#hyperfixation come back please i miss you...

[bluehourbucky]

Impulsive

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: youre known for doing something impulsive from time to time but this might be your best decision yet

a/n: had a neurodivergent reader in mind I know my adhd had me make some impulsive decisions haha

I wish I knew how to write smut🥲 tho this is might just be the filthiest dirtiest thing I've ever written

warnings: kitty eating, hard sex, lots of come, possessive bucky, squirting

bucky masterlist

~~~~~

Bucky gets worried when he's on a mission for a long time, he knows you're going to be okay but he also knows your adhd is unpredictable. He just hopes you don't run out of your meds or forget to take them.

"I'll be fine Buck, besides it's only 3 weeks you'll be back in no time!"

His hands are around your waist holding you close as you play with his hair looking at him like he hung the sun moon and the stars.

"I know, doll. Just I'll miss you and please take your meds. Last time I was gone for over a week you adopted a cat."

You laugh fondly

"You love that cat with your whole being, I see nothing wrong with that."

However true that is it was still crazy since neither of you had any idea how to care for a cat.

"Mhmm, and that time I was gone for two weeks you repainted our kitchen, actually half of it because you didn't like the color and just left it that way."

Bucky smiles softly at your eye roll.

"Well in my defense, at least I didn't paint all of it!" you say and smile

He can't help the pure joy that overwhelms him, he is so in love with you that he might actually explode.

"Fine, but if anything happens please call you have the emergency phone number."

"Relax nothing will happen! You dont need to worry!" you kiss him good bye and send him on his way.

And Bucky believes you, again.

~

"Okay maybe he was right to be worried."

"Huh?"

your tattoo artist looks up from her spot and lifts the tattoo gun.

"Ah nothing just talking to myself."

The tattoo is over in less than 20 minutes and this one might be the one with least amount of thinking through. You have a few tattoos and not all of them were thought through or meaningful.

But this one takes the cake.

Your tattoo artist put on her story how a client cancelled and she had a free spot and if the tattoo is small it would be cheap. So in your mind it was only logical to leave work and go straight to the studio.

there on your pelvis, on the left side near the hip lays in cursive three letters.

jbb.

You look at it in the mirror and you honestly love it. It's beautiful, it looks like it was always meant to be there.

Your artist gives you instructions how to care for it and you pay and leave.

Bucky left two days ago and in that short time you had gotten a tattoo, his initials.

Days pass and each day you look at the tattoo and admire it. Its cute and it makes you feel hot, and like Bucky owns you now. And the horniness is getting out of hand. All you can think about is Bucky and how when he enters you he'll have perfect view that you're marked.

It's torture waiting for Bucky to come home, it usually is but this time you can't stop hyperfixating on what his reaction will be.

The day before he's supposed to come home, you are filled with anxiety and the excitement had died down. Because what if he hates it, what if he thinks it's weird or what if hes superstitious and thinks you'll break up because couples break up very soon after getting their partners name tattooed.

And its finally midnight and Bucky is going to be home soon and you don't know what to do with yourself. You can't sleep, you look at the clock and its almost 2am, you've been turning for hours.

2:15am

you hear doorhandle shake, and doors opening and closing, not Buckys steps though he's too quiet. You do however hear meowing.

"shh alpine, mommy is sleeping"

"Or not.." Bucky says as he opens the door to your shared bedroom, he sees you sitting up in bed, looking at your phone and when you see him you stand up and almost knock him over with the force you jumped in his arms.

"I missed you so much. And I love you!"

He smiles into your neck hugging you tighter.

"Love you more."

When you let go Buckys instantly worried because you have that look in your eyes when you do something impulsive, and try to tell him not to freak out.

"Don't look at me like that! It's not bad! At least I don't think it is?"

God Bucky never knew he would love someone as much as he loves you.

"Alright, hit me." he's not mad, he couldn't be, you do however keep him on his toes.

"Okay close your eyes." and he does.

"Oh this definitely isn't bad." Bucky says when he hears the rustling of clothes, your shorts falling on the floor.

"Okay now." you peck his lips and step away.

Buckys a little confused, since you stand there in just his shirt and he doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He sees you playing with the hem of the shirt lifting it just enough so it's over your tummy.

"Take them off. Slowly."

Buckys confused but he doesn't need to be told twice, he takes a step closer and takes the band of your panties, and slowly starts pulling them down.

Bucky freezes as soon as he sees the tattoo, he just looks at it in shock.

"I can always cover it up of you hate it."

Bucky looks up and his eyes are two shades darker, he looks like hes about to devour you.

"Youre not covering anything up." he almost growls.

In seconds you're thrown on the bed, the shirt gets ripped and discarded somewhere on the floor as do your panties.

Bucky is breathing hard, he's overcome with some primal desire, and possessiveness that he never experienced before.

He doesn't give you a moment before his tongue gets buried deep in your pussy, his hands holding your thighs apart. You're holding for dear life onto the bedsheets with one hand and the other in Buckys hair.

The way he's eating you is sinful, the wet sounds from your pussy are pornographic.

"Oh god buckyyyy!" You moan as you cum but that doesn't make him stop, he eats you like a man starved.

Only when you come a third time does he detach himself. And its the hottest thing youve ever seen.

His eyes are clouded with lust, his beard and lips coated in your release. He takes off everything off of him in seconds.

"Fuck baby. Gonna fuck you so hard."

Bucky doesn't give you a chance to reply as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Shit so fucking thight. Fuck look at my pretty pussy taking me so well, fucking own this pussy its all mine."

"All your Bucky, baby please fuck me please, so good, so big. Mhrittheee." you babble your words slurred incoherent.

Its rare for Bucky not to keep eye contact, but right now all he can focus on is the three letters, he genuinely can't have any coherent thoughts except.

Mine. Mine. All mine.

"Fuck baby girl m' close."

He thrusts into you with all he has, bed started creaking, and thudding against the wall (mind you you have a huge king size bed that's heavy af). Buckys fucking you into tomorrow and you come two more times before he does.

"Yes baby just another one give me another one please."

and as you come the final time so does he you can feel all of him everywhere, he continues fucking into you chasing his orgasm.

"Fuck baby, can't stop coming."

you feel your tummy bloat from his release.

It takes him a few moments to stop.

"Shit, I've never come so hard." Bucky says as he looks at the fluids coming out of you when he exits you. He crashes next to you and pulls you to his chest.

"Hey baby you there?"

you turn eyes unfocused your hair sticking to your neck tears and sweat on your cheeks.

You open your lipts to reply but words just won't come, so you just give him a thumbs up.

Bucky stands up and you lift your arms to call him back but he just laughs and kisses your head. He's back a few moments later with a bottle of water and a wet towel. You can see he cleaned himself a bit first.

"Oh baby you're a mess." he gently cleans you up and helps you drink some water through a straw.

He settles next to you , with your head on his chest, as he stroaks your hair.

"You did so well baby, such a good girl for me"

"So you like it?"

Bucky looks at you with a face that says "are you serious right now?"

"Might have fucked you senseless, but apparently I haven't fucked the brat out of you."

"Nope! You could never!"

"You're cocky for someone who can't even stand up right now." Bucky smirks and his hands wonder down to your folds but you're quick to grab them.

"NO BUCKY IM SORRY." your voice laced with panic.

"Ah not so fearless now."

a few moments pass.

"Perks of having a girlfriend with adhd is you get surprised in the best ways!"

"You're gonna be the death of me."

"You love me."

"Yeah I do now go to-

***snore***

sleep."

Bucky sighs with content, and falls asleep not long after you.

~~~

and i oop take me to horny jail ty very much.

[the-apocalypse-is-cancelled]

I've spent the whole day stuck scrolling on Instagram reels (I feel horrible)

[k9-kris]

LACHRYMA

I love Perpetuas silly expressions in Lachryma,,,

[lolathelooptyloop]

ssoo i just finished season 1 of yellowjackets for the 1st time at my friend's request and um. i was told that this was a cute lil silly show about the emotional and mental struggles of a very lesbian soccer team. what did i just sign myself up for.

[just-a-toast]

Guys….. I’m thinking about my wife ( subway surfers hyperfixation) ……

I haven’t seen her since I left for war (several months ago where I got hyperfixated on other things)

I write to her but she does not respond until several months later (it comes back after several months)

I keep a picture of her in my uniform (I have fanart in my camera roll)

….. I will come back to her…. (I’ll try to get hyperfixated again after the Pokémon hyperfixation ends)

[ceramicbird]

so i've seen the sara mini episode.

[berrryparfait]

shower head ✩⋆｡˚

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: feeling curious, playful, and pent-up, you decide to surprise him by stepping into the shower and giving him head. you've never done anything like this before. 「my girlfriend can be quite surprising at times. and bold.」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, lads men being needy while you suck them off, dubcon but deep down everyone involved could not have been more willing (they told me personally)

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: bathroom – montell fish

✧ a/n: hihi!!! wow, it's been a while! this is my first fic on this account—i used to run @.starfellforyou but got a little bored of writing genshin fics and decided to hop right on over to another one of my hyperfixations instead... this also happens to be my first ever nsfw fic (i told myself to stop daydreaming and start writing lol), so please lmk if there's anything i'm doing wrong/missing out on as i'm fairly inexperienced when it comes to tumblr etiquette. hope you like it! <3

SYLUS squints at you, his hands stilling in his hair as the last suds of shampoo run off. "Are you lost?" he drawls, voice dripping with honey. He steps away from underneath the overhead shower and turns to fully face you—he's gorgeous, muscles slicked with running water and face slightly flushed from the heat. You simply stare at him with a mischievous glint in your eye, a teaser for what's to come. "It's unlike you to show up like this, unannounced." He smirks at you, unabashedly eyeing the length of your naked body and tracing your gaze to his semi-hard cock. You return his lewd expression. "I do love to keep you guessing." Slowly, you kneel before him, rivulets of water gushing down the side of your face and between your bare breasts. He leans against the wall as you open your mouth to take him in, his movements lazy. It's a struggle at first, but the low groan that escapes his lips turns it into a challenge. You run your tongue along his length, eyes glistening with cruel anticipation as it hardens to the point of no return. Determined, you begin to push deeper, moving back and forth as he sighs and throws his head back against the wall. With a delicious "pop", you release him from your mouth and begin teasing his tip. You circle his favorite spot and try your best to resist a smile when he squeezes his eyes shut, breaths coming shorter and faster and in white puffs of steam way above you. "Fuck..." His hands find their way to the back of your head, where they gently but firmly grasp your hair and begin to pull. Your mouth is guided back around his cock as you begin to suck him off harder, sounds of pleasure that beckon you to pick up speed echoing overhead. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. His hands around your head get rougher—more desperate—and you reach out to grab his thighs as his tip slams against the back of your throat. Hot spurts of cum fill your mouth, drip down your chin, coat the impressive length of his cock. There's so much of it. You both pant in exasperation, completely spent, only partially satisfied. The look in his eyes sends shivers down your spine. I'm getting fucked tonight. "Get up, we're going to bed."

ZAYNE works hard. So hard that you feel he deserves a little treat. Dr. Zayne may dedicate his life to helping others, but you want to dedicate your life to helping Dr. Zayne. A simple equation, really. The look on his face when he sees a very exposed you enter the shower while he's in it is pure gold. He frowns in shock, his cheeks turning pink as he backs away from you and makes a feeble effort to cover himself and protect his decency. It's endearing, the genuine confusion on his face. Need to make him cum hard. Really hard. "W-What are you doing in here?" He darts his eyes from side to side as he tries to avert his gaze from your breasts, now inches away from his chest. You shut the door behind you and get down on your knees. "You've had a long day at work, Doctor. Let me help you relax..." You gesture for him to sit down on the shower bench, and he reluctantly complies. "I'm afraid this isn't a good idea—" "Shhh..." You cut him off with a devilish grin as you breathe onto his growing cock, and a flicker of uncertainty—and begrudging intrigue—ignites beneath his pretty features. "Be a good boy for me and hold still..." You gently glide your tongue down his length, teasing him with slow, languid strokes as he writhes and struggles to stay silent. It isn't long before your mouth is enveloping his cock, eliciting whines of pleasure from deep within his throat, the small sounds driving you crazy with need. You pick up the pace, and soon his moans grow louder, more desperate. He begins to pathetically thrust skyward, helpless against the blinding pleasure of getting his cock sucked and stroked by a natural talent. "I'm gonna cum—" he whispers, strained, as you stop torturing him with your mouth and white streaks of cum shoot out in every direction, landing on your face, your tits, the walls, his thighs. You almost feel bad for him, the way he's just sitting there shivering with leftover ecstasy. But you know that once morning comes, he'd no longer be deserving of anyone's pity.

RAFAYEL may be a god, but that doesn't mean he's beyond enjoying the fruits of worldly labor. So what if his baths are the most luxurious and elaborate you've ever seen? One has never had a good bath until they've experienced shower head. You've convinced yourself of this much—now it's time to convince Rafayel. He looks ravishing as always as you enter the large shower room, his movements elegant and naturally seductive. He startles slightly at the sight of you. "Oh? Looks like I have company." He drags his eyes up and down your body, a playful smirk playing on his lips—but you know it for what it really is. An invitation. To give Rafayel exactly what he wants. Bubbles fill the room as he spreads himself across a large shower seat in the shape of a clam. Your prince. Your pearl. As if coerced by an invisible force, you gravitate towards him with a dark anticipation in your gut. He's sprawled before you, clearly getting harder by the second. Soon, he's going to get demanding—whiny, even. You need to please him fast. You circle his tip with your tongue and plant wet kisses along the length of his shaft, your way of preparing him for what's to come. His eyes are heavy-lidded, drowsy, drunk on the look in your eyes as you take him in whole, a delicious moan escaping him as you push his thighs further apart. Slow strokes, then faster ones. Repeat. You can tell he's in pain, yet somehow still in control of himself. That just won't do. "Not good enough, Your Majesty?" Your right hand moves to caress his balls, a gesture that sends him into overdrive. "Ugh, this girl—" His voice comes out garbled with a pained groan that makes your heart leap. You back away just before he cums. Can't let him off too easy. The frustrated noise that leaves his lips satisfies you more than it should, and you don't let him wait too long before you're sucking him off again, drawing out his orgasm until he nearly blacks out. He glares at you in petty indignation as his cum explodes into your mouth, both consumed by pleasure and immensely frustrated. You swallow it all down in a single gulp, feeling proud of yourself. "Who has the higher ground now?"

XAVIER jerks away from you as if you were a bad omen, instinctually bringing his arms up around himself in an attempt to block your view of him. It's no use, of course—he's as exposed as you are. "Uh..." A violent blush tints his cheeks as he fumbles for words, vivid blue eyes unable to meet yours. "Can I help you?" How could someone come off as so shy and judgmental at the same time? The thought makes you smile. "I'm here for you, cutie." He doesn't seem to understand, but it doesn't matter—you'll just have to show him. You grab his arms and gently coax them away from his body, baring his semi-hard length to you and making him squirm. Your fingers wrap around the base of his shaft, stroking gently as he gasps and twitches. The expression on his face has shifted, dark and cautionary. "Kneel," he orders, and you obediently get down on your knees. He pushes his length against your lips and groans, any trace of the bashful, reserved boy who'd almost pushed you back out the door completely gone. You lap at his precum, the taste of it salty and slightly bitter on your tongue. He nods once, giving you permission to take him in whole. Oh god. Overwhelmed, he closes his eyes and throws his head back against the flowing water, pure bliss written all over his face. "Just...like...that..." His tortured moans are like music to your ears, a symphony giving you new resolve as you begin pumping him with heightened speed. Your hands are looped around his knees, which you notice are shaking slightly with the threat of release. A spark of excitement ignites within you as you picture him coming undone, wholly and undeniably submitted to you, a beautiful mess of your own creation. He stares down at you dangerously. You look up at him with doe eyes, because two can play that game. Who is predator and who is prey? With one last luscious stroke of your tongue along the base of his shaft, he lets out a strained cry of pleasure, planting a hand on the wall behind you to steady himself. Strings of his seed land on your face and tongue as you smile up at him, already giggling at the adorable change in his demeanor. Back once again is the Xavier you know; introverted, demure, and utterly embarrassed with himself. "No more coming in like this..." He sounds serious at first, but then he glances away and chuckles softly—and your heart explodes.

CALEB doesn't even give you time to explain yourself. One second you're stepping into the shower and the next you're sitting against the wall, your thighs flush against the stone floor. "Interrupting me again?" His tone is intimidating, so different from the way he spoke to other people. For a split second, a jolt of delicious fear shoots through you, settling right between your legs. "What, too scared to speak, Pipsqueak? You're the one who came in here." He takes a step slower, his dick inches from your lips. He's already hard. Too hard. The look in his eyes is ruthless—predatory. You begin to question your capabilities, but it doesn't last long. He slides his length into your mouth, all the way, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to prevent yourself from gagging. "You look so pretty with me in your mouth..." The thought sends waves of pleasure through you, punctuated by sudden, hard thrusts as he fucks your face with concern for little else but the devastating pleasure coursing through him. This power dynamic, this feeling of being dominated—it's all too much. Don't stop. I don't want him to stop. Your moans are muffled and weak beneath his own savage grunts and he continues to push into your mouth, hands braced on the wall above you as he pushes against his own weight to gain momentum. "Fuck, I'm so close..." Your eyes well with tears as he thrusts deep into you one last time, warm bursts of cum filling your throat and coating your tongue. His breaths are belabored, sweat and water dripping down his chest as he looks down at the mess he created. Your face is streaked with tears, and the sight makes him smirk. For a moment, it's as if he's back to being the kind little boy you once knew. But any semblance of innocence vanishes with the next words that leave his mouth. "I'm not done using you yet, Pipsqueak."

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[retroellie]

Daddy Dixon

Summary: Daryl dixon as a dad :)

A/N: Heyyyy pookies!! It's been a while <3 but it's my yearly upload, i have some others I'm working on but idk if I'll finish them. I've been very hyperfixated on writing lately, probably my period lol. But enjoy my stinky butts!! Miss y'all

Warnings: NSFW, Dirty talk and breeding kink

Word count: 3.5K

-Daryl Dixon has never seen himself as a father. He would much rather the process of making a kid than the actual kid itself. Considering his childhood, maybe it's for the best.

-However, this man definitely has a breeding kink idc

-He loves the intimacy of cumming inside you. The way your body reacts to him filling you up, the way your eyes roll back, and your legs start to shake

-He can't help but picture how pretty you'd look pregnant as well... but he never actually wants you pregnant, he can't be a father

-When you found out, you didn't know how he'd react... you weren't sure if his obsession with cumming inside you was just that or if he really wanted you knocked up

-You tried to drop hints to him, just trying to decide if he was cool with it.

-"Jesus... fucking love your tits." He would moan out while his face was stuffed against your chest.

-"You know... pregnancy makes a woman's boobs so much bigger... cause they fill with milk and shit."...

-You weren't too good at dropping hints clearly; you made a lot of foreplay awkward with it. But how does one go about this?

-You eventually told him, you could only hide the small bump and morning sickness for so long

-To your surprise... he was furious.

-You knew he would have a lot of different emotions coming out. Hell, you did too, but the way he snapped... the way he yelled at you.

-"Are you fucking serious?? Please tell me your fucking with me girl!!"

-You couldn't tell if your tears were because of him yelling or if it was the pregnancy hormones already coming out to play. 

-You were a puddle on the floor as you watched him pace back and forth. Yelling terrible things, things that you were never even sure he was capable of saying.

-The worst thing he said... the worst thing he accused you of... was cheating.

-"It ain't mine!!! That's for damn sure!!"

-"Daryl your the only one i've been with since the end of the fucking world!! Plus you don't don't how to fucking pull out!!"

-"Nah... you've been hanging out with Spencer for a while!! Following him around like a damn puppy!"

-The whole argument ended with punched walls, slammed doors, and a sobbing you curled up on the floor.

-You hated it... But you started to think maybe he was exactly like his father. He sure seemed to act like it

-The worst part is he thought it too... but the only difference between them was he couldn't rid this ache deep in his chest every time he thought of your tear-filled eyes as he screamed.

-He cooled off for 2 weeks... he needed to. He needed to gather his thoughts, he needed to clear his head and make sure he came up with the best damn apology he could

-He eventually did. He picked flowers for you, made dinner, got down on his knees, and ate you out right on the kitchen table.

-That night he apolgized so much it was ingraved in your brain, even after all the fucking you did. 

-"I'm really sorry, y/n. I just... this is all so new and 'm scared I'm going to be like my old man. Ya deserve a good guy to raise a kid with and that baby does too... I think I'm just a little bit scared... I'm going to fuck this kid up."

-It was the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. That alone just proves how different he was from his dad... or any man that would ever do the things he did to his child.

-After that, Daryl was always with you. He stopped going on runs and on long hunting trips. He was literally connected to you. It was almost suffocating, but it was nice to have him around and not run away every chance he got.

-The very rare times he did go on runs, it was just for you.

-The stores he would scope out, he made sure to go to the mommy/baby sections first and take whatever contraptions he could

-One time he brought home headphones that go around your stomach to play music for the baby.

-"Daryl... why does the baby need music?"

-"Guess it's supposed to increase brain waves or some shit?? I don't know a woman!"

-He made sure you were as comfortable as you could be. He ran baths for you and helped you bathe, he would give you massages, and he would allow you to use him as a body pillow.

-You had him wrapped around your finger... but he couldn't deny that he loved it

-Of course he was also your personal sex toy!! Even when you were all big and pregnant.

-Any and every time you needed him, he was there for you.

-Sometimes you could only ride him; that's the only position your big belly allowed you. So Daryl would just lie down, one hand on your hip and the other in yours so you could balance... He would just watch you thrust and buck down on him as if you were a goddess walking the earth.

-"Feel good, baby? Are you hurting?"

-"Mhhh... fuck! No, please... keep... f.... keep your hips like that!"

-Sometimes you couldn't even do all that you were so big. So Daryl would lay you down, a pillow underneath your hip, and he would thrust into you so softly. yet he would still have you cumming within minutes.

-You and Daryl both decorate the nursery. There wasn't much of a theme due to the lack of baby decorations in the end of the world. But you did your best, making sure it was gender neutral due to the lack of knowledge about the gender.

-You also had so much help from the community, like so much that it was kind of like the group's baby more than it was yours

-Carol was like your damn mentor, she made sure you knew what you were getting yourself into

-"Breastfeeding would probably be best for you, I mean there's only so much formula.... and if you're already leaking then that's a good sign!! But just in case, make sure you are massaging and lotioning your nipples every night... You can even have Daryl stimulate them during sex. Just to keep them flowing and not clogging up on you!"

-You just asked about baby bottles....

-Glenn, Maggie, Rick, and Michonne all gave you hand-me-downs from their kids. Like you had a mountain of clothes by the time you were 5 months.

-There were times when the pregnancy got so overwhelming for you... like just the exhaustion and the aches and pains and the insecurity, causing you to break down in tears.

-Daryl would hold you, rubbing your stomach softly while you cried into his neck.

-"Honey... you are doing so good. You will be such a good mom... This kid is lucky to have you, I know I couldn't carry a child the way you do."

-He was never good with words, never good with emotions... but something about seeing you all pregnant made him so vulnerable. Suddenly he was a damn poet...

-You were forbidden to set foot outside of Alexandria. Like literally forbidden... even from the group?!? As if you'd want to go out there...

-But of course, you complained about it, you couldn't let your pregnancy make you soft

-The birth was kind of crazy, very unexpected and very fucking crazy

-Your water broke, Daryl rushed you over to the medic. Suddenly, Michonne was holding one of your hands, and Daryl was holding the other. Rick was throwing instruments to Maggie, who for some reason, was delivering the baby. Carol was helping, then Eugene was in there, then Glenn, hell, why not have Abraham in there as well!

-But it didn't matter because 20 minutes into pushing, your baby was in your arms.

-You were very similar to Daryl in the "I don't think I'll be a good parent" department. But at that moment, looking down at your newborn... You knew you would do anything for them.

-For the first couple of days, you spent at the medic to make sure everything was good... in those first couple of days, Daryl refused to hold the kid.

-He seemed to think he would break them, they were so fragile and frail... his hands were so rough that he felt he would turn them to dust by simply touching them. However, he was always around, always watching and making sure they were okay.

-One day, you got frustrated with it, even if you were trying to be as understanding as you could. You had just pushed out a 7 pound baby with Daryl's big ass head, you needed Daryl to hold them when you needed to pee, okay??

-You pulled him over to your bed one day, sitting him down and handing him the baby.

-"Woah!! woah Y/N!!"

-"Shush!! You're gonna startle them... Here, just support their head... There you go..."

-He melted immediately, almost surprised that they didn't break from him merely holding them. It was a touching moment, almost like the world clicked for Daryl

-After that, the baby was attached to Daryl... you didn't mind, you got some good naps.

-Daryl was a good dad, no... he was a great fucking dad. Not to mention him being the best co-parent out there.

-Like you always got a full night's rest because Daryl refused to let you get up to get the baby.

-When you were stressed, almost crying on the floor because the baby would not stop crying, Daryl would take the baby from you, give you a soft kiss and tell you to take a nice shower.

-Daryl would make you meals while you tried to get the baby down for a nap or bedtime.

-It's almost like Daryl's years of hunting and living out in the forest prepared him for this in a weird way. Days without sleep, thrown-together meals, no time to focus on himself.

-Daryl talked so softly to the baby too, he was still very afraid to hurt them because of how small they were. So he used his softest voice when speaking to them.

-"You're a hungry little thing, huh?? Aren't you, sweetheart... yeah..."

-"Oohh Shhh... It's okay, honey. Daddy's here..."

-"Is that mommy?? yeah?? You wanna say hi to mommy??"

-He definitely calls the baby "Bug", "Bunny", and "honey"... and yes, "Sweetheart" as well. Idk it just fits him

-He loves calling himself daddy and you mommy. I feel like this is nonsexual too, like it just makes him giddy thinking y'all have a baby together.

-Unfortunately, he does need to leave on runs sometimes because he is like the only one who can track, so the group needs him. He hates it though, he hates being away from his kid.

-When he gets back, he won't put the kid down, man.... he makes sure to tell the baby all about his trips though. You could listen to him talk to the baby for hours.

-"Daddy rode his bike all the way back home with Uncle Rick on his bike!! Even though daddy almost flung him off the back of it many times.... what?" He said, watching you stare at him from afar.

"Nothing... nothing at all, Dixon." You said, smiling down at the dishes you were doing.

-Of course Daryl still makes time for you, no matter how busy he is... he doesn't care. He has to give the mother of his child love too.

-After the baby was asleep and he knew the baby would STAY asleep... he had you on that bed.

-Daryl was much softer now. Long drawn-out session with eye contact and soft caresses... he was a dad now, he was just softer in every aspect.

-However, daryl dixon is still the wild and dirty fucker he has always been. So if there ever is a time where you just need to be fucked nice and good, or even a time when daryl KNOWS you need to be fucked nice and good... trust he will.

-Like one time, you were so very stressed out. The baby would not go down for bed, the laundry needed to be folded, the dishes had piled up from dinner, one of your milk ducts was clogged, your hair hadn't been brushed for days... you were a tired mom.

-Daryl noticed it as soon as he got home; the stress just radiated off of you.

-He took the baby from you, rocking them gently as he ghosted his lips over your ear.

-"Go to the bedroom... I'll be there when I get the baby to sleep."

-It was not a suggestion, it was a demand, and you were not going to pass up on that.

-It was 2 hours of pure Daryl... a couple of breaks in between so Daryl could check on the baby, but other than that it was just him.

-I'm talking, rope, spankings, choking, praising mixed with some degradation, folding you in half, soft kisses, and face being pushed into the mattress so you wouldn't wake the baby.

-You were feeling much better after that :)

-I just want to draw some attention to domestic Daryl :) Like Daryl doing laundry or dishes while you take care of the baby.

-Watching the kid grow up was hard for Daryl, like really hard... because they were so small only a year ago?!?! Why are they talking and walking now?

-He would be so excited to show you how they walk or a new word he taught them.

-"Go on, bug!! tell mommy!!" He said, excitedly holding the baby up to you as you folded the never-ending laundry.

-"f... f... fr.. oog.. froog" your baby would struggle out.

-Fortunately, everyone loved the baby!! So you had babysitters for days.

-Sometimes, carols would come over just so y'all could get some actual sleep or just a decent shower.

-Birthdays are always big for the baby, since they are your first, obviously y'all are going full on out!

-Daryl made you dress up like a princess one year and, surprisingly, got Rick into a dinosaur costume another year!

-The baby had made you both so much softer around the edges, but that did not mean you two weren't still capable of the things you were before. I would say it made it even worse, the lengths you two would go to keep that baby safe...

-There was a raider you came in contact with on a run, it was all fun and games till he brought your kid up. A rage rushed over you, and you were this hungry monster, hitting and stabbing whatever you could because no one brings up your kid like that...

-The kid was NEVER allowed outside the walls until they hit 13... that was an agreement you both made very early on when you guys had seen the innocence the child radiated. You promised to keep them that way as long as you could.

-There were nights when Daryl would get quiet, like really quiet and you weren't used to that, especially now. So when you would ask if he was okay, he would kind of shrug it off... but when he eventually opened up, it left him a shaking mess.

-"I'm just thinking about my old man..."

-"Daryl, honey... You're nothing like that. You know that, right?"

-"Yeah... yeah, no I know. I just... I look at that baby and I think, how could anyone do that to a child? Did I do something? Was I made differently?"

-The whole him having a kid thing really sent him down a spiral of his abusive childhood. Not only was he scared of becoming his father, but he was scared of the things his father had done.

-When Daryl got frustrated or angry at your kid, he would have to walk away... not that he would ever hurt them, but the slight possibility that he could snap, even just yelling... he wasn't taking chances.

-Sometimes the thought of his father made him so paranoid that he would become distant, needing space to just clear his mind because he can't be a father if he feels like everything he touches will get burned...

-You just let him have his time, making sure to be soft with him when he comes around again.

-In conclusion, Daryl is very traumatized... he's hurt and sometimes it all gets too much for him but that doesn't mean he won't try to be the best damn father out there.

-The baby just does not stop growing and before you guys know it, they're now a child with thoughts and words.

-Of course they grow up to look exactly like Daryl, same blue eyes and brown hair.... asshole wouldn't let your kid have any of your genes.

-You would think having a baby would be harder than having a child, but you would be wrong.

-There is so much that comes with having a child!! They need constant stimulation or they go insane. So your house is always a mess, toys scattered everywhere, dirty clothes, snacks they forgot to eat... not to mention Daryl's crossbows.

-Daryl gets down on the floor to play with your kid, acting out funny little scenarios with they're action figures or letting them put makeup on him.

-Bedtime stories are a must! And luckily, Daryl is very good at telling a good story.

-Daryl being a good father gets all hot and bothered, like it makes your heart flutter and your stomach twists and turns...

-As soon as the kid falls asleep, you are on Daryl, man. Like a wild animal, probably even more eager and needy than before you had a kid.

-"Woah there.... I guess princess wizards and talking donkeys really get you going, huh?"

-"Jesus christ Dixon... shut up and fuck me."

-Even though quickies have been a more common occurrence nowadays, Daryl still loves his drawn-out love-making sessions. He likes to take his time on you, likes to worship the body that brought his favorite human into the world.

-He also makes sure you KNOW you're beautiful and he still loves you, stretch marks and baby fat and wider hips and all... he thinks you're the most sexy person ever.

-"So pretty... so fucking pretty baby... you're glowing..."

-"Look at those hips bunny... makes me wanna fill you up with another one..."

-"No, no... let me see that tummy baby... Look at that, so soft..."

-He's just very understanding surprisingly, like he just knows how your post-pregnancy body has you feeling. So he makes sure he does what he can to make you feel better.

-Daryl helps the kid with their homework, math and science... he tries to help at least. He usually gets frustrated because how did math change all of a sudden?

-"No, daddy! The triangle has 4 faces! but 3 sides...."

-"How the hell..." He sighs, throwing the pencil down in defeat. "Alright...You win kid, guess I owe you ice cream huh?"

-Daryl is very protective of his kid, man... I can not say this enough because this man will literally break someone's jaw for looking at his kid wrong.

-"A kid in my class told me I had weird teeth," your kid said sadly at dinner one night.

-"What?? Did you beat the shit out of them? You better have! What about their dad?? Can their dad fight? Cause I swear to god, when I get my h..."

-"Daryl!!" You had to step in because you knew he could go on and on with his threats.

-After that, Daryl taught your kid how to stand up for themselves... The "redneck way" he explained it. It was basically just throwing punches and bringing up their mother.

-School nights at the Dixon residence are never boring. Trying to get your kid to take a bath and get them in bed is almost more impossible than trying to get Daryl to do the same. Definitely their father's kid man...

-One night on a school night, you were making dinner while your kid did their homework. You were so focused on getting the recipe for "butter squash soup" that you didn't realize Daryl was coming up behind you.

-You giggled softly as his hands found your hips, his lips found your neck and he swayed you both softly. It was a romantic moment, the first slow moment you had all day it seemed... until you heard a squeaky, "EWWWW"

-You kid laughed out, covering their eyes as they jokingly gagged.

-"What?!? I can't love on mommy?!?"

-"No!! That's gross!! Mommy has cooties now!!"

-"Oh cooties huh?? Oh so daddy has cooties..." He said as he lunged at the kid, engulfing them into a hug and covering their little face with kisses.

-The night ended with you and Daryl sneaking out of your kid's room after they had fallen asleep, one last look just to make sure they were still asleep

-"Let's have another one..." You whispered to Daryl as you watched the kids soft breathing.

-"Well... what mommy wants, mommy gets." Daryl says, dragging you off into the bedroom.

[volturissideslut]

Hiii I hope you're doing well and taking care of yourself!

I wanted to ask for a Volturi kings (poly or separate) with a mate who's hyperfixated on something and forgetting basic necessities like eating and drinking and stuff! Just how they'd help and deal with it

This may be spurred on by the fact that I've been hyperfixated on cars (lego cars and just model cars) and haven't slept for over 2 days straight 😭😭

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘

"Cara Mia, please" Aro implores. Desperation creeps it's ugly tentacles around his throat as he all but begs you to put down the fucking lego titanic model. "It's been three days. Come eat, come lay with me and-"

"-Yes" interrupts Caius, needy for you bet equally worried for your wellbeing. "yes tesoro, it is time you feed, time you look up from that- that- plastic!" He says the word with such disgust, in such an accusational manner you would believe the clipped together blocks of lego had murdered his you in front of him out of spite.

Marcus huffs under his breath and pushes Caius (and his dramatics) to the side. He crouches down to your eye level from the seat you had been on and gives you such soft eyes. "What my brothers mean to say," he glances behind himself to where they stand and then looks right back at you, "is that we miss you. And we're worried about you. Did you even notice it's been three days?"

And to Marcus you give in, putting down the pieces in your hands and giving him your full attention. He basks in it for a moment, smug, knowing he'd won already. "Has it really been three days?" You ask, genuinely confused. Just how long had you been building these ships?

When Caius hisses out a secretly upset yet that just comes out as irritated, you stand and kiss the top of Marcus' head. The brunette man finally stands and grins at having snapped you out of whatever trance you were apparently in. Aro zooms forward and takes you into his arms, hilding you close to his chest and giving you a swift kiss. When you pull back you happen to notice a certain blond with his arms crossed and lips pouted, like he's ready to throw a tantrum.

"I'm sorry my love" you say, taking the few steps it takes over to him and cupping his face in your hands. His resolve crumbles completely in that instant and he finds himself melting in to you. You pepper some kisses into his face and all is forgiven. Temptingly, his teeth drag alongside your marbled neck and you feel Aro and Marcus sandwich you in from behind.

"Now how about I find us a little snack to share?"

[butyoudidthis4what]

You’re Okay

Jack Abbot x Doctor!Reader

5.4k || All my content is 18+ MDNI.

Jack Abbot was the man who broke me.

I genuinely never thought I would write fanfic again and even when new characters and hyperfixations came I didn't, no matter how much the urge was there. I just could never go through with it. I write for a living currently and so the last thing I wanted to do when I got home from work was more writing, even if it was a different style and all my own. And then Jack Abbot entered my life at a time and I went on vacation where I had absolutely no access to work and was refreshed while also emotionally going through it and really had the urge to write and so here we are. A perfect storm.

In typical me fashion I decided I was so sad and anxious that I just wanted some happy fluffy stuff and wrote the exact opposite. I'm just an angst with a happy ending girl what can I say. But also I just really want someone to comfort me like this and it was cathartic to write. However, I'm not going to lie that I started feeling a bit better when writing this so it became a bit harder to write, weave together, and finish and I'm just rusty. Read the CWs please, it's rough stuff and potentially triggering, so protect yourself, and if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

I have a number of other ideas and thoughts for this man and am desperate to yell about him so feel free to send your thoughts in the ask box or DM me to yell about Jack.

Titles and summaries are unlikely to ever get better. Please be gentle with me as this is my first foray back into writing and posting in years. Please let me know if you like it. I thrive on positive feedback.

Again, please read the CWs: suicidal ideation; self harm ideation; extreme depression and anxiety discussed; discussion of anxious depressive attack; reference to rescue meds; self hate; reader is not okay; reader tries to push Jack away; abandonment issues and themes.

Summary: You have an anxious depressive attack for no readily apparent reason. Jack is the best and gets you through it. Happy ending. Established relationship. You and Jack live together. Age gap but not specified or referenced. No use of y/n or related. Absolutely zero proofreading, I mean none. No beta. This is also a bit open ended and could be conducive to a part two depending on reception and if anyone would be interested.

The sadness consumes you, sticks to you like the tegaderm you apply to patients. The most irritating part is how it just seemed to have come out of nowhere. Sure, you were feeling a bit more anxious and depressed than usual, but nothing horrific. And then it got a little worse towards the end of your first twelve hours. But then around hour sixteen it was like you just walked into a black hole and were totally consumed by it as you took a few minutes to yourself to use the bathroom. 

It was the crying out of absolutely fucking nowhere for no apparent reason kind of sadness. The kind that left you perpetually teetering on a ledge and unable to breathe. The kind that makes you think this is it, you’re so broken now you’re past the point of fixable. Makes you think you will just be here forever, stuck in this sadness, unable to move or enjoy anything, condemned to a life of faking it. Makes you itch to hurt yourself. The kind that is so consuming and distorting it makes you ideate and think that ending it all might be an act of kindness to yourself and your closest; you no longer consumed by the sadness and them no longer burdened with you. The kind that is so frustrating for you because one sliver of logical, rational brain large enough to understand what is happening and that your brain is manipulating you escapes, so you know that you’re being unreasonable, that it’ll pass and yet you can’t seem to believe it. Or maybe it’s that you do believe it, it’s just that surviving until it does pass seems so hard and you are so tired. 

Work keeps you busy. Busy enough to be able to push the thoughts to the side and just live with the feelings for now, both mentally and physically. You can focus on others, on fixing others, saving others, solving other people’s problems. It’s a good distraction, but just that. A distraction. It does nothing to fix anything and the second it’s gone you know it will all come crashing down. 

Jack’s eyes are scanning for you the second he walks in the ED. Something was off with you when he finished his shift and left you for the second half of your double. You’d assured him you were just tired and would get some more caffeine and be good and he hadn’t pushed you. He’d told you to text or call him if you needed him, that he would probably get some sleep but would sleep with his phone on loud and near his head in case you needed him. He could just sense it on you.

You hear him make some sarcastic remark back to someone before you see that he’s here and it makes your heart race. There’s a little burst of happiness at seeing him of course, but then even that is overcome again by the sadness that rules your mind currently. You don’t want to ruin his mood, don’t want him to have to deal with you. It makes you more anxious, threatens to rip you in half in deciding what to do, tell him or try and pretend. You know that would be pointless though and you don’t really have a choice. Not when it comes to him. One look at your face and he’s going to read you like a chapter book. You thought the time getting home and ability to take some meds since you wouldn’t be working might help you calm down enough for it to not be quite as bad once you got home. You look back down at your tablet but chew hard on the inside of your cheek, taste the iron of your own blood, and when Mel walks up to you with a question you shift your tablet so that you can dig your nails into the skin of your hand. Just something to ground you. Just a little physical pain to match the internal.

Jack clocks it from where he is, finding you just as you look back down at your tablet. Your nails and cheek. There’s something else about the way you’re holding yourself that’s off too. His own anxiety ticks up. Were you hurt? Did something happen? He turns back to ask Santos if something happened this shift but she’s already gone. When he looks back over to where you were standing with Mel he finds you and Mel gone. He thinks you just went with her until he spots her alone with a patient. 

You had to flee after answering her question and telling her you were off and to spread the word if anyone asked. You wouldn’t know how else to describe it other than giving into this urge to run and hide. Some sort of flight or fight thing undoubtedly, you’d just never had the feeling before. You had to get out of there before you lost it in front of everyone. 

Jack being here isn’t good. It wasn’t the plan, the one you’ve been preparing and repeating to yourself all day to get through it without losing it. You’d get off, go home, he’d be there and you’d be okay and not feel like this because he’d be there. Or at least if you still were feeling like this he would be there and that would make it a little better, a bit less suffocating. It would make it all feel survivable. 

But now he’s here and you can only assume that means he picked up a shift and you’ll have to go home to an empty place, something you’re not sure you trust yourself with right now. You try and tell yourself it’ll be fine, that you’ll take some meds at home and just sleep through it until he gets back and then sleep more with him and that the feelings will pass. And you know it’s true. Your logical brain knows that these feelings will pass. Your emotional brain that tells you you’re going to be stuck in this all-consuming sadness and anxiety wins, however, and the thoughts just won’t stop. The physical feeling of sadness and anxiety won’t leave. It’s enough to make you gag. 

You don’t want to ruin his roof for him but you don��t know where else to go and think maybe you’ll find whatever it is Jack finds up here that seems to help him. And really you know you want him to find you. Need him to. Need him to take one look at your face and know how to help you, how to comfort you, like he always does. You hate putting that on him, though.    

You don’t even consciously do it. You just look up and realize where you are. Right on the ledge. It’s so metaphoric it’s disgusting. It’s odd though, being on the other side of the guard rails. It feels like it should be scary or exhilarating in some kind of way but it’s just not. It’s nothing. Everything is nothing except that everything is also abhorrently and suffocatingly sad in a way you can’t explain. You let your hands come out a little and catch the wind. Some part of you hopes it’ll carry you away. It doesn’t and you’re so in your head you don’t hear the door or him as he walks over to you until he speaks. 

“You’re in my spot, Doll.” His voice is gentle, feeling you out and giving you room. He’s desperate to see your eyes, to read your face in the way only he can. 

You shrug. “I suppose I am.” 

He walks a little closer, rests his arms on the bar. He doesn’t know yet, how bad things are, how bad you are right now. You’re just a little too good at hiding it with your back to him when he can’t see your eyes or face. “Bad shift?”

It takes you a minute to respond and when you do it’s a single word and an iciness starts to seep through him. “No.” 

The way you say it is off. The way you sound, the way you’re standing, body leaning just slightly forward.

“What’s up? You don’t seem okay. What happened?” The genuine concern in his voice melts you but at the same time a large part of you feels bad for it, for making him concerned and worried about you. It’s unfair of you to do. 

You shake your head a little in response. “Nothing.” As much as it sounds like a lie, it’s really the truth, at least to his last question. Nothing happened.

“Did you pick up a shift tonight?” You ask him quietly. 

“No.” “Why are you here then?”

He gives a soft laugh, almost a touch of disbelief to it. “I don’t know, the way you seemed when I left and we said goodbye. I thought you were just tired but it sat with me, stayed with me when I woke up. I just felt, I don’t know, drawn to come pick you up. Get my eyes on you as soon as I could.” There’s a pause. “I’m glad I came.” 

You hum. You hate that he can pick it up off of you, that you can’t hide it better to protect him.

He’s never seen you go past the guard rail and combined with your demeanor and body language and the aura radiating off you it scares him, scares the fuck out of him right now. “Will you come here, please? Even if not to me, just to the other side.” There’s a pause as you consider. He leans back up off the rail to keep his hands free, ready to jump and grab you by the scrub top if he has to. 

You don’t want to scare him, to hurt him. That’s the whole problem. And then you end up doing so anyway. He deserves so much better. You hate yourself.

“I’m afraid if you touch me I’ll shatter. Just totally fucking lose it. And you shouldn’t have to deal with that.” The way you say it tells him you want nothing more than to be in his arms. He’s right of course. He recognizes it for what it is beneath your words, an invitation for him to pull you back to him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

“Alright.” It’s his normal voice. Just Jack. He reaches and grabs your arm with his hand, gentle, but firm enough to keep you from going anywhere and show his seriousness. “You’re coming back on this side. Now.” It’s his Dr. Abbot voice, the one you know he must have developed in the service. “Please Doll.” And there’s your Jack, the tone he only uses with you, soft and sweet, empathetic, vulnerable in a strong way. Full of the love he has for you. You know if you pulled away he’d let you, but you don’t want to. You want him. Want to be close to him.

You don’t shatter from his touch. Not yet anyway. You let out a long breath but nod, let him help you back to the safe side. His hands are on your face, one thumb brushing over a cheekbone as he searches your eyes. You try to look away but he follows you. He hates what he sees, how sad and small you look and must feel, the nondescript anxiety coursing through you. 

“Doll,” he says a little breathless, aching to make it all better. “I need you to talk to me, please.” It’s desperate, on the cusp of begging. “Let me help. Let me in.” If anything the dialogue is normally reversed, but it’s been a good while since you’ve had to ask him to talk to you or let you in. You’ve been together so long now that it’s automatic for him. The only things he tries to keep you out of sometimes are his PTSD and flashbacks and phantom limb pain, but even then. He’s an easy lock for you to pick.

You scrunch your shoulders up hard for a few seconds as you take a deep breath and let them fall back down as you let it out through your nose. “And if I say I’m fine?” You give him a hint of a smile.

He gives a little scoff of a laugh. “Then I’ll be hurt by how much of a blind idiot you think I am.” It’s a little reassuring though. That you still have it in you to joke. It tells him you’re still in there. 

You give him the smallest smile before your face fades back into a heartbreaking sadness. “I don’t know Jack,” you say softly. “I… Nothing is even wrong. Nothing has happened. I just…” You trail off and he lets you, gives you the space to gather your thoughts even as he watches you with concern etched into his features. You look away from him, out at the city. He can still see your eyes get glassy though, the slightest tremble of your chin before you recover. “I’m too mentally ill for you. You deserve better.”

He has to give another laugh at that. “Have you met me?”

You look at him, and while he sees sadness and hurt he also sees terror. 

“I’m just… sad. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s all consuming and feels never ending even when I can sit and rationally tell myself I have nothing to be sad or anxious about. It just doesn’t fucking matter. It still feels like I can’t breathe except I am and I’m aware of it because I’m still alive and still thinking, still sad and spiraling. I’m almost like, fucking lightheaded it’s so bad, I shake, I can’t get that pit in my stomach and burn at my diaphragm to go away and over what? There’s nothing. There’s absolutely fucking nothing for me to be this sad or anxious or upset over.” You close your eyes and bring a shaky hand to your lips. “I’m just a huge mess for no god damn reason and I fucking hate it, Jack. And you deserve better, so, so much better, even if you don’t think so or want to admit it. You deserve not to be stuck with this, with whatever it is I am.”

He opens his mouth to speak but then shuts it. There’s so much he wants to say he doesn’t know where to start. He just wants to hold you. To hug you until all the pieces of you fit back together the way you’ve done for him so many times. He wishes he had a way to let you into his mind so that you could see how much he loves you, how much he needs you. 

“I feel so fucking melodramatic. The shift was fine. Nobody died. It was a good shift if anything. Life is good. I have friends who love and care about me. I’ve got you for christ’s sake, I’m the luckiest woman in the fucking world.” You shake your head a little. “And yet here I am. Like this. Feeling like the world is falling out from under me and so sad I almost want to jump for no reason. No fucking reason. And now I’m making you deal with it, with me. I hate it. I hate myself. You would be better off without me, you really would.”

“That simply is not fucking true,” he almost gasps out, just needing to get something out to you. “Jesus fucking christ I don’t know that there would still be me without you.” You shrug. “No. Don’t shrug, please do not shrug. This is not whatever. You are not whatever. It’s true, I don’t know if I’d still be here without you. I don’t know if I could go on without you. That’s just the truth. You’re not too mentally ill for me. You’re not too sad for me, or too anxious or too whatever. I can’t deserve better when I already have the best, regardless of whether you don’t think that’s true or want to admit it.” He sees you shaking a little. “I need you.” 

His voice cracks a little on ‘need.’ “Your brain is lying to you, no matter how real it seems in this moment, I promise. It’s okay to feel this way and to need to lean on me, to need my support. It won’t push me or make me go anywhere. I want to be here for you. I want to help you, help you feel better and not so sad. The depression and anxiety don’t care if the shift was good and nobody dies and you have friends and me. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel as deeply and as badly as you do right now. It doesn’t mean it’s melodramatic. It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve your life or me. You’re struggling. That’s okay.” His thumbs wipe some tears away from your face and his heart cracks. He feels so helpless, this is one of the only things he can’t just fix for you, can’t protect you from. He wants to cry himself. “I’ve got you. This is an anxious depressive attack,” he reminds you. “You are so strong and you will come out of it. It will pass.”

“It’s just been happening more and more, Jack! I’ve been having this happen more and more. And one day you’re going to wake up and realize you’re exhausted by it. And I,” a few tears slip out as you take a shuddery breath, “I feel so fucking guilty making you deal with me and watching you deal with it, with me. How much it scares you and makes you sad. I just want the best for you, happiness and easiness and a calm, steady, good life. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through you deserve that and more and I don’t think I’m that. I’m just more stress, more exhaustion, more to deal with. And that’s not fair and you deserve better.” The tears flow more freely now and your voice shakes with every word but you haven’t totally fallen apart somehow. 

“I get this exact same way too. I struggle too. I feel the darkness consume me just like you are now. I lean on you, ask for your help, or accept it when you have to offer because I can’t ask for myself. Why should or would I not do the same for you? Why would I give up on and abandon you when you’d never dream of doing it to me?” He asks, hands a bit firmer where they’re still holding your face. 

“It’s different,” you mutter. 

“How? How is it any different?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It just is. You’re different. It’s okay when it’s you.” 

“Well that’s bullshit, Doll, and I know you know that,” he says with loving sternness. He softens again. “It’s okay when it’s you too, I promise. The way you feel about me when it’s me is the way I feel about you right now. It’s okay if you don’t know why you’re feeling like this and it’s okay if the reason is buried deep inside and it’s okay if there is no reason and you’re just feeling like this. It’s okay. We’re okay. I’m not dealing with you, even though your mind is telling you that. You’re not a burden. You’re not pushing me away by being like this. Your brain is lying to you right now. I’m not going anywhere. For better or worse you got yourself stuck with me when you agreed to that first date. Because I knew it was you then. And I won’t lose you and certainly not to this.” His thumbs brush over your cheeks again, one going to brush over your thumb. His eyes are so earnest it almost hurts.

You look at him for a moment and then he’s pulling you into his chest and arms as you’re falling into them. He lowers you both to the ground with you in his lap as you do finally shatter in his arms. 

You sob into him. Not soft tears that are silent or even heavy tears with some sniffing and stuttered words. It’s ugly, chest heaving. You almost seem to scream into his chest at times in between the huge breaths you try to take in. There are times where you choke, cry so hard you dry heave. But Jack doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to get away or pull away with any kind of disgust at any of it. He just holds you, his arms warm and steady and solid around you, keeping you grounded, even if just. He rocks softly at times, shushes you softly but not to get you to be quiet, just to reassure. There are whispered words, “I know,” “It’s okay, you’re okay,” “I’ve got you,” “I’m not letting go,” “Let it out Doll, I’m here, I’ll always be here,” “I love you.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back, squeezes you tight to try and help you regulate, desperate to do anything he can to help. 

Eventually you cry yourself out and are reduced to small sniffles and hiccups. You go so still a couple of times he thinks you may have fallen asleep in his arms, knows how tired crying can make you, but then you let out a sigh. You pull your head from his chest a little, look up at him with sheepish eyes. It’s heartbreaking, how swollen and red your face and eyes are, how beautiful you look even this sad. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he whispers when you go to speak. He knows you too well, better than he knows himself sometimes, you both swear.  

“I just hate it. Feeling like this. And having the rational part of my brain know at the same time that it’s ridiculous and unnecessary and all wrong but it losing to that emotional part of my brain that drags me into panic and all consuming sadness. I hate it.” You sniffle hard, try to wipe your face with your hand but it does nothing. Jack pulls his shirt up a little so that he can use it to wipe your face for you. 

“It just feels like it’ll never get better. Like I’ll be stuck in this darkness and sadness and anxiety forever.” Your words are muffled against him and make him hold you a little tighter. 

“I know. But I promise these feelings, especially at this intensity, will pass. I’m not dismissing them or saying they aren’t real, at all, but they will pass.” He kisses your hair a few more times, continues rubbing your back. He knows there’s not much he can say right now and doesn’t want to overwhelm you with words, just reassure you.

“Yeah,” you murmur. He doesn’t push you to accept it. 

“Did it help? The cry?” He asks gently.

You shrug in his arms. “I don’t know, probably.” You let the steady thump of his heart in your ear regulate yours. After a few moments you amend your answer. “It wasn’t the cry. It was you.” 

The corners of his lips turn up just slightly. He likes hearing he helped. “I’m glad.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper. He gives you a squeeze in response. A couple more minutes pass as you sit there just trying to recover. 

“I got your shirt all gross.” 

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse on me from people I don’t love more than anything.” He kisses the side of your head. “Plus it’s the one you like to steal anyway,” he whispers in your ear.

That makes you laugh, laugh enough that you start crying and let your head fall back into the side of his neck and shoulder again. “I’m sorry,” you almost squeak out.

“Oh baby,” he gives a sad little laugh. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

This round doesn’t last anywhere near as long, largely because you’re just too fucking tired. A bit because he was right, it was an acute anxious depressive attack that’s starting to lift. You sigh into him. “I think I’m done.”

“Let’s get up and go home. Get some food in you, maybe some of your rescue meds if you want, and some sleep. It’ll help even though I know everything feels kind of helpless right now.” He kisses the top of your head, your forehead and then your lips. Nibbles on your nose just to pull a smile from you. He goes to pull away so that you can get up but you make a little whine of protest and just hold onto him tighter, nuzzle your nose against his neck. 

“I’m already home.” You murmur. “You’re home.” You’ve both said it to each other before and he knows how fucking true it is for him but it still makes him smile, knowing he’s that safe place for you. 

He gives a fake exasperated sigh just to see if it’ll pull anything from you. “Let’s get up and go to our house, then, little miss pedantic. Get in our bed.” 

You smile against his neck and it makes him relax a little, makes him feel good knowing he’s the only one who could pull you out of this and make you smile. “I’m not pedantic, it’s just the truth. And even if I am pedantic I’m your little miss pedantic.” 

You don’t say it as a question but he knows it is one, a subtle way of asking for reassurance when being direct is too hard. 

“Yes you are. All mine.” He squeezes you a bit tighter to drive home the point. “I happen to find pedantism so hot. Gets me all bothered when you get so concerned about all the little details.” He mouths at your neck, rubs his scruff against you lightly because he knows it tickles you and wants to draw a little laugh. 

It’s just barely successful, you give him a little huff of a laugh, but with how you were, he’ll take it. You finally let yourself fall out of his arms and stand up with him. He can tell by your face that while you might be feeling the slightest bit better in the moment, you’re not really. You’re still deep in that hole and struggling. You see the recognition of it flicker in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whisper. “That I made you think I wanted to… end myself and for scaring you. And that I’m not better. That I might never be better.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. I really do, Doll. And I don’t expect it to be better with one conversation or two or three. And I’m not going to get tired of it, of you, as much as your brain wants you to believe that. I’ll be here and helping you through it just like you will with me until we’re in the ground together, okay?” You nod at him.  

He winds his fingers through yours and squeezes. “Let’s go home,” he says again, “to our house, the physical building where we reside together, where our bed is.” You go to open your mouth. “Yes, I still want you in my bed,” he cuts you off. “I could shower you first if you wanted.”

“Shower me? First?”

He holds the door of the roof open for you and you step in and hit the elevator button. “I know me washing your hair and body calms and grounds you,” he murmurs. He drops his voice a little lower, in volume and pitch and moves his face closer to yours so that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “And I say the shower is first because the second thing I could do for you, well, hopefully it would give you some oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin,” he smirks, gives you a teasingly light kiss on the lips. “Or if that’s all too much right now then we’ll just go home and get in bed and I’ll hold you while you sleep. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

You grin at him as he pulls away. It actually meets your eyes, even if it’s not the biggest smile he’s ever pulled from you. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you Jack Abbot.”

“You were born.”

You start laughing. Like can’t breathe laughing, tears streaming, laughing. A smile pulls onto his face and he has to start laughing because yours is so contagious. “What?”

“I don’t fucking know,” you get out in between laughs, “just the way you said ‘you were born’ so seriously was so fucking funny. It was so… you.” You look up at him, eyes sparkling from tears but also love. “I’m so lucky,” you whisper, words a bit shaky. “I love you.” The laughing so hard you cried has brought you back to the precipice of tears. 

“I love you more,” Jack tells you as he wraps you back in his arms. The elevator opens though and you’re able to take in a deep breath and keep it together. 

“You wanna go out the side and I’ll meet you outside the ambo bay? I’ll swing back to the ED and grab your stuff.” He wipes a few tears from your face. It’s an offer to save some face and not look like a mess in front of everyone. 

“That bad?”

“You never look anything less than gorgeous, but the crying is obvious, yeah. It’ll draw questions.” He says it so matter of fact, that you’re never anything less than gorgeous in his eyes and that the crying is so obvious and people will gossip and it’s just another thing that feels so him that it helps tether you to reality. 

You nod. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

When you reach the door he squeezes your hand. You can see a little fear in his eyes. “You’ll be waiting, yeah? On the sidewalk?”

You give him a soft laugh and smile. “Yeah, on the sidewalk.”

“Good.” He leans in to give you a quick kiss. “I need you, you know? Just as much as you need me.”

“I know. I do, I promise.” As he walks away you call his name and he’s back by your side in a second. “I am sorry, you know. I would never actually do anything and leave you, and I’m sorry for hurting you by insinuating otherwise.”

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t need to feel guilty for saying how you feel or felt. You don’t need to apologize.  I want you to talk to me, even if it is painful for me to hear. It’s the only way I can help.”

“It’s just hard to say, especially when I worry so much that it’ll make you go away. And I promise that’s not a reflection on you, or that I think you would-” He silences you with a kiss. It’s uncharacteristic for him at work, even if you’re not in the ED. That makes the fact of it happening a little better in some way, you think.

“I know. I understand, I promise.” He pulls back and looks at you. “I would tell you if it was becoming a problem or something I couldn’t handle. But I’m never going to have to tell you that. Now go wait for me.” He flicks his chin at the side door and gives you a little tap on the ass, flashes you one of his smiles that’s almost a smirk and makes you melt. You nod, do as instructed. And Jack watches you walk away until you disappear out the door, a whole piece of his heart out there existing outside of him. He knows you’ll be okay, that you’ll get through this. But it still scares him, still kills him to see you struggle like this. He wants to protect you from everything, does everything he can to, but always ends up trying to grapple with and accept the fact that he can’t really protect you from yourself. 

Outside, you wait for him on the sidewalk like you promised. Things are a bit lighter now that you’ve been able to speak to Jack, to just let yourself fall apart and cry. The guilt still eats at you even though you try not to let it. You watch him walk up to you, see the way he smiles when he spots you. It makes your heart ache. “I really love you, you know?” You murmur to him when he’s back at your side. 

“I do,” he nods. His lips pull up in a teasing smile as he starts up his favorite ‘argument’ you guys are always having. “I also know I love you more.”

[monicfever]

you pulled away for a second and now they’re spiraling 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher cast hcs

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / micro

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

gives you space but feels every inch of it like a bruise. overthinks it for hours. you don’t kiss him goodbye one morning and he stands there in the kitchen, frozen, one hand still half-raised like he’s reaching for something that isn’t there.

he’ll say, “i’m fine,” but his tie’s too tight, his smile’s too sharp.

plays your voice messages on loop with his headphones in, forehead pressed to the wall like it’ll stop the ache in his chest.

goes on patrol more. harder. rougher. comes back bloody. says “it’s nothing.” — it’s not nothing.

listens for you even when you’re not around. heartbeat. breath. laugh. when he can’t find it, he panics.

folds your sweater on his bed like it’s sacred. doesn’t wear it. doesn’t touch it. just leaves it there — a ghost of warmth he’s trying not to need.

says “i understand” when you say you’re just tired, but inside? he’s drowning.

you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like peace, and now you’re slipping through his fingers like smoke.

when you finally touch him again, soft and slow, he exhales like he’s been underwater. fists your shirt in his hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again.

mumbles “i thought i lost you” into the hollow of your throat like a confession. like he’s ashamed for needing you this much.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

doesn’t say anything. doesn’t ask. just watches you. jaw tight, eyes dark, breathing slow — like he’s reading the air for signs of danger. distance feels like a threat to him, and he doesn’t do well with threats.

your laugh is quieter. you sit on the far end of the couch. your fingers slip from his too soon. that’s all it takes. he spirals silently.

doesn’t confront you — doesn’t want to make it worse — but suddenly he’s fixing everything. the cabinet you mentioned once. the heater that clicks. your favourite snack stocked up.

you didn’t ask. he just needs to do something. needs to prove he’s still useful.

sleeps on the edge of the bed. doesn’t touch you unless you move first. still watches you while you sleep. still memorizes the sound of your breath like it’s the only music that matters.

sharpens his knives at 2 a.m. in the kitchen with the lights off. doesn’t need them. needs control. needs the rhythm. the quiet. the pain in his palm when he grips too tight. anything but thinking about what he did wrong.

you touch his shoulder — finally — and he flinches. not from fear. from relief. like touch has become foreign. his voice cracks when he says, “you okay?” like he’s asking please tell me it’s not me. please tell me you’re still mine.

finds something you left at his place — a mug, a hoodie, a single bobby pin — and stares at it like it’s a lifeline. like proof you were close, even if you’re not now.

listens for your footsteps around the apartment. doesn’t realize he holds his breath until you walk into the room. exhales like a man back from war. like you’re the safe house.

won’t say “i miss you.” won’t beg.

when you finally come to him — kiss his temple, press your hand to his chest — he grips you like a lifeline. like someone pulled him out of the ocean.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

notices instantly that something’s off, but second-guesses himself. “nah, don’t be dramatic,” he mumbles to himself. “they’re probably just tired.”

but then you don’t text back. and don’t laugh at his joke. and don’t say “i love you” before bed. suddenly he’s wide-eyed and spiraling in the dark, whispering “what did i do?”

starts overcompensating hard.

you say one sentence and he’s doing the most — buying coffee, making playlists, texting you memes with “this reminded me of you” — because if he makes you smile, maybe you won’t leave.

hyperfixates on one small thing he said that maybe sounded wrong, and now it’s on repeat in his head like a guilt-ridden soundtrack.

“was that too much? did i come on too strong? should i have not made that joke about their mom—OH GOD.”

says “we’re good, right?” with a soft laugh, casual like he’s joking, but he’s not. he’s checking. he’s scared. when you hesitate, even for a second? he feels like the floor just disappeared under him.

stays up refreshing your messages, rereading your last text like it’s in code. thinks “they said ‘okay’ with a period. that’s bad. that’s really bad, right?”

doesn’t want to guilt you, so he says things like “i know you’ve got a lot going on” and “i’m here when you’re ready” — but his voice cracks a little at the end. because he’s ready now. always is.

starts making you food. baking. cleaning your apartment while you’re at work. not to impress you — to feel useful. to remind himself that he can still take care of you in some way.

calls matt just to talk about anything, but ends up saying “hey, if i messed something up, you think they’d tell me?” matt sighs. foggy just stares out the window like he’s watching a romcom in reverse. practices what he’s going to say in the shower. out loud.

“hey, you’ve been a little quiet, and i totally get it, but—” cuts the water off. “no, that sounds clingy.” starts again.

when you finally touch his face or call him “sweetheart” again like nothing happened, he laughs too hard. kisses you too long. holds your waist like it’s breakable. murmurs, “god, you scared the hell out of me.”

doesn’t even need an apology. just needs you to look at him like you still want him. and he’ll forgive everything.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

tries so hard to pretend she’s unbothered. gives you space, keeps her smile in place, says “you okay?” like it’s a casual check-in — but underneath? she’s spinning.

the thing is, she knows what distance looks like. she knows what it means, and she’s terrified.

starts triple-checking her texts before she sends them. deletes the “hey, i miss you” message. adds “haha” at the end of a sentence she didn’t think was funny. she doesn’t want to seem like she cares too much.

but she does. she always does.

pulls back first sometimes just to protect herself. makes herself busy. says she’s working late. but she’s not. she’s sitting in the newsroom after hours with a cold coffee and your last conversation echoing in her head.

reads too far into everything. you cancel plans once? she assumes you’re over it. you don’t kiss her goodbye? she’s already thinking of all the ways she could’ve ruined it. she hates that she thinks like this. but she can’t help it.

plays your voicemail and closes her eyes like it’ll fix something. rubs her thumb over your contact name in her phone like it’s a talisman.

doesn’t say “are we okay?” she says “you’ve been quiet lately.” and makes it sound like she’s just making conversation — but her voice is too careful. her eyes don’t meet yours. she’s bracing for the worst.

keeps it together in front of people, but the second she’s alone? it hits her like a wave. leans against the door. breath catches in her throat.“don’t fall apart,” she whispers to herself. “don’t fall apart.”

still brings you coffee. still remembers how you like it. slides it across the table and shrugs, “thought you’d need it.” won’t say she’s scared. won’t say she misses you. but she’ll show you. in every tiny, aching way.

she’ll spiral quietly. but when you finally touch her, when you say “hey, i’m here” — she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for days. leans into your hand. closes her eyes. “don’t scare me like that again.” soft. raw. real.

the thing about karen? she’s tough. she’s been through hell. but love? yours? it’s the one thing that makes her feel safe — and the second she thinks she’s losing it? it’s like the floor disappears.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

acts completely unbothered. borderline amused. you pull away during a kiss and she just smirks, says “losing your nerve?” like she’s not already rewriting every interaction in her head, desperate for a clue.

still calls you darling with a sweet, sharp smile. still walks into the room like nothing in the world could touch her.

but her hands shake when she pours her drink. her voice falters for half a second. you’d never notice unless you know her like you do.

says things like “you don’t want this anymore, do you?” low. soft. not quite a question. like she’s testing you. like she’s preparing herself to survive the answer — but she’s not.

doesn't beg. doesn't plead.

but suddenly, she’s showing up everywhere. your favourite café. the gala you mentioned once in passing. leans against the wall like a poem, eyes dark, voice smooth: “fancy seeing you here.”

she missed you so loud and dressed it up in silk and shadow.

deletes a text draft five times before sending “thinking of you.” then throws her phone across the bed and walks away like it didn’t matter at all. (she checks back 43 seconds later.)

if you ignore her? she goes deadly quiet. no jokes. no jabs. just this sharp stillness — a storm with no wind.

when you finally speak she exhales like you just pulled her out of the fire.

says “i’m not good at this” in a way that sounds like a threat — but it’s not. it’s a confession. because love, for her, is war. she’s terrified she’s losing.

kisses you like an apology. like an argument. like she needs to know you still want her. grips the back of your neck with trembling fingers, breath ragged: “you’re still mine, aren’t you?” and it’s not a power move — it’s panic, dressed in velvet.

makes it a game — disappears for a day, waits for you to call.

but when you don’t? she shows up at your door at midnight, mascara smudged, voice rough: “say you didn’t mean to pull away. say it and I’ll believe you.”

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

he won’t admit it, but you pulled away for just a second and now he's analyzing every interaction. every word, every touch — it lingers in his mind. he overthinks it, replays every moment until he can’t breathe.

why didn’t you kiss him back just now? did he do something wrong? did you... see something in him that made you - -

his first instinct is to shut down, retreat into his head, calculating. he’ll give you space, too much space, because that’s what he thinks you want. but his heart is shattering with every passing second you’re not right there beside him.

when he catches you looking at someone else, just for a second, his eyes narrow. his chest tightens. he doesn’t say anything, but his hands curl into fists. the thought of you being out of his control — out of his orbit — it makes his stomach churn like razor blades.

he might smile like everything’s fine when you’re around, but when you leave? he’s running a fever in his mind. why didn’t you call? why didn’t you text back? what did he do wrong?

it only gets worse the longer he goes without hearing from you.

ben’s spirals are silent. his chest tightens. his face stays neutral, but his eyes never leave you when you’re in the same room. he studies the lines of your expression like he’s trying to understand you — decipher you.

the more you pull away, the more he pulls you into his mind, tighter, darker.

he needs reassurance, but he won’t ask for it. he’s the type to turn to you and say, “you’re still mine, right?” but in a voice that’s quiet and almost too calm, like he’s asking for confirmation. like it’s a question that could break him if you don’t answer.

at first, his love is a quiet obsession, a soft kind of pressure. but the more you pull away, the more he becomes a storm. his possessiveness becomes almost gentle at first: "come here." "don't leave me alone."

when the silence stretches too long he becomes frantic. "tell me what’s wrong.” he’ll demand, but it’s almost a plea.

his most terrifying moment is when you make him feel like he doesn’t matter to you. he doesn’t handle rejection. he can’t. when that happens? a switch flips, and he becomes a monster wrapped in a shell of politeness. he won’t beg — he doesn’t need to — but there’s a coldness in his eyes when he says, “you won’t walk away from me.”

when you apologize, even just a little, it’s like the air clears — his chest unclenches — and his fixation on you grows stronger.

you own him in ways that he can’t explain. the thought of losing you — even for a moment — sends him spiraling into his own darkness, desperately clutching at the only thing that feels real.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

if you’re even slightly quieter than usual, he immediately goes “you good?” but not in a gentle way — more like a challenge. defensive, like he’s already bracing for the worst.

you say “i’m fine” and he nods like he believes you — but spends the next two hours replaying every word he’s said to you in the last 48 hours like he’s running a forensic investigation.

texts you “you mad at me?” with zero punctuation. follows up five minutes later with “you’d tell me if you were, right?” and then doesn’t text again, just waits in silence, suffering.

convinces himself you’re over him for a full 30 minutes before you even notice anything’s wrong.

starts doing extra. suddenly he’s picking you up with coffee in hand, ordering your favourite takeout, saying things like “thought you could use a break” when really he’s like please validate me before i implode.

tries to stay casual when you touch him again, but he melts like butter. smirks and says “missed me?” even though he was internally planning his own funeral five seconds ago.

says “you’ve been weird lately” like you’re the problem, just so you’ll explain yourself and he can stop spiraling.

brings up an old fight just to gauge where your head’s at. “you’re not still pissed about that thing from last week, right?” (he’s still pissed about it.)

he’s petty but panicking. like, “no no, it’s cool, you do your thing” and then watches your location like a psycho.

lowkey considers showing up wherever you are just to “bump into you” and make sure you still look at him like he’s the sun.

if you apologize or say something sweet, he tries to brush it off but crumbles. looks away, swallows hard, and mumbles “you scared the shit out of me.” like he wasn’t ready to fake his death five hours ago.

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

tries to play it cool, but inside? she’s freaking out. a second of distance from you and suddenly, everything is uncertain. her mind starts racing: did I do something? did I push too hard? did I scare them off? she’ll push the panic down, but it’s still there — like a constant undercurrent, gnawing at her.

dinah is fiercely independent, but her love for you runs deeper than she’s willing to admit. she won’t beg for reassurance.

but when she notices the little things — like you don’t text her back as quickly or you’re distant during dinner — the anxiety starts to creep in.

you’re her safe place. she’s terrified of losing it. when you’re not paying attention to her, or when she notices someone else might be your main focus, it drives her insane.

she she doesn’t show it. she’ll make her presence known in subtle ways. a brush of her hand on your back, a low chuckle as she leans in close to whisper something only for you to hear. she’s claiming you, but she does it quietly — like she’s trying to reassure herself, more than anything.

if you don’t kiss her goodbye, or you’re acting a little cold, she’ll pretend it’s no big deal. but when you’re not looking, she’s watching the clock, wondering why you haven’t reached out. she won’t let herself seem weak, but the knot in her stomach grows tighter every time she checks her phone, waiting for your name to appear.

she’s a doer, so if you’ve pulled away, she’s going to fix it — even if it’s in her own quiet, controlled way.

she won’t bombard you with texts or try to push you into talking. Instead, she’ll do something thoughtful — get your favourite snack, take care of something you mentioned needing. she’s showing you she’s here, without asking for anything in return.

when she’s alone is when the doubts start eating at her. she won’t cry, she won’t let herself be vulnerable, but there’s a moment when she sits on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her hair, staring at her phone screen, paralyzed by the fear of losing you.

she’ll tell herself she’s being silly. that she’s tough. but when she finally reaches for her phone to text you, her hands are shaking just a little.

when she finally speaks to you about it, it’s a fight that doesn’t feel like a fight. more like a need. “are you shutting me out? or am I just imagining it?” she’ll ask, voice a little too low, a little too careful. she just wants to know if you’re still there.

she’ll do everything she can to keep things normal when you’re together. when you’re apart, she becomes a storm. she’ll distract herself with work, throw herself into her cases, pretend she’s okay, but the second she comes back home to an empty apartment?

the silence is deafening. she can’t help but spiral. she can’t stop the thoughts: what if they’ve found someone else? what if they don’t want me anymore?

but when you come back to her, when you reassure her with a simple touch or a kind word, she’s putty in your hands. like she’s been holding her breath for days, waiting for you to remind her that she’s not alone, that you’re still hers, still with her. she’ll melt into your arms, exhaling with a soft sigh, almost embarrassed by how desperately she needed it. she won’t ask for reassurance, but when you give it to her? the whole world softens.

her jaw relaxes. her shoulders drop. she’ll lean in for that kiss, slow and deep, and you’ll feel the tension melt away, the part of her that was holding back, trying not to be too much, finally giving in to the love she so desperately craves.

⏜︵ MICRO. 𐂯

he’s probably the last person to realize that he's spiraling. when you pull away he doesn’t immediately process it. he’ll joke about it. the second you’re out of the room, he’s replaying every little thing — every conversation, every joke, every time you didn’t quite laugh at his bad puns, wondering what he did wrong.

his default is to distract himself. he’ll throw himself into a project, into his work. he’s gotta keep his hands busy. but he knows it’s only because he’s avoiding the obvious: he misses you. and that anxiety? It’s just simmering under the surface. every time he glances at his phone, waiting for a text, his stomach twists a little more.

when you pull back, he won’t call you out on it directly. instead you’ll notice him being a little more quiet than usual.

he’s usually a chatterbox, always tossing out jokes or asking you about random tech stuff, but now? he’s just... waiting. for you to come back. for you to want him again. this is different, and it’s making him self-conscious in ways he’s not ready to admit.

when he gets worried he starts showing up where you are — without meaning to, of course. he doesn’t even realize how much he’s checking up on you, but it’s a pattern. he’ll show up at your go-to diner, at the coffee shop you mentioned offhand once. “I, uh, just needed to grab a burger,” he’ll say, and you’ll know he’s lying. he was there to make sure you’re okay.

he’s incredibly self-aware of his own quirks, so when he realizes he’s spiraling, he tries to cover it up. “hey, I haven’t been bugging you too much, right?” he’ll laugh, but it’s strained, a little too quick. his eyes are wide with real concern, though, like he’s afraid you’ll say something that’ll shatter him. please don’t say you need space... please.

he’ll try to hide his anxiety with humor. “oh, yeah, I guess I could just hack into your phone and figure out what you’re doing... but I’d never do that. totally not my style. not in a million years. definitely not.” he laughs it off, but the undertone? It’s an ask for reassurance.

he’ll convince himself you don’t need him. he doesn’t want to admit it, but his mind starts doing the worst mental gymnastics: what if I’ve already lost them?

when you do check in, when you give him a little attention or even just a smile, the world stops spinning. his whole face lights up, and you can see the relief wash over him. the second he feels like you’ve come back, like you’re okay again, he’s all in.

he’ll go out of his way to do something nice for you, like fixing something you didn’t even know was broken. his way of saying, I’m here. I’m still yours. I won’t mess this up again.

“you know,” he’ll say, voice a little hesitant, “if you ever need, uh, anything fixed or... I don’t know, just someone to talk to, you’ve got me.“

doesn’t always know how to show how much he needs you — but you’ll see it in the way he lingers, in the way his eyes track you when you’re not looking. he’s scared of being too much, so he pulls back when you do, and it’s like a tug-of-war.

started 4.20.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist )

©️ monicfever 2025

[shurisneakers]

sometimes I revisit the hellsite when a hyperfixation reappears and no surprises here, it’s Thunderbolts*. So naturally, I’ve come here to beg for help because I’m obsessed with the idea of a reader x Bucky (the grumpy x grumpy kind) whereby Bucky, Yelena and Alexei speak to each other in Russian purely to annoy them. seems like their brand of chaos, and your brand of fic 🧡

omg my angel it has been forever since we have talked. i missed u!!

here have some absolute garbage russian and nonsense writing.

word count: 800 words. i think this is the shortest thing I've ever written

warnings: swearing, longing, gyms

my masterlist over here and my silly little inbox for more requests, should you please

"How many more to go?"

"No one asked you to be here."

"Congratulations, I am. How many?"

You wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead as you pull yourself up again. Bucky's ridiculous face is, once again, too close to yours. He’s crouched like a gargoyle, scrolling through his phone while your core screams as you complete one crunch before going back down again.

"You're acting like you're important to this process," you exhale as you go back down.

"I'm keeping your form right."

"You're sitting on my feet and playing Sudoku. You wouldn’t notice if I dropped dead."

"I’d notice. I'd step over you."

Your lips quirk at the morbidity of this exchange, pulling yourself up again.

He raises an eyebrow at how close your face gets. You ignore him, drop back down.

"Are we interrupting something?" You don't need to see Yelena's face to know she's got a stupid smirk on. "I did not know crunches were a two-person exercise."

"Neither did I," you grunt.

"Back in Soviet Union," Alexei announces, "everything was two-person job. We shared everything. Socialism."

Bucky's eyebrows pull together.

"I thought you two trained in the mornings," you mutter, exhaling hard through another rep.

"Walker showed up right when we finished the milk. We left before he could tell us to replace it." Yelena shrugs before casting her attention towards Bucky. "Вы всё ещё продолжаете свои танцы друг вокруг друга?"

Are you still dancing around each other?

"Я не танцую," he retorts.

I'm not the one dancing.

"Anna Pavlova danced less than you," Alexei brushes past to head towards the weights.

"What the fuck are you guys talking about?" you mutter.

Bucky casts a sideways glance towards you, but keeps his attention on Yelena.

"Вам стоит сходить на настоящее свидание," she continues. "Ужин, цветы. Могу дать пару советов."

You should go on a real date. Dinner, flowers. I can give you some advice.

"So can I. You know, they added 'Russia's greatest love machine' in that song after they met me." Alexei uses the resistance band to tie together both the bench press bars.

"Why’s he the only one in English?" You jerk your thumb out towards him as lower onto the mat. "And what the fuck is he on about?"

"I had many lovers in my youth--"

"I don't want to know what he's on about," you interject immediately, glaring at Bucky. “Get off my feet.”

“No.” He doesn't even hesitate, before firing back at Yelena, flat as ever. "Мне не нужны советы. Я справляюсь."

I don't need advice. I'm fine.

"Да, очень романтично. Желание придушить друг друга."

Yeah, this is super romantic. Wanting to strangle each other.

"Strangling can be romantic," Alexei lifts up both the barbells with one hand, arm pin straight. "If you asked Melina--"

"Dad," Yelena groans.

"Jesus Christ, I'll go train in the fucking garden," you mumble.

"Should we clap? Should we celebrate that you're making contact with the outside world?"

"Your face is going to make contact with my foot."

"Это у тебя такой флирт?" she asks.

Is this how you flirt?

"Я слишком стар, чтобы флиртовать."

I'm too old to flirt.

"You made me lose fuckin' count--"

"You're at 465," he cuts you off, before looking at Yelena again. "Не говори ни слова."

Don't say a word.

She raises her hands, lips pulling down in amusement. "Ты светишься. Противно."

You're glowing. Disgusting.

"She is right, you glow," Alexei drops the weights with a crash. The whole room trembles for a moment..

"You’re glowing?" you ask, incredulous. "What are you, pregnant?"

Bucky doesn’t respond. Just keeps looking at his phone like it’s going to save him from this conversation.

“Move. I’m done.”

"You still owe five."

“I don’t owe you shit.” Still, you pull yourself up to painstakingly complete the misery.

"Нам уйти? вы сейчас начнёте снимать друг с друга одежду?"

Should we leave? Are you going to start taking each other's clothes off now?

"Christ alive," Bucky mumbles. "Присоединиться к этой команде было ужасной идеей."

Joining this team was a terrible idea.

"Alexei, if you drop that stupid barbell again, I'm gonna hurl it at your head," you snap, wiping sweat from your face. "Let go, I'm leaving."

"You still owe five," Bucky reminds you.

"Can you not count? I finished five minutes ago."

"No. You still owe five."

You hiss at him from the mat, "Barnes--"

"Chop chop."

You shoot up, ready to fight him.

Bucky leans in and kisses you, soft and chased with a self-satisfied, smug smile. He pries away just in time to let you drop back down on the mat.

"That's five hundred," he says, already standing. "You can do the second set on your own."

It's hard to remember what your rebuttal even was.

"Disgusting," Yelena gags, hand on her waist.

"Замолчи," you snap.

Shut up.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

also if you want u to know when i post fics, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it’s the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don’t post there at all except for fics </3

[rcvcgers]

Challengers, part one

series masterlist , main masterlist

18+ content! minors dni!

please read the author's note before continuing.

pairings ; caleb x reader x zayne

synopsis ; it's the last playoff game between the linkon hunters and skyhaven fleet. their star players, zayne & caleb, go head to head. you sit in the crowd and watch.

word count ; 5.5k words

author's note ; hi all! thank you so much for your interest in the series! it made me so excited that i decided to write the first chapter and post it for y'all! now, to get into it:

this is an adaptation from the movie challengers. i am essentially putting these characters into the roles of tashi, art, and patrick. i HIGHLY recommend watching the movie first before you read! the structure is non-linear and there will be time jumps back and forth. those who have seen the movie will understand but if you haven't it may be hard to keep up. i will indicate when there is a switch in time, though!

i also plan on (trying to, at least) making this hornier than the movie! i will be writing out the sex scenes & will even expand upon a few of them alongside other scenes from the movie. the movie is erotic and i will try my best to match the mood! i want to do luca justice for his amazing direction of the movie!

also, this will be an alternate universe where the characters do not have powers & their relationships/dynamic aren't exactly like in the game. if you're looking for canon compliant characterization, then i suggest you go read another fanfic because i am taking liberties with caleb & zayne & any other character that may appear (stares at the other LIs).

now that is done & over with, i hope you all enjoy the fic! i love the movie so much and had to make it into a fic for caleb & zayne for obvious reasons! and psst, this chapter is a little on the shorter side but the other chapters will be heavier in word count! and it will most likely have weekend updates!

content warning ; blood, light violence (punching), light neck kisses, slight vulgar language, let me know if i missed anything!

my challengers ❤︎ ; @militaryapple , @godoffuckedupcats , @tojicide , @flowers-wilt-on-juniper-lane , @mariojins , @probably-hyperfixating , @neigesprincess , @leeniverse , @debrahhhhhhh , @31streasonwhy , @loversobession , @idiashusband , @nezuswritingdesk , @sanrioprincessdani , @blorbohunter , @divxvx , @kazbrkker , @deathdakidz , @here-for-the-tea-baby , @zariahx , @rxelarailuj , @aliyahluvsfall , @novthirty , @mxkvlio , @yumesagashite , @zeskyzed ,@llamabois , @darkeskye , @hrtnote , @cathedralofaudra , @chakalimic , @butterbiscuit444 , @jexireads , @updatesoftware , @blcknebula

The center face off circle is a faded blue color. A red line runs down the middle, Skyhaven Fleet’s logo dead center of the ice. Two shadows approach the center. A man with purple eyes and athletic tape poking over the edge of his heavy uniform. The other has hazel eyes, mouthguard hanging from his mouth, chewing on the malleable plastic.

The puck is dropped. The arena cheers, air horns going off, and chants from the fans beginning.

Skates dash across the ice, slicing into the frozen landscape. The once perfect ice is now ruined. Holes and scrapes dig into the surface, the tips of razor sharp places picking up snow when a player comes to a sudden stop. Bodies collide. Gear and padding smack into each other. Sweat falls from foreheads. Men yell at each other on the ice, trying to be audible over the deafening sound of the championship crowd.

One Skyhaven player, in a black and blue uniform, sprints down the ice. He pants, face in a grimace, as a Linkon Hunter slips in behind him. The puck dances back and forth against the ice, staying in the comfort of the player’s reach. They shoot down the side of the ice, the player in the gold and white uniform catches up to him. The curved edge of his stick scrapes across the once smooth ice, the tip just barley nicking the back of the Skyhaven player’s blades.

The Skyhaven player quickly looks over his shoulder, purple eyes focused on the stoic face that closes in on him. A smirk flashes across his face. He flicks his stick to the right, tilting his blades against the ice, snow kicking up from the sudden movement. He slows enough for the arena’s camera to pick up the white last name on his jersey.

Xia 

The Linkon player slips by him. His black hair falls onto his forehead. The thin, clear visor veils his hazel eyes, trained on the black puck that’s been hit to the other side of the ice. He groans and circles behind his team’s goal. His appearance is blurred from his speed. It’s only when he hooks around the net that the camera is able to grab his name.

Li

The black haired man pushes up to the other Skyhaven player. His hockey stick slaps and swipes across the ice. They tussle over the puck, bodies leaning in on each other. The Linkon player slips the puck out from the chaos. The black puck is just about to reach his teammate when Skyhaven’s star player cuts between the pass, intercepting it. He darts down the rest of the ice.

Everyone in the stadium leans forward, slowly sucking in all of the air from the chilly area. Knuckles are white, babies stop their cries, anticipation bubbling inside the enclosure.

The puck flies through the air, the thwack from the hit echoing across the ice. Time slows. The puck collides with the back of the net. The crowd erupts into screams and cheers. Grown men jump from their seats and hug each other while others shake their head and take a sip from their beers, cursing under their breath.

It’s the last game of the playoffs. The seventh and final game has begun with the Skyhaven Fleet taking the early lead over the Linkon Hunters.

Sirens and horns blare throughout the stadium. The Fleet’s team skates to their star player who just scared. They slap and smack his padded body and helmet, a charming smile gracing the man’s face. His purple eyes lock onto a player who skates by, sharing an intimidating and threatening glare.

“Caleb Xia with the first goal of the night!” An announcer screams through the arena’s speakers. 

The scoreboard is bright, dangling over the ice like a taunt to the losing players, especially to one in particular. Caleb Xia’s headshot and dazzling smile is displayed for all of the fans to see.

1 - 0

“A devastating blow for Zayne Li of the Linkon Hunters,” the announcer continues, “if only he got to the puck sooner!”

Caleb and Zayne skate around the inner circle of the ice. Their eyes remain on each other. Caleb wears a smug smirk, closing in on his spot next to the referee. Zayne slowly approaches with a scowl sewn onto his lips.

They lean down, resting their weight onto their knees, eyes on the ice. Caleb’s breaths are steady whereas Zayne’s are shallow, anticipation taking over his body. In unison, they lower their sticks onto the ground, placing a bit of their weight into it. The referee leans down with them, puck in hand, whistle in his mouth. He glances between the men. The tension slowly builds. He drops the puck and skates backwards, a blur of sticks colliding and smacking against each other. Zayne is able to slip in and swipe the puck away, passing it to a teammate.

Caleb hesitates in his place. Zayne bumps his padded shoulder into his. Caleb’s nostrils flare. He turns on his blade, immediately darting after Zayne, who sticks to the edge of the frozen playing field. He is nowhere near the game of play, watching as his teammates pass back and forth. Zayne remains open, waiting for the right moment to slip in. He’s just about to push off the edge when—

Slam!

The large plexiglass planes stutter in their place, reverberating from the sheer force of Zayne’s body colliding with it. The side of Zayne’s face smacks against the barrier, pain flashing across his face. A metallic taste fills his mouth. Caleb keeps him held up against the wall, only letting go when a referee pulls him off. As the men are pulled away from each other to prevent a fight, their eyes move to someone sitting behind the glass.

There you are. The object of their desires, the angel in their dreams, the woman who has captivated them for the past thirteen years of their lives. A she-devil disguised as an angel. The woman who has been nothing but honest about her pursuit for greatness, expecting nothing less from those who surround her.

You like to sit to the side of Zayne’s team, always available to give him so much needed words of wisdom when he begins to falter in his gameplay. You watch from your seat, glossed lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over your chest, diamond wedding ring sparkling under the stadium lights. Eyes flicker between the men, their lips parting when you make eye contact with them. You slowly lean back in your chair. Caleb passes between you and Zayne, his purple eyes locked on you, smirk spread across his face before he disappears with his team. Your gaze lingers on him. You reread his last name on his jersey before peeling your gaze away.

Zayne hovers by the glass, looking at you. His eyes soften yet hold back any emotion he may feel, an internal push and pull with himself. You tilt your head to the side and your gaze sharpens on him, shaking your head ever so slightly. He swivels on the ice and skates away, swinging his stick back and forth as he catches up with the play.

Four Weeks Ago

Zayne sits on the hotel couch, remote in hand, knuckles white. His hazel eyes remain on the television screen. You move behind him, talking in hushed whispers with his personal trainer while shaking up a green drink in a water bottle.

“It’s predicted that the Skyhaven Fleet will be facing off against the Linkon Hunter’s in this year’s championship. The other teams in the league aren’t able to keep up with their offensive players. With the return of Zayne Li, do you think the Linkon Hunters will be victorious?”

Zayne’s grip on the remote tightens. Unable to look away, he watches as footage from his injury plays on screen. A player in a green uniform uses his hockey stick to swipe at Zayne’s feet, the man’s shoulder colliding into the tall glass planes. His shoulder popped out of its socket, his collarbone shattering into three distinct fragments.

It took him out of the game for three months. He sat on the sideline alongside his team, arm in a black sling, while you sat beside him on the other side of the glass in your usual spot, watching the game, taking notes on plays and players for him. He returned just in time for playoff season, having jumped in a few games before the official start of playoffs.

His game, though, had changed. The once strong and confident player now plays timid, staying away and out of skirmishes that may arise.he hangs back, preferring to shoot from afar despite knowing that the goalie will snatch it in his glove. He no longer slams other players out of the way, instead making sure to always swerve around them instead of taking the hit like he used to.

After every game, Zayne saw the look of disappointment in your face. He noticed every micro-expression, the way your brows furrowed ever so slightly, the twitch of your lips tugging down, the way you could barely look at him when you got back to the hotel while in another city. Zayne knew you were hiding your lackluster enthusiasm for his return to the game. He knows that every smile you give him is filled with sadness that he’s allowing his injury to ruin his season, his career.

Zayne knew he had to make it up to you, to get back into the number one spot in the game and in your heart, even if it means he doesn’t want it as much as you do.

“I think Li and the rest of the Hunters have an uphill battle to face. The Skyhaven Fleet just signed back on their star player, Caleb Xia, and—”

The television goes silent. Zayne blinks, slowly turning his head to look up at you. You look down at him, your hand on top of his. His grip loosens and you slip the remote from his hand, moving it to the side table.

An orange medication bottle sits on the table with his name printed on the side. Painkillers for his shoulder and collarbone just in case his pain flares up. On the coffee table in front of him sits an open laptop. His emails with his coach and physical therapist are open to read, x-rays attached in a file. Beside his laptop is a cup of jasmine tea and a small, sweet breakfast treat, one that you were sure to lecture him for having.

You slowly circle around the couch like a predator trapping its prey. Zayne’s eyes never leave your body. A light blue, silk two piece pajama set hugs your body, a hotel robe flowing behind you. Whenever Zayne looks at you, you always manage to take his breath away. You stare at the television screen, though, and take your place at the other end of the hotel couch.

The television screen shows highlights from Zayne’s last game against the Whitesand Sharks. In one of the clips, Zayne falls behind as the other players push past him, skating across the length of the rink quicker than he did. You sigh, watching his number try to keep up.

“You should skate laps tomorrow…get your stamina back up, lessen your time,” you mutter, eyes fixated on the screen.

Zayne’s hand inches closer to you. His calloused fingertips walk along the exposed skin of your leg. He hooks his fingers behind your calf, using just a tiny bit of his strength and muscles to pull you towards him. A gasp escapes your lips. He immediately wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

The palm of your hand flattens against his bare chest, fingers spread out across his skin. He sighs and helps you adjust your legs in a position where you are most comfortable, just the way you like it. Zayne leans his head into yours, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Look,” you point to the screen, “we need to improve before the first playoff game.”

Zayne’s tiny figure glides across the muted television screen. The network plays coverage of another game he was in, a more recent one, where he misses a pass, the puck being caught by an opposing player. Another clip is of him missing the net from a close distance. A close up of his frustrated face flashes across the screen, shaking his head while he chews on his mouth guard. The last clip shows him throwing his hockey stick away, the piece of black painted wood spinning across the ice while Zayne yells at a referee.

“I wonder what he’s yelling about,” Zayne comments, trying to lighten the mood. You slowly turn to look at him, frowning. “He probably has a good reason. He was playing really well—”

“You should stay on the bench if you’re going to continue playing like that.”

“My love…”

“You should sit out of the playoffs. This isn’t your year, so why contribute, right?” You begin to peel away from him but Zayne pulls you right back. Your eyes meet, his gaze burning into yours, disinterest and disappointment in written all over your face.

“I’m just rusty. It’s a confidence thing,” Zayne reasons. You lean in, face hovering next to his. You squeeze his chest, the tips of your fingers just barely grazing across the slowly fading scar on Zayne’s shoulder.

“Then get your fucking confidence back,” your voice is low, dangerous. It’s a threat, a promise that something bad will come his way. Zayne sighs. His grip on you loosens.

You readjust in his arms, gaze now trained on the fresh and slightly pink scar. Your painted fingernail presses into the skin. Zayne sucks in a breath. You drag your finger along the line of the scar, feeling the raised skin press into the pad of your ring finger. The diamond of your wedding ring shimmers under the afternoon sun; the token of Zayne’s love for you perpetually glimmers like the ring he put on your finger, locking you to him. The ring acts as a silent sign that you’re his, nobody else’s.

So is it really a token of his love? Or is it a way for him to mark his territory?

“I would have killed to have a recovery like yours,” you whisper. Zayne turns his head to look at you but you don’t look back. Your nail pushes into his skin further. Chills spread across his chest and shoulder. “I literally would have stabbed someone. An old lady, a child, a priest…you.”

“Where are Mommy and Daddy?” a little girl’s voice can be hard from just outside the hotel’s living room.

“They’re inside watching Daddy’s past games, baby, you can see them soon,” you Gran’s voice soothes her. Both you and Zayne look at the doorway, waiting for them to enter. You turn back around and look up at him, keeping your voice low.

“What do I need to do? What can we do to get you to play like you used to?”

Zayne’s bright eyes move away from your face, looking at the doorway. You turn, following his gaze, and smile when your daughter enters the room. She holds a snowman plushie in her arms, it’s almost as big as she is, and waddles inside. The budding tension between you two immediately dissipates.

“Mommy? Daddy? Can we watch a movie?” she asks, her eyes big and puppy-like.

“Of course, Lily,” you breathe out. You slip from Zayne’s grasp, his touch lingering on your back as you pull your daughter into your arms. She has your hair and nose while taking Zayne’s vibrant hazel eyes and quiet nature. “We were just talking about hockey, honey.”

“You’re always talking about hockey,” Lily murmurs, looking down at her snowman plushie. Your smile falters. Zayne’s heart aches at his daughter’s words.

“I know, I know,” you quickly recover for you and Zayne, glancing back at him. You push away from the couch, hands resting on Lily’s shoulders, and follow her out of the room. “Why don’t you go get your blanket and other plushies to join us, okay? I bet they’d want to watch a movie too.”

Zayne sighs, remaining on the couch. He looks back to the muted television screen. Footage from a previous season’s game, one where his goals were at an all time high, plays. He darts across the ice, perpetually open and quick to pass the puck when the defenders gang up on him. He slips around the opposing team’s hockey net. The puck flies to him and he’s quick to dump the winning goal into the back of the net. Light flash and his team skates up to him. They cheer and celebrate while the other team sulks, aimlessly gliding across the coarse and beaten up ice.

Pride fills Zayne’s chest. He watches how his smile grows from the other side of the camera lens. He can hear the screams and cheers from the crowd, making his ears ring as sirens blare and lights flash on and off. He still remembers how he traveled across the rink, finding you in your usual spot.

There was a small smile on your face. One that is both proud yet expected. Zayne tossed his hockey stick to the side, swiping the black helmet off of his head. His gloved hand presses against the glass. The world around you two moved slow. Confetti descends from the ceiling, taking its time to reach the frozen floor, and bodies jump up and down, hovering in the air before meeting the concrete below them. You stood from your seat, adjusting your clothes, and pressed your hand on the glass, your eyes fixed on his.

“She likes it here,” your voice breaks Zayne out of his daydream. He looks to you. His black hair falls in his face, ticking his eyebrows. You stand in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest. A knot forms in your chest. You slowly breathe in and out, watching as Zayne’s expression softens.

“We can stay here,” he breathes out. He props his elbow up onto the back of the plush couch, leaning his head against it. His eyes travel up and down your body, gaze hesitating when it reaches the scar on your knee.

“Yeah?” you respond, holding your arms closer to you chest. “We can stay here. We can stay behind and act like rich people, like celebrities. We can stay behind and focus on the foundation, maybe get you a job as a coach of a minor league team before you’re pulled up. I can continue being your wife, the mother of your daughter, and play house while you’re gone all day...if it’s what you think you can handle.”

Zayne turns his face away from you. A bitter taste spreads across his tongue. He looks at the television. Caleb Xia’s face is plastered all over it. The volume is off but Zayne can hear the commentator’s praise through the silence. He watches as the man skates across the ice, passing the end zone lines, over the face off circles, the puck moving in and out of other player’s grasps before he launches it into the net.

Frustration builds inside Zayne’s chest. It ferments, rotting his once strong confidence, withering it down as the seconds tick by.

“Or you can continue being a hockey player.”

Zayne’s head snaps to you. Your arms are crossed over your chest. You raise an eyebrow at him, lips pursed.

“Which is what you are. Still.” You push away from the doorway. Every step is calculated, meticulous. He stares at you, heat trickling into his cheeks. His eyes narrow. You look down at him, unable to read the emotions on his face.

Is it anger? Contempt? Love? Hatred? Have you finally broken him? Pushed him past his limit so he can’t return to the same player he used to be?

You stand in front of him, slipping between his spread open legs. He leans forward and places his hands on the back of your thighs. You look down and place a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle and tender. Zayne pulls you closer, your knees and shins pressed against the material of the couch. Your thumb grazes over his cheekbone, wiping over a faded bruise from a punch he took just a few days ago.

“It’s your choice, Zayne,” you whisper, “what do you want?”

Your breath mixes in with Zayne’s. His hands run up and down the smooth skin of your thighs. With one gentle pull, he guides your leg to his side, pulling you on his lap. Your hands rest on the sides of his neck, thumbs grazing the stubble on his jawline. Zayne’s hands slip behind the rope and under your silk pajama shirt, one that he desperately wants to rip off your body with his teeth. He holds back, though, and allows his gaze to travel up and down the bare, unmarked skin of your neck. HIs hazel eyes slowly travel back up to your face, catching your gaze.

“I’m going to be a hockey player,” he whispers.

“Good,” you whisper back. Zayne leans up but you tilt your head to the side, his lips coming in contact with your cheek. He begins to press slow, tender kisses down your jaw, making his way to your neck. You sigh and lean into his touch, closing your eyes, feeling his hands bring your chest closer into his hardened muscles.

Caleb taps his fingers against the car’s steering wheel. The windows are devoured in dirt and grime from the outside world, some of it being trapped beneath his fingernails. His phone screen illuminates the inside of the faded blue Jeep.

“Has the deal gone through yet?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck. The man on the other end of the call sighs.

“They’re being difficult with the paperwork. It will probably be finalized tomorrow.”

“Uh huh…” Caleb swipes out of the call, not ending it, but opens up his bank account. Red numbers stare back at him, his recent transactions for gas and drive thru food sinking him into the negatives. He narrows his eyes at the screen, sighing, before moving back to the call. “Do you think I can get an advance on the paycheck? Or just enough to stay the night somewhere close by?”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Caleb,” his agents responds with another let down of an answer. The man’s face scrunches up. He pinches the bridge of his nose, muscles in his forearms flexing.

“Really?” he follows up.

“Appears that way,” his agent confirms. “This is what happens when you let your ego get in the way and are dropped down to the minor lea—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb interrupts, “I got it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?” He hangs up the phone before his agent can answer. He tosses the small device into the passenger seat, hitting an empty styrofoam cup from some chicken place called The Chicken Joint and bounces to the floor. Caleb leans back into his chair, groaning. He slams his fists against the wheel. The horn sounds off for a split second.

 Caleb gets out of the car, walking around to the passenger side. Skyhaven’s nightly breeze chills him, a few snowflakes flowing with the wind. He rips open the passenger side door and picks up his phone, running his thumb over the cracked screen. It vibrates.

Rest up. You have practice tomorrow before the first playoff game game. Don’t fuck it up.

A frown tugs his lips down. He shoves the phone inside the back pocket of his pants and rushes to the motel doors. His boot slips on the wet plastic of the welcome mat, clinging to the metal bar of the door for some stability. The old woman at the front desk watches him, half burnt cigarette hanging from her lips. Bright red lipstick stains the outside of the white roll of tobacco, a grumble leaving her lips.

“Welcome to Cloud Motel,” her voice is gravelly, “what can I do for you?”

“Yeah, hi,” Caleb puts his most charming smile on his face, beaming down at the woman. “I’d like a room, please, but the thing is…” he pauses when the woman begins to turn away, rolling her eyes.

“No money?”

“Yeah…” he scratches the back of his head. “I can get it to you tomorrow! I just signed a multi-million dollar deal with the Skyhaven Fleet so—”

“I don’t know what that is,” the woman quips with a condescending smile. Caleb pauses, smile slightly faltering, before he moves his fists to his side.

“It’s a professional hockey team, ma’am,” he breathes through gritted teeth, “playoffs start this week but they haven’t given me an advance on my salary.”

“Oh? The multi-million dollar deal you were bragging about?” she throws his words right back into his face. Caleb forces his smile to remain, not letting her attitude spoil his mood. “You know, if I gave out a free to room to whoever came in here claiming to be a future millionaire, I wouldn’t be a motel…I’d be a homeless shelter.”

“I can sign a hockey stick for you? It’d be worth a lot of money on eBay—”

“Sir,” the woman snorts, “I don’t know who the fuck you are!”

A laugh flies from Caleb’s lips. The woman takes a drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke out into his face. He shakes his head and looks away. He taps the counter with his hands before eventually turning around and exiting the motel.

Caleb hugs his arms to his chest, hurrying back to his beaten up Jeep. There are grayed splotches from where the paint has faded. He’s had the car since high school, something he saved up for before he left to go play for the Fleet for the first time.

Now, it was just a reminder of where the past thirteen years of his life has led him to. He’s a washed up hockey player, one that was purposefully demoted to the minor league due to his ego and constant need to hit the puck and fight, that is broke as hell and needs a redemption…what better than to win the playoffs for his team?

He gets inside his car, the engine sputtering to life. He sits there for a minute. The windshield slowly loses its fog and the orange roadside lamps make the world seem more orange than dark. Caleb rubs his dry hands together, warming them up. He puts his seatbelt on and puts the car in drive. The wheels spin against the snow, car drifting as he pulls out into the snow covered road.

The radio is on. Caleb usually has it on some sports channel, especially when hockey season rolls around. A cigarette hangs from his teeth, puffing the smoke out in medium sized plumes.

“Rumor has it that Caleb Xia is coming back to the Fleet,” the radio show host’s voice buzzes from the speakers. Caleb smirks, taking another prideful drag from the stick of tobacco.

“Oh yeah?” the co-host adds. “That’ll either be a whole lot of trouble for them or they’ll win back to back championships!” The hosts laugh. Caleb’s smile fades. He turns it off with a forceful push of the button. The car tilts on its side as he turns into a nearby parking lot.

The Skyhaven Fleet’s arena is owned by Ever so, of course, it’s named Ever Stadium. The bright blue letters illuminate the night and the low hanging clouds. Caleb’s Jeep slips and slides on the snow, eventually parking crooked and across multiple spaces.

He crawls into the backseat, tilting back the seats as much as he can. The windows fog from the heat of the car, the smoke from his cigarettes sticking to the humid glass. Caleb looks out the window and at the stadium, a scowl on his face. Ads flash by the large screens on the outside of the building. The arena promotes the upcoming playoffs as well as other winter sporting events that are held inside, such as figure skating, curling, and speed skating. He is just about to turn away when two familiar faces appear on the screen.

You and Zayne stand on either side of a luxury brand car. A sly smirk is on your face while Zayne’s remains stoic, making him appear as some stone-faced athlete while you remain the innocent ex-figure skater. In the video, the two of you walk around the car and you slip into Zayne’s arms, resting your head against his chest.

Caleb can’t help but laugh. A tinge of jealousy coats his lungs, his breaths now feeling heavy as he inhales and exhales. He grabs a dirty hoodie that sits on the floor of his car, balling it up and placing it behind his head.

If only the world knew, he thinks to himself, if only they knew what you two were like behind closed doors.

2 - 1

The Skyhaven Fleet are still up by a point, Caleb having scored both goals back to back, but your husband, Zayne, managed to sneak in a slap shot just under the ten minute mark. You smiled for him, clapping as he skated by, needing your validation. When Caleb glides by, your smile falls and your breathing quickens, trying to hide it before your husband can notice.

They circle around the rink as the cheers from the crowd die down. Zayne smiles and waves to some fans in the crowd as they chant his name. Whenever his gaze passes over Caleb, his smile turns sinister, competitive. He smirks as he approaches the center of the rink. Caleb follows suit, gripping his hockey stick like the world depends on it.

“I’m glad to see that you still got some talent left to give,” Caleb remarks when they lean down, ready to intercept the puck. Zayne rolls his eyes in response, not ready to dignify Caleb’s childlike behavior…yet. Caleb inches closer, the sharpened edges of his blades burying deeper and deeper into the icy surface.

The puck drops, clattering against the ice. Zayne goes for the puck, slapping it to his teammate from behind. Caleb, on the other hand, hits his stick against the other man’s hands. Zayne hisses, Caleb quickly skating after the puck to follow the play. Zayne shakes his head, anger boiling inside his chest.

The tips of his ears turn red. The slender man shoots after Caleb, immediately falling in sync with his movement. 

The crowd begins to turn rowdy, yelling “Fight! Fight! Fight!” as Zayne draws closer to Caleb. The Skyhaven player is too focused on the puck, purple eyes following the black speck as it speeds across the ice, to notice Zayne coming from behind him.

Zayne tosses his hockey stick to the side, helmet coming off. Caleb turns around when he hears the crowd scream their names. When he sees Zayne flick off his gloves, fists balled up, Caleb smirks, beginning to shed himself of his gloves and helmet as well. And the fight? It just so happens to blossom in front of you. Your lips tug down into a dissatisfied frown. Zayne’s disheveled black locks poke out whereas Caleb’s hair is slick from his sweat, staying down on his head.

Zayne is the first one to throw a punch. His fist connects with Caleb’s jaw. Caleb snatches a fistful of Zayne’s jersey, bringing the man closer to him. Their fists blur in a flurry of blows and they spin and slip on the ice alongside each other. Caleb throws Zayne to the ground but he pulls him with him. The referees finally jump in and throw them away from each other. Zayne slides across the ice, his back hitting the wall where you sit.

He gets up with the help of his teammates, nose bloody. The warm liquid freely flows from his nose, his once perfect bridge now skewed. Zayne turns to you, eyes wide, begging for you to give him something, anything, to let him know that you’re on his side.

Your expression remains still. It doesn’t falter or move, not even a twitch of your muscles is enough to make you react. Fans of the Fleet from all around you call and chant your name, taunting Zayne. You turn your attention elsewhere, watching as Caleb comes into a view. He throws his hair back, out of his face. He picks up his gloves and stick with ease, his purple eyes finding yours in the crowd. Zayne follows your gaze. He watches as Caleb winks at you, his head shooting back to see how you react.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. Your fingers pick at the skin around your perfectly manicured nails, threatening to destroy the perfect image you have made for yourself. You look back up and both men  have their eyes trained on you. Your heart skips a beat.

The horn blows, signaling the end of the first period.

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 i love seeing what y'all have to say! <3

[clockwayswrites]

Cozytober Day 4: "Thank you for putting up with me."

masterpost

“Walls?” Danny prompted after another few sips. “Filtering?”

“Oh, sure. Stay upright for a moment,” Jason ordered.

He leaned forward enough to snag his work bag and rifle around for his tablet. Danny gamely stayed upright, but slumped back against Jason as soon as he could. To his credit, Jason juggled Danny, his own hot chocolate, and the table with ease.

Soon the wall’s specs were pulled up on the screen and Jason was chatting away about everything that worked and didn’t work with the current construction of the walls. There was no denying that Gotham had particular needs with freak weather changes, temperamental plants, and poisonous gases. But it was good to see Jason so excited about this start.

By the time that the mugs were long empty and Jason as running out of steam, Danny took a deep breath and it came easily. There were no more words or worries or frustrations clogging up his throat. There was just him. He closed his eyes and let out the breath slowly.

Jason stopped talking and pressed a light kiss to Danny’s temple. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” Danny said with a soft smile. “Sorry about the silent invasion. I know I didn’t exactly give you a heads up.”

“Coming home to find you in my bed is never a bad thing,” Jason said. He leaned forward to set his things on the coffee table before taking Danny’s empty mug too. “Besides, I didn’t add you to my door code for you not to visit. You’re always welcome here, boo.”

“A dangerous offer,” Danny said.

“I know what I’m getting into,” Jason replied. He pressed another kiss to Danny’s forehead before he took the mugs to the kitchen.

Danny stretched slowly. “Lies. I am a man of mystery!”

“Danny,” Jason said, giving a dry look from over the kitchen island. “You spilled being a Meta two weeks into us knowing each other.”

“I’m not a Meta, it’s a medical condition, and besides, you were so worried about me getting randomly killed on the streets of Gotham. I had to do something to reassure you!” Danny made himself get off the couch. He grabbed Jason’s work bag and took it over to where it normally hung by the door. He fished the folder out of the front pocket—work Jason would insist on doing over the weekend—and took it to the desk that sat in front of one massive window bays.

“Not a man of mystery.”

“I could have secrets! I could have lots of secrets.”

“Yeah, and what’s one of them.”

“I,” Danny started as he made his way to Jason, “would kill for your hot chocolate.”

Jason laughed and wrapped his arms around Danny’s waist. “Not a secret, and please don’t. I would be forced to cover up the murder and then various members of my family would give me that disappointed look.”

“Your family always sounds so interesting.”

“You could meet them yourself at dinner tomorrow.”

Danny froze. Danny froze and he knew Jason felt it by the the way his brows drew together and his mouth twitched almost into a frown.

“I’m sorry—” Danny started at the same time as Jason tried to say, “Forget I said anything.”

They both closed their mouths with a snap.

Danny broke the silence with a sigh. “I just… soon, okay? I just want to be… better.”

“You don’t have to be better, Danny. They’d love you just like this.”

Danny shook his head. “I just… can’t. I know you want me to meet them, but I just can’t yet. I know it’s… I know that… just…”

Jason quieted Danny with a kiss. “It’s okay Danny, when you’re ready.”

“Thanks for putting up with me.”

“I’m not ‘putting up with you’, Danny,” Jason said. “Giving you room isn’t putting up with you. I like who you are. And I know you aren’t ready, but my family would too. We’re all fuck ups, we’ve got no room to judge anyone.”

Danny gave a little startled snort of laughter. “You’re all Waynes.”

“And the Waynes are fucked up. We’ve been in Gotham too long, fucked up is part of the DNA.”

“You’re adopted.”

“Semantics.”

--- AN: Danny, poking at Jason's hyperfixation to have some calming chatter.

Gods I've missed writing these two ;-;

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

hyperfixated on a bllk x ever after high au rn…don’t mind me.

isagi yoichi - child of the white rabbit (this was a random choice😭 i genuinely spent like 20 minutes thinking), meant to the love interest of cinderella’s child’s love story

bachira meguru - child of the mad hatter (please bachira is so madeline hatter coded imo), meant to be the love interest of alice’s child’s love story from alice in wonderland

chigiri hyoma - child of snow white (the whole “fairest of them all” and the evil queen being jealous of snow white’s beauty and chigiri is gorgeous), meant to be the love interest of rapunzel’s child’s story

kunigami rensuke - child of mulan (hear me out, because mulan and shang are both fighters and soldiers in a war mhm mhm), meant to be the love interest of snow white’s child’s love story (yep you read right)

mikage reo - child of beauty (beauty and the beast), meant to follow in his father’s footsteps and become the beast and wait for his true love come change him back into his human form

nagi seishiro - child of sleeping beauty (this one doesn’t need an explanation), meant to be the love interest of the swan princess’ child’s love story

itoshi rin - younger child of ariel (the little mermaid), has no idea what his destiny is supposed to be and is therefore a rebel who is forming his own path in life

you stayed this far? well, here’s a bonus : how they found out their love interests (only for the people who have funny/interesting ones tho)

isagi - he 100% found out on complete accident, similar to darling charming and apple white from the og ever after high. he picked up a glass shoe and got confused because it looked expensive and he didn’t want someone to lose something so valuable, so he went around looking for the owner of the shoe before seeing cinderella’s child with a missing shoe and giving it to them, with no damn idea that the whole school was staring at him wide eyed before going over to congratulate the both of them as isagi just looks on in confusion.

nagi - fem!reader for this one sorry😔 but anyways the swan princess’ daughter was in desperate need of someone to help her, because she didn’t want to stay a swan forever. but whoever it was, they had to be a royal prince. but the rest all already had their destiny and lives planned out for them except for one: prince nagi, son of sleeping beauty. he wasn’t cursed to sleep for one hundred years, but he slept basically all the time. eventually, after begging him for a while, he finally decided to help her with her curse and therefore ended up becoming the love interest in the swan princess.

[lanabuckybarnes]

| Handprints |

18+ Minors DNI

✧Pairing✧ Hugh Ransom Drysdale x Fiancé Reader (F)

✧Warnings✧ Soft Rannie, Jealousy, Some lil bitch flirting with what’s yours, Insecurities, Wow Ransom knows comfort??, Drinking, Crying, Assault (deserved), Unprotected PinV, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Aftercare King — This is pretty tame for me but if I’ve missed any warnings please don’t be afraid to let me know

✧Word Count✧ 1.4K

✧Author Note✧ Everyone say frick you to this man because I ain’t been able to get things done thanks to his stupidly handsome face and my brain hyperfixating on it. Fr tho I have WIPs, ideas and everything inbetween all left to rot because this son of a bitch is plaguing my mind. He’s so hot tho….

Also big thx to my homegirlies @samodivaa @delicatebarness for reading my filth and coming up with the title 🫶

You didn’t want to go out with Ransom tonight. You had your evening all planned out; sex in the shower, snuggling in bed, sex there too — the whole shebang. But of course, Ransom found himself invited to a dinner party with some old friends that he was excited to introduce you to, so your evening was cut short to merely sharing the shower with him and fleeting kisses between tellings of his long day — he didn’t even have time to make you cum.

The night was enjoyable; most of your fiancé's friends were just like him so you could deal with them. Until she arrived, her curves wrapped in a beautiful floor-length golden gown, her incredibly blonde locks curled to perfection and her eyes predatory.

“Oh my god Rannie!!” She squealed at the sight of your incredibly handsome man, outstretching her perfect little arms and pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Hey Charlotte” Ransom smiled wide, perfect pearly white teeth directed at the stunning lady “This is my fiancé” he said, reaching a large ringed hand out to envelop yours.

Charlotte turned, that cute little lady act dropping to a sneer when she turned her attention to you. Jealously oozed out of her, jealously and bewilderment. Her scrutinising glare made you feel ugly and small.

“Hey,” she forced, spitting your name back at you. Her hand squeezed Ransom’s bicep “Wow Ran you’ve gotten big…” her eyes flickered to him before returning to you “Did you see him in high school, he was so scrawny, skinny little arms and a big bobblehead. Bet you get a lot of girls' attention now hm?”

God you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“Maybe but I’ve only got my eyes on one” Your betrothed looked upon you with sparkling blue orbs, squeezing your hand tight. For a moment the party faded leaving you both staring into each other's adoring eyes until Charcuterie cut it short with a fake ‘awww’.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then,” she says, giving Ransom a bright, man-killing smile and you a much duller, green eyed glare.

“Well that went well.”

“Huh?” Ransom turns, pulling you close by your waist and laying a soft kiss on your forehead.

“She likes you,”

“Yuh huh?”

“And she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you” he guffawed, his eyes scrunching up until the blue was barely visible.

“She does, she’s jealous” you argued, pushing him away slightly.

“I think you’re projecting pretty girl” he joked, quickly reining in his laugh when he noticed how upset you looked. Ransom put on a more serious look, hooking a finger under your chin with his free hand “Baby, you’re the only person I want. I only love you” You knew that. There was just something in that girl's gorgeous eyes that made your whole mind thrum with insecurity.

“I know” You pouted and he kissed you with a coo.

“Of course you do, look at the size of that rock on your finger” For effect he clasped your left hand, shoving the massive crystal into your eyeline.

The rest of the night you tried to let the situation with Charlotte go. You stuck around your fiancé most of the evening, stealing his warmth while listening to his old college football teammate drum on and on about how good of a quarterback Ransom once was.

“I remember one game he got rushed to hospital trying to challenge this mountain of a man. He was on his ass and there was blood pouring out of his head.”

“That must’ve been why he thought it was a good idea to settle for someone like her, y’know with the head injury.” A loud laugh came from behind your small huddle, you knew who it was before you even turned.

“That was out of order Charlotte” a girl in your group chastised, glaring at the now very drunk woman.

“Oh I don’t care, you lot sugarcoat everything. Ransom you could do so much better than…that” Her ringed hand failed in your direction, and a growl settled on her lips at the mere sight of you. It was enough to push you over the edge.

Shoving Ransom’s arm off your shoulders you darted away, heading straight for the car you came here in. You had to get out of the crowd, you were thoroughly embarrassed and angry at the whole situation, fat tears falling down your face by the time you swung the passenger door open.

You don’t know how long it took Ransom to settle in the seat beside you, not too long anyway. Instantly his arms were around you, a hand cradling your head into his neck while the other rubbed up and down your spine.

“I'm so sorry baby, I’m so fucking sorry” His words were thick with remorse, his fingers tightening around you “We shouldn’t have come here.”

He let you cry until you ran out of tears, his arms wrapped around you tightly until you pulled away, sighing at the wet patch on his tan jacket.

“I’m sorry” you whispered in a low voice, rubbing a sleeve over his wet shoulder in a feeble attempt to dry it off.

“Don’t apologise, pretty girl, that's what I’m here for. For letting you cry on me…and for slapping whoever disrespects what’s mine.”

“What?” You gawked, red eyes wide at his words.

“I smacked the shit outta her, she’ll think twice about saying shit like that again.” He looked so nonchalant about the whole thing, a pout of sheer unconcern pulling on his lips.

You tried to look appalled at your man’s actions, letting your jaw hang low in astonishment, but it quickly dissolved, a smile breaking out and a shocked laugh bubbling forth.

“Oh my god Hugh Drysdale!!” You smacked his arm softly, giggling freely at just the thought of that blonde’s face with Ransom’s handprint on the side of it. “We gotta get out of here before she calls the cops.”

“Agreed.” He hummed, starting the engine and setting off down the road, singing away to your shared playlist.

“Fuck baby, fucking hell…”

There was a distinct schlick schlick sound coming from the ajar door of the massive house leaving a tiny part of your brain silently thankful for its size. The rest of you doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Ransom laid out on his back beneath you, face and chest flushed and his hair awry thanks to your wandering hands. His hands gripped at your hips, helping you bounce on his thick length, chasing your third orgasm of the night. Somewhere along the journey home your insecurities and jealousy fizzled into raw desire, your hands groping at Ransom while he drove. You barely made it through the front door before you jumped his bones, shoving him into the wall and swallowing his length with ease only experience would get you. Charlotte could never.

“Taking me like such a good girl—fuckkkk—yes baby squeeze my dick” Not only was he a mess physically, his brain had short-circuited after you straddled his body, ripping the belt from the loops of his pants.

“So full Rannie” you whimpered, collapsing onto your hands. Sweat dripped off your forehead and onto his body, you fucked him ferally like two people with nothing on the brain except each other — which wasn’t far from the truth.

“That’s it, good girl, gimme one more baby I know you can” Ransom urged, pushing himself into a sit and using the last of his brainpower to sink a hand between your joined bodies to rub tight circles over your puffy clit.

“She could never make you feel this good could she?” you gripped at his locks, moaning into his open mouth. Ransom’s head shook violently in your grasp, muttering out how you were the only woman in the world that could make him feel this euphoric. Your orgasm was approaching quicker and quicker, jumping over each mental hurdle until all that was left for your brain to think of was the man filling you to the brim.

“Fuck shit m’fucking close baby, gonna fill you up again, you want that huh? Want my cum in that messy little cunt?”

His words hooked your release between their clawed fingers and hurtled it into your body. Your world went white, your body stiffening and your walls milking the man below you for all he was worth. He spilt the last of what he could offer right against your cervix, holding you tight as he shouted like a madman.

The room settled, the only sounds being your mixed breaths gasping for air.

“That was good” Ransom chuckled, pulling out of your with a hiss and flipping you over “might need to make you jealous more.”

“Don’t you dare” you warned with a glare, sealing your lips with his when he leaned down, cleaning up the mess between your legs before dealing with his own.

“I really am sorry about tonight baby, you didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that” The brunette broke the silence that had overcome you both, his fingers massaging down your spine.

“It’s alright, she got what she deserved.”

“Yes” Ransom nodded, resting his weight against your back “and you got what you did too.”

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Thanks for reading~