#computer room air handling

[juh-wasnt-deactivated19691231]

not to be that type-4 tumblr user who doesn't fully grasp the concept of exceptions, but, the ones i work in are 1/ usually extremely well-lit, and 2/ oof ouch the noise it hurts

there's one cage i used to work in where, the adjacent customer's servers had a baseline pitch that was pretty high, but they were constantly revving up and down, and it created this awful eerie cacophony of shrieking damned souls. kind of neat but not fun to work around. also when we powered up our racks in that cage god DAMN that shit was loud. you close those switches and gtfo the way

anyways yeah mostly i just wanted to talk because i've been to more server floors than most people and it makes me feel cool

the lock on the server room is broken and one of the sys admins got locked in.

if i got locked in the server room i would simply lie down and take a nap behind the racks

[ijustwannabecool]

Rolling, Rolling, Red Bull

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary… When the Drive to Survive crew shows up to film a behind-the-scenes look at Max Verstappen’s life off track, Y/N is less than thrilled to be in the spotlight. But between sarcastic interviews, soft domestic moments, and a now-viral deleted scene involving a jar of pesto, the world gets a glimpse of a Max they’ve never seen before. Boyfriend-coded. Cat-dad certified. And very, very soft for her.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! I’ve been kinda M.I.A. & irregular on my posting but I have been out of town for the last two week so I’ve been writing on my phone and it has been a little difficult.

I hope you guys enjoy this story and feel free to donate on my Ko-Fi, maybe that way I can buy a better computer and write more consistently for you guys.

like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Y/N was halfway through brushing her teeth when Max knocked on the bathroom door.

“They’re here,” he said, muffled through the wood. “The Drive to Survive guys.”

She spat into the sink. “Tell them to come back never.”

Max laughed, leaning against the doorframe in joggers and a Red Bull hoodie, his hair still wet from the shower. “You said yes last night.”

“I was half-asleep and you bribed me with stroopwafels.”

He pushed the door open and gave her the most annoyingly charming grin. “And yet, here we are.”

⸻

The Netflix crew had set up in their living room, pretending the chaos of wires and camera angles was “low-key.” Max greeted them like old friends, casual and cool, while Y/N hovered awkwardly behind a kitchen stool, holding her coffee like a shield.

“Just pretend we’re not here,” the producer said, adjusting his headset.

“Impossible,” she muttered.

Max, ever the calm in the storm, slipped a hand around her waist. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

“That is the problem.”

⸻

They followed the couple through a normal day: breakfast on the balcony, Max fiddling with a simulator, Y/N curled up reading a book while their cats tried to chew on a mic cord.

But then they asked for a sit-down interview.

“Can you two just talk about what it’s like being in a relationship during the season?” the director asked, arranging pillows behind Y/N like this was a cozy podcast and not her personal nightmare.

Max shrugged. “It’s good. We don’t really fight.”

Y/N snorted. “You say that because you don’t consider ignoring my texts for six hours a fight.”

“I was driving,” he said, deadpan.

“You were on the simulator.”

“Same thing.”

The crew laughed. Max smiled sideways at her.

Then the director leaned in. “Y/N, how do you handle the pressure of being with someone constantly in the spotlight?”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know, but because she hadn’t expected the question to feel so… real.

“I don’t try to handle it,” she said slowly. “I just try to remind him that there’s a world outside of racing. That he’s more than just Max Verstappen the driver.”

Max’s expression softened—one of those rare looks he saved just for her, all warm gaze and relaxed jawline.

“And she’s the only one who gets away with calling me out when I start acting like a robot,” he added, voice lower now.

There was a pause.

“Wow,” the sound guy whispered.

“Keep rolling,” the director whispered back.

⸻

Later, when they were reviewing footage in the trailer, someone asked if they could get a shot of Max hugging Y/N.

“We have the paddock stuff, the Monaco stuff—but we need something soft to end on.”

Max found her sitting on the edge of the Red Bull hospitality couch, phone in hand.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked up, pulled her into his chest, and kissed the top of her head. Cameras or not.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

“You owe me ten stroopwafels and a massage.”

“I’ll give you twelve.”

The camera rolled as she smiled against his hoodie, arms tightening around his waist.

And later, when the season aired, fans clipped that moment. Over and over.

“Who knew Max Verstappen could be soft?”

“Protect this woman at all costs.”

“Relationship goals.”

But to Max, it was just Tuesday.

_______

Deleted Scene

Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, struggling with a stubborn jar of pesto. The label peeled at the edge, and the lid refused to budge despite two dish towels and her full body weight.

“Max!” she called, mildly annoyed. “Can you come here?”

Off-camera, you hear footsteps. Then Max appears in the kitchen doorway, looking suspicious. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. Just open this before I yeet it into the sea.”

He walks over, takes the jar, and opens it effortlessly with one twist.

She stares. “Are you serious?”

He grins, proud. “You loosened it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Without missing a beat, he dips a finger into the pesto and sticks it in his mouth.

“Max!” she gasps, swatting him with a tea towel. “That’s for dinner!”

He shrugs. “Taste test.”

A Netflix producer can be heard laughing behind the camera.

“Can we actually keep rolling?” another asks. “This is gold.”

Y/N turns, catching the crew still filming, and mock-glares at the camera.

“I’m going to need hazard pay.”

Max wraps an arm around her waist and plants a pesto-flavored kiss on her cheek.

“No one would believe how domestic you are,” Y/N mutters, smirking.

“Good. Let them think I’m scary.”

⸻

But don’t worry. The pesto jar ended up on eBay “signed by Max,” with a sticky note that read:

“She loosened it.” – M.V.

All proceeds went to cat shelters. Because Max demanded it.

⸻

FAN REACTIONS TO DELETED SCENE

Twitter/X:

@paddockbabie:

MAX OPENED A JAR AND A NATION FELL IN LOVE

#driveToSurvive #maxverstappen #domesticking

@softf1updates:

the way he dipped his finger into the pesto and then kissed her with zero shame?? I’m on the floor.

literally who gave him permission to be this boyfriend-coded

@f1spicypage:

“you loosened it.”

OH OKAY MAX VERSTAPPEN KING OF HUMBLE DOMESTICITY

⸻

Tumblr:

f1blurbs:

It’s not about the pesto.

It’s about her calling him like a husband.

It’s about him walking in like “what did I do?” like he knows he exists to be summoned.

It’s about the quiet love.

It’s about the damn jar.

I’m crying.

netflix-please:

Reblog if you too would risk it all to have Max Verstappen open a jar for you and call it “loosened by you.”

⸻

TikTok Comments (under the leaked scene with 4.8M views):

@formulalover44:

the way she’s like “MAX” and he just comes?? we love an obedient man

@jamgirlie:

petition to release ALL deleted scenes or i riot

@pestoprincess:

me @ my boyfriend: “why can’t you be more like max verstappen opening pesto jars and donating to cat shelters?”

⸻

Instagram Stories:

@f1gossipgrid:

MAX & Y/N: PESTO-GATE

This leaked deleted scene is the best PR Netflix never meant to drop.

Rumors say Red Bull marketing is already printing “You loosened it” merch.

We’ll take 5.

⸻

And yes—someone already made pesto-themed merch on Etsy with:

“You loosened it – M.V.” in sleek Helvetica on tote bags, mugs, and aprons.

⸻

the end.

[reiding-writing]

Cold!reader who defends Spencer when’s someone’s making fun of his autistic traits, and the teams like “what?????”

STAGNANT — SPENCER REID!

why would someone ask spencer a question if they didn’t want to hear the answer?

late s8!spencer x cold!reader 1.2k fluff? cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — the cold!reader roster i have atm has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair, stay tuned

You step into the cramped precinct in a town that barely makes the map, the smell of stale coffee and old paper immediately hitting you.

The air hums with tension—murder cases tend to have that effect on a room. Your team disperses, each member diving into their respective tasks like clockwork.

You stay near Spencer, keeping an eye on the board he’s already scouring, his sharp mind undoubtedly miles ahead of everyone else’s.

It doesn’t take long for the local officers to start asking questions. You’ve seen it before: their curiosity morphing into disbelief as they’re confronted with Spencer Reid in full form.

This particular case involves a peculiar type of soil found on the victim’s shoes, and when one officer, a grizzled man named Officer Moore, offhandedly asks about its significance, Spencer lights up.

“It’s fascinating, actually,” he begins, his voice picking up with enthusiasm. “The soil contains traces of montmorillonite clay, which is common in areas with volcanic ash deposits. This specific type is unique to the western side of the county, and based on the composition—” He gestures to the samples bagged on the table, oblivious to the officer’s quickly fading interest.

Spencer continues, lost in his explanation, his words flowing like water over smooth stones. You watch the officer shift uncomfortably, his expression hardening into impatience. The moment Spencer pauses to breathe, Moore cuts in, looking at you with a smirk.

“Is he like this all the time? Never shuts up, huh?”

You freeze. The room, bustling moments ago, seems quieter now. Your team is too far off to hear, but you’re right here. Close enough to feel the sting of the comment.

Spencer doesn’t notice. Or maybe he pretends not to. Either way, it doesn’t sit right with you. The dismissive tone, the condescension dripping from the officer’s words—it sparks a heat under your skin that you don’t bother to hide.

“Are you stupid?” Your voice is sharp, like a knife scraping metal. Moore’s smug expression falters.

“Excuse me-?”

“You heard me,” you continue, stepping closer, your gaze fixed on him. “If you can’t keep up with what Dr. Reid is saying, that’s your problem. He’s giving you answers—solutions—that you clearly wouldn’t find on your own. So maybe try listening instead of running your mouth.”

Moore blinks, taken aback. His hand hovers near the cup of coffee on the table, forgotten. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “And for the record, if he’s too much for you to handle, then stay out of his way, you’ll murk his IQ into single digits.”

The room is quiet now, the subtle hum of computers and distant voices the only sound. Spencer finally looks up, his expression unreadable. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes, but mostly he just seems... confused.

Moore mutters something under his breath and stalks off, clearly not willing to press the issue further. Good. You watch him go, your blood still simmering.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer says softly, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

“Yes, I did,” you reply without hesitation. “He was being a jerk.”

Spencer tilts his head, studying you. “People say things like that all the time.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you counter, your tone firm. “And if you wont put your foot down about it then I will.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to decipher some hidden code in your words. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—small and fleeting, but genuine. It feels like a victory, however minor.

—

Later, when the team regroups, the tension in the precinct has eased, though you can still feel a few lingering stares from the local officers.

Hotch gives you all the rundown of the next steps, his voice steady and commanding as always. You nod along, but your focus drifts to Spencer, who’s scribbling something in his notebook, seemingly unbothered by the earlier incident.

As the team breaks off to get to work, Emily sidles up beside you, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

“That little showdown with Officer Grumpy Pants earlier,” she says, smirking. “Word has it you tore him a new one,”

You shrug. “He was being disrespectful.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “To Reid?”

“To all of us, honestly,” you say. “But yeah, mostly Reid. He didn’t deserve that.”

Emily studies you for a moment, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Awe how sweet,”

“Don’t start,” you warn, but there’s no real bite to your words. Emily laughs, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, no judgment,” she says. “It’s just... very human of you.”

“I’m not a robot.”

She gestures vaguely toward you. “Oh hush you know what I mean,”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance across the room at Spencer, who’s now deep in conversation with JJ and Rossi. The earlier exchange seems to have rolled off him, as if it never happened.

But you know better. You’ve seen the way comments like that stick, the way they fester in that moment f hesitation before he speaks. You’re not sure why it matters so much to you—why he matters so much—but you don’t dwell on it.

—

The case drags on into the evening, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. By the time the unsub is in custody and the team is preparing to head back to the jet, exhaustion hangs heavy in the air.

As you gather your things, Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Ice Queen,” he says, his tone teasing. “You did good.”

“Thank you? I was doing my job.” you reply, shooting him a bemused look.

He chuckles. “Not with the case, sweetness. Word is you went full gladiator on one of the locals earlier.”

“Word travels way too fast in this team,” you mutter.

Morgan grins. “What can I say? We’re a nosy bunch. But it’s nice to know you haven’t lost your bite now you’re saddled up to boy wonder.”

He gestures with his head towards where Spencer was sleeping on the jet’s couch, wrapped in a cheap blanket like baby.

You fight back the urge to smile.

“I never changed,” you say dryly.

Morgan laughs, but there’s a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Sure you did,”

“No I didn’t,”

He nudges your shoulder, a whisper of “You’ll admit it one day,” before he walks off.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Dr. Zayne will handle it.

Pairings: Zayne x afab! Reader

Summary: Zayne finds out your gyno appointment is going to be with a male doctor and he’s less than happy about it.

Warnings: not really any just Zayne being jealous yet respectful, idk if I wrote him ooc or not… but it’s a learning experience lol.

Ps- it’s a lil shorter than what I normally write but I have so many ideas brewing.

————

Zayne’s fingers type quickly on his laptop, a warm cup of tea steeping next to him. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose with the lenses reflecting reports and patient files. He had promised only an hour of working in his home office while you stayed with him.

He could hear your voice in the main room arguing with whomever you spoke with. After your tone sharpened slightly, he decided to close his computer, remove his glasses, and see what was happening.

“No, I’ve been waiting for this appointment for two months! There has to be something else you can do.” You plead with frustration.

Zayne raises a brow, wondering what kind of appointment has you so stirred up. He watches as you angrily huff and say goodbye before ending the call. Your phone is tossed to the couch carelessly and you rub your face in your hands.

He carefully comes up behind you, his large hands covering your shoulders and the pads of his thumbs gently massage the tissue.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Concern is evident in his voice.

You nod and turn around to face him. “Yeah, just my stupid gynecologist.”

Zayne remains quiet, obviously waiting for you to continue.

“I’ve been trying to see this specific doctor because the association recommended her, but they just called me and said they overbooked her for this month and she won't be able to see me."

“Why does the association even have a recommended gynecologist?”

His questions hung in the air for a few moments while you scooped up your phone from the couch.

“I guess Dr. Lina is the best in her field. Kinda like how you’re the best cardiologist- most hunters try to see you instead of anyone else for heart issues. I guess it’s the same for her, and since a lot of hunters are women, the association trusts her to handle any issues for us.”

Zayne hums in understanding and places a tender kiss on your temple, his hand stroking your back to relax you. “So, what are you required to do now?”

You let out a sigh, “They can either reschedule me a month from my original appointment or I have to see the other gynecologist that the association recommended… who’s a guy.”

He tenses up and his hand stops moving.

Zayne maintained a high level of professionalism in his interactions with female patients. He recognized that the primary objective of doctors, including himself, is to assist individuals in need. Nevertheless, he experienced a sense of jealousy at the chance of another man observing you in a vulnerable situation.

“And are you comfortable with that?” His voice grows more cold and tense.

You pull your lip that you were chewing on from between your teeth, “Not really… that’s why I was waiting for Dr. Lina. If I’m not cleared soon, then I’ll have to be put on desk duty until I am.”

The foreboding future of being limited to desk duty when you weren't even physically injured was sure to make you go crazy. It was one of the most frustrating things about being a hunter- forget the wanderers, no, it was staying on top of all the appointments to ensure you were completely healthy. Dental appointments, eye exams, physicals, and now gynecology.

“I’ll miss my deadline if I wait for her,” frowning, you collapse onto the sofa in defeat. “Hello desk duty for the next month.”

You glance up at Zayne, searching for a hint of his thoughts on the situation, but he simply exhales through his nose, a silent acknowledgment of your frustration. He settles beside you, and you allow yourself to rest against his chest, feeling the cool steadiness of him. As you roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all, you pull out your phone to dial the clinic once more. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne’s gaze is intently fixed on the screen, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“I’ll just book with that other doctor,” you say dejectedly.

Zayne's hand clamps down on your wrist with a surprising intensity, preventing you from dialing the number. Shock floods your senses, and as your gaze meets his, you can't help but notice the piercing coldness in his green eyes. The tension in the air thickens, making it clear that this moment is more weighted than you had anticipated.

“Zayne?”

You look back to his hand locked onto your wrist. Little white snowflakes flurry from his arm, and from that, you can tell the doctor is having an internal battle with his emotions.

“Forgive me for my impracticality, but I don’t think I’m comfortable with you seeing a male gynecologist.” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice was now lowered and a chill ran through your body.

The flurry of snowflakes burst from his hand in quicker movements at your words and he quickly lets go of you.

“My, my, is Dr. Zayne… jealous?”

“I don’t see why I cannot clear you for this, I am your primary doctor after all.”

Aww, your snowman was jealous. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“Zayne, honey,” you lock your fingers with his, noting the way the snowflakes start to calm down. “As much as I would prefer you to do it over anyone else, the association wants someone specialized in that field.”

Zayne furrows his brow, a wave of frustration washing over him. He knows deep down that he lacks the authority to grant you the necessary clearance, and the thought that another man will see you exposed, no matter how justified it may be for medical reasons, angers him even more. The tension in the room thickens as he rises abruptly from the sofa, his movements are almost forceful as he unintentionally nudges you aside in his haste, caught between concern for your well-being and the turmoil within himself.

“Don’t make the appointment.”

And with that, he leaves the room.

"Zayne!" You call out, but the sound of his office door shutting was all you received in response.

—————-

About an hour ticks by and you never leave the couch, instead just opting to watch some soap opera to pass the time with a throw blanket covering your body as the rain pelts against the windows.

You could faintly hear Zayne's muffled voice speaking to someone over the phone. You didn't want to disturb him, understanding how difficult it is for him to express his emotions. If he needed some time alone, you would give him that space.

By the time the door opens, the main character is already in tears again for the umpteenth time. He stands over you and you turn off the show.

In the stillness, you can sense his struggle to meet your gaze, while your eyes remain locked on his, filled with concern and curiousness.

Finally, he clears his throat.

“You have an appointment with Dr. Lina at 8 a.m. on Monday. Please do not be late.”

Shock washes over your features and your mouth parts open.

“What? Zayne, how did you-”

“Being at the top of your field has its advantages.”

You're silent, not knowing what to say, just overall confused. It would’ve taken you another month to see her and now you’re seeing her in three days?

“One of my colleagues is Dr. Lina's cousin. I explained to him your situation and he talked to her. I guess she was delighted to find out that the one and only Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend wanted to see her- so she pushed back one of her appointments.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Without another thought, you move off the couch and wrap your arms around his neck. Zayne reciprocates the hug and cradles your head to his chest.

“Thank you.”

Zayne's hand continues to stroke your hair, a bit hesitant as he chooses his next words carefully. "Darling, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier."

You pull away with furrowed eyebrows as he meets your eyes.

"You were right, it seems I was a bit jealous." His hand brushes back a stray lock of your hair. "If you were required to go see another male doctor, I should have been more understanding of that. It wasn't right nor professional for me to intervene without your consent-"

"Zayne." Your sharp tone cuts off his apology. "You don’t need to apologize for anything. I understand how difficult it is for you to confront your emotions. Honestly, I couldn’t be more relieved. I had already told you that I wasn’t comfortable seeing a male doctor for this, so you being jealous and taking action like that is kind of sexy."

"You think that was sexy?" Zayne smirks as if humored by the situation. "Really."

You shrug and nod your head, "I mean, yeah. You being all protective like that and realizing you're jealous is something I don't get to see every day. Maybe I should make you jealous more often..."

He lets out a low growl and pulls you back to his chest, lips brushing against your hairline as he inhales your shampoo.

"It would be wise not to push it," He warns. "Besides, I’d much rather owe Dr. Lina a favor than you forced to be uncomfortable.” His thumb brushes over your ear.

“What’s the favor?”

“That I see one of her children. With the discovery of his new evol, I guess his heart had some abnormal fluctuations.”

You frown at his answer. A child with heart problems already?

Zayne notices your change in demeanor and he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“Don’t fret over it darling, I’m seeing him tomorrow and she had already given me a brief rundown on his condition. It sounds like it’s just the body getting used to the abundance of power. It's common in children.”

You nod, relieved. If anyone can figure it out, it’s your boyfriend.

The rest of the night was spent cuddling on the couch and snacking on sweets while the cliche drama played in the background.

———-

Your appointment with Dr. Lina went very smoothly and she said you were in perfect health.

By the next week, you were approved to continue out in the field and the heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders.

Zayne was very relieved to find out his hypothesis was correct with Linda’s son, Ivan. As it turns out Ivan’s evol was super speed and the fluctuations in his heart were just him needing to burn off the energy.

You were glad it all worked out, thanks to your Dr. Zayne.

[windyengel]

Wip Wednesday?

Phantom floated lazily in a half-circle above them, legs crossed midair, arms tucked behind his head, that too-wide grin stretched across his face like a mask stitched on with mirth and menace.

“Let’s make a deal, Birdy.”

He spun slowly in place, green eyes glowing like dying stars.

“One date for every pitt I take out. I’ll start with the first one as a sign of grace.”

Somewhere in the mountains of Nanda Parbat, a pool began to bubble. Tim didn’t see it, but he felt it. The room chilled. Something ancient cracked apart. The scanners in Barbara computer rang in alarm.

The pit evaporated.

Not drained. Not destroyed. Undone.

Tim’s throat clicked as he swallowed.

Phantom pointed a glowing finger. “That one’s on me. Next ones are on you. Just say when.”

The second pit started to boil.

Jason surged forward, a hand out. “Stop—”

Phantom’s eyes didn’t leave Tim's.

Tim's eyes never left Phantom's

A third pit broke into steam and green fire.

The fourth trembled before erupting, sending up a column of ghostlight and screams. Somewhere distant, Ra’s al Ghul howled.

Phantom’s grin only widened.

Tim exhaled slowly, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His fingers curled into the chair arms.

Phantom floated closer. “Those were the ones you knew about.” His voice dropped into something deeper, more ancient. “Want me to handle the ones you didn’t?”

Tim’s mouth was dry. “How many?”

Phantom hovered until they were nose to nose. His voice was velvet, soft as snowfall:

“A lot.”

And then he leaned back again with a chuckle, twirling mid-air. “But don’t worry—I’ll only show you the ones I’m destroying. You just tell me when to stop.”

Tim stared at him, jaw tense. He could feel Barbara's eyes flick between them like a tennis match of insanity. Jason's fists clenched at his sides.

Tim breathed in deep, exhaled once. “...Keep going.”

Screens flickered to life on their own. Oracle’s setup surged with static and data feeds—grainy, spectral images of Lazarus Pits failing, collapsing, boiling away into nothing. Groups of twenty. Then forty. Then eighty.

The room filled with the low thrumming of eldritch static and the faraway screams of something ancient dying.

By the time number (xxx) imploded in a burst of unnatural light, Tim raised a shaking hand.

“Stop.”

Phantom halted mid-spin, upside down, and beamed. “Pleasure doing business with you, Birdy.”

[sp0o0kylights]

Grass is green, water is wet, and Jonathan Byers does not like Steve Harrington.

These are known facts in the universe.

Computers were going to take over the world, a “mobile” phone was being invented, and Steve Harrington had lost most of his hearing.

These were unknown facts--rumors even, if you will. Eddie had never seen even a grain of truth to support any of them. 

(Well, maybe the computer thing, but only because Grant and Dustin both had made a couple of convincing arguments.) 

So he doesn’t think about it, when his freshman gang up on him. 

Doesn’t even factor the “can’t hear well” thing in, when he was tasked (demanded, whined, bitched and moaned at) with helping them explain to Steve why going to the release party of the new D&D box set, located at a hobby store only a mere 2 hour drive away, was important.

Eddie’s not even sure how the little shits got him to agree to do it until he’s standing in the parking lot in front of the former King himself. 

“The store’s leading up to the release with a handful of one-shots.” He’s explaining, unsure whether to pull out the bored act or play up his court jester persona, and thus mixing and matching on the fly. 

He does not care if Harrington doesn’t know what a one-shot is. 

“They’re releasing the set at midnight. You have to be there to get it though, you can’t have someone else pick it up for you because they only got a certain amount in.” 

Harrington’s frowning (no surprise) but it’s not until Eddie is well into his spiel about how his van is already full with the elder members of Hellfire, and thus has no room for the freshmen, that he realizes Steve isn’t quite looking at him. 

Is in fact, looking over his shoulder.

Eddie stops. Follows Harrington’s gaze.

Parked across from Steve’s Beemer, is Jonathan Byer’s barely working clunker car. 

A handful of steps in front of it, and thus nearly right behind Eddie, is the man himself.

His hands are still moving, mouth shaping words silent as he goes, his gaze locked not on Eddie or the kids--but on Steve. 

Who turns back around as Harrington’s eyes slide right back to him. 

“And this is taking place next Friday?” He says, in that sort of annoyed but resigned way parents aim at their children. “After school?” 

“I’d like to go during  school, but the freshmen insist you wouldn’t let them ditch out.” Eddie tells him. “They had two separate arguments about it.” 

Loud ones, that had interrupted the game and given Eddie a migraine. 

Once again Steve’s eyes slide away from him, to Jonathan. 

“They’re not skipping school.” He says suddenly, a glare forming and Jonathan makes an annoyed noise. 

“They argued about skipping, they’re not going to.” He says aloud, and finally steps up so that he’s next to Eddie instead of behind him. 

“Munson slow down, I can’t sign as fast as you’re talking.” He adds, in the hang-dog grumble he’s notorious for. 

Eddie stares at him. 

“Can he seriously not hear me?” 

“No.” Steve and Jonathan answer together. 

“I can kind of still hear,” Steve adds, gaze returning to Eddie’s face. “But its more loud music or noises. I can lip read, but you’re also talking too fast for that.” 

Without pausing, he turns back to Jonathan and says; “Why can’t you take them?”

“It’s Friday.” Byers deadpans. 

Eddie’s not an expert on sign language, but his hands somehow looked deadpan too. 

He’s not sure how Jonathan did that. 

“So?” Steve snarks back. 

What follows is an argument that Eddie is not, at all involved in, mostly because he’s too busy handling the fact that Jonathan Byers has learned sign language, for Steve Harrington, apparently, and given the tone the argument is taking they still don’t even like each other.  

Eventually the argument ends, Steve throwing his hands in the air and demanding that Jonathan owes him. 

(Eventually Eddie will corner the ever so quiet Will Byers and ask why the hell his brother learned sign language for someone he clearly fucking hates.

“Oh they don’t hate each other.” Baby Byers would say, in that shy, quiet way of his. “I think they’re actually friends now?” 

“You think?”

“Well--you’ve seen them.” Will shrugs. “I think being mean to each other is kinda their thing.” 

‘What the hell.’ Eddie would think, right up until he stumbled across one of the kids sign language books. 

Byers the Elder, he decides, isn’t the only person who should learn sign language to chew out Harrington properly.

The pay off is immediate. 

Or at least, the pay off of watching Steve’s shocked face the first time Eddie signs something vulgar at him is, anyway.)

[howslemon]

Perfect Translation

IVE Rei x Male Reader

Words: 3.2k+

*Japanese

.

The forty-story glass building loomed before you, its sleek facade reflecting the morning sun. You smoothed down your suit coat, gripping your company ID like a lifeline. Your supervisor's words echoed in your mind: "Just a casual check-in with our Japanese partners." Easy for him to say, he wasn't the one navigating Tokyo without speaking the language.

The security guard accepted your ID with both hands, his expression courteous but firm. After a brief examination, he returned it with a gesture toward the waiting area. The glossy pamphlet on the side table offered little comfort. Its characters might as well have been abstract art.

"Good afternoon sir,"

The voice pulled your attention from the pamphlet. A woman stood before you, her presence commanding yet graceful. Her dark hair fell just past her shoulders, complementing the sharp lines of her business attire.

"Naoi Rei, I’ll be assisting you for today." she introduced herself, extending a hand. Her handshake was firm, professional. "Please follow me."

.

The elevator ride was quiet for the soft jazz playing overhead. You noticed how she stood, straight-backed, hands clasped before her, the very picture of corporate professionalism.

"First time in Japan sir?" she asked warmly, softening the elevator's fluorescent lighting.

"That obvious huh?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "You have that look about you. Wide-eyed, just taking everything in." She turned slightly toward you. "Tokyo can be overwhelming at first."

"Any suggestions for a newcomer?"

"I know quite a few hidden gems in the city." Her eyes met yours briefly. "Places tourists never find."

The elevator chimed, interrupting whatever was building in that moment. Rei gestured for you to follow, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. The office buzzed with quiet energy, the soft murmur of voices, the gentle hum of computers, the distant ring of phones.

Rei led you to a meeting room along the corner, where an executive in his fifties greeted you with a slight bow. His silver-streaked hair and wire-rimmed glasses gave him an air of distinguished authority.

"Welcome," he said warmly. "I trust you found us without too much trouble?"

Rei translated, voice replicating the same warmth. Was it your imagination, or did her eyes linger on yours a moment longer than necessary?

"The building was hard to miss," you replied, settling into the chair she indicated. The seating arrangement placed Rei between you and the executive, close enough that you caught the subtle scent of her perfume.

"Well, shall we discuss how the partnership has been progressing?"

Rei translated, but this time, she carried a hint of playfulness. "He wants to know how well we work together." Her emphasis on 'we' was subtle but unmistakable.

.

The conversation flowed, a dance of languages and meanings. With each translation, Rei seemed to grow bolder, a lingering glance here, a subtle shift in her chair there. Her translations remained professional, but her body language told a different story.

"How do you manage your team?" the executive asked, innocently enough.

Rei's eyes sparkled as she translated. "He's curious about how you... handle things." Her foot brushed against yours under the table, too deliberate to be accidental.

"I believe in being... hands-on when necessary," you replied, maintaining eye contact.

She turned to the executive, translating your words with perfect professionalism, but her crossed legs angled slightly more toward you. The rest of the meeting became a delicate balance, maintaining corporate decorum while an undercurrent of tension built with each exchanged glance, each "accidental" touch.

The executive seemed pleased with the discussion, checking his watch. "I believe we've covered everything now, unless you have any other questions?"

Rei's translation came with a subtle bite of her lip. "He's wrapping up. But I'm sure there's more we could... discuss."

The professional facade was cracking, replaced by something electric, dangerous, and entirely unprofessional. But as you caught her eye, you knew neither of you cared anymore. "That could be arranged,"

Rei’s eyes lingered onto yours a bit longer than necessary as she turned to the executive. "I have no other questions,"

As the executive gathered his papers, Rei translated his closing remarks with perfect professionalism, but her eyes told a different story entirely. The tension that had been building throughout the meeting was reaching its breaking point.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet today," the executive said, standing and extending his hand.

"He said thank you for the stimulating... conversation," Rei translated, her voice low enough that only you could hear the suggestion in her tone.

You shook the executive's hand, maintaining your composure despite the heat crawling up your neck. After exchanging pleasantries, Rei led you back into the hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor with newfound purpose.

"I should show you around before you leave," she said, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, not that anyone understood it anyway. Then, leaning closer, she whispered, "There's a utility room at the end of this hallway. Nobody uses it this time of day."

Your pulse quickened as you followed Rei down the corridor, past busy offices and meeting rooms. To anyone watching, it was just the translator guiding a visitor, nothing more.

She slowed her pace as you approached a door near the end of the hall. Glancing quickly in both directions, Rei reached for the handle.

The door opened to reveal a small storage room, shelves of office supplies, a utility sink, and not much else. But neither of you were looking at the surroundings as she pulled you inside, closing the door behind you.

She locked the door. The moment it clicked, she turned to you, professionalism cracking at the edges. "So," she murmured, voice dipping lower, "let's talk about that hands-on management style."

You didn’t bother with words.

Your mouth was on hers in an instant, capturing her gasp as you pressed her against the nearest shelf. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t patient. The tension that had been building throughout the meeting snapped in an instant.

She matched your urgency, her hands already at your tie, loosening it with quick, practiced movements. Your fingers traced the buttons of her blouse, slipping one free, then another, revealing smooth skin beneath.

"I've been thinking about this since I saw you through the lobby," Rei whispered against your mouth, her fingers already working at your tie.

The confined space of the storage room amplified every breath, every rustle of clothing, every muffled sound, everything. Your hands found her waist, the smooth fabric of her blouse a stark contrast to the heat emanating from beneath.

"Someone could hear us," you murmured, even as your actions contradicted your words.

"Then we'll have to be quiet," she replied, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Her fingers moved with surprising dexterity, undoing your coat with practiced ease. "Unless you want me to translate that too? Let them know what we’re doing."

The joke broke the tension for just a moment before it rebuilt, stronger than before. Your hands found the edge of her skirt, bunching the fabric as she pressed harder against you.

"No more talking," she commanded, professional composure completely forgotten. She reached for your belt, working it open with precision.

The small room felt electric, charged with the hours of pent-up energy released in this stolen moment. Office supplies rattled on nearby shelves as you both moved against them, neither caring about maintaining order anymore.

You turned her around swiftly, hands rested on the curve of her hips, guiding her against the stacked shelf. Her breath hitched as your fingers slid up the smooth skin of her thighs, bunching her skirt higher until it barely covered her. Her palms pressed against the shelf, nails barely scratching the metal frame as she arched back, offering herself without a word. You could feel the heat radiating from between her legs, her body betraying how long she’d been waiting for this.

"You're already soaked," you murmured, running a finger along the thin strip of fabric that barely covered her. A soft, muffled gasp escaped her lips as you traced slow circles over her panties, teasing, taunting.

"Do you want me to translate how much I need you right now?" she whispered, voice thick with desire.

Instead of answering, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and tugged her panties down, letting them slide past her thighs before they dropped to her ankles. She kicked them aside without hesitation, spreading her legs wider in silent invitation.

Your fingers dipped between her folds, spreading her open, feeling how wet she was. "Fuck," you breathed, dragging your fingertips through the slickness before pressing one inside her. She clenched around you instantly, her breath catching as she bit back a moan.

"You need to be quiet," you reminded her, sliding another finger in, stretching her, curling just enough to make her shudder. "Unless you want everyone out there to know what a filthy little professional you really are."

Her head dropped forward, forehead resting against the shelf as she fought to control herself. You freed yourself, lining up at her entrance, teasing her with the head of your cock.

You gripped her hips, holding her still as you teased her entrance, rubbing against her, coating yourself in her wetness. "Tell me how badly you want it."

She turned her head slightly, eyes blazing as she met your gaze over her shoulder. "I’ve wanted it the second I saw you in that lobby," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Now stop teasing and fuck me."

A growl rumbled low in your throat as you thrust into her, burying yourself in one smooth, deep stroke. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, fingers tightening around the edge of the shelf. You gave her a moment to adjust before pulling back and slamming into her again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the small space.

"God—" she gasped, cutting herself off, trying to suppress her moans.

You grinned, gripping a handful of her hair and pulling her head back. "Careful," you warned, your lips brushing her ear. "Wouldn't want anyone to walk in and see you like this, bent over, dripping, taking every inch like you were made for it."

Her only response was a desperate whimper, her walls tightening around you, her body pushing back against yours, seeking more. You gave it to her fast, deep, relentless. The shelf rocked against the wall with every thrust, papers slipping loose, pens scattering onto the floor, but neither of you cared.

"You're so fucking tight," you groaned, your grip on her hips bruising as you drove into her harder, faster. She was trembling now, her legs shaking, her breath uneven as she neared the edge.

"Please," she panted, barely able to get the word out. "Don’t stop."

You reached around, finding her clit, rubbing harsh, quick circles in time with your thrusts. Her whole body tensed, back arching, muscles tightening as she came hard around you, her orgasm crashing over her in silent, shaking waves, pushing your cock out of her.

You felt her soft thighs press around your length. The slick wetness from her previous orgasm made it easy for your cock to slide in and out smoothly between the soft flesh of meat, lightly brushing her still dripping folds. Each slow thrusts teasing, matched with your hand creeping up to her perfectly sized breast.

Rei let out cute little whimpers, her fingers tightening around the shelf, trying to steady herself as you plant gentle kisses along her nape. You ran your hands up her sides, tracing her ribs through the thin fabric of her blouse before gripping her waist again, controlling her movements, making sure she felt every inch of you sliding between her thighs.

Her thighs squeezed tighter, the sensation delicious as you picked up the pace, fucking into that soft, slick heat. You could feel how wet she still was, how close she was again. "Sensitive?" You murmured against her ear, dragging your lips along the curve of her neck, sucking lightly, just enough to make her jerk, but not enough pressure to leave a mark, at least not for now.

Rei shivered, nodding weakly as she bit her lip before turning her face to you. Your fingers trailed down, dipping between her legs, teasing her folds just as your cock slid past. She jerked against you, a sharp inhale escaping her lips as you circled her clit again, rubbing in time with your thrusts. Her pleading eyes stared at yours, full of hunger, desires. Warm breaths hitting you before you closed the tiny gap in between your faces, claiming her plump lips, tounges slithering together, savoring each other’s taste.

There she was again with her cute whimpers, this time, against your mouth, her body trembling against yours, breathing uneven. Lewd wet sounds of your exchanged heat echoing the small space, the universal language of sex that didn’t need any translation for anyone to understand.

You felt yourself getting close, the friction of her plush thighs, the heat of her soaked pussy just barely out of reach, driving you to the edge. You pulled back at the last second, gripping her hips with both hands as you turned her around. Rei blinked up at you, dazed, her pupils blown wide with lust. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing still ragged.

Her back hitting the shelf as you lifted one of her legs, hitching it over your arm. The new angle exposed everything, her swollen, dripping entrance, still twitching from her last orgasm, waiting, begging for you to fill her again with your cock.

You lined yourself up, teasing her entrance with the head of your cock, reveling in the way she shuddered, her fingers gripping at your shoulders for support.

"Please…" Her voice was barely a whisper, but the desperation in it made something snap inside you. You thrust into her in one hard stroke, burying yourself to the hilt. The shelves behind her hit against the wall, the remaining office supply containers dropping down the floor. You somehow felt bad for someone who’s gonna clean all this mess, the wasted sheet of papers already unusable, soaked with Rei’s cum.

You didn’t give her time to adjust this time. You set a punishing rhythm, deep, unrelenting, each thrust forcing her against the shelf, her body completely at your mercy. Her nails dug into your shoulders as she held on, breaking her with every thrust. "Too much���!"

"You can take it," you growled, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at you. Her lips trembled, breath hot and uneven as she stared up at you, pupils wide, drowning in lust. "Yes, I can—ahh!"

You slammed into her harder, watching her back arch, her body forced against the shelf. The unrelenting force of your thrusts shaking both her and the unstable storage behind her.

"Don’t stop…" she gasped, nails raking down your back through the fabric of your shirt, her legs tightening around you as you drove into her relentlessly.

You grabbed her other thigh, lifting her completely off the ground, pressing her against the cold metal shelf as you held her in place, using your strength to fuck into her at a brutal pace. She had no choice but to take it, her body fully surrendered to you, trembling, shaking, as pleasure wracked through her.

"I-I’m gonna—!"

You felt it, her walls spasming around you, body shaking, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she—

Somebody knocked, forcing you to stay absolutely still, cock still burried deep into her, painfully halting Rei’s climax. You covered her mouth, preventing any unwanted cries of pleasure to be heard by someone out there. She’s still gasping, trying to catch her breath as you slowly continue your pace.

"What did he say?" You whispered before letting go of her mouth.

"Just asking if someone’s here,"

Coast is clear, you heard footsteps walking away from the room. You stared at each other, letting out breathy laughs.

"You were so close," you murmured against her ear, feeling the way her walls still fluttered around you, desperate for the release that had been stolen from her.

"F-fuck... I hate you," Rei whispered breathlessly, forehead pressing against yours, her nails digging into your shoulders. But her body betrayed her, still shifting against you, still silently pleading for more.

You smirked, pulling back just enough to watch her face as you rolled your hips, slow and deep, pressing her further into the cold shelf. "Hate me?" Another slow, deliberate thrust. "Or hate that I stopped?"

"A bit of both," she gasped, tilting her head back as pleasure took over her again.

"You wanna cum?"

Rei nodded frantically, staring at you with lips slightly parted, already lost in it again. "Please, make me cum,"

You gripped her thighs tighter, pressing it higher against your waist as you snapped your hips forward, resuming the brutal rhythm she needed, slamming into her deep and hard. She cried out, her voice muffled against your shoulder, her nails scratching down your back.

"You wanna scream?" you taunted, breath hot against her neck. "But you can’t, can you? Not unless you want them to hear how filthy you are, getting fucked like this in a storage room."

She nodded weakly, biting her lip to keep the moans inside.

"Then cum," you growled, thrusting harder, fingers digging into her skin as you drove her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, her pussy clenching down on you, squeezing tight as she came violently, her muffled moan vibrating against your skin.

You groaned, feeling the way she milked your cock, every pulse pushing you closer, her tight, dripping heat dragging you into oblivion.

"Fuck Rei,"

You buried yourself as deep as you could, white-hot pleasure crashing over you as you came inside her, filling her completely. She whimpered, shivering as she felt it, her body still shaking, still coming down from her high as you spilled every last drop into her.

Silence settled between you, both panting, pressed against each other, sweaty, spent.

You finally dropped her legs down as you pulled back, watching your cum slowly dripping on her thighs. "Messy…" you murmured, smirking.

Rei let out a breathy laugh, legs still weak, arms wrapped lazily around your shoulders. "That was the best fuck I’ve had here."

You kissed her—slow, deep, savoring the taste of her.

"Should we clean up?" You pressed your forehead to hers, glancing around the wreckage of the storage room, office supplies scattered, papers ruined, and the unmistakable scent of sex heavy in the air.

"Should we?"

You both chuckled, fixing yourselves back into the professionals that you were before you went in that room. "You free tonight?" You ask her.

She leaned against the shelf to steady herself, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tonight?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"My hotel." you replied, straightening your tie.

Rei glanced at her watch, then took out a business card. She flipped it over, writing something on the back before pressing it into your palm. Her fingers lingered against yours.

With that, she unlocked the door, checked the hallway, and slipped out, once again the perfect professional. But the card in your hand, warm from her touch, promised this was only the beginning.

••••••••••

Extended version of @mintwithchoco's prompt.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Twenty Two: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink(Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, public/semi-public, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, bondage/blindfolds, biting/slapping/ spanking/cutting, rape kink, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, blood, knife, GEN. SMUT, [All possible tags listed, all may not apply] GORE, MURDER, ANIMAL CRUELTY, ANIMAL DEATH

Info: ✨breaking and entering✨ boy things ✨[diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread, MDNI 18+

The office you sat in looked more like a living room out of a catalog than a workplace. The couch beneath you was comfy and large enough for you and Anakin both to sit, with plenty of room left over. Although he wouldn’t allow it, always insisting you stay tucked against his side. Not that you minded very much.

“Woods Edge,” Amy, the realtor that Luke had gotten ahold of for you repeated after Anakin. “That’s a higher price range than what we discussed over the phone this morning.”

”I know… I was doing a little independent looking.” He said with a friendly smile, tossing his arm over your shoulder. “I saw some pictures of the area online and I just really liked the view, seemed like a nice place.”

”It *is* a nice place, that’s why the price tag has a few added zeros.” Amy gave a lighthearted laugh.

“We really just wanted to take a look, a few different subdivisions, homes a bit farther out from the city. We aren’t totally set on anything. Just looking for ideas.” You piped up, reaching your hand across your body to take Anakin’s hand in yours, squeezing it hard to let him know you were taking over the conversation.

“The sooner we can get a look at-“ Anakin started, completely ignoring the rough squeeze of your hand, to him it just felt like the grip of scared child.

”I think we should go look at the little single level, two bedroom place. The second one you showed us.” You cut in, leaning forward and patting the back of Anakin’s hand as if to say ‘too bad’.

”Sure, its vacant at the moment.” Amy said, turning back to her computer to look up the address and specs, filling you in on what little detail there was in the listing. “There aren’t any showings scheduled and I have my afternoon blocked off for the two of you, so…”

After coming up with a tentative itinerary for the next few hours, you walked out of the building feeling excited to house hunt. There were many things you were looking forward to, seeing the different options was your main goal of course. Though it didn’t hurt to have a few other curiosities as well. It was going to be so entertaining for someone as easily distracted as you.

Thinking of all the random bits and bobbles hiding out in these strangers homes for you to judge and/or admire, was almost more exciting than the prospect of finding your new family home.

”We have twenty minutes before we’re supposed to meet her at the-“ The air blew out of your lungs from the force of Anakin’s forearm against your chest, pressing your back against the cold metal exterior of your vehicle.

“What the hell was that in there?” He asked angrily, yanking open the back passenger door to shove you inside. “You can’t just interrupt me like that.”

“I told you I wanted some real input on our decisions!” You snapped back, landing on the backseat cushions with a bounce that send you further back into the car.

“And I told you to let me handle this meeting!” He barked, climbing in after you and slamming the car door behind him. “You… you ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You scoffed, pushing against his shoulders, hands on either side of his neck as he started to encompass your personal space.

“Remember when I told you to stop asking fucking questions and shut your goddamnn mouth?” He snarled, grabbing your face and jostling your roughly. Anger blazed in his eyes, the pupils usually so dilated just from being in your presence, were no bigger than the tip of a pin.

“This is one of those times you shut the fuck up and listen to me!” He yelled, shoving your head back until you heard a resounding *thunk*. The back of your skull hitting the ledge of the car door behind you.

“Ow!” You shrieked, cupping the back of your head as Anakin quickly released you and sat back on his haunches, blinking down at you like he had no idea what had just happened.

“What’s your problem?” You sniffled, sitting up and squeezing your eyes shut, breathing through your teeth as you rubbed the back of your head with the heel of your palm.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He said quietly, not sounding like himself in the slightest. “‘C’mere. Let me look at it.”

You glared at him, giving him a long, uninterrupted stare-down before finally agreeing to let him check the tender, warm to the touch pump-knot forming. His fingers parted your hair, gently brushing through it before he separated the strands into two sections. Placing one over your right shoulder, while holding the other, smaller section loosely as he kissed the nape of your neck: a silent apology.

“It looks okay,” He said, feeling small and shitty about the way he’d acted. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What did I ruin?” You asked, lowering your head, thankful he couldn’t see your face.

“Let’s just forget about that.” He sighed, pulling you toward him, arms around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder.

“It’s silly anyway, certainly not worth hurting you over.” He said softly, his breath warm against your neck as he nuzzled into you.

“Are you going to get in trouble because I’ve gotten in your way?” Your throat constricted at the thought. What an awful girlfriend. You’re going to be the reason Anakin goes to prison. All because you just had to question him.

He was quiet for a long moment, almost like he was waiting for you to speak again, maybe outright confront him. Or perhaps he was just too shocked to respond in a timely manner.

“No.” He shook his head, kissing the nape of your neck once more before awkwardly shifting his long limbs to crawl over the car console into the driver’s seat, gesturing for you to do the same.

“Actually, I think-“ He sighed, scratching his neck, turning his head away to avoid looking at you now that you were in the front beside him, buckling up in a heavy silence.

“It’s probably for the best.” He cleared his throat, starting the car and backing out of the parking space to head to the home you were scheduled to look at first.

“So it’s… a thing… at Woods Edge?” You asked, looking out the passenger windows as the buildings blurred past.

“Sweetheart.” He sighed, hesitantly laying his hand on your thigh. His calloused hand warm enough to transfer its heat through the denim of your jeans. “I don’t want you to worry. Everything is fine. There is no ‘thing’ at Woods Edge.”

”But there will be?” You asked, picking at the sides of your fingers nervously.

”No.” He huffed, reaching up to grab your wrist to separate your hands, not wanting you to mar up your skin.

”Did you… were you *hoping* for it?” You asked quietly, tapping your fingertip repeatedly against his hand.

”Jesus, can we not do this?” He asked tiredly. His left leg starting to bob up and down at the knee, like he was getting antsy at the red light he’d just pulled up to.

“What are you fishing for? What answer are you trying to get?” He growled in annoyance. It was clear that he really didn’t want to continue this conversation.

“Anakin, I just- I’m not trying to ‘fish’ for anything.” You snapped at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just want to be included!”

He froze, his face immediately morphing into a drawn and pale expression that showed just how unexpected your statement was. Or perhaps just how utterly unprepared he was to respond to such a bold declaration.

“W-wait, no that’s not…” You said quickly, holding out both hands as you twisted in your seat to turn toward him. “I don’t mean it like that.”

”Then what the hell do you mean?” He yelled, throwing open the center console to dig around for his lighter, needing a cigarette to calm his nerves.

“No, you were right.” You started to backtrack, staring out the front windshield to avoid the icy look he threw your way. “We shouldn’t be doing this now. We’re supposed to be house hunting.”

”No, ma’am, we shouldn’t. But you opened your mouth so…” He said sharply, gesturing at you like he was prompting you to keep talking. “So? Couldn’t shut your damn mouth before, open it back up and spit it out.”

”Ani, I just want you to stop being so… secret-y.” You let the words fall out of your mouth.

“Secret-y?” He scoffed, running his hand through his hair as he blew out a puff of smoke, cracking his window open. “You think I *like* hiding things from you?”

“Yes.” You said before you even had a chance to process the word forming on your tongue.

”Are you fuckin’ serious?” He squeaked, genuinely so surprised by your rapid fire answer that he dropped his cigarette from his lips, allowing it to fall into his lap.

“Shit! Fuck-“ He yelped, trying to focus on driving while also retrieving the cigarette before it burnt a hole in his jeans.

You reached over in a flash, pinching the filter between your fingers and plucking it up from his lap, holding it back out to him. The cherry had fallen out and charred a black spot onto the car upholstery between his thighs. He cursed under his breath and swiped at the ashes to fling them out on to floor mat beneath him.

”Thanks.” He mumbled, snatching it from between your fingers to relight it and finish smoking it in silence, presumably trying to pre-plan his next words to you.

“So you… do you really think I like hiding things from you?” He asked in a horribly hurt, tiny voice.

”N-not intentionally.” You sighed, reaching over to put your hand on his knee to comfort him. “I just think maybe you sometimes don’t tell me things because you’re like, scared or worried. I feel like you keep things from me because you think its best for me, but it’s not.”

”And why not?” He asked, his jaw line sharpening as he clenched his teeth tightly. “How do you know what’s best for you? You suck at being an adult.” He mumbled under his breath.

”Anakin!” You gasped, pulling your hand away from his knee as his words registered. “That is completely unfair. If anyone here sucks at being an adult it’s you.” You shot back.

”Excuse me?” He huffed, so distracted by the increasingly heated conversation to pay attention, not using a turn signal when pulling onto a side road, causing the car behind you to honk.

“Oh shut the fuck up!” Anakin growled over his shoulder as if the driver could hear him, throwing up a middle finger for good measure.

“I might have some issues but at least I can keep my shit together.” Anakin barked. “I don’t get wasted anytime I have a minor problem!”

”That’s only ever happened once and you know it!” You yelled back, your foot stomping down on the floor mat. “It’s your fault anyway!”

”MY fault?” He scoffed, smacking the steering wheel in anger, making the car swerve.

”Be careful!” You squealed, your hand reaching out to steady the steering wheel but not quite reaching it. It was more of a warning that if it happened again, you would be grabbing the wheel to correct his mistake.

”Don’t tell me how to fucking drive, its fine.” He grumbled, forcing himself to take a deep breath to calm his nerves. As much as he hated to admit it, you were right, he shouldn’t be so careless especially with you in the car with him.

“Look, w-we’re almost to this place. Don’t… just don’t.” Giving you a warning glance. “Chill out before we get there.”

“Whatever.” You muttered, crossing your arms, lips stuck in an irritated frown. You spent the last few moments in the vehicle in complete, utter, discomforting silence before finally arriving at the house you were scheduled to see.

“C’mon.” Anakin murmured, opening your car door for you, offering you his hand, but you declined, jerking your head in the opposite direction, purposefully making it as obvious as possible that you didn’t want his help.

“Stop being a bitch.” He spat out between his teeth as he flashed a smile at the realtor who was standing on the front porch, unlocking this stranger’s front door.

“You stop being a bitch.” You mumbled, walking in front of him at a quick pace. At this point you just wanted to get the day over with and go home. Sit on the opposite side of the hall from Anakin. You needed some space before you ended up ripping all your hair out.

“You didn’t like any of the places we saw today?” Anakin asked in an exhausted tone, pulling into the parking lot of your apartment building.

“No I didn’t.” You huffed, rolling your eyes when Anakin muttered something about how this was a waste of time.

”What didn’t you like?” He asked, trying to be more understanding as you both made your way to the entrance to the building.

“Your attitude.” You said in a snippy voice.

”Jesus Christ!” He growled, tossing up his hands to run through his hair. “I’m genuinely asking you!”

”I’m genuinely telling you.” You bobbed your head as you spoke, sassy and annoying in a way that made Anakin want to plant his fist in the drywall.

“What are you doing?” He asked, sighing and rubbing his face while he watched you open your apartment door and walk inside, turn and stand in the doorway.

”I don’t want you in here right now.” You said quietly, refusing to look up at him.

”What the fuck? Why?” He asked, truly sounding a little panicked.

“I don’t want to argue anymore. I’m tired.” You answered simply, attempting to close the door.

”Then we won’t argue, I swear. We can just have a quiet night.” He quickly grabbed the door in a crushing grip, shoving his foot against the doorframe to keep you from shutting him out.

”No!” You frustratedly pulled on the doorknob, catching his foot and making him suck in a breath through his teeth, his hand forming a fist to pound on the wall with the side of his hand.

“Fuck!” He growled, done playing nice with you now that you’d actually hurt him. He ripped the door open so hard that it pulled you forward, unable to let go of the doorknob fast enough, so you fell into his chest.

Anakin grunted at the impact, but stood firmly, refusing to move unless it was forward. He crushed you against his chest with his left arm braced against your back, your arms trapped against him as his right hand grabbed the crook of your knee to lift you up, stomping into the apartment and kicking the door shut behind you both.

”Put me down!” You squealed, wriggling and kicking to try and squirm out of his grip. “Anakin! I said put me down!”

”Shut the fuck up!” He shouted in your ear, tossing you down on the couch so hard you sank down into the cushion and felt the hard metal frame against your thighs. “Now you’re gonna sit there and you’re gonna fucking listen to me, got it?” He snarled, grabbing your face in one large hand, calloused fingertips biting into the flesh.

”I’ve had enough of this back and forth. You understand me?” He growled, releasing your face and turning on his heel to put his hands in his hair, breathing out as he puffed up his cheeks.

“You wanna talk for real? Let’s talk for real.” He shoved his hands down in his front pockets, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his neck like he was trying to relieve the tension in his muscles. “I mean it. Okay? I mean it. I’m- I can’t… I won’t. A-ask me whatever. I’ll tell you. All of it if you want.”

You sat there, feeling bile rising up the back of your throat. Your skin crawled at the thought of hearing ‘all of it’. All? Everything? You weren’t sure you wanted to- no. You knew you couldn’t handle it. Not all at once. He’d said it with so much weight that you could physically see how much he was carrying inside him. The guilt poured out of his blue eyes, giving you a glimpse into that hidden pit in his mind that he’d tried so hard to hide from you and from himself.

“Well?” He swallowed thickly, looking almost desperate to hear you ask the first question.

“Why did you lie to me for so long?” You asked, feeling your throat constricting, tightening up as if your own body was trying to stop you from asking.

”Really?” He scoffed, almost surprised that was your first inquiry, he was almost certain you’d jump straight into the juicy bits.

”Alright.” Anakin pursed his lips, scratching the sharp edge of his jaw. “Put yourself in my shoes.” He gestured to his chest with both hands, fingertips hitting the space between his pectorals. He was hoping by sharing more than you asked for with each question, it’d be over faster.

“Imagine how painful a bowling ball would be if it fell off the counter, right onto your stomach.” He threw out his right arm at the kitchen countertop. “Fucking bust your damn guts, if it was heavy enough, right?”

”I guess it probably would but-“ You furrowed your brows, unsure what this had to do with your question.

”Yeah, but if you put it in one of those ugly leather bags, it won’t roll off, right?” Anakin asked rhetorically, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he started to pace the living room. “So now, forget that you know what’s inside that bag. You don’t know what’s in there, it could be something dangerous. You don’t know, cause you can’t see it.”

”I didn’t want to hurt you, scare you, worry you. It was safer and more manageable to conceal myself from you, let you unzip the bag. Y’know cause you can see the bowling bowl inside, know what’s in there without taking it out.” Anakin looked down at his hands, mimicking the action of picking something up.

“Even though you know it’s a bowling ball, you can’t tell how heavy it is until you pick it up.” He said, holding out the imaginary bowling ball. “Does that make sense?”

”Okay, so you’re saying that… Ghost is the bag? Cause of the mask?” You muttered, having a hard time solidifying the metaphor in reality.

“No, its the opposite.” He shook his head, giving you an almost proud smile, like he was relieved that you’d finally said it aloud, you hadn’t made him do it. Although his eyes drooped in a way that conveyed a deep self loathing.

It was clear that despite his relief, he despised the fact he’d been weak and deluded enough to believe he had split himself in two all for *your* benefit in the beginning. In reality, everything he’d done was all for him. And once again, he was too weak and deluded to fully admit that fact to himself. If he were to accept that as truth, his entire purpose for enduring life thus far, would be flushed down the toilet of oblivion.

”Or maybe you’re right, it wouldn’t be the first time you saw through me in a way I didn’t expect.” A smile of chagrin etched into his nervously chewed lips.

“The way I see it though, is… well, it’s like this.” He sighed, kneeling down in front of you to take both your hands in his. “The bag is the Anakin you met. The surface layer of me.”

”I took the bowling ball out of the bag and I set it on the counter on one of those… those cup things that keep them from rolling around.” He jerked his head to the side in the direction of the kitchenette.

”You’ve been carrying around an empty bag. You didn’t know it was empty, since you couldn’t see inside. But it was a nice bag, maybe a little beat up looking but it was pretty solid. No holes. Right?” He said, a flat affect blanketing his face like he didn’t want you to know how he really felt while talking about this.

“So meanwhile, that big bowling ball was on the counter the whole time. It didn’t… feel safe, without it’s bag and the person who held it.” He paused, eyes going out of focus as he stared just a hair to the left of your face.

“Every so often, something would bump into it. Knock it off the stand.” He said, his brows pinched together as one hand hovered palm down, sliding through the air in a slow line. “Takes a tiny push and it’ll roll until it falls off the edge of the counter and squishes someone.”

“It’s not like it’s… inherently dangerous. But in the right conditions it could be a fatal weapon.” Anakin said, swiftly dropping his hand to hit the floor using the side of his fist to make a thumping sound. “And you know, it’s round so it can’t really control whether it keeps rolling or if it stops. The environment decides its mobility.”

“So even if it…” He paused, standing up suddenly and turning around so he could curse himself for not realizing he was crying until he saw the empathy in your eyes as you gazed at him.

“Even if it *wanted* to stop, it can’t.” Anakin said, one arm across his chest with his hand supporting his elbow while he rubbed at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

“Anakin, come sit with me.” Watching him so clearly struggled with himself was heartbreaking if not a little unsettling. He was crying with an entirely neutral face, eyes devoid of any depth, like a failure of a portrait.

“I get what you’re saying.” You nodded as he made his way to the couch reluctantly. “So here’s what we’re going to do, okay?” You said in an almost motherly tone.

“Put it back in the bag okay?” You said, eyebrows raised expectantly as you waiting for him to nod. “Good, we put it back in the bag and we leave it unzipped.”

“Really?” Anakin asked, his bottom lip wobbling while his mouth downturned into a shaky frown. “You mean it?” He sucked in a choked breath to hold, his eyes growing redder by the second as hot tears freely slipped from his lashes.

“Mhm.” You gave him a small smile. Only growing wider when he lunged at you for a crushing squeeze around your waist, his face buried in the softness of your belly.

“You won’t be scared?” He asked, his shoulders shaking like an his emotions were causing an internal earthquake.

“Do I look scared?” You asked, a hint of a smirk on your face as you gently pet his hair in a calming pattern.

“I’m afraid to look.” He muttered, using the hem of your tshirt to roughly wipe at his nose like a child.

“Well, I don’t.” You said quietly, tugging on the large red and black plug in his left ear. “I’m not scared of you. I don’t think I ever really was. I think I *wanted* to be scared.”

“Yeah?” Anakin sniffled, seemingly calming down now that he was able to touch you and know that you were really there, saying these insanely unbelievable things. “Cause if I scare you, for real, I’ll do what I can to-“

“Ani.” You sighed, twirling one of the longer curls at the back of his neck around your forefinger. “No. I don’t want you to be half a person.”

“Baby.” His voice cracked in a devastating way, conveying just how much he needed to hear that from you.

“I’m serious.” You said, bouncing your knee to get his attention, making him look up at you with his red splotchy cheeks and beautiful watery blue eyes. “No more of that. And I want to know things. Okay?”

“It’s not like I schedule it.” Anakin huffed, rolling his eyes at you even as his lips turned up in the corners by a tiny little fraction.

“How does that… ? How?” Biting your lip as you gazed down at him, knuckles gently stroking his cheek. You didn’t know how to ask for the answers you needed.

“You.” Anakin said plainly and clearly. So unbothered and so certain that it took you a second to really absorb what that meant.

Everyone he’d killed since you’d met Ghost. Every person. Each human. Died.

Because of you.

Floundering in shock, you opened your mouth with wide eyes. Slowly relaxing those muscles until your mouth closed again and the muscles pulled themselves down into deep contemplation. Unable to comprehend exactly what about you warranted all that violence. You didn’t even know how many people… just the confirmed. The ones he absolutely couldn’t deny. Frat boys. Record shop guy.

“Before?” Your voice tiny, meek and kind of shaky. Almost amusing to Anakin, but he didn’t show it outwardly.

“Two.” He said with a nod, flipping his top lip up to fiddle with his septum ring while he waited for you to react with what he expected to be horror.

“Actually-“ His hand shot up, his fingers splayed as he mumbled names under his breath.* “three. Sorry. Forgot.”

Forgot. He forgot? How do you just forget people like that? People he’s seen the life drain out of, people with families that he destroyed. The air felt colder as it rushed through your lungs, the chill seeping into your gut.

“Do animals count?” He asked, tilting his head back to frown up at you.

“Anim- Animals?” You stuttered, not expecting that. He’d always been so sweet to your cat… should you have been concerned this whole time? Didn’t you hear in a true crime special that seri… serial killers. Serial killer. That’s what he was. You’d said it before, now it’s real. So very real.

“Probably don’t wanna hear that.” He murmured, backtracking awkwardly when he realized you’d gotten uncomfortable.

“N-no, don’t.” Shaking your head quickly as you chewed the inside of your cheek. You really didn’t want to know. Truly you didn’t. But if this was going to work, there couldn’t be anymore secrets. “Tell me. I need to understand.”

“Sweetheart, there’s some things you can’t unhear.” He whispered, his calloused hand rising up to brush your hair away from your shoulder. His thumb caressing your throat while the weight and warmth of his palm rested against the side of your neck.

“I know that!” Scowling down at him before taking a breath and saying it again with less venom.

“Lots.” He mumbled, eye brows raised and pinched together in concern. “Like… I can’t count. I don’t remember.”

“What about the ones you do remember?” You swallowed, deciding that this needed to be a conversation that your eyes were closed for. You could pretend these words weren’t really coming from him. “Bertie?”

“No way, I loved Bertie.” He shook his head, voice squeaking in a panic like he was surprised you’d even suggest it. Could he really blame you though? He kept him in a jar for fucks sake.

“Alright, sorry.” You said with a sigh. “Just curious.”

“Bertie lived longer than most rats actually. I took really good care of him. He had like… a rat mansion.” He said expressively, his pointer finger gently pushing up your eyebrow to make you peek down at him. “I swear. Not Bertie.”

“Okay. Not Bertie.” You nodded, reluctantly looking down at him in concession.

“The first *real* one I remember was this lady’s who lived just outside the subdivision we lived in.” He started, lacing his hands together over his chest. “She had a shit ton of cats. Like, you could smell the piss just from standing in her yard. She let ‘em all out at once, around lunch time.”

“So I sat there across the street for about a week. Just watching.” He said, his voice calm and steady. “None of them wanted to come up to me.”

“I researched some snares.” Anakin said, making a loop motion with his finger before dropping it back to rest along the back of his opposite hand. “It took two days but I finally caught one.”

“How old were you?” You asked, preparing yourself.

“Nine? Maybe ten?” He said dismissively. “I killed stuff before that. But not pets.”

“Okay, so what then?” You sighed, feeling a little sick and queasy.

“Before then? Like fish… frogs, moles, mice and birds. If I could catch it with my hands or in a glue trap, chances are I did.” He said matter of factly, tucking his arms under his armpits. He kept moving like he was afraid to stay still for too long.

“What was the biggest animal?” Morbidly curious now that the conversation was actually flowing. You thought maybe the bigger the animal, the less sad you’d feel about it.

“People.” Anakin said. Hearing that, you popped open your eyes to see him smirking like a little shit.

“Anakin.” You drew out his name in a few extra exasperated syllables.

“Fine.” He sighed, obviously hoping that would’ve made you end the questioning. “A pig.”

“They’re supposed to be anatomically similar to humans.” He shrugged, flopping his head to the side, looking toward the wall to avoid your attention. “Wanted practice.”

“Why?” You asked, an unsettling feeling taking root in your stomach.

“I didn’t want to fuck it up.” He mumbled, jerking his head as he twisted his lanky body to rest on his side, facing away from you.

“Who was it?” The question shot out of your mouth faster than you could even mentally form the words.

“None of your-“ He started to snap at you, but bit his tongue and forcibly made himself stop. He took a long pause and muttered something under his breath.

“Remember when I told you I hit that guy and got sent to the big, bad, scary boy school?” He sighed.

“I remember Ghost, telling me he went to a big, bad, scary boy school.” You sassed back, yanking on his ear to make him turn his head back to you.

“Same fuckin’ thing.” He scoffed, smacking away your hand. “I tried to, y’know. Obviously I did a shit job.”

“I- I didn’t swing from the right angle.” He scowled, standing up and dusting his jeans off before he stepped back and mechanically went through the motions of the first hit from that attack. Like he’d re-enacted it before. Several times.

“Fuck.” He grumbled, feigning a swing again. “I didn’t realize he was so much taller than me, lost momentum in the up-swing.” He frowned.

“Still pisses me off.” He mumbled, sitting back down with a light bounce on the cushions, his head falling into his hands.

“How come Ghost didn’t tell me that?” You asked, genuinely getting angry that he hadn’t divulged all the details the first go-round.

“We were kinda busy and I really didn’t want to make you think I was a damn psycho.” He shot back with a scowl.

“Found that out pretty quickly after you murdered an entire fraternity.” You gritted out through your teeth.

“I didn’t kill an entire fraternity!” He whisper shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You know damn well I didn’t.” He growled, jabbing a finger into your chest.

“Don’t- Anakin!” You gasped. Was he seriously trying to compare your unfortunate self-defense situation to purposeful murder?

“I’m not!” He scoffed, running a hand through his thick black hair. “I didn’t say anything about that!”

“It’s not my fucking fault those guys couldn’t get out of the closet.” He grumbled, roughly mussing up his hair. “It’s not like I meant for them to die! I just didn’t want them to have time to follow us.”

“Jesus, you act like I’m some kind of-“ Anakin paused, his hands out in front of him before he took in a breath and balled them into fists to rest on his knees. “Sorry.”

“Let’s just… stop for now. Okay?” You suggested, knowing you couldn’t mentally handle anymore anyway.

“No, just hit me with your big questions and get it over with.” He sighed softly, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. “I don’t want to re-hash this another time.”

His request was reasonable of course. This was mentally draining for you to listen to and you were certain it was just as exhausting for him to retell. It’s just difficult to imagine you could stomach much more.

“What about the other people before me?” You asked nervously, licking your bottom lip when your mouth suddenly felt dry.

“I was angry.” He mumbled, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee and letting his hands fall into his lap. “I didn’t ever want to fuck up that bad again. That guy… he just- he was always so damn rude and went out of his way to inconvenience us. Y’know?”

“Like shoving his garbage into our trash cans on pick-up day. He let his dog shit in our yard. He mowed over my mom’s peonies, before we put up the fence in the back.” Anakin scowled, even the memory pissed him off. The fact he was having to use mental energy to recall such a worthless person was irritating.

“He backed into mom’s new car. He’d have a bunch of people over and block our driveway… sometimes even tell people to park in our driveway too.” Anakin breathed out, flexing his fingers before clasping his hands together, trying to hide the way he was beginning to fidget.

“Then he got married and had a stepkid, nice girl. Didn’t talk much.” He said, his left knee starting to bounce almost uncontrollably. “She was probably still in elementary school.”

“I saw him smack his wife once.” Anakin gritted his teeth, the sound audible and squeaky. “I knew he was shitty, but I didn’t realize he was a waste of space until then.”

“I was so mad that it was hard to breathe.” He scoffed, gesturing at his chest. “He smacked her outside, where anyone could see. He didn’t care. It’s like he thought that no one would say anything to him or try to stop him.”

“Poor girl saw the whole thing and he just laid into her, screaming and throwing a man-tantrum.” He sneered. “I couldn’t ignore it.”

“But that’s not- I mean-” You paused, a little surprised that the story was going in such a direction. You hadn’t expected his previous… activities… to be somewhat justifiable.

“What?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in question to you, wondering why you’d interrupted.

“Nothing, just thinking aloud.” You quickly corrected yourself and let him continue.

“Well… anyway.” He sighed, rubbing his forefinger’s knuckle beneath his nose. “I knew he’d be driving past the dumpsters on his way out that evening, so I bought some spray paint and was spray-painting shit all over the dumpsters. Obviously baiting him, y’know?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, trying to focus on his words rather than the irritation in his voice.

“I thought maybe if things didn’t go well, I could just say he and I were fighting over the graffiti. Which is exactly what I ended up having to do. Since I didn’t hit him hard enough, enough times.”

“I guess that makes sense.” You nodded, feeling your mental energy draining straight out your ears.

“Yeah, I was a fucking idiot.” He scoffed, acting as if he took your comment as sarcasm. “Never happened again. I made sure of it.”

“How… exactly?” You asked, internally smacking yourself for asking, even though it needed to be answered.

“I swore off anyone I knew.” He held up a finger, bending it to tap repeatedly against the pad of his thumb* “I had to find someone that guys size. So I could correct my mistake. I had to do it within a month.”

“Why?” You frowned, wondering if he’d set that time limit for himself for whatever reason.

“My court date.” He said plainly. “I knew I wasn’t getting out of punishment. I was going to jail or that Juvie school for certain.”

“Oh, right.” That made sense… except you’d have assumed he’d be under some sort of supervision because of the assault. Did they just let violent offenders on bail roam freely while they waited for court?

“I just found a guy who looked similarly built to what’s-his-face. Then I beat the shit out of him until I figured out how to swing up at someone taller and bigger than me.” He said simply. “Obviously I don’t have to worry about that anymore though.” Anakin gestured to his long, lanky legs and lean muscles.

“You did what?” Your jaw went slack and your eyes widened to the size of saucers as his words went in one ear and straight out the other as if your brain didn’t even want to entertain that as fact. “Beat him? You beat someone to death?”

“How else was I going to figure out how I messed up so bad the first time?” Anakin asked as if it were common practice. He seemed genuinely surprised that you were upset, like he wasn’t sure what he said to make you feel so shocked.

“Like with your fists?” You asked, face contorted into a strange expression of mixed morbid curiosity and a hint of fear.

“No, I’m not stupid.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Skin cell transfer, sweat, hair, blood. That’s a terrible idea 1) it’d fucking hurt and 2) why would I waste time and effort with my fists when I can be a one hit wonder with a crowbar?”

“Oh.” You slumped in your seat, feeling a little… inferior? If that was the correct word, for it. You hadn’t really thought about the logistics or risks of pummeling someone with your hands.

“Let’s go across the hall.” Anakin suggested with a sudden burst of energy as he sprung up to his full height and immediately started heading for the door.

“Okay?” You furrowed your brows but hopped up after him, rushing to catch up with his wide steps.

After throwing open his front door, he left it wide open for you to follow him through, while he lifted up his couch cushions and tossed them into a haphazard heap. You’d checked under those cushions, under the couch and behind it, in search of something to prove he was Ghost not so long ago and now watching him un-Velcro the black liner covering the springs… you felt both impressed and a little embarrassed that you hadn’t noticed the liner wasn’t attached as it should’ve been if it were intact from factory production.

With a loud **skrrriptd** the liner was pulled back half way and he reached through the zig-zagged springs to pull out a backpack. Ghost’s backpack. Underneath it laid a long metal box that he also pulled out and swiftly plopped down onto the rug to open it up. Inside was a carefully arranged assortment of knives. All shapes and sizes. He was particularly fond of butterfly knives, as you already knew. You counted at least six that you’d never seen before.

“I got my second one with these.” He said, a weirdly sharp smile on his face. His eyes bright and proud in a way you’d never seen before. You wondered if that’s the face he wore beneath his mask, that sick expression of glee.

He laid out a large serrated hunting knife and a matching set of short, curved blades with handles ending in a thumb-hole. “These would probably be better suited for you though. I got over-excited and picked ‘em up cause they were cool.” He said with a smile, offering the matching pair to you.

“They have a nice back-handed grip, see?” He explained enthusiastically, having you hold out your hands and placing the handles in your palms. Doing all the work for you as he positioned your thumbs in the holes and had you grip them tighter.

“Claw knives.” He said simply, making a punching motion. “Versatile, you can still use your hands while holding them. Like you can climb a ladder or tie your shoes with them in your hands. And fistfight if you have to.”

“My hands are too big for the handles though. I only used them for a bit and had to switch to the big blade there.” He said, gesturing toward the large hunting knife. “I’m glad I kept them around though.” He smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, kissing your neck gently.

“You look pretty with ‘em.” He murmured, his hands traveling up your sides and down your arms, admiring the way the blades looked in your dainty hands. “Very, very pretty.”

“Makes me wanna do some bad things.” He whispered sigh his breath hot against your neck, his tongue licking along the shell of your ear. “Or maybe watch you do some bad things.” Anakin growled with a low grit.

“I don’t think-“ You started, blushing for more than one reason. Partially because he was letting his obvious erection less against your ass and partially because of the shame you felt for considering…

“M’joking.” He chuckled, squeezing you around the middle and giving you a rough kiss on the neck. “I love you baby. I feel… a lot better after all this.” He sighed, spinning you around to face him as he took the knives from your hands.

“I love you too.” You said quietly, watching him place the blades back into the case along with the others.

“Are we gonna talk about… what you were planning for that subdivision?” You asked softly as you laid your head in his lap. Tired and full from dinner as he pet you and watched a silly little girly movie at your insistence.

“I didn’t have anything planned.” He snapped quickly, scowling down at you. “I was just looking.”

“But, why?” You asked with a frown, not convinced at all.

“I just got a weird feeling okay? Wanted to check it out.” He muttered, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger.

“So it’s not someone that did something to…?” You asked the open ended question, not knowing how to phrase it.

“No. Nothing to do with you.” He huffed, staring blankly ahead at the tv. “Promise.”

“If you say so.” You nodded with a sigh, forced to accept his statement as fact.

“How about I make some tea and we’ll go to bed?” Anakin asked, poking you in the cheek with a little smile of reassurance.

“You don’t have to drug me.” You sighed, sitting up and looking at him pointedly.

“W-what?” He sputtered, taken aback by your bold assumption. It was correct, but it was still shocking to him that you’d called him out on it. You were taking all the fun out of this.

“I’ll just go to bed.” You stood up, taking the throw blanket you had been laying with and tossing it over your shoulders like a shawl before shuffling off to the bedroom and face planting onto the mattress, letting yourself sink down into the softness of it.

Anakin shot up from his seat and stood there for a solid minute. Completely frozen and befuddled by your actions. What the hell? What was he supposed to do after that? Continue with his plan? Ditch it? He didn’t like being thrown off like this.

He shook his head and rubbed his face like he thought it would clear away what had just happened and you’d be laying in his lap again, you’d let him make you tea and you’d be out like a light. He wasn’t planning to drug you for malicious reasons. He just wanted to make sure you’d sleep through the night and he wouldn’t have to waste time worrying about you.

Though when he opened his eyes, to his dissatisfaction, reality was… reality and you weren’t there beside him. With a little more effort than usual and a heavy weight in his mind, he changed clothes and grabbed his bag. Walking over to the bedroom to see you laying there scrolling on your phone.

“So… you’re just going to let me go?” He asked, standing in the doorway, looking like a lost child.

“Yes?” You responded, glancing over at him. “What did you expect?”

“I- I don’t know…” he stuttered, shrugging awkwardly. “Not this.” He gestured to you.

“Well you have plans and I’m not included in them so I assumed it’s for a good reason.” You said simply, having learned that it was best to turn a blind eye to things you had no business knowing about. You’d be risking your freedom and his if you knew anymore than you already did. It’s not like you’d hold it together very well under pressure from an interrogation.

“I don’t know if I’m… proud or disappointed.” He mumbled to himself, scratching his head.

“Be… safe?” You offered the sentiment because you weren’t sure what else to say in this situation.

“Yeah.” He muttered, frowning to himself. “I won’t be gone long.” With that, he turned on his heel and tried to shake off the eerie feeling that shrouded him.

After he left, you spent a long time mindlessly scrolling on social media. You weren’t really paying attention to what you were seeing at all, you just needed an excuse not to sleep. Because if not, you’d have to admit to yourself that you were… feeling something. You weren’t sure what, but it was a feeling you knew wasn’t right. It didn’t belong.

Diary Entry

I didn’t even want to go after speaking to you. You didn’t bat an eye at me. It made me want to shake you and force you to come with me. Even though I had no intention of taking you with me in the first place.

Stupid. You’re stupid. I’m stupider.

Anakin crouched below the laundry room window of the massive home that was his target. He just needed a quick look around. That’s all. Just a few more steps on his list and he’d be inside and out quicker than it took for him to break in.

Taking a flathead screwdriver to the keypad housing outside the back door, he popped off the plastic and sat it aside. Thankfully, this bitch left the lights in the laundry room on. Or else he’d be forced to use his phone’s flashlight and that might draw attention.

“C’mon…” He gritted his teeth, mentally counting down the seconds in his mind. He needed to work swiftly. If not, all this prep work with research would be for nothing. “Stupid fuckin’ gloves.”

The leather was thick enough to keep him from getting electrocuted, unfortunately that also meant it was difficult to navigate through the tiny wires to find what he was searching for. Green, green, blue, yellow.

Green. Snip. Green, Blue. Snip, snip.

He concentrated like never before, knowing that if this went badly, he’d be in deep shit. He couldn’t afford to get arrested for a simple B&E. Not when he had so many skeletons in his closet. He prepped the cables with electrical tape, joining the two green cables together without allowing the copper wiring inside to touch.

“Peel back the wire casing…” Anakin mumbled, licking his lips beneath the black bandanna tied around his lower face. “a little twist…”

“Green 1 to Green 2.” He whispered, shaking out his hands and shoving his phone into his mouth with the charging cord attached, along with a car cigarette lighter adaptor on the opposite end, held up with his pinky finger.

“Blue 1 to Green 3.” He twisted the copper wiring together and quickly. “Blue 2 to Green 4.”

Yellow. Snip.

With those wires cut and prepped he had a measly five seconds to connect the necessary circuits or face the consequences of his actions.

His hands started to sweat inside his gloves. Anakin hadn’t felt pressure like this in ages. Probably since the first time he’d broken into a home. It was nerve wracking enough to make his hands shake a little as he quickly stripped the wire casing and connected the two ends of the yellow wire to the car adapter. Finally he wrapped the electric tape around the adapter and yellow wiring, watching as his phone lit up with the logo of the Westside Watch app.

“Oh thank fuck!” He quietly punched the air in front of him with his phone clutched in his hand. “Jesus, finally. Did something fucking right.” He breathed out, shaking his hands and arms to rid himself of any lingering feelings of anxiety.

Anakin opened the app and pulled up the in-home camera monitoring, checking every room for movement, every corner for signs of life. Even though he’d already confirmed there was no car in the garage and the wretched lady who owned the place was out galavanting around.

She was wealthy, it wouldn’t be totally unexpected if she had a maid or even a watchdog somewhere in the house, but everything seemed clear. So he disabled the alarms and paused all camera activity before he picked the locks on the back door.

With that finished, he slipped off his shoes and crept into the home. For the home of such a bitchy woman, Anakin had expected something more… pretentious. Yeah it was clear that she didn’t get her furniture at Marshal’s, but it also wasn’t absolutely atrocious in style.

It reminded him of the homes inside the magazines his mom always had in the bathroom. Too clean and too untouched to be properly lived in. There wasn’t a warm or cozy atmosphere like he’d found in your home. It was devoid of any personal touches, not even a stray throw blanket or decorative pillow. Did this lady enjoy being uncomfortable?

He grudgingly decided to trek upstairs. It was useless to continue his search on the main floor. Clearly it was in a pristine ’guests could arrive any moment’ state and he wasn’t willing to risk moving anything out of its place.

He had suspected she was unmarried. Never having seen a wedding ring on her during their initial meeting, but it was confirmed when he opened her bedroom door and saw the clothes draped over an armchair, a makeup vanity with overflowing drawers and a comforter set that no self respecting man would sleep in.

“Looks like a person lives here after all.” He chuckled, rifling through drawers and peeking in her closet.

Nothing of interest caught his attention in her bedroom so he left, shutting the door behind him and continuing to the next door. Bathroom. He didn’t even bother to flip on the light, he just shut the door and continued on.

“Alright, now we’re getting somewhere.” He nodded to himself, turning on the desk lamp before he sat down in the stupidly comfortable ergonomic swivel chair.

There were papers everywhere.

“Little Miss Pantsuit sure does take a lot of work home.” He muttered under his breath as he flipped through halfway filled out intakes and records.

Anakin sat everything back just as messily as he found it, so he could focus of finding personal affects. If this lady had any. The walls were bare. Did she just spawn into existence like the fucking wraith that he saw her to be?

And just like that, just when he started searching through desk drawers, he saw something. *Under* the desk. A pillow? No, when he turned on the lamp it was clearly a pet bed. An embroidered one at that.

“Rex?” Anakin called out, expecting a cat to appear judging by the size of the bed and the fact that there was a heated blanket placed under the bed, cats do like to be warm after all. “C’mere buddy.” He clicked his tongue and tapped his fingers on the desktop.

Scuttling. The best word to describe what exactly he heard coming down the hallway. Rex breathed like an asbestos smoker when he finally entered the room after what felt like ages of scratching and clicking on the floors as he made his way to the home office.

That was no cat. That was a decrepit, cesspool of a science experiment gone horribly awry. The dog, if it could be classified as that, was crusty. To say the least. Eye boogers and cataracts, his head perpetually cocked to the side, the tip of its tongue dripping drool on the floor as it hung from it’s mouth and its entire body jerked with the force of the hoarse and overused bark attack he launched.

“What the fuck are you?” Anakin whispered, mouth falling open in disgust while holding the… undead? fiend at bay with the tip of his shoe to its chest.

It had to be some kind of yorkie mixed with maybe a possum considering the awkward placement of its eyes. Or maybe in its ancient age its eye sockets were just a little too tired to contain the entirety of its massive bulging eyeballs.

He reached down at picked up the creature by the scruff its neck, watching it flail and throw itself around while trying to bite the hand that held him aloft. With his left hand, he wrapped his gloved hand around its muzzle and within a moment or two the struggling stopped. The aggressive, sharp barking halted and its body went limp.

“Are you-“ Anakin quickly rolled the chair back and stood up, holding the animal as far away from himself as possible while he ran his left hand over the front of his hoodie. “Did you fucking piss on me? Jesus Christ have you no self respect?” He grimaced, looking down at the moisture on his leather glove.

“Nasty ass bitch and her nasty ass mutt.” He mumbled, laying the dog down on its pet bed and half expecting it to mummify right before his eyes.

“Ungrateful prick.” He scoffed, rolling the chair back up to the desk and inserting a flash drive from his pocket to the computer monitor. “Just saved your mom $500 bucks. I’m a professional euthanizer myself, only I don’t charge for it.” He snickered.

After all the files were transferred to the flash drive, Anakin slid it back into his pocket and closed down the computer again. Standing up as he held the front of his hoodie away from his body, pinched between his forefinger and thumb. He made his way through the upstairs, checking the bedrooms and bathroom.

Sad gray paint. Boring white bedding. Tiny nightstands. One average no-personality white lady spare bedroom. Why would she need two spare bedrooms when it’s clear she doesn’t get visitors?He thought as he opened the next door.

Workout equipment and a closet full of totes, which of course he rifled through and saw absolutely nothing of value. Other than the very obvious fact that she was probably breaking some sort of middle aged woman receipt hoarding record. So, she was self aware enough not to waste time and money on another spare bedroom that would never be used.

The master bedroom held a massive bed with pristinely made bedding. The only real sign that an actual human lived there was the laundry basket overflowing in the corner and the rest of the week’s work clothes laid out neatly on the dresser.

Anakin knelt down and opened all the dresser drawers. Boring, un-exciting, useless. This woman was so unnaturally work oriented that she seemed to have absolutely no interest in life outside of her profession. What a sad existence. There wasn’t a single ‘let’s get laid’ dress in the closet. Nothing risqué in the drawers. She didn’t even have regular comfy clothes. She actually spent real life money on expensive matching loungewear rather than wearing a hole ridden, thread bare, free tshirt that she got from a highschool event like every other person on earth.

Why does she feel the need to be so… ‘perfect’?

Does she realize this kind of behavior does the opposite of its intended purpose? Sure, she looks put-together and it’s clear she’s not middle class. Though any girl with eyes and a brain would conclude she’s a major bitch rather than a woman to be jealous of.

What is she hiding that makes her act this way?

“Finally.” Anakin breathed out, grabbing a rather slim, embossed photo album from a box in the very top of the closet. Mementos. Maybe she did have a soul after all.

He flipped through it. Business brunches, office events, landscape photography. Plain. Boring. Her adult life was… pitiful. Though the farther back he searched, the photos delved into her more personal details. Tennis during college. Sheet protectors of newspaper clippings for achievements and noteworthy accomplishments. Surprisingly, robotics club seemed kind of fun. She liked it, her smile was genuine in those moments.

The younger she was in those photos, the more human she became to Anakin. She wasn’t just a cold, professional, weird lady. She at least *used* to have a personality.

Highschool Musical birthday party for her 10th. Overjoyed expression while seeing a tiger at the zoo. Field trip to the aquarium. Childhood friends with toothy grins who probably didn’t speak to her anymore. S’mores with the girl-scout troop. A middle school love interest with Bieber hair and flat brim hat. Obligatory handlebar mustache decor in her old bedroom.

Trendy and popular across the board. Homecoming queen, gaudy prom dresses, boatloads of boys and best friends.

Possibly single mother? Sisters. Normal middle class, suburban styled childhood home, kind of messy but in a lived-in way, not a dirty way. Purple bicycle in the garage.

Some photos were missing from the slots, so Anakin turned to flip through the random assortment of photos and papers lining the bottom of the box.

Childhood diary, that’s certainly going in the backpack. He thumbed through it and a few pictures fluttered down the the floor, he scooted them over into a pile on their own with the diary laid on top while he put everything back into the closet and turned his attention to the nightstands. Books and Tylenol, sleeping mask, Snickers bar. Normal.

There was a briefcase sized safe hiding under the bed, unfortunately he didn’t have the tools to break into it. But he did certainly jot down the make and model of it to study later. Just in case.

With everything settled, he casually trotted down the steps and went back out the way he came. The rest of the house was so completely uninteresting that he didn’t even bother with the garage and basement.

His retrieved his phone and put the casing back on the security system keypad, leaving the internal wire changes in order to leave himself a re-entry point. She’d still be able to access it without realizing there was any changes.

After arriving back at home, he swiftly rinsed off in the shower and changed clothes. Opting to toss the black hoodie in the garbage rather than take it down to the laundromat for a wash. Piss soaked crime-time clothing? No thanks. He had two more plain black hoodies anyway.

He plopped down in his desk chair, clicked the flash drive into place and while he waited for the files to upload, he flipped through the diary. His cheek resting on his fist as he turned the pages and inspected the pictures glued to the pages that accompanied some of the entries.

Halfway through the girly, scrawled gel pen script, he paused. Going rigid at what he read. His palms started to sweat and he felt himself growing clammy before his senses returned and he jumped up from his seat, tripping over his feet.

“Baby!” Anakin’s voice cracked, the bed creaking under his weight. “Baby wake up, you gotta see this.”

@tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @angelsadmired @slut4starwars @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @sweetcheesecakesblog @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @hopesworld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @hemmoxloser @ahano @astarionsgirl @popcosmi @purriteen @sydkneez @sinisterminist3r @swanlakex

[red-writes]

omega! reader who before meeting her coworker alpha! gojo satoru never had an issue with her scent. in fact, she always told that she smelled like nothing that she might as well have been a beta for all that matters and yet after one chance encounter with him in the break room, he starts avoiding her for seemingly no reason. it doesn't bother her, not at first. but after their assigned to work on a proposal together he keeps their conversations curt, minimal. doesn't spend any unnecessary time around her but will gladly chat it up with the other omegas in the office that will gladly hang all over him. she doesn't know why but something about that infuriates her. she doesn't even realize that she's fallen for him, she instead justifies her jealousy as merely being upset that he doesn't focus on work and their tasks as much as he should. before work every morning she makes sure to wear the cutest outfits she has, does her hair in neat and chic styles and yet nothing. it all comes to a head when the two of them are forced to stay late in order to finish the proposal. he's quiet and there is an awkward tension in their air. it's her who shuts her laptop in half, not closing it all the way before speaking up, "Are you avoiding me?" she asks, badly and he doesn't answer immediately. instead he chooses to look at his computer screen so she takes the opportunity to continue speaking, "I mean, do you have something against me? I know I'm not a 'traditional' omega and maybe for a guy with an ego as big as yours you don't want to be around someone who has an issue regarding their secondary sex but I can't help that my scent doesn't smell like anything. if anything you should be glad that I'm not getting my stench all over your clothes I mean it's not like-"

"Is that what you think?" he asks and his eyes immediately look up at hers and he shuts his computer screen so hard it makes her flinch. "You think I'm avoiding you because of some ego issue?" she doesn't respond because yes, she did think that was why. she maybe thought he found out about her issue with a secondary sex and was secretly judging her for it. he stands up and walks around the desk and stands over her. her sitting form immediately made smaller by the tall man.

"You walk around this office smelling like sex." he said and leans down, putting his hands on the handles of the chair. he gets close enough to press his lips against her ear. "Bet you don't even know what I'm talking about do you? You just parade around the office in tiny skirts and dresses batting your eyelashes at any alpha that shows you any attention" he says and she shudders, pressing her thighs together. suddenly feeling a rush of slick soak her underwear. "I don't do that..I just-I dressed up to try and get your attention but you never seemed to look at me" she says in a low voice, embarrassed by the fact that she was trying so desperately to get the alphas attention. he pulls away just enough to come face to face with her.

"I can't be around you because every time I see you, smell you, my cock gets hard." he takes a deep breath and exhales shakily, "I can't even grab a coffee without wanting to bend you over the nearest surface, and then seeing you walk around in nothing but a miniskirt fuck- you don't know how hard I have to hold back so yes, I've been avoiding you"

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 5

-. —- / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. … / . -..- .. … - / ..-. —- .-. / …. . .-.

Part 1 found here | AO3

Simon’s rut had finished in due course, leaving everyone a little worse for wear but recharged emotionally. Johnny spent every moment not pinned to a mattress, keening, with you. He couldn’t quite tell how it was working. Each time he emerged from their room and daylight still touched their mountain you could be found outside.

Bundled up in the shawl he had picked up for you and the winter supplies everyone else had pitched in for, you seemed to be making friends with the crows. Johnny would dress for the weather and join you often sitting in silence broken by caws. Each time he sat you allowed him a little closer than the time before.

You befriended the crows; he courted you.

In passing times he coordinated with John about making sure you would be set for when they returned to missions. You would need a phone, a computer, a card to access the joint bank account, sign-in information for the local grocery store for deliveries and any other number of things. Everything that needed to be delivered would arrive before they left.

The day Simon’s rut finally broke Johnny showered quickly and found you on the back porch, setting the cashews out that no one had cared to find in the back of the cupboard.

“Care to walk with me?” Johnny smiled brightly at you despite struggling to see with the bright snow blazing into his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes at him before agreeing with a nod.

“Let’s not track snow in through the house, have you explored beyond the deck yet?” Johnny offers you an elbow.

The hard stare you pin him with reminds him of the feeling before a bomb blows.

“Just an elbow ya bonnie moves to and fro and not much else,” he shifted it to prove his point.

The laugh you let out comes through your nose, but you take his offer. Silence only found in a forest coated in snow is broken only by the crunching of boots. Johnny walks you around the house and down the drive. Nearly ten minutes pass in companionable silence before you speak up.

“Why a wife?”

“Mmm?” Johnny glances at you. He had been lost in his thoughts about well he didn’t really need to jump back into those thoughts right now, they involved his lips being in places they had not been invited…yet.

“Kate called me a wife. Why a wife and not pack?” Your lips are pursed as you ask.

Johnny tips his head as he thinks of how to reply. Seven more steps pass before he has an answer.

“Wife is an old word, not too common anymore. Its original meaning was a treasured one. It can still be listed in lieu of a designation on a lot of government forms. When Kate told John she had brought us a wife she told him that she brought someone we should treasure.”

You slowed to a stop, confusion and a waft of fear-laced want lifted into the air from your neck. Johnny held down the urge to lift a wrist to his nose to pull the scent in deeper. Even the sour, off notes to the want couldn’t disguise the heady pull of it.

He did, however, lift his hand from his warm pocket to press it to your cheek. Watching your eyes drift close and lips part at the touch sent a frenzy off in his body. That moment got him through a lot of rough spots after they shipped off.

Johnny thought about it now, that sweet moment where you began to understand they would care for you because you were their wife, as he aimed the truck up the drive. When the cabin finally came into sight in the bright, cold sunshine he couldn’t prevent his sigh. Three weeks home with you, while he recovered from a bad concussion, would be a blessed chance to woo you.

Parked neatly under the front porch, Johnny grabbed his bag and headed for the stairs. At least two storms’ worth of snow had settled on each step. Odd, but it’s not like you were expecting visitors. Clomping up the stairs to alert you to his presence, Johnny turned the door handle and sucked in a deep breath to call out.

Only stale air met his nose.

Stale. Cold. Air.

He hadn’t driven with a gun on his thigh but Johnny always traveled with a blade at his ankle. It appeared in his hand as he cleared the house. Each room that came up empty, no signs of a struggle, ratcheted up his concern. The back porch being covered in untouched snow told him you were gone.

Missing.

Stolen?

The knife slid home in its ankle holster, Johnny ran back to the truck and turned it around, heading into town. If you had any issues that is where you would most likely be. None of them had any voicemails when they turned their phones back on after a grueling mission.

“Old MacDonald had a farm, eieio!” You sing out in your loudest volume.

Thirteen days trapped in this tiny cell at the sheriff’s office had given you a lot of time to work out a good outlet for your anger at being contained. Laying across the thin mattress projecting your voice into the cement box at least gave you something to do.

“And on that farm, he had a pig, eieio!”

Seven weeks alone after a lifetime of being surrounded by betas had driven you a smidge wilder than Scorpio left you. Thankfully one thing Scorpio had taught you was how to get over your shyness of peeing while being watched.

“With a ‘you have the right to remain silent’ here and a ‘anything you say can and will be used against you’ ther—”

Something slammed into the bars. Letting your head loll to the side you looked at the young alpha deputy, with black hair and tattoos peeking above his collar, who stared at you with wild eyes and a snarl to rival a lion. Too bad for him you were a fucking badger.

“Do you have to keep singing?”

Catching his eye, you took a deep breath.

“Twinkle, twinkle little fuck. Being cops must really suck.”

This twisted version of the song belted out louder than Old MacDonald did.

Deputy Tweedle Dee hit the bars again and yelled toward the desks.

“Any word on those military guys up the canyon? I might kill her if she keeps up the singing.”

“Promises, promises officer!” You shout after him, cackling at the whine of distress he let out.

Damn, you really needed to see people more. A few weeks with only the crows to talk to and you started to lose it.

A commotion beyond the edge of your hearing cut through your song.

“Where is my wife!?”

The roar had you sitting upright, snow boots clunking against the floor.

They might have abandoned you and not answered their phones when the food deliveries stopped but you knew your new keepers would object to you being gone.

“Now sir, you can’t barge in her—”

That was the receptionist. Bit of a bitch but she didn’t antagonize you like the deputy did at least.

Deputy Tweedle Dee reappeared from the edge of the cell, collar pulled tight by a hand lightly covered in hair pushed him forward. The tattoo insignia came next and there he was, Johnny. His sharp blue eyes scoured you, tension around his eyes easing at seeing you physically well. The angry glare returns as he shifts his attention back to the deputy.

You didn’t know what to call him; you didn’t have a companion word for wife. You had forgotten to look it up until now.

Johnny shook the deputy. You smirked as his head bobbled.

“Let her out. Now.”

“No, I can—”

The deputy’s words were cut off with his air as Johnny twisted the shirt around his hand.

“Now.”

The menace in his voice pairs neatly with the scent of rage and vitality lifting off Johnny now.

The deputy pulls the key from his belt and opens the cell you had been trapped in. You stand and cross to the exit.

“Deputy Fuck-up,” you snark as you pass the men.

Hate flares in his eyes as Johnny lets him go. The hand that choked a man settles against your back, heat flashing through your shirt. They hadn’t given you back your coat after they threw you into lockup. The thin blanket provided did nothing to fight back the chill of the snow and concrete.

Your beta preens at Johnny’s touch. The burn of his anger in your nose has her crying out to soothe him. She will hush if you ignore her, she always has before. Walking back through the precinct you can’t help but flip off the old sheriff who is standing up behind his desk in the glass-walled office.

He hustles around his desk, hollering into the room. The ruddy red of his cheeks slinks down his neck as he gets closer. He would like Santa with his white hair if not for the short trimmed beard instead of a long bushy one.

“Now, young man! You cannot take that beta!”

“Go out to the truck please, wife,” Johnny murmured down to you as he laid a kiss to your temple.

“I need my shawl,” you inform him.

Johnny looks at you, all light disappearing from his blue eyes.

“They took it?” Frost would have puffed off his breath if the heater hadn’t kicked in then, the hum filling the space.

You nod once, eyes not leaving him as the sheriff steps up to speak to Johnny. The one who calls you wife ignored the blustering man as he shrugged off his own coat and settled it on your shoulders. His touch lingers at the zipper, scent of burning and a hint of disaster in his scent. Turning from the oncoming storm you leave the building that had jailed you. The truck is unlocked when you reach it.

Opening the passenger door you gag and physically recoil. The stench of fear and panic billows out like smoke from a broken window. Pinching your nose closed and sipping in air through your mouth you open every door of the truck despite the cold biting at your skin.

“Damn, I didn’t realize he might actually care,” you mutter, tone nasally.

Nearing five minutes later Johnny pushes through the glass doors, your shawl in hand. At his appearance, you step from the driver’s seat where you had waited and close the back doors as you work your way around to the passenger seat. Johnny climbs behind the wheel and passes your shawl over. You let it rest in your lap, running your hands over it as he begins the drive back to the cabin.

Halfway through the silent drive, he speaks.

“What the hell happened?”

Struck as if by lightning you can’t prevent but biting back.

“The fuck do you mean? What the hell happened to being someone you treasure? The food deliveries stopped two weeks ago and I couldn’t reach anyone. What was I supposed to do but walk my happy ass to town?”

Johnny glances at you from the side of his vision.

“Why not drive?”

“You really need to talk to Kate about the fuckery I went through before you make assumptions,” you growl at him, fingers digging into the plushness of your shawl.

“Interestin’,” he drawls in his accent.

“What is?” you snap

“You weren’t this feisty when we left.”

He says it as if it is an interesting animal fact and not the trait that kept you alive and assured your demise rising to the surface again.

Snapping your teeth closed you cross your arms and stare at your boots. The remainder of the drive is silent. You ignore every drifting scent coming from Johnny, unwilling to engage in any way.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad @sun-daddy-yoriichi @wiciclesatmidnight @kaoyamamegami @little-mini-me-world @corvid007 @skeletonsucker @feyresqueen @dreamland08

[jubshead]

𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐤

Paring: Mentor!Lilia Calderu x Reader

Summary: With volatile and unpredictable magic you never know what can happen.

A/N: Still grasping how to write Lilia, so I hope it’s in character!

This isn’t beta read and english isn’t my mother language, so bear with me.

I hope you guys like it, let me know!!

Warning: Accidental magic, Magic cock, Blow jobs, Vaginal sex, Creampie, Large dick

Word count: 3.7k

Date: Nov 09, 2024

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!

Masterlist | Taglist | Read on ao3

Tag list: @yourbasicqueerie @mgruiz @yippie-kai-gay @confuseuniverse @aggieharkness @thesharkwhalewhoohooooo @walkethisway @honkhonktheslutshere @ratsnestinmyhair @audreylise @kenzie-floops @pattiluponespopcornmaker @moonlightprincess696 @trindad2k @etherynn @astrxinze

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

The kettle makes a hissing sound, the boiling herbs fill the room with a sweet scent and the morning sun shines into the stove. The gray haired witch hums a tune under her breath and walks around the room, collecting more ingredients for the tea. She feels freshness in the air, an inkling that something good is about to happen. 

Sundays are always calm, she closes up the shop for the day and entertains her apprentice. You’ve been working under Lilia’s guidance for a month, being the only witch in your family meant that no one could teach you. You were lucky enough to stumble upon her one day when browsing on your computer. 

You aren’t a divination witch, you still don’t know what your deal is, but your magic is volatile and unpredictable. Lilia teaches you with the best of her abilities, and that is more than you could ask for, you look up to her and dream of reaching her level of wisdom. 

As you enter the shop, you hear her moving around in the back. Walking into the room, you halt when the tarot reader stops in her tracks. Her entire body freezes and she lets out an unrestrained moan in the middle of the kitchen. 

Pursing your lips, you wait for her ‘episode’ to end.

“Hi.” You let out timidly, standing by the bead curtain. 

She turns around, wide eyed and arms raised in the air. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned. 

She waves you off with a flick of her hands, facing the stove once again. Her visions always seem to sour her mood and leave you anxious, more times than not, she doesn’t know what they mean.

Passing the strap of your bag over your head, you place it on the squared table before heading to the counter. Resting your hip against it, you observe Lilia grab the kettle with a towel clad hand. 

“Do you want some tea, doll?” She pours it in two mugs before waiting for an answer, you nod either way. 

She passes you the ceramic cup and you rapidly grab into the handle when it burns you. The aroma hits your nose and you groan. Lilia always makes the best beverages and this time you smell a blend of lavender, lemongrass, and a few other herbs you couldn’t quite identify. The taste is as divine as the scent. 

“How have you been this week?” She leans next to you. 

“I’ve been fine.” You tell her uncertainty and amends. “There have been a few accidents…nothing I couldn’t handle, though.” 

She hums into the mug as she takes a sip. 

“And those ‘accidents’ were?” She probes.

Swallowing the liquid, you hide your face behind the cup.

“Okay. Let's start then. The sooner you can control your magic the better.” She walks past you, her robe fluttering behind her. 

Leaving the empty cup in the sink, you follow her to the middle of the room. 

“Did you practice what I told you?” She asks patiently. 

“Hum…” You hesitate. “I did.”

“And?” All her weight shifts to one leg as she places a hand on her waist.

“Well, it worked!” You exclaim, trying to lay her off. She raises her eyebrows, waiting for you to continue. “To a certain extent…”

“Okay.” She takes a breath in and straightens her spine, arms at her side. “Show me.” 

Transfiguration. 

You’ve moved beyond learning how to change the corporeal form of an object, and have now evolved to modifying the physical appearance of yourself and others. What she’s teaching is pretty basic, but for someone who didn’t know she was a witch for most of her life, it’s hard to grasp, especially with a temperamental magic like yours.

Closing your eyes and concentrating, you feel goosebumps rise up on your skin as your magic flows through you. When your powers are under control, they feel like a waterfall being released, spreading over your body and consuming you. Outbursts were a very different story.

Opening your eyes, you see your mentor gently smiling at you. 

“Good, that’s good.” She praises, and you break into a huge grin. 

Receiving her approval is something that always warms your insides. 

Grabbing your hairs ends, you observe the change in color. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was enough for you to see your improvement. You turn the purple strands back to their natural color. 

“Great. My turn.” She says encouragingly. 

Pressing your tongue against your lips, you grimace at her.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“You have to learn.” She tells you firmly before adding. “As a witch, you must know how to defend yourself.”

You blink at her. 

“Relax, baby. Anything you throw at me I can reverse.” 

Your brain short circuits at the pet name.

That was probably your downfall. Lilia always tells you true witchcraft takes time and concentration, especially for beginners. 

Her expectant face makes you close your eyes, and let the magic flow through you again, but this time it's different. Your head thinks of nothing else besides Lilia’s voice and how she called you, you can’t focus on your intention and you feel the spell going wrong before it’s completely finished. In an attempt to join your jumbled thoughts and the power running over your skin, you imagine Lilia with longer fingers. 

It doesn't seem to work because in a few seconds you hear a screech.

“Divine Mother.” 

Peaking through one eye, you first glance at her face, her reaction making you expect a major change in her appearance. She looks the same, her hair still tied up, her nose doesn’t look bigger like some sort of wicked witch and her eyes remain the same color, the only thing you notice is her shock. 

Her arms are raised breast level and that’s the next thing you look at. Expecting sausage like fingers, you’re surprised when you’re met with her usual handful of rings. 

“What?” You frown. 

Your gaze drifts over her figure and that’s when you notice the bulge in her skirt. 

Squinting, you almost crouch down to get a closer look. The thing is huge, cylindrical and pressing forward, clearly constricted by something. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what’s in front of you and you stare long enough for Lilia to clear her throat. You glance up and it dawns on you. Oh, god. 

“What were you thinking about when you did the spell?” You gape like a fish out of water.

Was she honestly continuing the lesson as if this wasn’t happening?

“Well, I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about that.” You gesticulate widely, a blush rising in your cheeks. 

She pinches the bridge of her nose and sways. The movement makes her skirt brush against the hard on and you gulp when your vision is automatically drawn to it.

“Concentrate.” She tells you firmly and you meet her eyes, pursing your lips.

“Why are you losing? That’s a simple transfiguration spell, you can undo it. You just told me that!” 

“No, it isn’t.” She speaks calmly, noticing she’s making you anxious. “This is a magical penis, a much more advanced incantation. You shouldn’t be able to do this at this stage.”

“Okay…?”

“There’s no way I can make this go away.” She speaks to you like someone does to a child. 

“What?” You ask, agitated. 

“Advanced magic, harder to undo.” She tells you simply. “There’s only two ways to get rid of it. The caster has to be the one to take it away.”

“Well, let's do it. It’s not that difficult, right? I’ve already put it there.” You respond with renewed energy, waving at her crotch.

This is not going to be a bigger problem than it should. 

“No, it’s not easy. You did this by accident.” Your sight strays to it again and it looks like it’s staring right back at you. “You need to focus this time, so you can do it consciously.” 

You hum absently before closing your eyes. The problem is: the image of that monster is buried in your brain. You focus on it, but the only thing that crosses your mind is its size, what it would be like to have it throbbing in your hands, pounding into you...

“Stop, stop, stop.” Lilia huffs in front of you, turning around and sitting on the armchair.

“What, what is it?” You follow her and stand by her side, she rests her forehead on her propped hand, eyes closed.

“You made it bigger.” She tells you pointedly. 

The penis really does seem magic, it hypnotizes you and you can’t take your eyes off it. Whenever you notice Lilia isn’t looking, you glance down, partially seeing the bulge covered by her dress and robe. 

Wetting your lips, you ask. “Well, what is the other way?” 

“Huh?” She’s clearly lost in thoughts. 

Moving to perch in front of her, you focus on her face. 

“You said there are two ways to get rid of it. We tried the first one, what is the second?” 

She presses her lips and you wait. 

“It needs…release.”

“Oh.” You slowly back away towards the door. “I’ll leave and you can…y’know?” You finish by making a lewd motion. 

She narrows her eyes, you stop dead in your treks. A small breeze fills the room as you linger, sensing there’s something more.

“It needs to be sheathed.” She pauses. “Climax inside something.”

You take a deep breath before asking. “Is there…Is there someone who can help you?” 

God, you didn’t know anything about her personal life. Meeting every sunday meant you’ve only seen each other about four times, and there couldn’t be a worse situation to ask her that. 

“No.” She tells you and, by the way she answers, you refrain from making any more questions. 

The morning sun shines over the room, in the distance you hear cars passing by on the street and the silence hangs as you stare at each other. 

You are embarrassed to admit, but it doesn’t take long for you to reach a decision. As much as you try to fool yourself by claiming that you wanted to help because you were the one who put her in this situation, you know it’s bullshit. Lilia has you on her hands, you’ve been attracted to her from the start and there weren't enough words to describe what she does to you. 

Watching as she looks up, praying to her goddess, you move. She brings her head down to follow you with her eyes as you kneel in front of her. 

“What are you doing?” She asks you seriously. 

“I’m helping you.” You respond, lightly placing your hands on her calves. 

Her palm rests on your cheek and you lean into it. 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

“I want to do it. It's my fault you’re like this.” Seeing the hesitation in her face, you grab her wrist. “Please, let me.” 

She stares you down and gives you a tight smile. 

“I- Are you sure?” 

You nod more excitedly than you should, the eagerness accidently showing on your face. 

She doesn’t say anything else, so you take it as a ‘yes’. Her body is leaning forward, her elbows resting on the arms of the reclining chair and you feel how tense she is. The bulge is right in your face and with trembling hands you roll up her skirt. 

The gasp that leaves you is involuntary. Butchin her dress at the waist, you take a moment to look at it. It’s mostly constricted by her underwear, but you can clearly see how big it is. You take a deep breath before pulling her panties down.

You stare open mouthed. The length is as white as her skin, the head is a light pink and a few gray hairs dust her balls. It weirdly matches her and stands proudly in front of you. The hard on seems painful. 

A monster indeed.

“This looks uncomfortable.” You mumble, unable to take your eyes off it. 

“It is.” A constrained chuckle follows the statement. 

Biting your lips, you wonder how to approach this. You’ve never been a blowjob type of girl, when you used to date men you always avoided as much as you could, and even when you did it, it wasn’t enjoyable. This feels different, though. Your underwear is already wet just by thinking about it. 

Your mentor clears her throat and you peer up at her. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Her hand runs through your hair. 

“Lilia, relax.” You tell her forcefully and grab her thighs. 

One of your hands circles it and her hips buckle, palms fly back to the armchair and nails bite into the fabric as you slowly start to move. By the way it looks, it won’t take long for her to come and a feeling of disappointment dawns on you. It makes sense for a magical penis to be ready for action, but you wish you could take your time with it.

Running your thumb from the base all the way to the head, you collect the pre-cum in there before pushing it back and making the same path with your tongue. Lilia groans and you feel her tension melting a notch. You replace your fingers with your mouth, licking the bead before swallowing it whole. 

It doesn’t take a genius to notice that this thing isn’t going down your throat without choking you, so you focus on what you can do. Taking as much as you can, you make up for the rest with an unclosed fist, using just the right amount of pressure so as to not hurt her. 

Sucking tentatively, you hear a moan and look up. Lilia’s eyes are close, mouth open as her chest rises rhythmically with her anticipated breath. Her fingers are white from the grip, and you realize she’s holding herself back from grabbing your head and forcing you down. 

You groan over the cock and bob around it, your palm going to her balls and massaging them. Eyes fixated, you watch her every reaction as she stiffens under you. 

You feel your arousal beneath your own skirt, it clings to your core and you refrain from using your free hand to touch yourself, compensating by placing your heel under you and matching the movement of your hips with the one of your head. 

Taking a moment to breathe, you feel hands sweeping through your bangs. Glancing up, your eyes meet your mentor’s and you blush when she grabs your hair like a ponytail, taking it out of your face. 

“You’re doing great, doll.” Her voice is husky, you squirm against your feet. 

God, this is not helping. 

You swallow at the praise and focus on your job. Still looking into her eyes, you descend and take it as much as it goes, swirling your tongue around it and bouncing as fast as you can. She tugs your hair harder and you whine against her skin, the vibration making her tear her eyes away as she throws her head back, letting out unrestrained moans as slurping sounds leave your mouth. 

Grinding your hips against your heel, you feel yourself getting wetter by the second and curse for having to take care of it alone. Her groin starts to move in its own accord, she doesn’t even seem to notice as her crotch drives up and harder into your mouth, you swallow and swallow against her, focusing on your breath and controlling the rhythm. She isn’t forcing your head, just holding it and that’s fine, it’s hot that she doesn’t want to hurt you.

Drool starts to drip down your chin and you moan louder against her, feeling the erratic movement against your clit picking up speed alongside your head. You close your eyes and take in both sensations. After all, it isn’t everyday that you get to suck your mentor’s dick. 

You force your head back and inhale deeply, the faster the movement, the harder it is to breathe. Your hand continues the work and the other one joins in, circling her head and pressing it. 

Pushing her cock closer to her skirt, you go down to her balls, sucking one into your mouth and sooner than you expected, her whole body tightens. She lets out a loud moan and her nails sink into your scalp, you quickly try to catch her climax in your mouth before it’s too late. 

An inch away, you feel a sticky consistency gushing onto your face, landing inside your mouth all the way up to your forehead. 

You grimace and lick your lips, tasting the saltiness of her cum. 

Passing your finger over your eyelids, you sculpt most of the liquid and open them when you hear a ‘thud’ above you. Lilia banging her head against the armchair. 

“Goddammit.” Her chest rises and falls with her erratic breath, there’s a red hue on her cheeks. 

“Sorry.” You mumble.

“It’s not your fault. I should have warned you.” She looks down and shock flashes across her face. 

You must be quite an image with cum stuck in your hair and dripping down your face. She stares at you for a long time and you squirm, taking your heel out from under you before anything else happens. 

“We can try something else.” You whisper. 

“No, love. You’ve already helped more than you should. I don't want to force you a second time.” She runs her thumb over your cheek, vaguely attempting to tidy you up. 

“You didn’t force me, and I’ve told you before that I don’t mind.” Emphasizing your statement, you grab her wrist and bring her finger to your mouth, sucking, licking and moaning around it. 

Her pupils blow hide and she turns serious, following your movement as you stand up in front of her, lifting your short skirt and straddling her lap. 

She stares at you, eyes slightly wide and lips parted. The erection stands between you, a magic cock apparently only goes down once it services its purpose. Your wet underwear touches her thighs and a beat passes before you gather enough courage to lean forward. 

Grabbing her neck, you give her time to pull away. Surprising you, she grabs your wrists and pulls you forward, crashing your mouths together. Moaning, you let her tongue guide the rhythm, she makes slow movements, exploring your mouth like she wants to taste as much as she can. The kiss is languid and teasing, she takes her sweet time and you begin to rub your soaked core against her legs.

Separating, you watch as she licks her lips, looking at you like she wants to eat you alive. You brush your underwear against her cock and she groans, grabbing your waist. You’re so painfully turned on that you don’t even wait for her to say anything before you reach down and push your panties aside. 

Rubbing against the hard cock, you try coating it with as much of your wetness as you can. It’s been a while since you had anything this big inside you, if ever. It looks a lot bigger than the ones you’ve seen, your hand hadn’t closed around it before. 

It’s going to be a stretch. 

You take a deep breath before raising up on your knees, you brush the head against your entrance and Lilia’s grip hardens. Sinking down on the tip, you pause, licking your lips before continuing. You take it half way in before stopping. This shit wasn’t only wide, its length was something you had never seen before.

Noticing your struggle, the gray haired witch leans forward, attacking your neck and sliding your shirt straps down. Her hands run from your waist to your breast, her fingers pinch your nipples and you moan, feeling wetness stick to your thigh before your core swallows more of her skin. 

Slowly sitting, you feel your center stretching before your ass finally meets her balls. You halt, adjusting to the sting. Lilia’s work on your tits helps. Your spine is slightly curved as she grips your ribs and her mouth bites and sucks your chest. You feel hickeys forming in your neck and you can bet she did it on purpose, you’d have to walk around with those purple marks for about a week. 

She runs her tongue over your nipple while her hand massages your other breast. You begin to slowly grind your hips in circles motion, a vibration reverberating through your chest as she moans. 

Accepting the pain as pleasure, you lift yourself once and then lower. Your mentor stops her work and bites into your neck, hands gripping your waist tightly as she helps you with your movement. 

You’re so desperate that you can’t even tease her, after trying once, you continue, picking up speed with Lilia’s assistance. You’re both so aroused you can feel your orgasm building up rapidly. Throwing your head back, you moan without restrain, mirroring your mentor’s groans against your neck. Her arm circles your hip and she slams into you, meeting you halfway. 

Her cock is so big, you can feel it beating against your cervix and hitting all the right places as it fills you up. Her free hand goes down and finds your clit easily, rubbing in circular motions. You let out a cry and your movements become erratic, determinedly chasing your release as your walls grip her. 

She’s clearly holding back and when your movements become sloppy as your body goes rigid, she lets go. You both come together, ragged breaths mingling and sweat clinging to your foreheads. 

You feel her cum filling you up, the hot liquid doesn’t seem to stop and you kiss her once more as she spurts inside you. This time the kiss is faster, harder as you pull her hair and whine against her when she grabs your ass and accidentally rubs your clit against her skin. 

The cum starts to run down your thighs and wet the fabrics between you, her cock still throbs inside and you feel her balls shrinking in size. There’s an absurd amount of fluid and you groan against the kiss, the cum making you excited once again. 

Pulling back, you focus on the feeling of her cock decreasing inside you as it disappears, you instantly miss the feeling of fullness. 

Kissing her for a third time, you calmly run your tongue against hers as you replay all this morning's events. Thanking your magic for the mishap, your eyes widen when you remember something important. You pull back.

Licking your suddenly dry lips, you frown at her and whisper. 

“Should we have used a condom?” 

Her mouth drops open. 

[hazelira]

sleepless

𝐡𝐞𝐞 · ʚ 🦌 ɞ ‧ 𝐡𝐞𝐞

The dim glow of the computer screen cast sharp shadows across Heeseung’s chiselled features. The only sound in his office was the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard—until it wasn’t.

He stopped mid-sentence, fingers frozen over the keys as a soft huff huff huff filled the room.

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t need to look up to know that the noise source was the tiny, chunky six-month-old suspended in his jolly jumper sling near the bookshelf, bouncing with an innocent determination.

Heeseung had no idea why he let you talk him into this.

You had mumbled something about needing to trying to sleep an early night, trusting him to handle him for a while—him, the man whose hands were stained with sins, whose enemies trembled at the mere mention of his name.

And now, he was, working on arms deals while a smol potato of a baby in a star-patterned onesie wobbled in midair like a marshmallow on strings.

His soft grunts and heavy breathing filled the room as he kicked his stubby legs.

Heeseung sighed, rubbing his temple. This is ridiculous.

He returned to his work, trying to tune him out, but a loud, excited gasp would break the silence every few minutes.

He glanced at him.

His chubby cheeks were flushed, and his big, glassy eyes stared at nothing in particular as he bounced slowly, his fingers curled into tiny fists.

Heeseung’s lip twitched.

He looked so stupidly cute.

But—cute.

God.

He checked the time. 1AM. He should be in bed before 3AM at the latest.

His chair scraped against the floor as he walked toward him with that same air of authority he carried in underground meetings.

The baby paused, blinking up at him.

Heeseung crossed his arms. “Are you planning on tiring yourself out, or should I do it for you?”

Silence.

Then, he let out a loud squeal and bounced harder.

Heeseung swore under his breath. He’s mocking me.

Running a hand down his face, he unhooked him from the sling and lifted him effortlessly, pressing him against his chest.

His warm, squishy body sank into him immediately, a tiny sigh leaving his lips.

“Finally,” he muttered, adjusting him in his arms. “You’re lucky you’re smol.”

He babbled something unintelligible, stuffing half of his pudgy fist into his mouth.

Heeseung only sighed, patting his back.

The things he did for you.

Heeseung sat back in his chair, his work momentarily forgotten as his son rested against his chest, his tiny body rising and falling with each soft breath.

He was still awake, though. He could tell by how his little hand occasionally twitched against his shirt and how he babbled softly, more to himself than to him.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured, adjusting him so his head rested comfortably against his shoulder.

His only response was a wet gurgle.

Heeseung exhaled sharply through his nose. He wasn’t good at this—this whole fatherhood thing. He barely even knew how to talk to him. He was so small, helpless, and unlike the ruthless world he was used to.

And yet, here he was.

Here he was.

Holding a six-month-old baby boy in the dead of night, still dressed in his black button-up and loosened tie, unfinished weapons contracts blinked on the screen behind him.

If they saw him like this, his men would never let him live this down.

He stood again, carrying him with him as he paced the room. He was getting heavier—his chunky little son—but he held him easily, his weight barely noticeable against his broad frame.

“Your mama tricked me,” he muttered, side-eyeing him.

He let out a happy, slight hum, completely oblivious.

“She said you’d fall asleep quickly if I held you,” he continued, his voice dropping to that deep, cold tone he used in meetings. “That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

The baby sighed dramatically as if exhausted by him instead.

Heeseung stared.

“…Did you just sass me?”

Silence.

Then, a tiny hiccup.

Heeseung closed his eyes for a long moment before sitting on the couch. He adjusted his grip so he was cradled more securely against him.

His thumb brushed against his soft cheek absentmindedly.

He was so warm, so fragile, and so completely and utterly his.

And he—

He was so entirely and utterly his.

He leaned back against the couch with a reluctant sigh, staring at the ceiling. “Fine. Stay up if you want. But don’t cry later when you’re overtired.”

His son only cooed in response, his tiny fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Heeseung sighed again, closing his eyes.

Maybe—maybe—he could afford to rest for a little while, too.

A heavy silence settled over the office, broken only by the faint hum of Heeseung’s computer and the soft, steady breathing of the tiny body nestled against his chest.

His son had finally tired himself out.

His stubby fingers remained curled in the fabric of his shirt. His round cheek squished against his shoulder as he slept, his mouth slightly open.

Heeseung huffed. Finally.

But now he was stuck.

If he moved too fast, he’d wake up. If he put him down too soon, he’d definitely wake up. And if he woke up, he’d scream.

And then you would wake up.

And then he would be the one suffering.

With a quiet exhale, Heeseung leaned his head against the couch, one hand supporting his back and the other resting lightly on his thigh. He could feel his weight, warm and soft and undeniably real.

It was strange. He had spent years navigating dangerous negotiations, making life-or-death decisions without flinching. He had blood on his hands and secrets buried in the shadows.

Yet he was afraid to move because of one tiny baby.

Pathetic.

He let out a humourless chuckle, rubbing slow circles against his back. “Your mama will scold me if you’re not in bed before three.”

The baby didn’t stir.

Heeseung glanced at the clock. 1:42 AM. He had some time.

But instead of getting up, he stayed there, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

His hand absentmindedly ran over his little onesie, feeling the soft fabric stretch over his round belly.

He was so chubby.

A real little potato.

And despite everything, the weight of the life he led and the coldness that had been etched into his bones, he felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest.

Something warm. Something terrifying.

Something dangerously close to love.

Heeseung exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

His son smacked his lips in his sleep, utterly unbothered.

Heeseung scoffed.

“You and your mama,” he muttered, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable. “A nightmare of a duo.”

He should get up. He should put him to bed.

But instead, he let his eyes drift shut, his warmth anchoring him in a way nothing else had.

And for once, the mafia king allowed himself to rest.

The room was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of fabric as Heeseung shifted on the couch, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby pressed against his chest.

He should move.

He needed to move.

But every time he adjusted his grip, his son let out a tiny sigh and burrowed further into him as if he could sense his hesitation.

Heeseung clenched his jaw.

He had led entire empires with an iron fist. He had made grown men tremble with a single look.

And now, he was trapped under the weight of a chubby six-month-old.

This wasn't very comfortable.

He finally opened his eyes with a deep sigh, blinking blearily at the clock. 2:13 AM.

You were going to kill him.

Heeseung glanced down at the little bundle in his arms. He had drooled a little on his shirt; his tiny lips parted as he slept soundly, unaware of the chaos he had caused in his life.

His lips twitched.

It was infuriating how much he looked like him. The same dark lashes and sharp nose—except on him, everything was soft, round, innocent. Untouched by the world he lived in.

And he intended to keep it that way.

He stood carefully, holding him close as he approached the door. The hallway was dimly lit, and the distant sound of the heater hummed in the background as he walked toward the nursery.

He eased the door open with one hand, stepping inside. The room was quiet, filled with the faint scent of baby lotion and the warmth of soft nightlights.

Heeseung approached the crib, gazing down at its plush bedding. He knew he had to put him down, knew that letting him sleep on him all night was a bad idea—but his arms wouldn’t move.

He hesitated.

Just for a moment.

His son stirred slightly, a tiny frown appearing as if he had already sensed the impending betrayal.

Heeseung sighed.

“…Fine.”

Without another thought, he turned on his heel and left the nursery.

The main bedroom was quiet as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

You were still asleep, curled beneath the blankets, your soft breathing filling the room. Heeseung walked toward the bed and sat down carefully without waking you.

Then, slowly, he adjusted the baby in his arms, settling him between the two of you.

He snuggled into the blanket immediately, tiny fingers twitching in his sleep.

Heeseung sighed, leaning back against the headboard.

“You win,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling. “Spoiled little thing.”

But despite his words, his hand instinctively rested on his back, keeping him close.

And for the first time that night, he felt at ease.

The bedroom was. Still, the only movement coming from the slow rise and fall of your chest beside him and the soft, occasional twitch of the baby nestled between you both.

Heeseung didn’t move for a long while, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing.

It was strange—this quiet, domestic life.

He had never planned for it and never imagined himself in a warm bed with a wife and a baby.

He should have felt suffocated.

Instead, he felt safe.

With a slow exhale, he finally allowed himself to relax, letting the exhaustion from the day settle deep into his bones.

But just as he was beginning to drift, a small, sleepy whimper broke the silence.

His body tensed immediately, instinct kicking in as he glanced down.

The baby scrunched his face, his tiny fingers flexing against the blanket. Another soft whimper escaped his lips, his head turning slightly as if searching for something.

Heeseung frowned.

Was he waking up?

He didn’t even have the chance to react before he let out a weak little cry—barely even a sound, just a pitiful, breathy whine.

And immediately, you stirred.

Your eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, your brows furrowing as you registered the noise.

“Heeseung…?” Your voice was thick and groggy. You shifted slightly, blinking at seeing him sitting with the baby in his arms.

Heeseung let out a quiet breath. “Go back to sleep.”

You frowned, eyes darting between him and the baby. “Why is he in our bed?”

“He refused to sleep in the crib.”

You sighed, running a tired hand over your face. “That’s because he’s used to sleeping beside me.”

Heeseung scoffed. “So he is spoiled.”

You shot him a sleepy glare before reaching out, your hands brushing against his as you carefully took the baby from him.

He settled against you instantly, his little body moulding into yours like it was the only place he belonged.

Heeseung watched as you rubbed small circles against his back, whispering soft, reassuring words until he sighed deeply, finally drifting back into sleep.

His jaw tightened.

Why was it so easy for you?

How did you do it so effortlessly—comfort him, love him, make him feel safe?

And why, despite everything, did he want that too?

You glanced up at him, your features soft with drowsiness. “Heeseung…”

He met your gaze.

You hesitated momentarily before reaching for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “You did well.”

Heeseung stilled.

Your fingers were warm against his, delicate but firm. And just like that, the last of his tension melted away.

He exhaled quietly, his lips barely curving into something that almost resembled a smile.

Wordlessly, he lay beside you, his hand still resting against the baby’s back.

And the mafia king allowed himself to sleep for the first time in a long time.

© hazelira | tumblr

requested by: @hecseungx

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: while filming an emotional scene, y/n receives devastating news about her mum, leading to a heartbreaking breakdown on set as her boyfriend drew and their co-stars comfort her.

based on this ask !! thank you @xoxosblogsblog for another amazing request, a very emotional one to write as i’ve lost a parent, but it was therapeutic to write <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: death of a parent, crying, panic attack, descriptions of dissociating, grief, the cast being adorable :’), very angsty but a comforting ending !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N sat in her trailer, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

The makeup artists had just left, the remnants of their work leaving her looking polished, camera-ready. Her character was meant to be grieving in today’s scene, but they had only given her a touch of concealer, a dusting of powder to dull the shine of the lights, and a hint of smudged mascara to make it look like she had been crying.

She was supposed to pretend to be devastated.

The irony was almost cruel.

Her phone vibrated against the counter. She glanced down at the screen, expecting to see a message from Drew, maybe a reminder from the assistant director to head to set soon. Instead, her father’s name flashed across the screen.

Her stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like him to call during the day. He knew she was working, knew she was filming one of the biggest scenes of the season. A sudden chill crept up her spine, a visceral knowing before she even answered.

With slightly trembling fingers, she swiped to accept the call.

“Dad?” she answered, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her.

There was silence for a beat too long.

Her father was a strong man, always composed, always measured in his words. But when he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of all its usual warmth.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and in just that one word, she felt her world tilt on its axis.

She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

Another pause. Then a sharp inhale, like he was bracing himself.

“It’s your mum,” he said, and the way his voice wavered sent ice coursing through her veins.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone. “What about her?”

His breath hitched, and then—

“She’s gone, love.”

The words didn’t compute. They didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into any conceivable reality she had prepared herself for.

“What?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“She passed away this morning.”

Her father’s voice was thick, like he was struggling to hold himself together. But she barely heard him now. The words looped in her mind, repeating over and over, yet still, she couldn’t understand them.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

That wasn’t possible. She had just spoken to her mum a few days ago. She had promised to visit after the season wrapped. She had plans with her, had texts left unanswered, had so many things left unsaid.

A strange ringing noise filled her ears, drowning out whatever else her father was saying. She felt the weight of her own body disappear, like she was floating outside of herself, detached and weightless.

Her vision blurred.

The room around her suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The air too thick.

“… I know you’re at work,” her father was saying, his voice distant, “and I don’t want to take you away from that. There’s nothing you can do right now, sweetheart. I’ll handle everything here. Just—just get through today, yeah? Then we’ll figure everything out.”

Get through today.

That was the only option, wasn’t it?

She would have to book flights, pack a bag, make arrangements—but none of that could happen now. If she left set immediately, what would she do? Sit in a hotel near the airport, trapped with nothing but her grief?

At least here, she had something to do.

At least here, she could pretend for a little longer.

She swallowed, her throat raw. “Okay.”

Her father hesitated. “Y/N—”

“I have to go,” she interrupted, her voice eerily calm.

“Sweetheart, wait—”

But she ended the call.

The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the counter with a dull clack.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

She stared at the mirror, at the girl looking back at her—the girl who, ten minutes ago, had been fine. Normal. Whole.

Now, she felt like a cracked porcelain doll, barely held together, each fissure running deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

Her face remained passive, her lips slightly parted, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes gave her away.

She wasn’t there anymore.

She was somewhere else, floating through the spaces between reality and nothingness.

Her body felt heavy, yet she was untethered.

Her fingers curled against her lap, gripping onto the fabric of her costume as if that alone could keep her from slipping away entirely.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Because if it was—

A soft knock at the door made her flinch.

“Five minutes to set!” called a PA from outside.

She blinked.

Five minutes.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

She forced herself to move, to pick up her phone, to smooth down her clothes. She had a job to do.

She pushed everything else aside, packed it into a box, sealed it tight.

She would grieve later.

For now, she would pretend.

She opened the door and stepped onto set, not realising that in just a few short minutes, the cracks in her facade would shatter completely.

—

The set of Outer Banks was alive with the usual buzz of controlled chaos—crew members adjusting lights, directors conferring in hushed tones, the distant hum of the ocean blending into the background. It was supposed to be just another day of filming, another scene to capture before moving on to the next.

It was a heavy one.

Her character had just lost her father. The Pogues were there, trying to comfort her, trying to remind her she wasn’t alone. Even Rafe—played by Drew—stood nearby, a complicated mix of emotions brewing in his expression. The cameras were rolling, capturing everything.

Y/N tried to focus, tried to remember her lines, but something inside her cracked wide open.

She felt the grief swell like a rising tide, swallowing her whole. It was too big, too raw, too real.

When she started crying, no one questioned it. She was an incredible actress—everyone knew that. The scene demanded tears, demanded heartbreak. But as her sobs grew heavier, more uncontrollable, the air on set shifted.

Rudy shot a glance towards Chase, brows furrowed. Madelyn, kneeling beside Y/N in the scene, squeezed her hand, her own eyes glassy with concern. Drew, standing just out of frame, felt his pulse quicken.

Something wasn’t right.

The way Y/N clutched at her chest, the way her breathing hitched, sharp and ragged—it wasn’t just acting anymore.

Still, the cameras kept rolling.

Adrenaline surged through Drew’s veins. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his instincts screaming at him to cut through the scene, to pull her out of whatever was happening. But he hesitated. Y/N was a professional. If this was her choice, if she was using real emotions to fuel the performance, he had to respect that.

Then she collapsed to her knees.

The sob that tore from her throat wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t crafted for the scene. It was pain—real, unfiltered pain.

That was when the director finally called, “Cut!”

But Y/N didn’t stop.

She was still sobbing, her body trembling, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. The cast and crew hesitated, frozen in the moment, unsure whether they should intervene.

Drew didn’t hesitate.

He was by her side in an instant, dropping to his knees, hands grasping her shoulders. “Hey, hey—Y/N, breathe. You’re okay.”

She wasn’t okay.

Her body was shaking so violently that she could barely hold herself upright. Tears streamed down her face, her expression twisted in anguish.

“Y/N,” Madelyn whispered, stroking her back. “What’s going on?”

“Someone get her water,” Chase called, already stepping forward.

Drew cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “Love, talk to me.”

But she couldn’t.

The world around her blurred at the edges, the voices of her friends distant, muffled. She felt like she was floating—adrift in a sea of grief, unable to grasp onto anything solid.

“Come on, baby,” Drew pleaded, his own voice shaking now. “You’re scaring me.”

Y/N gasped for air, her chest constricting so tightly it hurt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

Madelyn was rubbing soothing circles into her back, whispering soft reassurances, while Rudy and Jonathan exchanged worried glances. The crew had fallen into an uneasy silence, watching the scene unfold.

Finally, through the sobs, through the suffocating grief, Y/N forced out the words that shattered the air around them.

“My mum… she’s gone.”

Drew’s heart stopped.

The words didn’t register at first. He blinked at her, his grip tightening instinctively.

“What?” he breathed.

Y/N choked on another sob, pressing her hands to her face as if she could somehow block it all out.

“My dad called me before we filmed,” she whimpered. “She—she died. I—I didn’t know what to do—I thought I could just—” She gasped, shaking her head frantically. “I thought I could just get through the day, but—”

Drew didn’t let her finish.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse them together. She collapsed into him, gripping the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands.

The rest of the cast looked on, their own eyes brimming with emotion. Madelyn covered her mouth with her hands, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Jesus, Y/N…” Chase muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I—” Her voice broke again. “I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Drew murmured against her hair. His own eyes were wet now, his throat thick with emotion. “We’re here. I’m here.”

She let out a broken whimper, gripping him tighter.

Madelyn sat beside them, wrapping her arms around Y/N from behind. Rudy joined a moment later, then Jonathan, then Chase. A pile of bodies, all holding onto her, surrounding her with warmth, with love.

The weight of Y/N’s revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a sombre pall over the once-bustling set. The cast remained huddled around her, their collective warmth a fragile barrier against the encroaching chill of grief.

Drew held her as if anchoring her to the present, his fingers gently threading through her hair. “We’re here, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not alone.”

Madelyn, her own tears silently falling, whispered soothing words, her hand never leaving Y/N’s back. “It’s okay to let it out. We’re with you.”

Chase knelt beside them, his usual playful demeanour replaced with earnest concern. “Whatever you need, Y/N. We’re family.”

Rudy and Jonathan exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a shared resolve. “We’ll get through this together,” Jonathan said softly, his voice steady.

As Y/N’s sobs gradually subsided into quiet tremors, the director approached, his expression a mix of compassion and uncertainty. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked gently.

Drew looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I think she needs some time. We… we need to get her home.”

The director nodded, understanding the unspoken request. “Of course. We’ll arrange for flights immediately. The production will cover all expenses.”

Y/N lifted her head, her eyes swollen and glassy. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“You’re not,” Madelyn insisted, squeezing her hand. “You’re family.”

The crew moved with quiet efficiency, making the necessary arrangements. Within the hour, flights were booked for Y/N and Drew to return to her hometown. The cast remained by her side, offering silent support as she navigated the haze of shock and sorrow.

As they prepared to leave, Y/N turned to her friends, her voice trembling. “Thank you… all of you.”

Chase stepped forward, enveloping her in a gentle embrace. “We’ll be here when you’re ready to come back.”

Rudy nodded, his eyes earnest. “Take all the time you need.”

Jonathan offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll keep things running smoothly here.”

Madelyn hugged her tightly, her voice breaking. “We love you.”

Drew took Y/N’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “Let’s go home,” he said softly.

As they departed, the set remained in a hushed stillness, a testament to the profound impact of shared grief and the strength of chosen family.

The grief wouldn’t disappear. The pain wouldn’t lessen. But in that moment, she wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a every emotional one, but i hope you all enjoy it !! my requests are still open until i go away on wednesday so please send some in :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[ghettogirly]

Hi lovely can you one for Armando x reader. Armando , Mike, Marcus, doesn't know what the reader does for a living. She find out thing before they do , skilled in everything. ( Whatever you want her to be). The reader takes the spot of reggie. Armando call her instead of Marcus. They get scared for her but just wait until they find out.

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄:

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑!

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏.

-> synopsis: Where armando calls you to warn you that you have trouble coming you way and to go hide somewhere safe. Little do they know, you can do more than hide.

-> warnings: spoilers for bad boys ride or die, mentions of violence.

[🕷️] author’s note: thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy!

Your first encounter of Armando was when he was released to be the new member of AMMO to repay his debt to the state for his crimes. He walked in with his father, Mike, in an alluring manner. You was a helper for the team, however currently unemployed. Failing to find your place in society.

The mexican-born male wore a black co-ord , tight to his chest and flattering in all the right places. His hair slicked in gel, the sides of his head faded with a scar at the side of it.

You both grew quickly closer, spending each day with each other even with the stares of judgement people descended onto you.

“He has killed countless people.”

“He’s a criminal, they should lock him up and throw away the key.”

“Armando Aretas. The animal who should be put down.”

It did hurt you for a while, leading you to deny your feelings for him. Until one day, after a passionate night with him, you tried to briskly leave in the middle of the night.

“Where are you going?” The males voice croaked out, his voice deeper than usual due to the vocal cords enlargement throughout the night.

“I need to go home, i’ve spent too long being here.”

A scoff is heard.

“Yeah. No surprise there. Running out of excuses are you?”

“ Its not an excuse i just have something to do at..”

“Guárdalo, solo vete. Te han lavado el cerebro las opiniones de otros y no quiero escucharlo más. Ahórrame los detalles.” Venom dropped off the latino’s tongue as he dismissed you away. Sadness overcame you as no words came out of your mouth.

Days went by, Armando never spoke to you. Tension flushed by you guys whenever you was by each-other in a room. One day, you couldn’t handle it no more and you grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn and look at you.

“I’m sorry. You’re more than just an animal or a criminal. I know i don’t even deserve for you to forgive me but i need to get this off my chest. I am so sorry Armando.”

You feel his arms engulf you in a hug as tears roll down your cheeks, embarrassed at how easily influenced you were from everyone’s opinions. “no llores mi amor, I forgive you.”

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.

“Hey guys, we’ve got trouble.”

Armando’s shoes pounded down the wooden steps as he swiftly walked to Dorn’s computer, his nerves rising as he sees the blonde’s frantic typing on the keyboard below. “What’s wrong?”

The cameras on the computer pointing to every angle in your house, yet, 3 armed men slowly creep up to the front door. Ready to raid, they point their rifles towards the door. “Tenemos que tomarlos ahora!” One masked man, whisper shouts in spanish, their emotions covered but their body language is prevalent. He is tense.

Dorn shifted his position to turn to Armando, his brows furrowing, “Are these your people?”

He shook his head, “No.”

Time stood still before he realised the severity of the situation, rushing over to the phone he picks it up and rapidly taps your contact. “Mierda! Pick up the phone..”

A few seconds of beeps echoed around the room, the only thing filling the air of silence. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“We have no time. Take Uncle Marcus’s wife and go hide. Now.” His words dropped with warning as he kept it short and sweet.

Your eyes widen as you hear his stoic words. Quickly whipping your head to the side, you gather your godmother and hide in the closet. A loud bang blasts through the room as footsteps clatter along the floor, moving in a tactical fashion as they scan the house for people. Armando quickly runs to the cameras, looking at the masked men quickly run through the house, weapons pointed at every angle. “Fuck..”

A moment passes and you slowly slip past the closet door, gripping your fingertips on the cold, wooden pane, you slide by the counter and quickly exhale. “Lord, please protect me.”

The woman slowly slides her hand up the counter top, reaching for a knife before calculatedly turning left while peeking around. A second passes before you see an outline of a shadow descending down onto you. Slowly looking up, you see a gun pointed towards you. “Shit.”

With a quick whisk, you slice the knife through his leg, the man drops down and shouts in pain as you slit the masked man’s throat. Taking his gun, you push forward back into the living room where the rest of the men were. Angling yourself, you shoot the man in the corner before whipping the man in front of you with the rifle.

“Damn, that bitch can fight.”

Randomly another man whisks you around, taking you in a loose headlock. The sound of a gun goes off and the man falls back in anguish, brushing yourself off you turn around and shoot him in the head.

A quick moment goes by and by the end of it, all men are dead. The carpets and floorboards stained with a crimson red as you pant for air. You quickly run back to the closet, “it’s safe now. let’s go.” You say to Marcus’s wife, embracing her in a hug before you both hurry off.

Not before, you look up at the camera and smile. Blowing your pointer and middle fingers to represent a gun, before winking.

“You’re welcome.”

The male turns to the rest of the crew and grins, followed by a slow whistle.

“Seems like we know what she does after all.”

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“Guárdalo, solo vete. Te han lavado el cerebro las opiniones de otros y no quiero escucharlo más. Ahórrame los detalles.” - Keep it, just leave. You've been brainwashed by the opinions of others and I don't want to hear it anymore. Spare me the details.

“no llores mi amor” - Don’t cry my love.

“Tenemos que tomarlos ahora”: We have to take them now.

“Mierda!” - Fuck!

[xo-cod]

141 + reader

hc's when you five share the barracks together/just in general <3 (ooc, rushed my bad lmao, can be read platonically/romantically, reader is v close to them!!) kinda long oops 😩 might do a part 2 idk

nsfw version 🩷

there's a whole lot of testosterone and musk in the air when you're sharing living spaces with 4 men ‼️

all four men compete with each other to get your attention, even if it's unknowingly

whole lotta pouting when you're spending time with more man than the other, you're a great companion ;) and the army is lonely. they all need equal love and attention

speaking of, if you're smelling like one of them the other will immediately bundle you in his arms to put his scent on you instead and to cancel out the other (alpha behaviour 😵‍💫)

whole lotta flirting from each of them. they're all very intelligent soldiers, they know exactly what to say to get you going 😙

all of them adore the height difference with you. you get teased about it relentlessly (out of love obvi)

i don't think they're particularly messy men but ghost and gaz are the most cleanest, they like having their things in order and knowing where everything is

price is next because he's slumped with being captain so you'll see a lot of his paperwork around with coffee mugs from pulling all nighters

soap is more organised mess. it might look messy to you but he knows exactly where everything is

you, soap and gaz definitely have rap battles late at night. it starts of quiet but you'll usually hear price shouting at you three from his bedroom to stfu. ghost threatens to pull a grenade if you don't be quiet

assuming you're naturally a good cook, they'd all be so appreciative :") especially on bad days, your cooking reminds each of them of home (or lack of)

face masks! gaz would 100% be down to do them with you, soap would follow next because if gaz is doing it then he too???

ghost would roll his eyes, continuing polishing his guns with a rag "you ain't putting that muck on my face"

price would just look at you, shaking his head "got too much to do, sweetness"

but you're quite the convincer and all four men are on the floor of your bedroom, gossiping about the last mission with their preferred colour of face mask across their faces

assuming you're the only woman, they get very protective when you're hurt. soldiers get hurt from time to time but its different when it's you

"you alright, bonnie?" soap's gentle voice comes through your room as he hands you a warm mug of your fave drink

gaz had you wrapped in a big fluffy blanket, gently stroking your back

"who was it?" ghost's voice is firm, wanting to know who dared injured the youngest member of their team

"already got a handle on 'em" price follows, looking at the computer. whatever enemy dared to raise their hands on wished they'd be six feet under after all four men are done with them

you're the one each man needs when they're having a particularly bad day which are usually far in few between but sometimes it happens

gaz and soap are the types to seek you out, their faces settled in a troubled frown before they place their arms around you. no questions just yet, they just want to feel skin to skin for now. keeping them grounded before they can explain what happened. they're not looking for a fixer, just someone who'll listen

ghost and price are the type to isolate themselves for a while until it's night and then you'll find them gently knocking on your bedroom door and slipping inside, between your covers. their grip is strong, burying their faces deep into your neck whilst trying to wrap his arms as much as he can. these two won't talk much either, just looking to be held and stroked to calm down

ghost and soap are the type to show affection through lingering touches while gaz and price show affections through their words.

but speaking of hugs, each of them have their own special way they like to embrace

ghost thinks he's being slick but you realise just how touchstarved he really is, he gives hugs with his arms around your shoulders bringing you in to his chest. mostly because he's tall and broad but he likes how he can manhandle you from this position and smelling your scent <3

soap's the type to tackle you in a playful hug, maybe a spin to get a laugh out of you before he gently strokes your skin for a few seconds, a gentle kiss to your temple <3

price likes to hug from behind, resting his chin on your head while he looks at what you're doing. depending on you, his big arms are either wrapped on your waist or your shoulders <3

gaz gives side hugs because he likes linking his arm around your hips and he likes how you fit snugly into his body. and this way he can lean his head against yours and can bring you in closer with his other arm <3

all four can immediately smell you before you come in because they adore whatever perfume/spray you have

each of them would absolutely melt into pieces if you joined them/kept them company in what they were doing

and if they catch you in a towel after having a shower, best believe they're quickly walking back around to where they came from to help alleviate the growing... tent in their pants

lowkey kinda pervy 🫣 (never in a harmful way)

each of them have their strong points and would 100% train you in becoming stronger

even if you're a well established soldier, they all worry for your safety

price would teach you sniper techniques, ghost teaches you combat, gaz teaches you how to sharpen your aim and soap teaches you about explosives and how to construct/dismantle each of them

they take the training very seriously with you

a ton of cursing when their fave team loses lmaoo

if you're avid tea drinker, join the gaz/ghost/price club. if you're not, join the hater club with soap <3

ghost/gaz/soap will playfully fight with you, careful not to use their full strength and not to harm you. but it's so cute to them when you're struggling a little under them.

but when price scolds them in doing so, "i'm just helping in case there's an attack!"

if you're arguing against one of them, another will come to your defence. unless you're arguing all four then it's the silent treatment from you 🤭

all four of them melt when you call them by their real name instead of their callsign :")

ghost usually comes to you when his balaclava is broken and he'll keep you company as your fingers work their magic to the fabric, gently leaning against you as you speak to him

price will let you shape up his beard after you begging to do so and he grows to enjoy those tender moments

soap definitely calls for your help to shape up his mohawk, he trusts your hand to eye coordination above anyone elses

ghost will playfully ruffle your hair whenever you both pass each other

price gives you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder

gaz gives you a soft stroke on your arm or back whenever he's passing by

soap will gently tap his head against yours, not too hard to cause pain but just enough to know that he's there

but above all, the barracks you five share is definitely a safe space for each of them the second they come through the door <333

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Her Family Loves Him

↳ Masterlist

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x Ex! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Her family loved Max. He was the type of boyfriend parents adored—loving and caring—and Max cared a lot about her. She did too, undoubtedly. However, the breakup was unforeseen, unpredictable, just like her. Something about not handling well the transition to becoming a public person and the downsides of having a very famous boyfriend had been weighing on her much more lately, and she just broke up.

The split, nevertheless, did not stop her parents and Max from staying in contact. Not as often as before, but there were still messages, memes, and that same familiarity, as if the breakup had never happened. But there was still room for a second chance—or at least, that was what her mom thought.

She knocked on her parents’ house door after they asked her to fix a technical problem with the computer—something they did more frequently than she would like. Fortunately, they didn’t live too far, so it wasn’t much of a hassle.

Her parents’ house was as warm and familiar as always, but the moment she stepped inside, something felt off. She set her bag down and raised an eyebrow at her mom, who was hovering suspiciously close to the living room door.

“What is it this time?” she asked, slipping into her usual playful exasperation. “Forgot your email password again? Computer ‘deleted itself?’”

“Oh, nothing too complicated,” her mom said, smiling too widely and tucking her hands behind her back.

Her dad appeared in the hallway, looking unusually cheerful. “Hey, sweetheart! Thanks for coming over so quickly.”

She squinted, her suspicion mounting. “Okay… what’s going on?”

Then, she heard it.

“Hey.”

Her stomach dropped at the sound of his voice. She turned toward the living room and froze. Max stood by the sofa, hands stuffed into his pockets, his hesitant smile not quite masking the awkwardness of the moment.

Her jaw dropped slightly. She blinked, then took a step back. “Yeah, I’m not doing this,” she said flatly, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Max said quickly, his voice almost pleading, and she stopped just long enough to glare at her mom.

Her mom raised her hands in mock innocence. “He was in the area, and I thought it might be nice for you two to… talk.”

Her eyes narrowed. “In the area? Really? That’s what we’re going with?”

Her dad shuffled uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. “We may have said something about needing help with the computer…”

“A fake computer issue,” she muttered, spinning back toward Max. “Seriously?”

Max shrugged, looking sheepish. “Your mom said you’d be here, and I thought…” He trailed off, clearly unsure of what to say.

Her arms crossed, and her glare deepened. “This isn’t happening. You can’t just ambush me like this.”

“It’s not an ambush!” her mom protested brightly. “It’s… an opportunity. For you two to finally talk.”

She threw her mom an incredulous look, although deep-down, she knew they needed to talk. “Talk about what? We’ve already done the breaking-up part, in case you forgot.”

Her mom gave her the kind of patient, guilt-laden look only a parent could manage. “Sweetheart, you two barely had time to say anything. It was rushed. Don’t you think it’s worth at least clearing the air? Closure is important.”

She opened her mouth to argue but couldn’t deny the faint tug of guilt creeping in. When they’d broken up, she’d been too overwhelmed to say much, and afterward, she’d avoided thinking about how unfair that might have been.

Max’s blue eyes flicked to hers, quietly hopeful but not pushing. He looked like he was waiting for her to make the call, and it made her want to curse out loud. Those blue eyes still had that hold on her, especially when he looked so vulnerable, so wounded. She knew what she did, and perhaps she also could recognize that it had been a rushed decision where she did not let him talk. Regardless, she was stubborn.

She let out a sharp exhale, throwing her hands up. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

Her mom clapped her hands together, clearly trying not to look too pleased. “Great! You two can sit in the living room. We’ll give you some privacy.”

“We will?” her dad asked, earning a sharp elbow from her mom. “Right. Yes. Privacy. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Max stepped aside to let her enter the living room, and she brushed past him, her arms still crossed. She plopped down on the sofa, her body language screaming reluctance.

He sat down at the opposite end, keeping his distance. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

Max cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I—uh—don’t really know where to start,” he admitted, his hands clasped in front of him as he leaned forward. “I just… I wanted to see you. To talk.”

She avoided his gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “About what?” she asked, her tone defensive, though she hated how sharp it sounded.

“About us,” he said simply, his voice low but steady. “About how things ended.”

She let out a breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Max, we’ve been over this.”

“Not really,” he countered, his eyes meeting hers. “We didn’t actually talk. You just… you broke up with me, and that was it.”

Her stomach churned with guilt, his words hitting closer to the truth than she wanted to admit. He wasn’t wrong. She had ended things abruptly, almost out of nowhere, and then had avoided him ever since.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“I know,” he said quickly, his tone laced with sincerity. “But you did. And I don’t think I even understand why.”

She winced, her chest tightening as the weight of her actions settled over her. “It wasn’t something I planned, okay? I just… I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Max’s brow furrowed, his confusion evident. “Couldn’t handle what? Me? Racing? The media?”

“All of it,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “The constant attention, the cameras, the comments. Every time I was with you, I felt like I had to be perfect because someone was always watching. And you… you were so focused, so good at it all, and I couldn’t keep up.”

Max leaned back, his expression softening, but there was still a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve listened. I would’ve done something.”

She shook her head, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “Because I didn’t even know what to say, Max! I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding selfish or ungrateful. So I just… ran.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The silence between them grew heavy, the weight of her confession hanging in the air.

“I wish you’d trusted me enough to stay,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

Her chest ached at his words, the guilt she’d been suppressing threatening to overwhelm her. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I know I messed up.”

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat back, his eyes never leaving her. “Look,” he said softly, “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad or to guilt you into anything. I’m here because I still care about you. Because I don’t want this to be the end of us.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the confession. “Max…” she began, but he shook his head gently, cutting her off.

“Just hear me out,” he said, leaning forward again, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know my life can be… a lot. The racing, the media, the travel—it’s overwhelming. I get that. And I know I wasn’t always as present as I should’ve been. But I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I really want you by my side.”

She took a deep breath, the gentle words weighting on her. She held his gaze, the sincerity in those blue orbs almost underwhelming.

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “I never expected you to. I should’ve made that clearer, but I thought… I thought you knew.”

“It’s not just about you, though. It’s about me, too. I let the pressure get to me, and instead of talking to you, I shut down. That’s on me,” she replied.

Max nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe we both made mistakes,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t fix this. If you still want to, I mean.”

“I don’t know if I can be what you need,” she said quietly, not liking how vulnerable she was sounding, but yet the words slipping out of her mouth. “What if I let you down again?”

“You won’t,” he said without hesitation. “And even if you do, we’ll figure it out. That’s what relationships are, right? You don’t have to be perfect. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you.”

She bit her lip, her mind racing. Part of her wanted to believe him, to let herself fall back into the safety of his words and his presence. But another part of her was terrified—terrified of failing again, of breaking his heart, of breaking her own, all while getting overwhelmed and hurt by it.

“It’s not simple,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But it’s worth it.”

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air like leaves in the breeze. She could feel the firmness of his gaze, the sincerity in his expression, and it made her chest ache.

“Max,” she started, her voice gentle, “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You won’t,” he said intently, his eyes unwavering. “But if you’re scared, that’s okay. We’ll take it one step at a time. Just… don’t shut me out.” He leaned forward slightly, his expression open and unguarded. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers right now,” he continued, his voice steady but tender. “I just want us to try. To figure it out together”

She hesitated for a moment longer, her thoughts racing. The fear of failing again was still there, very present, but so was the undeniable pull toward him. Toward the man who cared so much about her, he planned this ambush with her mom even after she had not broken up in the most compassionate way.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the gap between them, reaching out to take his hand. His warmth seeped into her skin, grounding her. “Okay,” she said finally.

Max’s face broke into a smile, the kind that reached his eyes and softened every hard edge. “Yeah?” he asked, his tone laced with cautious hope.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, her own smile growing.

Max smirked, glancing toward the kitchen, where her parents’ voices carried on in a mix of hushed whispers and not-so-hushed laughter. Then, from the direction of the kitchen, there was the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. Loudly.

She turned toward the doorway as her parents stood there, her mom wearing an exaggerated expression of innocence, while her dad unsuccessfully stifled a grin.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” her mom said, waving a hand. “We were just… checking on the oven.”

Her dad snorted. “We don’t even have anything in the oven.”

Her mom shot him a look before turning her attention back to the pair on the couch. “We’re just happy you two finally talked,” she said, beaming. 

“I still can’t believe you two planned this,” she chuckled slightly.

Her mom grinned unapologetically. “Well, sometimes a little push is all you need.”

Max turned to her, his smile softening. “I guess I owe them a thank you.”

She peeked at him, her embarrassment fading as she met his warm gaze. “You’re not the one who has to deal with them later,” she quipped, her tone light but affectionate.

Her mom clapped her hands together. “So, dinner?” she asked brightly. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

Her dad groaned. “Does this mean I have to set the table?”

As her parents bickered good-naturedly on their way back to the kitchen, Max turned to her, his hand tightening gently around hers. “I’m glad we talked,” he said quietly.

“Me too,” she admitted, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

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✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <333