. 

You didn’t say a word or make a face as you hopped into the passenger side seat. Eddie’s van made a startling noise before coming to life and you winced as his radio blasted music on max volume. 

Eddie quickly scrambled to turn it down to a level more reasonable for normal ears, and you relaxed a little. 

“What are we listening to?” you asked, glancing down at the small stack of tapes on his center console. 

“It’s a mix tape I’m working on for Dustin.” Eddie said. “Only the first side is done.” 

“The freshman from the other day?”

“Yeah, I’ve been giving him a good lesson in rock and metal.” 

“What about minerals or crystals?” 

It took a moment for your joke to register completely with Eddie, and he stared at you for a moment. “No.” he said bluntly. 

“I thought witches liked crystals!” 

“Witches aren’t a playable class. Wizard would be the closest, maybe a mage.” Eddie said. “There might be a specialist wizard that would use crystals as components. Some spells might need them.” 

“Your game is a lot of work, huh?” you asked. “There’s a lot to remember.” 

Once again, you were showing interest in his game. There had to be some common ground there and once again, Eddie was never the type to turn down earnest questions about the game that gave him a feeling of belonging. 

“Oh yeah.” he agreed, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it into the back seat. “It’s easier if you’re just a player, but when you’re running the game you have to remember everything else.”

“Are those real?” you asked suddenly. “Your tattoos, I mean.” 

Eddie looked down and held out his arm towards you. “They better be with what I had to pay for them.” he said. Tattooing was technically illegal in Indiana, and so he had to really search for someone who was willing and able to mark him up. He had to pay and barter his way through what he currently had. 

Your hand was hesitant and surprisingly gentle as you touched the ink Wyvern on his arm. There weren’t exactly a ton of people in Hawkins with any kind of tattoos, as they didn’t really reflect the wholesome image of an upstanding citizen. 

“Did they hurt?” You asked, looking closer at his arm, as if you were really taking in the details. 

“The one on my collarbone hurt like a bitch.” Eddie admitted, pulling his shirt down to show off the black widow. 

“I like the bats.” you said. “I think they look badass.”

“They were the easiest ones for me.” Eddie said, trying not to look too pleased with the compliments. 

“They look better than a bunch of random signatures.” you said, touching the cast on your arm. Eddie looked it over, and remembered the thick expo marker he had jacked from one of his classes. 

“How attached to Jason Carver’s name are you?” Eddie asked. 

“Not at all. I didn’t have a choice with that one. Chrissy wanted to sign it and he was there so...” 

“Perfect.” Eddie grabbed the marker and pulled off the cap with his teeth as he pulled your cast towards him. “Any requests? Should be easy enough to cover up.”

“I- anything. Dealer’s choice.” There was a challenge in your eyes that Eddie wasn’t about to turn down. 

Being careful not to cause any harm to your wrist, he made quick work of scribbling a couple of bats on your arm over Jasons’s name. It wasn’t his best work; the texture of the plaster of your cast wasn’t exactly the easiest to draw on, but he managed. The result was a colony of bats, with one turned into a dragon for good measure*. 

When he released your arm, you took a look down at it and smiled- one of those real smiles that you had given him a few days ago. You were attractive when your face was relaxed like that. 

“So, am I a badass spawn of Satan, now?” you asked with a look in your eyes that gave Eddie a weird but excited feeling in his chest. 

“Not exactly, but if you walk around with that you might end up a social pariah which is a good starting point.” He shrugged, finally starting to pull out of the parking lot. 

“I guess I’ll have to start somewhere.” 

The two of you were a few blocks away from the school when Eddie had an idea. If you were really interested in the game and being a Spawn of Satan and his game, he should take you to the next best thing to Hellfire Club.   

Eddie pulled into the parking lot of the shopping center, not noticing how quiet you had suddenly become. He didn’t always have the cash to get something from the game shop, but- “I need to pick up some dice anyway, I think one of the freshmen is eating mine. Let’s go.” 

“No.” 

Eddie looked over at you and you were looking guilty, like you’d rather be anywhere else. You had your head down again, now deciding that the old can of TAB near your foot was the real problem. 

“There’s not gonna be anyone in there. It’s usually just Chris working.” Eddie said. “He’s kind of an ass, but-”

“I can’t.” your voice sounded a bit choked. “You go ahead. I’ll guard the car.” 

“Are you-”

“Dude, just go. It’s fine.” You snapped. 

It was the most openly hostile you had been to his face, and Eddie felt a flare of anger in him and he got out of the van. He was pissed as he got the dice, and pissed as he drove you back home in silence. 

Fine, he tried. With you it was one step forward and a mile back. You could hang out in private but wouldn’t date to be seen with him anywhere else. 

You gave him directions to your home, and there were times where you looked like you wanted to say something but couldn’t. 

When he finally pulled up into your driveway, you hopped out fast but didn’t close the door yet. You didn’t look at him when you spoke. 

“Sorry. I just- I can’t go in there. It’s not you.” 

“Right.” Eddie said, not believing you. He was starting to get annoyed at your constant apologizing. You’d say something, then apologize, and then the cycle would repeat. 

“I mean it!” you looked up at him. “I- I just can’t go in there.”  

“Why not?” Eddie said. 

You looked guilty again, and your looked like you were going to panic at the question. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He finally said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll see you around, I guess.” 

You closed the door without protest, and you watched as he drove away. He saw you through his mirrors as he drove down the street and you looked... bad. For a moment he felt like he was making a mistake, but when you kept insulting him and turning around to apologize... what was he supposed to do? He’d seen this pattern before. 

---

“Stacy.... What the fuck is wrong with me?” 

---

Author Notes: No dividers right now, as I am at work and there's a lady in my ear complaining about pizza for the stupidest reasons. I'll come back later and make it more pretty but I need the boost from posting something.

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[muiitoloko]

hey, will you write a fic themed around a woman suffering a emotionally or perhaps verbally abusive relationship with her parents, she has too much respect and clings to the good to ever cut them off, but when she settles down with Frank, her parents are mean about it but only to her, he doesn't know, so he comes home from work mad, they get into a fight, he yells at her, and she just retreats. she doesn't cry because she knows better than to make it worse, but Frank eventually gets her to open up, because all along hes noticed the snarky remarks or her coming home from visiting them and being in bed for two days. I would totally appreciate this as it hits home quite closely, I just need some comfort from my favorite Lieutenant General.

P.S. some smut may be nice, I do believe I am ovulating 😭

Title: Daddy’s Got You

Summary: Old pain resurfaces, new tenderness blooms. Frank offers more than comfort—he gives you the safety you’ve never had.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Angst

Also read on Ao3

It had been one of those long, grey afternoons where the light from the windows looked tired and the walls of the house seemed to press in a little more than usual. You’d lost track of time, not because of laziness or neglect, but because your energy had been sapped by a call from your mother earlier in the day.

She hadn’t said anything overtly cruel—she never did, not when anyone else could hear—but it was the tone, the subtle digs, the way she could make your accomplishments sound like inconveniences, your happiness like a delusion. You’d spent the rest of the day curled up on the bed, silent, thinking maybe, just maybe, if you stayed very still, it would all pass.

Frank came home late.

You heard the door open and close, keys dropping in the dish near the entryway, the familiar sound of his boots against the floor. He was always precise, even in the quiet rhythms of domestic life. But tonight, something was off. His footsteps were heavier, sharper. The baritone of his voice when he called your name from the kitchen had a bite to it.

You didn’t answer right away. You’d been in the bedroom, halfway between getting up and giving in to the ache in your chest. By the time you joined him, his coat was still on, and he stood stiff by the fridge, eyes scanning the counter like he expected dinner to have magically appeared.

“You didn’t cook?” he asked, voice low but edged.

You blinked, mouth opening slightly. “No, I… I didn’t have the energy today. I forgot.”

Frank exhaled sharply, the sound more tired than angry, but when he turned, the tension in his face was clear. “You forgot? Jesus Christ.”

You froze.

His voice wasn’t raised exactly—but louder than you’d ever heard it. Sharper. And when you tried to explain, something in you hesitated. That same old instinct. You never defended yourself well. Not to your parents. Not now.

“Just once,” Frank snapped, “could you maybe think ahead? I’ve been on my feet for thirteen hours, I haven’t eaten since six this morning, and I come home to this?”

You flinched.

It wasn’t the volume. It wasn’t even the words. It was the tone. The tone that mirrored your father’s. That familiar, hollow ring of disappointment. And something inside you recoiled, not with defiance, but with the quiet ache of an old wound reopened.

You opened your mouth, trying to explain—not to defend, just to give him context, to tell him about the call, about how the day had drained you dry in that quiet, invisible way only your mother could manage. But the moment you started to speak, Frank raised a hand—sharp, dismissive—and his baritone cut through the room with unexpected force.

“No,” he snapped. “No excuses tonight. I had a shitty day. A long, bloody miserable day. I dealt with back-to-back meetings, a broken comms system, and a fucking briefing that went in circles for three hours because no one can give a straight answer anymore. And the one thing I wanted—just one thing—was to come home and have something hot to eat.”

He took a step toward you, not threatening, but large and solid and tired. “But what do I find?” he continued, hazel eyes flashing. “Not even a takeaway box. You didn’t even bother to order anything. You were ‘out of energy’? Christ.”

You shrank back before you even realized it, your spine retreating an inch, your mouth gone dry. You hated how natural it felt—how easy it was to collapse inward when someone’s voice hit that particular register. How instinctively your brain whispered: don’t push, don’t argue, don’t make it worse.

“I’m—” you tried, but your voice barely left your throat. “Frank, I’m sorry, I—”

But he was already turning, already walking away, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable,” as he pulled open a cabinet with more force than necessary. “Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

You stood there, frozen in the center of the kitchen, the cold air from the open fridge brushing your arms, your chest tight. You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t know how to say anything else.

Instead, you moved silently toward the stairs, your steps slow, careful. Each one felt heavier than the last. You didn’t look back. You knew the look on his face. Knew what came next if you pushed.

Upstairs, the bedroom felt too big. The silence too deep. You crawled into bed still dressed, curling up on your side without bothering to turn on the light. The darkness was easier. Quieter.

You pressed your face into the pillow, willing yourself not to cry. You knew it would make it worse, not with Frank maybe, but with yourself. With the voice in your head that still spoke with your mother’s cadence, the one that always said you were being dramatic, selfish, impossible to love when you weren’t smiling.

It wasn’t always like this. There had been good moments. Birthdays when she surprised you with books you actually liked. Mornings when your father cooked too many eggs and called it love. They weren’t monsters. Not all the time. That was the hardest part. You’d learned to cling to the scraps—to the seconds of kindness like they were proof that it hadn’t all been cruel.

But now—tonight—you felt small again. Like that kid who used to tiptoe around dinner tables, who flinched when the sarcasm cut too deep, who laughed when it hurt just to make sure no one noticed the bruise under the words.

The pillow was warm against your cheek. Too warm. You turned it over and stared into the dark, breathing through the ache.

You didn’t know how long you lay there, but you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

And you didn’t cry. Not yet.

You just waited. Like always.

Downstairs, Frank stood in the kitchen with the fridge door still hanging open, the cold air brushing against his uniform pants. His jaw was tight, his hands fisted on the edge of the counter. He didn’t feel angry anymore. Not really. What he felt now was something far duller—and far heavier.

Hunger had twisted in his gut all day, but now, with a hastily made sandwich in hand and the first few bites swallowed, that pressure was beginning to lift. His headache dulled. The tight coil in his chest started to unravel. He chewed in silence, leaning against the counter, the bread dry and the ham slightly off, but at least it was something.

As he finished the last bite, the silence around him grew louder. He looked at the empty kitchen—no music, no humming from the hallway, no footsteps from above. Just stillness.

Frank sighed, setting the plate in the sink with a quiet clink. He reached up, loosening his tie with one hand, the thick fabric pulling stiffly against his collarbone. He hated that tie. Wore it because the uniform demanded it, but right now it felt like a noose.

He rubbed his temple, then glanced toward the stairs.

Christ, he thought. What the hell did I just do?

A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open.

The light flicked on with a muted click. The overhead bulb bathed the room in a soft, almost apologetic glow.

And there you were—curled up on the bed, still fully dressed, your form small beneath the quilt. You didn’t stir. Not even at the sound of his boots on the hardwood.

Frank’s mouth tugged downward at the corners. Quietly, he shrugged out of his military coat, folding it with practiced care and placing it over the back of the chair. His tie followed, then his shoes, each one set neatly beside the other as he moved slowly, deliberately—like he didn’t want to spook you.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He just looked at you. Your back to him. Still, silent.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his baritone rough around the edges. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

You didn’t respond. Frank sighed, the sound low and worn. He shifted closer, sliding onto the bed beside you, the mattress groaning faintly beneath his frame. One large hand came to rest against your hip, tentative.

He bent his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“I was hungry,” he murmured, lips brushing against fabric. “You know how I get. Bloody grumpy and half-useless when I haven’t eaten.”

Still, you said nothing. Just breathed—steady, but shallow.

Frank’s brow furrowed. He reached up, his fingers brushing over the edge of your sleeve. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s fine,” you said at last, your voice faint. Measured.

But Frank stilled. He knew that tone. Knew what “it’s fine” really meant. It was never fine. It was something you said to end conversations before they could begin.

“No,” he said softly, but firmly. “Talk to me.”

You were quiet again.

His hand slid to your back. “Did your parents call you?”

Your whole body froze.

You turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, surprise flickering across your face. “How do you know that?”

Frank didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. He simply lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, his palm warm, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

“I’m not stupid,” he said gently. “I notice things.”

You blinked, unsure.

“The way you come back from their house and spend the rest of the day in bed. The way your shoulders stiffen during family dinners when your mother speaks. How you look at the floor more than your plate.”

You swallowed hard.

Frank’s eyes softened, though the line of his mouth remained grim. “I’ve heard her. The sarcasm. The way she wraps insults in compliments. She might think she’s clever, but she’s not subtle. Not to me.”

You looked away, but not fast enough to hide the welling in your eyes. You blinked furiously, but it was there—the sting.

Frank shifted closer, wrapping one thick arm around your waist, tugging you gently against him. You didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Your body folded into his like you’d been waiting for it.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady against your hair. “I came in like a bloody freight train without stopping to ask if you were alright. And you weren’t.”

Your breath hitched, barely audible. But it was enough. Frank pulled you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing firm against your spine.

“You’re not weak,” he said. “You’re not dramatic. You’re not selfish. You’re human. And no one—no one—has the right to make you feel smaller than you are.”

That did it. Your body trembled once—and then the tears came, slow and silent. Not sobs. Not hysteria. Just quiet ache, finally given room to breathe.

Frank held you through it all, his lips against your temple, his breath steady in your ear, grounding you. Not speaking anymore. Just being there.

And in that quiet, wrapped in his arms, you finally let yourself believe—for the first time in a long time—that maybe you didn’t have to be strong all the time. Not with him.

The tears didn’t stop right away. They came in waves—silent, then shuddering, then silent again—until you were limp in Frank’s arms, your cheek pressed against the soft cotton of his undershirt, your fingers curled loosely around the fabric like it was a lifeline.

Frank said nothing. Not yet. He just held you. His broad chest rose and fell slowly, the beat of his heart steady under your ear. His hand moved gently along your spine, the calluses of his fingers warm and grounding. The room was quiet but for your breath and the occasional creak of the mattress as he shifted to keep you close.

When your breathing evened out—when the sting behind your eyes dulled to a manageable throb—you spoke.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” you whispered.

Frank didn’t respond. He only brushed a thumb across your back, patient.

“I try to be good,” you murmured. “I really do. I try not to ask for too much, not to need anything. I try to be quiet and helpful and easy to love, and still, she finds a way to make me feel like I’m some sort of... failure. Like I’m a burden.”

Your voice cracked.

“I got a promotion last year,” you said, shaking your head against his chest. “And she told me it was nice—‘if that’s the best you can do with that degree.’ I bought a car with my savings, and she said, ‘You know, most people your age already have a mortgage.’ Every time I bring something up, she twists it. Makes it sound like I’m lazy. Selfish. Never enough.”

Frank’s jaw flexed beneath your cheek.

“She always does it with a smile,” you said bitterly. “She never yells. Just… pokes. Cuts. She says things like ‘you’re so sensitive’ or ‘I was only joking’ when I flinch. And if I ever try to explain how it hurts, she turns it around. Says I’m ungrateful, crazy. Says I’m imagining things.”

You lifted your head then, blinking at the ceiling. “And I believed her for so long. I still do, sometimes. Even now, when I know better, it’s like this voice in my head—her voice—is always there, picking me apart.”

Frank was silent, but his grip on you tightened.

“I thought maybe if I was successful enough or pretty enough or quiet enough, she’d finally be proud of me. Finally say, ‘That’s my girl.’” You gave a hollow laugh. “But even when I got everything right, it wasn’t enough. It never is.”

You swallowed hard. “And I hate that I still want her approval. I hate that I feel guilty even talking about this. Like I’m betraying her, somehow.”

Frank cupped your face gently, his fingers brushing your temple, his thumb catching the tear that escaped before you could stop it.

“And my dad…” you went on, voice barely above a whisper, “he never said anything. He just sat there. Let her do it. I think he thought staying quiet was the same as staying neutral. But it wasn’t. It never is.”

Frank's eyes were dark now. Not with judgment, not with pity, but with fury. But his voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, measured, controlled.

“You’re not crazy,” he murmured. “You’re not imagining it. And you’re not wrong for feeling the way you do.”

You closed your eyes, his voice pouring over you like warm silk.

“She hurt you,” he continued, “in the quietest, most corrosive way possible. She made you doubt your own worth. Made you think love was something you had to earn. Something you could lose if you spoke too loudly or wanted too much.”

You bit your lip, nodding, your throat tight again.

“But she doesn’t get to decide your value,” Frank said. “She doesn’t get to rewrite the truth. Not anymore.”

His thumb traced the line of your jaw, tilting your face toward him. “I see you,” he said quietly. “All of you. And you are not too much. You are not a burden. You are not hard to love.”

You stared at him, trembling.

Frank leaned in, his baritone low, steady. “You are mine. My girl. And I take care of what’s mine.”

You let out a broken breath, your body finally beginning to let go.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Daddy’s here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words struck something deep. The warmth in his voice, the unshakable certainty of it—it unraveled you all over again.

Frank held you through it.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, guiding you gently up from the bed. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

You moved without protest as he undressed you slowly—carefully—like you were made of something precious. He peeled off your sweater, unbuttoned your jeans, never rushing, never letting his hands leave your skin for long. When you stood bare before him, he wrapped you in one of his softest shirts—oversized and warm, smelling like him.

He helped you into bed again, then stepped away briefly, only to return with a warm washcloth and a fresh glass of water.

“You need anything else?” he asked, smoothing the blanket over your legs. “Tea? Something sweet?”

You shook your head. “Just you.”

Frank climbed into bed beside you, gathering you into his arms like you belonged there—like you always had. His skin was warm, his chest solid and soft beneath your cheek.

You tucked your face against him, your breath evening out. “I’m tired,” you whispered.

“I know,” Frank murmured, stroking your hair.

“You won’t let her hurt me anymore?”

“No, sweetheart. Never again.”

You sighed, melting into him.

And Frank—your steady, sharp-edged, impossibly gentle Frank—just held you, whispering low promises against your skin.

“Sleep now,” he said, his baritone thick with something tender. “Daddy’s got you. My good girl. My brave, good girl.”

His hand moved slowly along your side, grounding you with every pass of his palm. You felt safe. Warm. Seen.

But not tired.

Your eyes blinked open in the dim light, your fingers curling gently around the hand that rested against your belly. You stayed like that for a while, quiet in his arms, letting the warmth of his body anchor you—but eventually, you shifted, just enough for him to feel it.

Frank’s baritone rumbled low. “Hmm?”

“I don’t wanna sleep yet,” you whispered.

He didn’t ask why. Didn’t press. Just adjusted his hold, pulling you a little closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s alright,” he murmured. “We can stay awake.”

You hesitated, teeth worrying your bottom lip. Your heart beat a little faster. You weren’t sure why you felt so shy all of a sudden—after everything tonight, after all the ways he’d seen you unravel—but still, the question caught in your throat like something delicate.

You turned a little in his arms. “Frank?”

He looked down at you, his hazel eyes soft, patient.

You swallowed. “Can we... could you—” You faltered, cheeks warming. “Could you make love to me?”

Frank blinked once, his brows lifting just a hair, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. His hand came up instead, fingers brushing your hair away from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His voice dropped low, quiet, velvet-smooth.

“My girl needs Daddy, hm?”

Your breath caught.

The endearment never failed to melt something in you. And the way he said it—calm, assured, a little possessive—it sent a shiver through your belly that had nothing to do with fear.

Still, you hesitated. “Only if you want to. I know it’s late. I know it’s been a long day. We don’t have to—”

Frank cut you off with a soft, quiet laugh, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice laced with fondness and something far darker underneath, “you really think I’d ever say no to that?”

You flushed, suddenly shy again.

But Frank didn’t tease. Not cruelly. Just chuckled again, low and warm, his lips brushing your cheek. “That’s the point, isn’t it? I’m always hungry for you.”

He shifted then, rolling you slowly onto your back, his body settling over yours with careful weight. His hand cradled your face as he looked down at you, white hair falling slightly forward, his hooked nose casting a soft shadow in the lamplight.

“You could wake me in the middle of the night,” he whispered, “barely dressed, barely speaking, and I’d still find the strength to fuck you slow and deep until your eyes rolled back.”

Your breath hitched.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You could be crying like you were earlier, small and shaking and needing something only I can give—”

A kiss to your temple.

“—or smiling like the devil, pulling me down by the tie.”

A kiss to your cheek.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll always want you.”

And then finally—his lips on yours.

Slow. Warm. Certain.

When he pulled back, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. Like you always had.

“Let Daddy take care of you,” he whispered, baritone thick and sure. “Let me make love to you the way you deserve.”

You nodded, breathless.

And Frank—gentle, dangerous, unshakably yours—began to undress you with reverence in his touch, like he already knew how to rebuild every piece of you he hadn’t broken but had always sworn to hold.

He started with your collarbone, warm mouth pressing reverent kisses to the curve of it, his white hair brushing against your skin as he lingered. The tip of his tongue traced the dip where your pulse beat, slow and steady, and he hummed low in his throat—like you tasted better than anything he’d ever earned.

“Such soft skin,” he murmured, dragging his mouth lower, kissing down the center of your chest through the fabric of his t-shirt. He tugged the hem up, exposing your bare stomach, and his hands spread possessively over your ribs, thumbs brushing beneath the swell of your breasts.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick with something close to awe. “Always so good for me. Always mine.”

He kissed your belly, slow and deliberate, lips soft against skin. Every press of his mouth built the tension low in your stomach, your breath hitching just a little more each time his warm mouth passed lower. He slid his palms down your thighs, guiding them open again, his body shifting between them with practiced ease.

When he looked up at you from between your legs, hazel eyes dark and steady beneath his white lashes, your breath caught.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Open. Waiting. Letting me do this right.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into the sheets, body already humming with anticipation.

He leaned down, lips brushing the inside of your thigh. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. Daddy’s here now.”

And then he kissed you. Right there—soft and warm and patient. Just one long, deliberate stroke of his tongue along your folds, slow enough to make you twitch. He moaned softly at the taste, and the sound alone made your back arch.

“Fuck, this cunt,” he groaned. “You’re already so wet for me.”

You whimpered, hips rising instinctively, but Frank pressed one firm hand against your belly.

“No, baby. Let me lead. Just lie back and take it.”

His tongue returned—this time faster, more focused, flicking your clit in slow circles before sealing his mouth around it with obscene pressure. You gasped, a high sound caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, your legs trembling as he licked and sucked with devastating rhythm.

Your hand flew to his head, fingers tangling in the white strands. “Daddy—oh—fuck—”

That made him groan into you, the vibration of it sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His tongue moved faster now, greedy, practiced, pushing you higher with each breathless flick.

And then—his fingers.

Thick and slow at first, just one sliding into your soaked heat, curling deep until you cried out. Then another—two of them now, pumping inside you with that unrelenting pressure that made your hips rock against his face.

“There you go,” he growled against your clit, never stopping. “Taking my fingers so well, baby. God, this pussy’s perfect. So tight. So wet for me.”

You were writhing now, tugging his hair, your thighs shaking as he fucked you with his fingers and sucked your clit like he wanted to keep you pinned to the edge forever.

“Please—Frank—Daddy—I—” You were panting, words falling apart.

He pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Come for me, sweetheart. Let Daddy taste it.”

And you did—loud, desperate, full-body trembling, your fingers yanking at his hair as the orgasm ripped through you, hot and heavy. He moaned into your cunt, licking through it, his fingers still moving gently inside you as you rode every wave.

When the tremors finally eased, when your body sagged back into the bed, boneless and dazed, Frank withdrew his fingers with a slick, satisfied sound. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then up your belly, his body dragging slowly over yours.

You blinked up at him, lips parted, dazed. “I… I wanna touch you, too.”

Frank’s smile was slow and dangerous, the weight of it curling deep in your gut.

“Oh, you will,” he murmured, baritone dropping like a stone into your chest. “But not until I’m sure you’re not done screaming my name.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your open mouth.

“Let Daddy work, baby,” he whispered against your lips, fingers trailing between your legs again. “You’ve still got more in you.”

And you did.

So much more.