#i know they probably will but like. GODDAMN IT let me dream

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Just Pretend - A Babylon the Great Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Happy Thursday! I'm still on vacation, but just to keep y'all fed, here's a dream bonus chapter! I have. Many plans.

Chapter title from Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have some dreams. Takes place almost any time after Chapter 20. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff

Read on A03!

“Dean.” Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “I ain’t gonna tell your daddy. Nothin’ useful gonna happen if I do.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned, starting to push up from his chair. “I’m gonna hit the-“

“Sit your ass back down, boy. We ain’t done.”

Dean swallowed, and dropped back down.

“You’re not stupid, Dean.” Bobby grunted, holding Dean’s gaze. “I know you’re not, no matter what you try to convince people with your stupid fuckin’ showboatin’. But that? That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever goddamn seen.”

Dean didn’t answer. It wasn’t his turn to answer yet.

And he was an idiot. Dad called him an idiot all the time, and his grades never proved anything otherwise. But it had stopped hurting after a while. Like a wound that goes numb if it was given enough time. Still festering, but the pain long gone. 

There were too many things that qualified Dean to be an idiot. Letting Dad lead a hunt without ‘contributing enough’. Coming up with his own plans for a hunt. Thinking about any life besides hunting, with a nice girl. Wanting anything beside that nice girl he wasn’t allowed to really want either. Drinking too much. Not drinking enough. Listening to music too loud. Listening to the wrong music. 

Sometimes, he had just wondered if Dad didn’t like him.

And in this moment, sitting across the table from Bobby, it had only been a thought. Not the horrible, rotten truth. 

“If I catch you doin’ that again, John’s gonna be the least of your worries.” Bobby muttered. “I might not be about to use you as bait on a hunt, but that don’t mean you can just fuckin’ walk all over me. I know how teenager brains work, Dean, and I know every goddamn exit outta this house. You ain’t gettin’ around me. Understood?”

“Yeah, but-“ Dean sighed. “It wasn’t even that bad, Bobby-“

“You stole a fuckin’ car, ya idjit. And you didn’t even do it right.”

“Huh. How can you steal a car wrong?” 

Dean started in his chair, but he needed to stop doing that. He should be expecting it by now. She was always there. With Dean. One way or another, She haunted him all the goddamn time. 

And now, She was standing behind him with a curious expression, Her fingers playing with his hair, and when he leaned back to grin at Her, she returned it without a thought. 

“You need to stop sneaking up on me, sweetheart. One day I’m gonna deck you on accident.”

She scoffed. “You wish, Winchester.” 

That was fair. If Dean ever did try to punch Her—though he’d rather eat acid than lay a single goddamn hand on Her—there was no way the hit would land. She was too quick, and hand to hand was Her specialty. He’d probably end up impaled on something, and deserving it.  

He’d hurt a lot of people. Done a lot of really shitty, stupid things. 

The worst would be trying to hurt Her. 

“Look.” She’d moved to stand behind Bobby as he continued his lecture—now only a dull sound floating around the air—and held up a strange looking clay sculpture on the counter with a wide, bright smile. “This is mine.”

Dean raised his brows. “Yours?”

“I made it,” She hummed, leaning forward to pass it into Dean’s hands. “Rufus bought me a bunch of clay. He’d been on this whole ‘makin’ something might help’ thing for a few months, and it sorta did. I mean, he’s ugly, but I liked him.”

“He?” Dean looked between Her and the sculpture—although it was more of a blob with a lot of Enochian carved into it, covered in patchy blue paint—with a small grin. “Did you name him?”

 “Jim.” She shrugged, returning to Dean’s side, and he gave Her a flat look.

“Jim.”

She nodded, Her fingers drifting back into Dean’s hair. “I blew him up by accident, when I failed the math test I gave myself. Then I cried for five days.”

Dean grinned, wrapped his arm up around Her waist, and tugged Her a little closer. “You gave yourself a math test, sweetheart?”

She flushed. “I was bored.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ nerd-“

“I- I didn’t have anything to do-“

“I know, Princess.” Dean rubbed his hold on Her hip, and She was looking at him with such open awe, he hated his brain a little bit. For letting him see that, when it couldn’t be real. 

“De-“

“Don’t worry,” He said Her name with a smirk, before She could push it. “I think it’s fucking hot. Never gonna lose bar trivia, long as I got my smart girl.”

“Oh.” Hitched breath. Parted lips. “I- Good. You- You’re hot too.”

He could feel the phantom heat on the back of his neck. She smelled so fucking good. “You think I’m hot, baby?”

Her mouth was almost hanging open, and Dean was sitting too tall in his chair. It was just a dream. He could grab Her jaw and kiss her, since it was just a dream-

She was leaning down. And he could see every color in Her eyes, and even in a dream, they were fucking blinding.

“Dean.” She hummed, Her voice still a little breathless, and their noses were almost bumping. “You didn’t tell me how you stole the car wrong.”

“Uh,” he blinked, trying to remember. He felt sort of drunk. “Not sure. I think it was something about the license plates. Didn’t swap them.”

“Yikes.” She shook Her head, fingers starting to play with his hair again.

He felt a little like a freaking dog. 

He never wanted it to stop. 

“Why’d you steal a car in the first place?”

“To hunt.” He muttered, watching Her brow furrow slightly. In concentration. She was okay. “I’d been hearing things about the woods all week. Animals missing. Trees falling. Someone guy at a bar said he tried to drink water and it ended up being blood.”

She hummed, glancing back up to Bobby. “How old are you right now?”

“Uh,” Dean glanced down at his hands. “I think I’m sixteen.”

“So I’m…” She paused, Her lip pouting out slight. “Thirteen? That might have been me.”

“That- What?”

“The trees and water.” She shrugged. “Not the animals. That was a wendigo I was trying to turn back.”

“Turn back?”

“I was starting to experiment with different rituals.” She mumbled. “I was in the woods a lot, and it found me but didn’t attack me, so I was keeping it in a cave. Trying to see if I could change it back. Bobby didn’t know, and it got out and started killed town pets.” She frowned. “I, uh- Had a freak out after a kitten died. Then the blood water thing happened, and I killed the wendigo by accident. But it- It could talk again, and-“

Dean muttered Her name, and She shook her head, those little lines deepening.

“I didn’t mean to. I just got upset, and then I lost it, and-“

She was about to start crying. Dean could hear it in Her voice. And She must have told him this story before and he’d just forgotten, so he didn’t need to hear it all over again if it made Her goddamn cry. Even in a dream, it made his own chest tighten. 

So Dean tugged Her around the car, right into his lap, and wrapped his arms around Her stomach. 

“Breathe, Princess.” He muttered, kissing the tip of Her nose, and She gave him a sad, pretty smile. “You know, I was only here cause Dad was hunting a wendigo up north. He can back pissed off that he couldn’t even find it.”

She sighed, Her face dropping into Dean’s neck. “Sorry.”

“Nah. Don’t be sorry for that. Be sorry for Bobby’s about to yell at me for thirty more freakin’ minutes after I tell him I was trying to hunt.”

She smiled against him. “That’s a you mistake, Deano.”

“Yeah.” He let out a slow breath, tangling his hand in Her hair. “If I had gone out, would I have found you?”

“No. I’m probably at Rufus’ right now.” She leaned back, Her eyes soft and bright on Dean’s. “Would you have wanted to find me?”

“I’d always want to find you,” he muttered, reaching up to trace his thumb over Her lower lip. “You’re the best thing that’s ever goddamn happened to me, Princess.”

“Thanks.” She whispered. “You- You too.”

“Me too?”

“I’d want to find you.” She dropped Her head back to his neck. “I’m not sure what would have happened. If you did find me before that moroi. But I still wish you had.”

“Ah.” Dean swallowed, pressing his face into Her hair. “Do you- Uh- You ever think about it? What mighta gone down if I hadn’t listened to my dad, and stayed?”

She shook Her head against him. “No. It’s- There’s no point in it. You left. And now we’re here.”

“Yeah, but we could be somewhere else.” He grumbled. “We coulda been on a beach having honeymoon sex.”

Hitched breath. “You- You think we would’ve been married?”

Dean snorted. “I think we would’ve had a little league baseball team by now.”

“A-“

“A family, Princess.” He grinned against Her. She smelled so fucking good. “You know, you’re really, uh- What’s the word for not seeing obvious things-“

“Oblivious.” She grumbled, leaning back with a glare. “And I am not-“

“Yeah, you are.” Dean kissed the tip of Her nose. Hitched breath and Flush. “It’s pretty fucking adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Bossy-“

She whacked his arm and dropped Her face back down, and Dean just laughed.

There was a long moment of easy silence—only the smell of fruit and phantom feeling of Her in Dean’s arms—before She broke it.

“Maybe there’s a universe where we do have that.” She mumbled against him. “But I still like what we have.”

Dean frowned. “You believe in other universes?”

“Multiverse theory has some incredibly plausible science, Deano. I’m a scholar.”

“Of course you are, sweetheart. Freakin’ Nerd.” He chuckled, and forced out the question before he could stop himself. “You think that universe exists? Where we’re- y’know.”

“Yeah. I mean, I like to think so.” She sighed, Her arms tightening around him. “I like to think I find you every time, De. All the way down.”

He sighed, and pressed a kiss to the top of Her head. “All the way down.”

——————

This isn’t the best place to do stitches, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. You can’t do the whole eight-hour drive back to Bobby. Emergency rooms aren’t on the table. You don’t have any friends, or even friendly people to call. 

It’s just you, a stolen Lexus, and a stitch kit that doctors would probably call ‘abominable.’

But you’ll get through it. 

You always do.

And if Bobby notices, when you get back, you can say ‘I didn’t mean to’ and mean it. This won’t be another broken plate or burn situation. You’ll be able to explain that the guy wouldn’t leave you alone, and how when you told him that you weren’t legal it only seemed to spur him on. That he called you a pretty little girl, and didn’t belong in a dangerous place like this, then laughed when you told him you weren’t that worried about it.

You were the danger.

“That right, darling?” He moved closer, and you’d fixed your eyes on the counter as the Darkness started to turn in your body. “You think you got a big, mean bite?”

You hadn’t answered. It was never smart to answer.

“What, you think you’re too good to bark at me?” He’d grabbed your arm, and you’d bite your tongue until you tasted iron. “Think I won’t be able to put a collar on you, sweetheart? See how long it takes to break this pretty body in-“

His elbow hadn’t pushed your glass off the table. But it had certainly been close enough to look like it. And it was a lot easier for the bartenders to believe, rather than you knocking it over on purpose.

And you’d played the feral animal card. You weren’t afraid to. It wasn’t sacrificing your dignity or skill to brandish the largest shard of glass like and spit at the man to leave you alone, all while your blood dripped onto the floor.

You’d barely even winced. After, you’d cried, but mostly so people would stop trying to talk to you.

And you really hadn’t been intending for the shard to slice open your palm. But the Darkness had be shoved back down, and no one had gotten hurt but you.

It was right over your old scar, anyway. And considering the conditions—that’s either slime or semen on the wall, and the other bit is definitely blood, and this rubbing alcohol bottle has to be cut with something—you’d call these stitches quality. Bobby probably won’t even notice anything happened at all.

And if he does, you didn’t mean to.

You didn’t. 

“Why are we on the floor.”

You don’t bother to look over as you pull the next stitch through. “It’s private.”

“Uh,” You can hear the frown in Dean’s floor. “This kinda looks like a public bathroom, sweetheart-“

“It is. I locked the door.”

“And if people gotta go?”

“They can- Shit.” You fucked it, and the sting is faint and barely an echo of the actual pain, but there’s also blood running down your wrist, and you’d loved this jacket. “Fuck-“

Dean mutters your name, grabbing your wounded hand. “Son of a bitch, Princess- What the hell did you do?”

“Cut my hand,” You mumble, dropping your brow to his shoulder. “It was an accident.”

He only grunts, and you don’t fight when he takes over, resting your hand on his knee and letting you lean against his body as he works on the stitches.

“You’re good at this,” you mumble, and you’d already known that, but you don’t tell him good things enough. He deserves to hear them. “You’re good at everything.“

He chuckles. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.” You prop your chin up, watching him frown at your hand. So pretty. Golden. And right now—when it’s not real—all yours. “You can read, and fight, and build cars-“

“I don’t build them, sweetheart. I fix them.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not. And I don’t think reading is that big a thing to be good at. You’re better at it anyway.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.” Dean glance over, his eyes locking onto yours, his voice dropping so low you can feel it in your chest. “You could probably take over the world, if you stopped trying to hurt yourself.”

He runs his thumb over your palm with a pointed look, and you roll your eyes.

“I told you, it was an accident-“

“And I don’t believe you.”

“Dean-“

“I know how you dealt with your shit,” Dean mutters your name, his attention dropping back to your palm. “And I’m not pissed. But you don’t do accidents.” 

You blink at him, but before you can ask what that means, he’s pushing on.

“This how you got your scar? No- Wait.” He glances back up, frowning slightly. “You’ve told me this before. It was your psycho family, right?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, and Dean nods to himself, moving back to your stitches.

“They better fucking pray I never get my hands on them.” He grumbles, pulling through the last stitch. “Would make them swim with the fucking fishes.”

You giggle. “Are you a 1920s Chicago mobster, Deano?”

“For you, baby?” He pulls your hand up, pressing a kiss over your palm. “I’m anything you want.”

You swallow, forcing yourself to hold his gaze as your voice grows breathy. “Oh.”

Dean nods, a small smirk on his face, and it takes a second to clear your head of Dean, Golden and pretty and looking at you like you pulled the sun out of your chest for him to hold. 

“I- Is this like your cowboy daydream?”

He scowls. “It’s not a daydream-“

“It’s a daydream, De.”

“No, it’s a fantasy. Daydream makes me sound like I’m a sweaty pre-teen with no goddamn creativity.” Dean scoffs, and suddenly you’re being pulled right into his lap. “It’s my fantasy, Princess. Respect the effort.”

“Right,” you hum, grabbing his hand to play with his fingers. “The effort. For your cowboy fantasy.”

“Shut up.” He grumbles. “You’d like it.”

“Would I?”

“Yeah. You would. I mean- I hope you would.” You glance up to see him frowning at the air, serious and deep in thought and downright adorable. “I’m a cowboy passing through town, and-“

“Sam’s a sheriff, and Bobby runs a bar, and you plant your roots in our town.” 

Dean blinks at you. “Uh- Yeah. That.”

“I listen to you, De.” You shrug, looking back to his hand. “You’ve told me before.”

“But I didn’t tell you about how I only stay cause we get together.”  He says that like it’s a challenge, and you still. “And how sometimes I’ll leave to go do outlaw stuff, but I always bring you something back. And we grow old together, and have two kids. Little girls that help you run the bar. And then you die on the porch, and I die five minutes after.”

You don’t remember how words work. And you really fucking hate that your brain does this. Takes all these small things you know about Dean—the real Dean, probably knocked out after a hunt a few states over—and turns them into this. How it makes his words sound so real. How you’re giving yourself too much, but still not nearly enough. 

“Why do I die first?” You whisper, because it’s all you can think to say. “Why not after you.”

“I already died first.” He shrugs, and you swallow a heavy lump in your throat. “Not fair that you gotta do it twice.”

No. That wouldn’t be fair. 

He’s such an idiot. A big, genius, Golden idiot who makes you die in his fantasy, so you never have to live without him, because the first time you tried it hurt more than anything and tore you to shreds. And it’s all in your head but you love him so much.

“Do you have any of those?”

You frown at him. “Any-“

“Fantasies.” He mumbles, his hand moving to trace over your face. “Like, I got another one where I win your hand in a tournament.”

“My hand?”

He nods. “You’re a princess, and the king holds a big contest to marry you, and I win.”

You snort. “How progressive of you, Deano-“

“No, it’s- Damn it, it’s not like that-“

“What’s it like, then?”

“I’m just like, a peasant.” He shrugs. “And you wander into town, and we meet at a tavern or on a hunt or something. Then I enter the contest cause I’ve already got your heart, but I wanna earn you.”

You hum, watching him carefully. “Earn me?”

“Yeah. I win the contest against all the pretty boy princes, and then I get to be your knight consort.”

“What the fuck is a knight consort-“

“It’s like, uh- A bodyguard that does sex.”

It’s pointless to try and fight your smile. “I don’t think that’s a thing, De.”

“Yeah, it is-“

“In what?”

“Movies.”

You giggle, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, it’s a fantasy. I bet yours isn’t well researched and-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grin. “Do you research your fantasies, Princess?”

You shake your head. “I- I don’t have fantasies.”

That’s a lie.

You’ve gotten better at having fantasies. You have one where you’re treasure hunters, one where you all live in a beautiful garden where you’re never in need and Dean kisses you under a waterfall every night, and one where Dean’s a mechanic, you’re a librarian, and everything is normal.

But your rules. You can’t tell Dean you love him. If you tell him about the fantasies, you’ll tell him you love him. 

So you just settle for a half truth. Leaning into his hand on your cheek and giving him a wide, easy smile. 

He’s staring at you. With wide, blown out eyes. 

It would be nice if he never looked away. Or you woke up, and one of those fantasies was true. Because you mean your next words more than you’ll ever be able to properly explain.

“I just want you, Dean. I- I don’t really care how.”

His throat bobs, and his voice drops to a rasp. “Alright. I can get on board with that.”

“Can you?”

“Yeah,” Dean leans forward to kiss your brow, and you sigh. “I can.”

End Note: I love the dreams so much. They're my favorite way to show/explore their respective childhood, and it's a beautiful chance to make them be cute and fluffy.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @Zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive

@itsdearapril @speedypersonawhispers @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed

@arcticwisteria @youroldfashioned @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378

@godhelpthisbtch @ilovedeanwinchester4 @wecangetlostinthepurplerain @sleepykittycx

@immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101 @chi-raz @lori19

@wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend

@lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney

@funkenniffler @laurakirsten0502 @deans-yn

[fbfh]

Sjjememdj

Leo eating a sleepy reader out 💔💔

PLEAse I'm ovulating for this man 😔

I. BABES. You know that trend where someone will say all their dog’s favorite words or boyfriend’s favorite words to see how they react??? You got me with Leo, sleep, and eating out reader. Truly. 

In the words of luv note by chloe moriondo, for Leo sleeping has never been so easy. Not since he met you. Since he started sleeping in the same bed as you. Leo was genuinely surprised when he fell asleep like a goddamn log with his head on your chest, or with you pulled snug and close in his warm arms cuddled into his warm chest while he spoons you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. I’m getting distracted by (in the most literal sense) sleeping with Leo. He’s so warm and it’s always in a way that makes you feel so cozy. His breath is so warm on your neck, his hands are all over you. Leo also does do cricket feet right before he falls asleep. He is not aware of this but you are. He goes from tapping out messages in morse code on your skin (he will ALWAYS find a way to wiggle his hands under your clothes. Mans is KING of skin to skin contact. Despite how cold he gets he will never toss an opportunity to sleep as stripped down and close to nakey with you as possible, just to feel your body heat against him. You are his weighted blanket, you just… quiet his mind. And you know each other so, so intimately. You know him, you know each little cue. You know how he lets out a big sigh when he starts to fall asleep, you know how his hands will eventually still and be briefly replaced by his feet rubbing against each other for a few minutes before he falls asleep. If you’re cool with it he also will do cricket feet against your feet too. Might feel weird at first but it’s so goddamn cute that he subconsciously does self soothing stuff to you too. It’s like how animals will groom each other on instinct. On some deep base primal level of caveman monkey amoeba brain, his instincts go oh this is relaxing and soothing, let’s soothe our mate too. If we need comforting and soothing we’re gonna comfort and soothe our mate too. Duh. obviously. And it’s so fucking sweet and you could never put into words how deeply and profoundly those mundane little moments are. How much they affect you, how deeply and vastly they really mean to you. 

And the thing is your EXISTENCE soothes Leo. It really does. He just thinks you’re so goddamn cute. Like he actually gets occasional cuteness aggression because of you. He can and will bite you. Leo was NOT a biter before he met you. But then again you didn’t scream laugh until you met him. Really a sign of true love. So sometimes in the morning when you’re all sleepy and soft, all flushed and warm and mushy he just. Can’t help himself. It’s like a dream of a playground all for him. He kisses you and touches you so you don’t wake up too fast. He mumbles little sweet things into your ear. He pulls you sideways so you’re at an angle on your bed. You’re both probably close to being naked to begin with since we established how much this man LOVES skin to skin contact. Needs it even. He never slept in his underwear or naked before you. He does it BECAUSE of you. So he adjusts you and he adjusts himself until he’s kissing your stomach, your hips, your thighs. You’re probably just in undies and one of his big old MIT shirts (he got a few in the biggest sizes they had before he graduated so you’d have extras as big loose sleep shirts. He was successful.) so he pushes your shirt up enough to kiss your tummy, all soft and relaxed since you’re still mostly asleep. Or at least pretending to be. If he’s feeling particularly playful he might stick his tongue in your belly button, just to see if you’re awake by if you start giggling or not. Regardless, soon he gets down to the real meat and potatoes of it all. He holds your legs, he kisses your thighs, he just… takes his time. He revels in you, in touching and feeling and smelling every inch of you. He nibbles at that fleshy little part of your upper inner thigh that he just loves to bite and suck on so much, he’ll leave a few hickeys on those spots (leo obsessed with hickeys anon you are SO RIGHT I didn’t forget about you dw <3) and he won’t say this out loud because he always worries he’ll sound like some kind of psychotic cannibal or something, but he loves the taste of your skin in his mouth. He never, ever felt that before you. He didn’t know you COULD feel that before you. You’re both just so compatible on a chemical, primal level that it’s really mind blowing. He loves the way your skin kind of sticks to his a little when you’re both warm and cozy and a little clammy from sleep. He eats that shit up. Would it make him want to peel his fucking skin off when it happens with anyone else? Sure! But he LOVES that shit with you.

He’s just reeeeally gonna take his time with this. He just rubs his face into your mound or bulge, nuzzles in and takes a big deep breath of that raw, warm, sleepy you smell. He hums contently, kissing and languidly mouthing at you through your underwear until they’re nice and wet with his spit and your juice. If he’s feeling extra cheeky he will remove them with his mouth and teeth too. And lemme just say this one very concise statement. Leo Valdez eats you out for his pleasure. The thing is he knows EXACTLY what to do and how to do it to make you sing like a goddamn canary. He knows your body so well, so intimately that it’s freaky at times if you think about it too much. So on mornings like this, he can really just slow down and appreciate you. Each and every little drip and twitch, every ridge, every bump, every soft little wet achy squishy part of your insides. He eats that shit up.

Literally and figuratively. It’s sensory fucking heaven for him, and by the time you finally wake up, dripping and blissed out from the countless orgasms he’s coaxed right into his waiting mouth, you seriously think this is another wet dream for several minutes. Also he’s doing all of this with no hands. He loves using his hands on you a lot, but on slow mornings when he’s trying to keep his thoughts from going too fast right out the gate, while he’s waiting for his adderall to kick in and needs something to focus on, what he focuses on is you. How you taste in his mouth, how you make his whole body feel tingly and fuzzy and crackly, how he can feel ripples of pleasure working steadily through him as he ruts and grinds into the mattress a little, too distracted by how you feel and taste and smell, by the sound of his mouth expertly vacuum sealing onto your hole while he tongue fucks you to think about anything else. Anything at all. His nose is rubbing and bumping against your sensitive spot while his tongue rolls and rubs and flicks like he was born to do it. His hair, a little frizzy from sleep and smushed flat on one side, tickles your stomach. 

By the time you DO eventually wake up, you might as well stay in bed. Hell, you’re already soaking wet (and he’s about to bust a nut at any moment) and you know you won’t be able to walk anyway. Besides, who could function after waking up to something like that? No one. There will NEVER be a better opportunity to let him go down on you while you play with his hair, just so you can turn the tables and overstimulate him right back than mornings like this. It’s really a perfect moment in a string of perfect moments, all because they’re spent together. 

[jungkoode]

Hello Monarch! Inspired by an ask you received, I was wondering what would FMU!Jungkook and KGP!Jungkook think of each other!

THEY WOULD ABSOLUTELY DESPISE EACH OTHER.

Like, to the point of war crimes. KGP!JK and FMU!JK meeting would be a psychological horror movie disguised as a comedy. No one would be safe.

KGP!JK would take one long look at FMU!JK—hair a mess, shirt inside out, socks mismatched, holding a mug that says “I hate mornings”—and visibly grimace. He wouldn’t even say anything at first, just radiate this aura of tactical judgment so loud it practically echoes. FMU!JK, still blinking sleep out of his eyes and scratching his stomach like a raccoon just crawled out of his dreams, would clock that expression and go, “Yo. You got a problem?”

And thus begins the apocalypse.

KGP!JK would scoff. “This is what I look like in another timeline? You look like you smell like vape juice and moral failure.”

FMU!JK would squint at him. “Okay and you look like you sleep in a gun safe. Take that compression shirt off before it compresses the last shred of personality out of you.”

The tension would be astronomical. KGP!JK is up at 5AM, already done with cardio, weapons drills, and a dissertation on loyalty. FMU!JK wakes up at noon, rolls off the couch, and tries to microwave leftover pizza without opening his eyes. They judge each other with every breath.

KGP!JK throws the first dig, obviously. “She has you trained like a dog.”

FMU!JK doesn’t even blink. “You memorized her perfume notes like you were prepping for chemical warfare. You built a scent profile. Shut the hell up.”

“You carry around a FLASK that smells like her.”

“YOU. NEED. HER. TO. SLEEP.” FMU!JK is pointing now. “DON’T EVEN START WITH ME.”

The fight devolves from there. KGP!JK calls him embarrassing. FMU!JK accuses him of weaponizing brooding. KGP!JK claims he has discipline; FMU!JK says he has repressed feelings and a superiority complex. KGP!JK says FMU!JK cries after sex. FMU!JK says it was once, and it was because he hit his head on the headboard. (“Real men hydrate AND feel things, bro.”)

And then, of course, the ass argument starts.

Sunshine walks by. Sunshine (KGP!Y/N), in leggings and a tactical hoodie, minding her business—and KGP!JK tracks her movement like a missile lock.

FMU!JK catches it immediately and groans. “Bro. You’re pathetic. Stop staring at her goddamn ass.”

KGP rolls his eyes. “I appreciate form.”

“You’re pathetic,” FMU hisses. “She walked by and you practically tilted like a SIM with broken coding.”

As if on cue, Nix walks past in the background.

KGP scoffs, jerking his chin. “And I’m the perv?”

FMU doesn’t even look—just waves his hands in the air, full Italian chef mode. “It’s not about the ass, bro. It’s about the KITTY. The essence. The divine. You know nothing.”

KGP just stares at him like he spoke in tongues. “What the actual fuck are you saying.”

“You’re tasteless. You see cheeks. I see god,” FMU says, gesturing passionately with both hands like he’s testifying in church.

“I can’t believe we share a genome. You’re a disgrace to the Jeon brand.”

“You look like you haven’t experienced joy since 2018. C’mere, let me fix it—"

And then it’s on. SWINGING. Like actual physical combat. Someone definitely throws a couch cushion. There’s probably a sandal flying through the air. FMU!JK tries to put KGP!JK in a headlock while yelling about pH balances and the sanctity of meow meow.

Sunshine walks in, blinks once, turns around. Nix takes a sip of her coffee and goes, “They’re still at it?”

And both of them, at the exact same time, still strangling each other:

“I’M THE BETTER VERSION.”

Blocked. Both. Immediately.

They’re still fighting in the void. No one’s intervening. God abandoned the server.

[mariasont]

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you, one you didn't want to name, had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course — Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy — but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under — okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was, sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in, not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh, loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart? There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table, just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there, only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle, just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him, memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually, the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed, they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras, he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later, when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin, that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift — quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly  chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare.

"You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud, it doesn't have to be, but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters — just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything.

You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it.

He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long.

His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs. He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch —" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these —" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "— right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

Suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop.

A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns — your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron —" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to —" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just —" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please."

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then — he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then — oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then — he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming — the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher — "I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything —the fullness, every drop of his cum —settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him. 

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this, enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod, or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no — hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. 

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary — just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it. 

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does —"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully  aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back. 

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes, even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else, everything outside of that, is temporarily shut out. When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just —,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I —,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches, not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just, I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

[cod-bin]

you think i don’t notice?

part 2 to don’t tempt me

fuckboy!simon x nerdy!reader

wc: 6.7k

cw: slight mentions of sex, heavy swearing by simon, angst (only a little), angry!simon (not at reader), jealousy

Simon doesn’t leave your room.

Not after he kicks her out. Not after she slams the door like it’s you she’s mad at and not herself for getting caught.

He just… stays.

Sits on the edge of your bed like he has any business being there, like he hasn’t spent the last six months pretending you don’t exist. You, with your messy ponytail and hoodie sleeves stretched over your hands and tissues peeking from under your pillow like some kind of sick gremlin.

You don’t know what to do. What to say.

So you just sip the tea he brought you. Let the silence stretch.

“I thought you hated me,” you say finally, voice still raw.

Simon huffs a quiet sound. “Didn’t say I liked you.”

That makes you smile. Barely. But he sees it.

His gaze flicks to you — sharp, unreadable — and then just stays there. Watching.

You clear your throat and look away, suddenly too aware of how small your bed is. How close his knee is to yours. How he’s still here and hasn’t gone back to texting whatever girl he’d probably had lined up for tomorrow.

Your stomach flips.

You hate him a little. For making you feel like this. For confusing you. For being decent when he’s supposed to be a total ass.

“You can go, you know,” you whisper. “I’m not gonna, like… die or something.”

He doesn’t move. “Didn’t ask.”

“You’re not staying out of guilt, are you? ’Cause of what she said?”

Simon’s jaw ticks. That muscle again.

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“Then why are you—?”

“Because you’re sick,” he says. “And you looked like you were about to fucking cry, and I didn’t like that.”

You blink. Hard.

“Oh.”

That’s all you manage.

Simon runs a hand through his hair and exhales like you’ve exhausted him, like you’re the problem, not the girl who stomped in and insulted you in your own goddamn room.

“You ever gonna tell me?” he says suddenly.

You frown. “Tell you what?”

“Who hurt you.”

Your blood freezes.

“What—?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, low. “You flinch every time someone raises their voice. Every time someone touches you. Even when it’s me.”

You look down at your tea.

“It’s nothing,” you lie.

He doesn’t believe you. You can feel it.

But he lets it go.

For now.

You should feel relieved. But something in your chest twists, tight and aching.

You’re not sure when it started — the wanting.

Maybe it was when he wiped your nose without laughing. Maybe when he kicked out that girl without hesitating. Maybe it’s been building under your skin this whole time, slow and sharp like a splinter.

Whatever it is, it’s worse now. He’s too close. Too real.

You curl into yourself, trying to disappear.

Simon shifts. Leans back against your headboard like he lives there.

“You always this quiet?”

You shrug.

“Figured you’d be the type to never shut up.”

You glance at him. “Why?”

He smirks. “Glasses. Big words. You know. Nerd shit.”

“You think I’m a nerd?”

He grins wider. “Don’t play coy. You literally labeled your tea mugs.”

You flush. “I was sick. I didn’t want to—”

“You’re adorable when you’re defensive.”

You blink.

Did he just—?

Simon doesn’t look at you. Just casually tosses it out there like it’s not going to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

You sink deeper into your blanket.

Then—

Your phone buzzes.

You grab it instinctively, thumb swiping across the screen before your fevered brain catches up.

Simon doesn’t move, but something shifts in the air.

“You texting someone?” he asks.

You glance up.

His voice is too light.

You hesitate. “It’s just— this guy from class. He was asking how I’m feeling.”

Simon’s eyes darken. Just slightly.

“This guy.”

You nod, oblivious. “Yeah. He brought me cough drops once. He’s nice.”

Simon doesn’t respond. Just stares at the wall like it insulted him.

You scroll. Smiling faintly.

Simon’s hand twitches.

“What’s so funny?” he mutters.

“Nothing,” you say, looking up. “He just said I sounded cute when I was all congested.”

You’re teasing. Sort of.

Simon isn’t laughing.

“He say that before or after he asked if you were alone?”

You pause.

“What?”

“Don’t trust guys like that.”

Your brow furrows. “You mean nice guys?”

“I mean guys who see a girl who’s sick and vulnerable and think ‘oh cool, now’s my chance.’”

Your stomach twists. “You don’t even know him.”

“And you do?” Simon snaps. “What, you think he actually gives a fuck how you’re feeling? You think he’s checking in because he cares? No. He wants something.”

You stare at him.

“Why do you care?” you ask quietly.

Simon’s mouth opens, then closes.

His jaw clenches again.

“Because I’m your fucking roommate,” he mutters.

You nod slowly. “Right.”

Silence.

Then—

“You like him?” Simon asks suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“That guy. You like him?”

You hesitate.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Simon doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Then he laughs. Bitter. Mean.

“He wouldn’t last a day with you.”

Your throat tightens. “What the hell does that mean?”

He turns to you. Finally looks at you.

“You think he’d take care of you like this?” he says. “You think he’d sit here while you look like hell and wipe your nose and make sure you’re breathing okay?”

You flinch. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“I did it anyway,” he says, low.

You don’t know what to say.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he mutters. “Whatever this is.”

You stare at him.

“Then why are you here?”

He looks at you. Quiet. Serious.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I keep thinking about you. Even when I don’t want to.”

Your breath catches.

Simon leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clenched.

“I hear you through the walls,” he says. “When you cry. When you laugh. When you talk in your sleep.”

Your cheeks burn.

“I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“You do,” he says. “You said my name once.”

Your heart stops.

“What—?”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease.

Just looks at you like he’s watching something fall apart.

“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to not want you.”

The air leaves your lungs.

Simon leans in.

Not close enough to touch.

Just close enough to ruin you.

“If that guy texts you again,” he says, “you tell him not to bother.”

You swallow. “Why?”

He looks at your mouth.

Then your eyes.

“Because I’m the one who hears you through the walls.”

And then—

He kisses your forehead.

Just once.

Soft.

Barely there.

But it shatters you.

Simon pulls back.

Stands.

Doesn’t say a word as he moves to the door.

He pauses.

Glances over his shoulder.

“You need anything,” he says, “you call me. Not him.”

You nod, speechless.

And then he’s gone.

Leaving behind a mug of tea, a thousand questions, and a silence that sounds a whole lot like the start of something else.

You were feeling a little better.

Not good, not normal, but better. Enough to shower. Enough to pull on fresh sweats and eat half a bowl of soup without gagging. Your nose was still red, your eyes still glassy, but the fever was gone, and you could finally breathe without feeling like your ribs might crack.

Still, you hadn’t left your room.

Not since that night.

Not since Simon kicked the girl out, sat on your bed like he belonged there, and touched you like you mattered. Like he saw you for the first time.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

He’d been distant ever since — not cold, exactly, just… unreadable. No more girls. No more music shaking the walls. He hadn’t said anything, but you could feel him in the quiet. In the way he paused in the hall. In the untouched takeout that showed up outside your door, no note, no explanation.

He hadn’t checked on you again.

And you hadn’t dared knock on his door.

You were curled up in bed, watching some old documentary through one barely-open eye, when you heard it — the heavy thud of boots in the hallway. His door creaked open. Then closed again.

Then silence.

Then your door.

It didn’t open. Just a knock. Once.

Your heart jumped.

“Yeah?” you called, voice still scratchy.

The door cracked. And there he was.

Simon Riley.

Gray hoodie. Sweats slung low on his hips. One hand braced on the frame like he might change his mind.

You blinked. “Hi.”

He stared at you like he wasn’t sure why he came. Like he’d rehearsed something in his head and forgot all of it the second he saw you.

You tugged your blanket tighter. “What’s up?”

Simon didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned you — flushed cheeks, hair still damp from the shower, sleeves too long over your hands. You knew you looked fragile. You hated that he was the one seeing you like this again.

He finally spoke.

“You look like hell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Thanks.”

He stepped inside anyway.

Shut the door behind him.

Then leaned against it like he had nowhere else to be.

“Didn’t say it was a bad look,” he muttered.

You stared. “Are you flirting with me or trying to pick a fight?”

“Why would I flirt with you?”

“Ouch.”

Simon’s eyes flicked to yours, and something there made your breath hitch.

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice rough, “don’t get any ideas.”

You almost laughed. “Believe me, I wasn’t.”

He pushed off the door and crossed the room like it was nothing. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t spent months pretending you barely existed.

He grabbed the empty mug off your nightstand. Frowned at it.

“No tea?”

“I drank it.”

“No shit.”

He turned like he might take it back to the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“Wait.”

He paused.

You shifted awkwardly under the blanket, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Why are you… here?”

Simon didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just looked at you — really looked — and it made your stomach twist.

“You’re still sick,” he said finally.

“I’m getting better.”

“Didn’t ask.”

You huffed, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to your chest. “You’re being weird.”

He snorted. “You’re the weird one. Sittin’ in here like a damn ghost.”

“I’ve been recovering.”

He looked at you over his shoulder. “From the flu or from getting screamed at by that silicone-sculpted banshee?”

You blinked. “Both?”

He turned back around. Set the mug down. His shoulders were tense.

“You shouldn’t’ve opened the door,” he muttered.

“I didn’t,” you said. “She did.”

He didn’t respond.

Just paced a few steps away, hands on his hips. Like he had too much energy and no clue what to do with it.

“What’s your deal?” you asked, quieter now.

He shot you a look.

You sat up a little. “You’ve been… off.”

“I haven’t.”

“You haven’t brought anyone home in three nights.”

“So?”

“So I’m not complaining, but it’s weird.”

Simon’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. Frustrated.

“Maybe I don’t feel like listenin’ to some brat whine about thread count while I’m tryin’ to—”

He cut himself off.

You blinked. “While you’re trying to what?”

“Never mind.”

You tilted your head. “While you’re trying to pretend you don’t care about me?”

That stopped him cold.

His jaw flexed. His hands clenched. He turned to face you, slow and deliberate.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, low.

You smiled — tired, knowing. “You keep saying that, but you’re in my room.”

Simon stalked closer, eyes dark. “Because you’re sick.”

“You didn’t care before.”

“I didn’t know before.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Silence.

Thick enough to drown in.

Simon stood over your bed, jaw tight, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

You stared up at him, heart thudding. “Why do you care now?”

His gaze dropped to your lips. Then your knees pulled up to your chest. Then back to your eyes.

“You really wanna know?” he asked, voice like gravel.

You nodded.

He stepped closer.

And closer.

Until he was right in front of you, close enough that the heat from his body made your skin prickle.

Then he leaned down, braced his arms on either side of you, and looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that made him feel anything at all.

“I don’t,” he said.

You blinked. Breath caught.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, voice lower now. “You get sick, you get better — not my fuckin’ problem.”

Your chest ached. “Right.”

“But if I hear you cry because of someone I brought into this house again,” he said, tilting his head, “I will lose it.”

You swallowed. “Simon—”

“I’ll lose it,” he said again. “Because I’m not gonna watch someone tear you down when you’re already hanging on by a thread.”

You stared at him. “That… kinda sounds like caring.”

His mouth twitched. “It’s not.”

You smiled. Just a little. “Okay.”

He leaned in closer.

Close enough that his nose brushed yours. That his breath was warm on your cheek.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he whispered.

“You’re worse.”

He didn’t deny it.

And then — without thinking, without warning — his hand reached out. Fingers under your chin. Lifting your face to his.

Not kissing you. Not yet.

Just holding you there, eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize the exact version of you that made him lose control.

“You still feel like shit?” he asked.

“Less like shit,” you whispered.

“Good.”

Then he let go.

Straightened up.

Walked to the door like nothing happened.

Paused there, hand on the knob.

You watched him, heart still racing.

He looked over his shoulder. Met your eyes.

“Don’t go thinking I care.”

Then he left.

And shut the door behind him.

Your room was still too quiet.

You hadn’t said anything since Simon walked out last night.

Not when he brought you soup. Not when he leaned against your doorway and asked, “Need anything?” like it didn’t feel like his voice dragged hot iron down your spine. And definitely not when he stayed longer than necessary, standing there like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start.

You didn’t answer because you didn’t trust your voice. Or your face. Or the way something was cracking open between you two and he didn’t even seem to notice.

But he did.

You just didn’t know it yet.

You were curled under the blanket now, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, glasses slipping down your nose as you flipped another page of the book you weren’t reading. It was easier than looking at the door.

Because you knew he’d come in eventually.

He always did now.

The shift had been slow — from silence to tension, from passing jabs to something warmer, if not softer. But the edge never dulled completely. Not with Simon. Especially not when he didn’t want it to.

You heard the door creak open behind you.

“Still alive, then.”

His voice was lazy. But there was a tightness beneath it. Like he’d been rehearsing sounding casual.

You didn’t turn. “Barely.”

Footsteps. Closer.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered. “House’s been quiet. Almost peaceful.”

You scoffed into your blanket. “Guess your bimbos took the night off.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“I haven’t brought anyone home all week.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t like him. At all.

You turned to look at him, and he was already watching you.

Leaning against the frame. Hoodie half-zipped. Hair messy. Eyes dark.

You said nothing.

He stepped inside.

Something about his energy was different tonight. Less cocky. Less put together. Like whatever was usually holding him upright had been worn thin and now you were seeing what was underneath.

You sat up slowly, pulling your sleeves over your hands again.

Simon’s gaze flicked down. Noticed. Something flickered across his face.

“You mad at me?” he asked bluntly.

You blinked. “Why would I be mad at you?”

He didn’t answer.

You swallowed. “You’ve been… weird.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve been weird.”

More silence.

Then he said your name.

Just that.

Soft. Like a question and a warning all at once.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally, because your chest was too full and your head was too hot and everything about him made you feel like you were drowning in something you weren’t supposed to want. “Why are you being nice to me now?”

“I’m not,” he muttered.

You blinked at him.

Simon looked away.

“You’re just…” He exhaled sharply, jaw ticking. “You’re too fuckin’ quiet all the time. And then when you do talk, it’s like you think I can’t hear you.”

You frowned. “What?”

He stepped closer.

You felt the shift in the air immediately. The pull. The way he always managed to fill a room, even without touching anything.

“You think I don’t notice you?”

His voice was low, dangerous in the way a storm is dangerous — not because it’s loud, but because you can feel it coming.

“Every fucking night I brought someone home, you think I didn’t hear you breathing through the wall? You think I didn’t feel it when you went quiet, like you were trying not to exist?”

He leaned closer. You could feel the heat coming off him now, smell the faint smoke of his cologne.

“I see everything, sweetheart. That’s the problem.”

Your heart stopped.

Literally stopped.

“Simon…”

“You think I was ignoring you?” His eyes pinned you in place. “I was. I fucking had to.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I’d come home, see your light on, know you were in here reading some stupid ass book in that dumb oversized hoodie like you weren’t the most distracting fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You flinched. His voice wasn’t angry. But it was so raw it hurt to hear.

“And then I’d go in my room and I’d hear you—just existing—and I’d get fucking mad.” His tongue ran over his teeth. “At you. At me. At the whole fucking situation.”

You sat there frozen.

Still too sick to fight, too overwhelmed to speak.

Simon stepped forward again. You were face to face now, your knees nearly brushing his thighs where he stood.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You never got it.”

“Then tell me.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“I didn’t bring those girls home because I wanted to,” he said. “I brought them home because it was easier than thinking about you. About the way you look at me when you think I don’t see.”

You swallowed. Your voice barely worked. “You’re always so mean.”

His mouth twitched. “Because I didn’t want you to look back.”

Silence.

He sat down on the edge of your bed like the first night, his knees brushing yours. But this time, he didn’t look away.

“I’m not good at this,” he said, almost to himself. “At—feelings. At being… kind.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffed a soft laugh. Ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He looked at you again. And this time, the weight of it was unbearable.

You shifted. “Why are you here, Simon?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—

“I heard you crying last night.”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “Just… stood outside the door like a fucking idiot.”

You stared at him. Eyes hot.

“I wanted to come in. But I knew if I did, I’d say something dumb. Or too much. Or not enough.” His voice dropped. “And I couldn’t handle you flinching from me again.”

You blinked fast. “You make it really hard not to flinch.”

“I know.” He leaned in, elbows on his knees. “That’s why I’m trying.”

You stared at him. Hard.

“Do you even like me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled.

Then he said your name again.

Soft.

Real.

“I think I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

You didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare.

Simon looked away, jaw tight. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You shook your head. “That’s not a problem.”

He turned back toward you.

And for the first time in forever, he looked like he believed you.

Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to break him.

Or you.

You reached for him without thinking, fingers wrapping gently around his sleeve. He stilled. Let you.

He looked at your hand.

Then at your face.

“You’re still sick,” he muttered, but he didn’t move.

You smiled. “I’m always sick.”

Simon’s mouth twitched. His eyes softened.

He leaned in just enough to let his forehead touch yours.

No kiss.

Not yet.

Just heat and breath and a storm that didn’t want to pass.

“I’ll stay,” he said quietly.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed. “Okay.”

And for once, Simon didn’t run.

☆☆☆

part 3… will come with time. and my brain actually turning on

☆taglist☆

@little-mini-me-world @h0lydrag0ns @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pixiellove @fruitymoonbeams-blog @jokerivory @arrowacer @4ri3n @yasmin-003 @charliehunnamsleftsock @strawberrymilk99 @queenoflaflames @xigua2kuai5yijin @arnnf @genea-myers @elixir-of-dreams @turtlegreentia @pinkembodiment @bbygirl9

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Since Dream BBQ released I got an idea. Can you do Meanie!ENA x Shy!Fem! Reader where reader is from the human world and works as ENA's salespartner. You can also add teasing/limes if you'd like.

Yay! First Ena request since 2021 (I think lol)

I'll leave out the last part so this is completely sfw

....................

"You know, I'm still impressed that you could understand all these people. Are language barriers just...nonexistent here?"

"Barriers? What a silly prospect, dearest." Ena chuckled as she looked at the list of jobs you were both assigned to carry out. "Let's proceed onwards. Everything we do will bring us one step closer to--turning off that goddamn smoke and giving the Boss a piece of my mind!!"

"Wah!" You jumped back in fright as her "meanie" side started yelling out of the blue, crushing the paper in her grasp.

Having known her for so long, you should be used to this being a daily occurrence...yet somehow she never fails to startle you.

"Did you forget the mission?! This isn't a date!! Put those squishy eyes to work and start looking for that last pet...or baby..or..or whatever!!"

"...y-yes ma'am." Sighing, you tried to shake off your nerves and search for the final trail of blood, not wanting to get her any angrier.

You weren't sure how you winded up together, or how you even got thrown into this strange world in the first place, but Ena was the first to find you. She dragged you into her "business", where you also met Froggy and learned more about what they did.

While you didn't fully understand everything, you knew this much: you've been going around doing favors for people who, for some reason, despised Ena's species. Even if you didn't know what they were saying, their general attitude towards her implies that she did something really, really terrible...or they could be mistaking another Ena's actions for hers.

But you didn't know anything about her past, nor what her kind might've did except exist, though it was through your intervention alone that helped most clients to calm down.

Sometimes, it was difficult for you to speak up given your shy demeanor, which hasn't quite left your personality even now. Although with time it got easier, and Ena helped you come out of that shell more and more.

Of course, you made sure clients fully paid you both for your services--but instead of using cash like you expected, the popular currency here was apparently "chocolates". They were edible, although Ena advised you to hold onto them.

So this was pretty much your new life, and somewhere down the line she became your girlfriend. Her "Salesperson" side loved you dearly and made sure you didn't put yourself in any danger, often speaking on your behalf.

The only problem was getting along with her Meanie side to where her outbursts didn't scare you anymore, and perhaps...you could uncover that bit of softness hiding behind her rough exterior.

That became your mission, and you hoped to make at least a little bit of progress if you're going through all of this trouble to find the Genies and convince them to clear the smoke.

After finding the last pet and bringing it back to Shoryo, you received a handful of chocolates. It was then you realized you've lost track of Ena and searched around the land, eventually finding her near the bridge.

A ratlike person was seemingly guarding it, hoarding different things and looking very alarmed at her presence.

He began yelling in Italian, stomping around and flailing his arms about until suddenly--

He collapsed, fainting much like a goat would when startled. But he stopped moving entirely, and Ena just stared down at him.

"What the hell? I was gone for five minutes!" Mortified, you rushed over and kneeled down. "Sir, can you hear me? Are you-?"

"Don't even tell me you were gonna say "alright". What does it look like?!"

"We have to help him, Ena." Looking up, you saw Meanie's expression remain unchanged, and you sighed. "Please. I know the lost witch probably went over this bridge, but..it feels wrong to cross without his permission."

"....."

"Pretty please?"

"....ugh fine. Let me at him." With a huff, she urged you to move aside while she somehow magically revived the hoarder, who seldom thanked you both and apologized for his outburst.

The stresses of his work were creeping up on him, and apparently he was growing paranoid of the purple villager who stood on a nearby decrepit building, convinced they were scheming to take his "property".

So he tasked--or demanded, rather--that you covered their eyes with something.

Eventually, your aimless wandering led you to a small green alien who was trapped within a bubblegum vending machine with three legs. They were eager to sell you products, but after recognizing Ena, they seemed frightened and insisted they couldn't sell anything to her.

"Okay, now you're being ridiculous." You frowned. "You have something we want, and we're trying to-"

"Guys, guys! Wait!!"

Turning to your girlfriend, you could see Meanie's eyes growing wide--as though she was terrified of something. Her head was spinning, her limbs discombobulating.

It was unlike anything you've seen before. "Ena..?"

"I'M NOT DOING WHAT YOU SAY I'M DOING!!" She yelled out. "I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING!! I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING AT ALL-!"

"Ena! Hey. Hey."

Feeling hands on her shoulders, she suddenly looked at you. Her eyes were still wide, but she had seemingly returned to reality as she calmed down. "[Y/n]?"

"Yeah, it's me." You reassured, moving to take her shaking hands into yours. "You're alright. I believe you."

"........"

Somehow, the vending machine alien was moved by your words, and allowed her to buy one thing and one thing only: mayonnaise that was apparently good for the eyes, but you both knew what to do with it.

Before setting off to complete the hoarder's request, you wandered around a bit to see if anybody else needed help.

But you kept thinking back to Ena's apparent panic attack and stopped for a moment, clearing your throat. "So...um-"

"You heard nothing."

"....did you even know what I was gonna-?"

"Don't back-sass me, sweetheart!" She spun around to face you angrily, fists shaking. "You wanna walk the road alone?!"

"No." You put your hands up in defense. "I'd....much rather walk it with you. Wherever it might lead us, I hope we can face it together."

Meanie blinked, surprised by your words. They sounded so sweet, so endearing...and it made a slight blush rise to that specific side of her face. "Ugh....y-you're lucky you're cute." She grumbled, handing you the paper. "Let's just go find that bug-eyed moron and be done with this."

"Alright." Nodding, you led the way, although occasionally you'd glance back at your girlfriend to see her geometric claws trying to cover up the blush--to no avail. You smiled sweetly, and she just stared at you, the burning sensation getting worse. "You know, you're not too bad, Meanie."

"What did you do to me? Why does my face feel like it's on fire??"

"It's called "being bashful", honey. Humans feel that sometimes, especially around the person they love." You winked.

She just mumbled something unintelligible, her hat hiding her eyes from you, but you both kept continuing forward.

'Huh, there's a way to crack through that exterior after all..'

[angelyuji]

here me out... yandere nolan x yandere debbie x reader... this was kinda inspired by a dream and also a fanfic i read about odysseus x penelope x reader (that was fluff tho lol)

threesome with two bad bitches…. (gender neutral headcanons, most of the dialogue parts are f!reader tho sawwy ☹)

tw // kidnapping, implied drugging, sex mentioned, f!reader in dialouge, nolan is an enabler and a manipulator, debbie is down bad for u

18+!!!!!!!!!!! MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!!!!!!

listen… put me in a room with nolan and debbie, one of us coming out pregnant (nolan)

anyway let me cook (might cook odypenreader fanfics next idk im very odyssey/epic-brained rn)

nolan and debbie are very freaky as a couple, they get down and dirty bro

they’re kinky and freaky and theyre down to do anything

they met you at a bar during a date and they’re like “ohh theyre cute” and at first it really was just a kink thing, debbie likes making out with nolan as you go down on her and nolan likes making out with debbie as he pounds the shit out of you

sometimes debbie puts on a strap and you’ve got the both of them fucking the shit out of you and it’s great

sorry im freak gooner i want debbie and nolan to split me like a goddamn kitkat bar

anyway, it really was just sex at first

then it starts being more, with them inviting you on their dates or just inviting you over to spend time with them

they’re constantly touching you, not even in a sexual way,  but like hugging and kissing

debbie and nolan are highkey obsessed with you

nolan brings it up first tho

“so… about that girl…”

“(y/n).” debbie bumps her hips against his, continuing to cook as nolan dices.

“right, (y/n).” nolan puts down the knife, turning to look at debbie. she stop stirring to look back, a small smile resting on her face. “she’s cute, isn’t she.” nolan’s eyes search his wife’s face. “we have fun with her, right?”

debbie smiles, putting a hand on her husband’s bicep, “yeah, i like her too, nolan.” she turns back to cook, “we can bring it up to her tonight over dinner.”

nolan hugs debbie from behind, “you know exactly what’s on my mind, woman.” he presses a kiss to her neck.

debbie laughs, “probably because it’s on my mind too.”

that isn’t to say that debbie isn’t into you either, she’s really into you too but nolan is more forward than her

they invite you for dinner and you guys are chill, you’re still under the impression that this whole thing is just for fun. you’re not going to get into a relationship with a married couple, but sex is fine cuz yk… its sex

so when they bring it up to you, saying how they’re both into you and they want to give it a shot, you’re like…. um no lol

which pisses nolan off and makes debbie sad :(((( (why would u do that FAWK YOU)

they don’t say anything at first tho, they’re like “oh! um. fine. ig.” the mood is killed tho so ur like lemme leave and then debbie and nolan have a conversation.

“i guess we can’t make her be with us.” debbie laughs, weakly. “i don’t know, i guess i thought she felt the same as us.” debbie continues to ramble and nolan sits down next to her, “i’m so embarrassed, nolan.” she rests her head on his shoulder.

“i was there too. if im not embarrassed, why are you?” he presses a kiss to her forehead and she sighs. a moment of silence passes before nolan speaks up again, “debbie, we could make her be with us. it wouldn’t take much.” debbie stiffens.

“nolan…”

“we like her.” nolan sneaks an arm around her waist, “and she likes us too. we just have to help her realize it.”

nolan and debbie are patient people. debbie loves nolan, so she trusts him. so if it means kidnapping you and stockholm syndroming you into loving them… i mean…

you scream into your gag, but no one comes to save you. you rest your head against the wall, exhausted. you had been trapped in their basement for the last couple days, chained to a bed, screaming till you fell asleep. you were freezing, itchy, hungry, and to make matters worse, your throat hurt. you let yourself rest, no amount of screaming was going to save you. after a couple minutes, you hear the door creak open. two sets of feet quietly come downstairs. “are you done?” nolan looks bored and debbie smacks his arm.

“are you alright, sweetheart?” she bends down to cup your cheek. you lean into the warmth of her hand. “we wanted to come down here earlier, but we were worried your… unrest… would upset mark.” she looks at you, eyes full of worry. you mumble into your gag. debbie moves to pull it, but nolan makes a noise of complaint.

“she’s not ready yet.” he stands with his arms crossed, menacing.

debbie rolls her eyes, “she’ll be good, nolan. have faith in our girl.” she looks at you, “you’ll be good, right?” you nod. she pulls the wet gag off of you.

“please, debbie, let me go. i-i don’t know why you guys are doing this, but-” your throat burns and you cough. debbie coos, gesturing to nolan for something. he hands her a glass of water. she helps you drink, tilting the glass. she pets your hair as you greedily gulp down water, some of it spilling down the sides of your mouth. nolan bends down, gently wiping your mouth with his thumb. debbie smiles, using her sweater to dry your tears.

“you’re not understanding, (y/n). we love you.” nolan’s thumb presses against your lips.  

debbie pets your hair, “we really only want you to love us back.”

[readwithsahana]

Champagne-soaked 💋 LN4

pairing: lando norris x photographer!reader (first person pov)

warnings: implied smut, swearing, filming the implied smut- (its not that bad, trust.)

You are one of McLaren’s photographers for Lando. You loved your job but found it very hard to ignore how attractive the Brit was. After a well-deserved race win for him, you go to his driver’s room to get some post-race win content but you both end up doing some other things…

sahana here…hey guys, so i don’t know where this idea came from (lando’s 2023 sg gp pics, definitely those 🤭) but i hope you enjoy reading!!

———————————————————————

“It’s a McLaren 1-2 yet again, as Lando Norris takes the first step of the podium here in Singapore.”

The McLaren Garage was roaring, cheers going all around.

I grabbed my digicam out, a new thing they’ve asked us Socials managers to do, to take candid polaroids.

I took the camera and snapped a few pics of Stella being picked up by Zak and twirled around as they celebrated.

We watched from below as Oscar and Lando sprayed each other with champagne, both of them getting drenched.

There were a lot of perks, being one of McLaren’s photographers. Like going around the world, and seeing the race action up close but to you, the biggest one was getting to be around Lando every weekend. Who doesn’t love some eye candy at work?

After the interviews, they made their way to the driver rooms, to cool down. And as a good photographer, I know the best content is the post race ones, the fans love that- and maybe so did I, just a teeny tiny bit. I knock on the door labeled ‘4’, as I get the camera out.

“Hey Land- Oh, uh…”

I almost choke on air as I see a shirtless Lando appear infront of me. One thing about the Singapore grand prix, is that it’s warm, like really warm. Sweat drops were splattered onto his toned chest and the champagne from earlier dripping from his hair.

He smirks at my reaction, amused by how stunned I looked.

“Need the content, huh?”

I nod and brush away any thoughts that were surging going through my mind right now, composing myself. I give him an awkward smile as he lets me in. I try to distract myself from how…well let’s face it, sexy, he looked right now.

To be honest, I’ve been at this job for about 2 months now and I’ve seen a lot. I’m there when he’s getting out from his car, or in the ice bath, or walking in the paddock and interacting with fans, I’m always with him and I can’t lie I’d love to turn certain…dreams into reality but I’d never - I mean I’d lose my job probably, no, definitely.

I grip my camera as best as i can, my hands were weirdly sweaty…wonder why…and then switch the settings, getting ready to record.

“Okay can you say something like ‘thanks for the support’ and talk about the win?”

The young Brit nods, as he puts his fireproof back one, the fabric sticking to his skin outlining his defined body as if it wasn’t hard enough to stay focused. God, why?

I spot a curl of Lando’s hair out of place, and can’t help but want to fix it.

“One second, can I just?-“

He’s confused for a second but sees me signal to his hair and lets me fix it up. I can see his body tense a little as I move closer to him. I push that curl back into place, and brush out a few other rough spots. I feel the heat radiate off Lando, the sickeningly sweet smell of champagne sharp in the air. My heart was beating out my chest, the distance between me and him less than my will to live.

Was it warm in here? It surely felt like it. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, tinted reddish-pink.

My train of thought was broken off by a beeping sound from my camera. The sound made me jump back off him. I tried my best to brush off whatever unspeakable visions kept popping into my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m his goddamn photographer!?

“Uh- So, you ready?”

If i completely ignore the weird tension in the air, it’ll be fine…right? right.

I pressed record then he started thanking all the fans, and saying how happy he was that he won. I smiled from the other side of the camera at his proud tone and the way his lips curled up every time he mentioned the win.

After the video, there was just a few more photos to take for the socials managers to post later.

“Can you do the winner pose?”

“Winner pose?”

“Yeah the one all the winners do, you know? The cheering on one.”

I do the act out the pose that everybody does, when they win or do something well and he lets out a soft chuckle at my demonstration.

“So the usual one?”

“Yeah but just, like a winner.”

His dimples show up with that signature Lando smirk - the one that makes any girl fall to her knees swoon.

I click a few more pictures and go through them, showing them to Lando. I pull up next to him and face the camera screen towards him.

“Fans are gonna love that.”

“Just the fans?” He tilts his head to the side, with a pout looking at me. Shit, that was cute.

“Well who else?” I roll my eyes playfully, masking the violent butterflies i’m feeling right now. He smiles seeing the photos scanning through each of them, towering over me as he looks closer at one.

I felt some of the champagne and sweat soak through my McLaren team gear. My cheeks flare up, from him being so close and a cold sweat runs over my body. What is happening with me, you work for him?!

“They look good.”

“Thanks…”

I turn to face him forgetting how close we actually were standing. My breathing hitched as his face was less than a hands lengths away from mine.

“I uh-“

His lips crashed into mine.

Hands running wild, his gripping on to my waist. Mine find my way to his hair as though it were instinct. I can taste the champagne on his lips, sweet, leaving me craving for more. Our bodies pressed up against each other, both of us now sweaty and champagne soaked.

But i couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut telling me to pull away. I could lose my job for this, i could lose everything for this. Forcing myself to pull my lips away, it really did take all of my strength not to keep kissing the McLaren driver.

“Lando…I can’t.”

His cheeks were stained pink and warm from the kiss. He looked so majestic right now, it physically hurt to not kiss him again.

“Wha- Why? What happened?”

His brows furrowed, blue eyes staring at me with a mix of concern and frustration. Fuck, this was hard.

“I’m your photographer, I’m sorry I can’t…do this with you. I could lose my job, Lando.”

“Only if they found out, right?” His smirk was back. The corners of his eyes crinkling again like they always did. I took a second to think about it…

He wasn’t wrong. Even if he was, I wouldn’t agree.

“Only if they found out.”

I connect our lips again, the feeling electric. This time it was deeper, more passionate, more…needy.

Lando was riding a high like no other. Winning the Singapore grand prix and getting the girl? Though he’d like to consider this reward better than the trophy.

I reach over, not breaking the kiss, to keep the camera down on a nearby table but was stopped by his warm hands gently gripping mine.

“Turn it on.” Lando’s eyes were dark, lust-filled, tone gentle but assertive. He knew what he was asking for.

“Are you sure…?”

The young brit hummed into my skin, as he laid soft kisses down my neck driving me crazy. Well, its not like i’m going to disagree when he’s so good at convincing.

The camera beeps again as it sets to record, perched up onto the table. I never thought I’d be okay doing something like this with my employers camera…let alone, be turned on by it.

Things only got steamier from there, the British driver loving every second of this. He’d been eying you ever since you got the job really. The way you’d be quiet in one of the corners, always focused on taking photos - never really engaging with anyone else but Lando himself. He had wanted this since he first met you.

———

That night almost felt like a dream. Lando dropped me off in his car after we finished and I woke up with a smile on my face, and a text from the 25 year old.

‘You left your camera with me. Hope you don’t mind, i sent myself the video 😉’

‘LANDO WHAT?’

‘What? You looked so good with me last night I couldn’t help myself, baby.’

‘…Just make sure it doesn’t get out.’

‘As if! You’re all for me, and for me only. Why would I let other people see it?’

“I’ll be there in an hour. To pick up the camera.”

“Just to pick up the camera?😏”

[bunji-enthusiast]

Bᴇᴇɴ ⵊɴsɪᴅᴇ

A/N… Rex is shameless, rrrrrgh. Wrote this with an energy drink and a dream fyi, so I’m still sleepy as shit.

the sun was shining and the birds were singing—which is what you’d be thinking if you were still snoring away in your beloved dreamland. but no, reality hits you hard as soon as you awoke. your gaze snaps to the man beside you, almost a little breathless; otherwise—out of it. then what happened last night comes rushing back to you, the memory makes you groan as you stretch, feeling the soreness not just down where it was; but virtually everywhere on your body. while you couldn’t complain about where you woke up, your body was hurting like hell. and it wasn’t even from last night alone. It was the entire goddamn week.

you telepathically curse the world. fuuuck.

however, you decide to check if you were really dreaming. you lift the blanket, your eyes razing over your spottily bruised skin; mainly on your hips. though to gods, you could feel some sort of warmth against the sensation of the bruises. you blinked slowly, a semblance of confusion crawls up your spine.

“holy shit.” you mutter, shifting so that you no longer were just laying down.

so you weren’t dreaming.

whatever you were feeling in your heart, or chest—this was just unreal. you actually fucked Rex.

you snort, holding your head in your hands. leaning against the headboard of the bed. well, atleast you were comfortable. because this was some bullshit.

there’s no way you actually did it, but the evidence was indisputably clear. you couldn’t deny it.

you were used to doing one-night stands, no strings attached. no feelings whatsoever involved, all purely for the moment of pleasure. however this was a different case.

Rex actually stayed. you weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel about that, or the whole thing in general. but he wasn’t awake yet—fortunately, so you could freak out about it in quiet silence. not have to be embarrassed. though that was not to deny you were already reaching that right now.

“you good?”

His hoarse voice snaps you out of your hazy daze, and you blink a few times when you fully register that Rex was—in fact awake. you let out a low squeak when you realize, groaning inwardly at yourself. “m’fine.”

“your lookin’ pretty red though.” he drawls, chuckling as he stretches his arms. this probably was nothing new to him, but this was certainly something new to you.

you did not like it. “guess we both know who to blame for that,” you bite, though there was no venom in your words. even despite the circumstances, you try to be a nice person.

“oh me?” he laughs, “damn. I’m hurt.”

however, even full well knowing he says that. it wasn’t true, he enjoys talking with you. so when he’s seen you with some less then inconspicuous assholes trying to pull shit on you last night at the square downtown. Rex most certainly didn’t take it well, he’s trying to be a better man sure, but that wasn’t stuff he takes lightly. even for a douche like him, and he recognizes it.

“like you’d be hurt by that.” you exhale, letting your shoulders deflate. despite being square as they’ll ever be when your in working form, you didn’t have the energy to muster something more. sometimes being around Rex made that part easier.

as per his cocky demeanor, he replies, “had me there, but damn, I didn’t know someone like you could moan so loud.”

“your a whiner.” you shot back with a grin, brow arched. Rex holds up his hands in mock-surrender.

“hey, I know game when I see it.”

“Oh do you?” you laugh, crossing your arms.

Rex props himself up on his elbows, biceps flexing against the strain of his weight. his tone drops low, “s’not meant to be an insult.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “I know. it’s just—“ you cut yourself off, now rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m just surprised.”

now that had him curious, Rex crawls over. for a moment, he hesitates, but against his usual gut instincts — he lends his hand for yours.

and you don’t stop him, of course you don’t. you should, but you didn’t.

“c’mon…” he questions, brows creased with concern. “you wanna tell me?” Rex will respect it if you decline doing so, but, he just senses like it’s something you need to get off your chest.

you take the moment, this transitionary pin willowed in oddly comforting silence. “it’s not like I haven’t fucked before, but usually… it’s all one-time thing with guys I’ve met just once.”

“Mhm.” he muttered, “but there’s more?”

you nod, “it’s always no strings attached, and they never stay—but you did.”

Rex pauses at that revelation, then chuckles. your prolonged sadness suddenly dissipates, wondering why he found it so funny.

“eh, shit. i get that.” he says, firmly pulling your hand closer, interlacing with his own. a lop-sided grin tugs at his lips, “i used to hop out a lot afterwards, but y’know i realized it just only made me shittier.”

you bark out a laugh at his comment, and honest to god that alone makes his heart swell. “I like getting to wake up to a face like yours anyways.” he adds finally, still grinning.

“oh fuck you.” you insult, but nothing behind it whatsoever draws any bite. usually they do of course, but now it’s just not working at all.

seriously, what the fuck was he doing to you?

“anytime of the day?” he interjects, looking straight at you. you shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t back down, instead inching closer to you.

oh my god, you think to yourself. Rex truly always had a way of subverting the mood, whether subtly, or otherwise in true fashion. it was a uniqueness only he could perform, frankly it had made you question once or twice why or how you even had a crush on Rex.

“have you got any shame?” you smile, watching as he drops himself right on top of you.

Rex hums to himself, as if he truly was taking your question into consideration. then he shakes his head, “nahhh, I lost that awhile ago.”

you had to stifle a laugh, “you know what? that tracks.” you reach for his face, carefully holding it. though, his eyes were really… pretty. oh damn this guy.

“exactly.” Rex inhales, leans right into your touch and lets out a long sigh. “damn sure I’m not the only one though.” at that, you shake your head in disbelief. Rex wasn’t wrong though, but you were sure he outmatches you in that department.

hell—Rex was naked an entire fight, and he felt no embarrassment about it whatsoever. you point your finger right into his temple, “you… Rex are lucky I haven’t kicked you out yet.”

“guess I am.” he responds, its a note of simplicity in he says it that makes you envious. “you know what would happen if you did?”

you only smile, then decide to humor him, “what?”

“I’d be so sad.” he says, laying his head against your chest. relishing in your warmth, and you blush. feeling the heat rise in your cheeks and neck, he was so unfairly beautiful when it looked like he was at peace.

you decide to pat his head, threading your thumb against the sleekness of his hair. “that’d be a first, but i would feel too bad.”

“good,” Rex sighs, almost impossibly nuzzling in closer. he moans, “keep doin’ that, please.”

you almost shiver at the noise, laying your other hand against his back. you fully commit to carding your fingers through his hair. “you really like this huh?”

“feels nice.” he admits, and you roll your eyes in slight disbelief. nonetheless—you continue doing as per his request, taking residence in this little world of yours.

if this had been you and him way earlier, maybe five months back. you would’ve accused Rex of being replaced by someone else entirely, because this was way too domestic. while it was unusual, you didn’t mind it. you definitely wanted going to commit this softness to memory, because you weren’t sure if you ever were going to see this side of him ever again.

a soft buzz interrupts your stream of thoughts, and you realize it was your phone. so you stop your ministrations, you hear a low huff immediately.

he curses breathlessly, motherfuck—he was really enjoying that. “who is it?” Rex mutters.

“dunno, I’m lookin.” you respond, dragging your free hand up and down against his back. continuing on with your other, you check the notification—

“shit.” you cursed, groaning. “it’s my brother.”

he lifts his head up, Rex was surprised, “you got a bro?”

you nod at him, ripping your eyes away from the screen. “he’s just asking if I could come over to his place to help with his shit. dumbass won’t specify.” you roll your eyes, “whatever he means.”

“well that’s stupid.” he replies, raising a brow. Rex leans forward, taking the phone out of your hand. you stutter at his sudden action, but he only just sets it face down on the space of the bed beside you. he then returns his gaze to you, and leans closer, waiting for you to be able to say yes.

you were confused, but then the realization sets in. you couldn’t repress your smile, leaning forward to slot your lips against his.

Rex hums, trying to let his mind get muddled. your the one who pulls back, and he stops. “the dude can wait can’t he?” he asks, and you shrug.

“maybe,” you replied, sighing as you your forehead against his. “but I can’t just stay in here the whole time. I’m gonna get questioned, and damn thoroughly might I add.”

Rex just only groans, rolling his eyes. he leans back a comfortable distance, a light flickering in his gaze, “I could come with you?”

“But then that’d just make things weird.” you refute, squaring your shoulders halfway. at your words, Rex laughs.

“I’ve been inside you.” he grins, resting his hand against your chest as if to emphasize his point.

“pretty sure we’re past that point.”

[pinkie-quinns]

(posting some old twitter threads here for posterity's sake)

Chrissy and Eddie breakup. She's a lesbian, apparently. Has finally come to terms with it. It's half a decade of Eddie's life in the dust. He... he doesn't exactly handle it well.

But Steve's there for him, offers Eddie a shoulder to cry on.

They’re drunk when Eddie says no one’s ever been in love with him. Not really. So Steve kisses him.

But Eddie’s straight.

He always has been.

He freaks the fuck out. Bolts. Lets the calls go to voicemail. He’d lost his partner and one of his best friends in the span of a week and it’s not fair and he’s pissed off beyond belief at Steve for doing it. 

But he’s also confused. And he also can’t stop thinking about it. 

He stews on it for weeks. Avoids mutual friends like the plague. The band lets people know he’s alive, apparently. Between losing Chrissy and Steve, he feels like there are chunks of him missing. So he gets drunk. Hooks up with blondes who kiss him all wrong. 

He’s five whiskeys deep and when he finds himself banging at Steve’s door. Steve answers with his hair mussed and his voice sleep-rough. And Eddie tells him he’s really fucking pissed at him. And Steve apologizes again. And it should be enough but it’s just fucking not. 

So Steve apologizes again and again and again, all blubbery and guilt-ridden. It's only making Eddie more angry. And he doesn’t know why. And he’s too drunk for this shit.

So he shoves Steve against the door and kisses him stupid. 

He wakes up in his own bed the next morning and he's sure he dreamt it. (He’s been dreaming it a lot lately.) But his lips are all stubble-scrapped and his mouth is cotton but he remembers how his friend's tongue tasted and he just.. Wants to cry.

Cause he’s not gay. He’s not. Other people are. Most of his friends are. And he’s fine with that! He’s been a good ally.

Well, maybe not to Chrissy. But only cause it broke his goddamn heart. Only cause he loved her so much. Only cause he'd never felt that way about anyone before or anyone since.

Except well— Fuck. Shit fucking fuck.

So he calls her. He’s kind of hoping it’ll ring through but she picks up straight away, lets out a soft little hey. And it breaks his heart all over again to hear her voice. But he takes a breath and says, “I kissed Steve.”

And she pauses. “You kissed Steve?"

And then he says, “Well, he kissed me first. But yeah. I got drunk. Jeez Chris, I got wasted. And then I— yeah, I kissed him.”

And she's quiet for a long time, just soft breathing and static. Then she says, “Thank you for telling me, Eddie.”

And oh. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?

So they talk about it. All of it. And he really listens to her this time. He couldn’t the last time, couldn’t hear over the sound of his heart fuckin’ shattering. Then he’s the one blubbering apologies cause his girl was going through all this shit totally alone and he is now way too familiar with how bad it sucks.

And then they talk about It. The big It. All the stuff her mama drilled into her brain since she was in diapers. All the names that got spat at him between hall shoves. Shit they couldn’t be 'cause then they’d be wrong, shit they couldn’t be 'cause then they’d be right. 

And when they’re done and the conversation turns into How’s the band? and Is Marcel still driving you crazy? Eddie feels ten pounds lighter, almost whole again. Like he was but better, all glued together in gold. Well, almost altogether.

He really needs to talk to Steve. 

He knocks on his door again that night. This time not at 1 AM, this time sober and remarkably dehydrated.

And Steve answers. This time put together, this time hair done and voice in its day pitch (Eddie kinda misses the sleep rasp). And he looks.. fuck. He looks perfect, doesn’t he?

Eddie’s spent all day mulling this conversation over. But standing here now he’s coming up blank. He mutters, “I- I was an asshole.”

Steve opens his mouth but Eddie just trucks on.

“–you were an asshole too, man. But me, uh, probably more?” 

And he ignores the way his stupid traitor eyes start to water, always do when the moment feels too big. “–Sorry about that. Sorry that I freaked, sorry that I was pissed at you for the shit I was just pissed at myself for. Sorry for, uh. Yelling at you. Sorry, um. Yeah. Sorry for kissing you. That definitely wasn’t cool. It’s been uh... a confusing month. Shit. I’m so sorry Steve.”

Steve just leans against the door. Normally he wore everything on his face. Couldn't win Texas Hold 'Em to save his life. Not now though. Now it feels like Steve could have a sleeve full of aces and Eddie wouldn’t know a thing.

But then he says “Eddie” so quiet it sounds like he hadn't even meant to. Like it just slipped onto his tongue.

Eddie can’t do anything but blink, “Yeah?”

“Let me um-” Steve swallows, “Let me get this straight. Where’d you land?”

God, this shit was humiliating, “Not that. Straight. Not straight.”

“Ok. Cool.”

“Yup.”

“And me–” Steve scratches at the back of his neck, “where did you land on me?”

Eddie feels like he’s gonna explode. But he can’t bolt. Not again. Even though every bone in his body wants to. So he plants his feet, coughs, “Well, I pretty much assaulted you, didn’t I?”

Steve rolls his eyes, snarks a laugh. “Sure. Yeah. I’ve been totally gone on you since, I dunno, forever. You were straight. You were basically married to your high school sweetheart. All it took was one of those things no longer being true for me to totally nosedive. But sure, you threw yourself at me.”

This was. It was a lot. 

“Steve–”

Steve waves a hand, stops him. “‘No one’s ever been in love with you. Not really.’ That’s what you said, dude. Meanwhile, shit, cards on the table here? Every relationship I’ve had in the last five years has been a pointless attempt to get over you. So yeah, it was weird to hear, Eddie.” 

Steve won’t look him in the eye. His neck is craned towards the ceiling.

Eddie whistles through his teeth, “Maybe, uh… maybe give me a bit more time?”

“Oh.” Steve finally glances up. His poker face is all gone. He looks like a kicked puppy. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“I’ll probably just need a week or two? I mean, fuck man, that’s a whole other, like Phylum of pornography I’ve been missing out on for the last 25 years. I gotta get myself acquainted before I can, you know–” He reaches out, rubs at Steve’s bicep with a wink, “Get myself Acquainted.”

Steve’s whole body is shaking. Eddie can feel the relief flitting out of him. “Jesus Christ, Munson.”

“Then I’ll take you out, Harrington! Show you the town.”

“Dude, will your dick even work at that point?”

“On the first date?” Eddie gasps, “Lord Harrington, how improper!”

Steve just shrugs, “Rules are different for guys.”

“What? Wait seven years and then hope you land a sexuality crisis?” Then Eddie’s leaning in, closing the space between them. Trying to ignore the pounding in his chest, thinks maybe he's never been so terrified. 

Steve smiles into the kiss. “Yeah, Munson. It's something like that.” 

[apomaro-mellow]

Corroded Coffin ransoms Steve Part 1/?

From this post

Steve couldn't really see who was attacking him. But that didn't matter.

"Grab him! GRAB HIM!"

"Shit! AH! Fuck!"

He wasn't gonna let a bunch of random guys get the best of him. Who cared that it was four on one? They had the element of surprise, sure. Steve hadn't expected to get jumped in the space between the Hawkins gym and his car. Serves him right for trying to get extra basketball practice, he supposed.

Steve felt pretty good about holding his own. Two of them were holding themselves where he'd landed a good blow. He could finish this. There was only one guy left (the other must've bolted) and his car was in sight. Steve threw one more punch and booked it, reaching for his keys in his jacket pocket when pain bloomed on his entire left side. Then his right decided to match it when he hit the ground.

'Did I just get hit by a fucking car?'

There was screaming coming from above him but it was cut off as Steve's world went black.

------------------------

Eddie took a deep drag, holding it in before releasing his breath.

"You don't like it", Gareth said, half finished beer in hand.

"Didn't say I didn't like it", Eddie said.

"Dude, we can tell when you approve and when you don't", Jeff pushed up from the crate of whatever Doug's dad kept in the garage.

Doug was nursing a beer too. His second one. "What don't you like about a battle of the bands? We've got the sound."

"And the personality!", Gareth added.

Eddie nodded. "All solid points. But we're missing the money."

"Entry fee's only fifty bucks, man", Jeff said. "I know you got that much."

"$50 to get it", Eddie began to list off his fingers. "Gas money to get us all the way to Chicago-"

"It's like three hours away, Eds", Doug griped.

"Not done! Plus food, plus hotels, plus fixing up our equipment. Jeff and I both need new strings if we're gonna have any chance of winning."

"Well fuck me, I guess", Doug rolled his eyes.

"Dude, the bass guy always gets the most puss at these things. You don't need new strings", Gareth said. "If anything, my drums-"

"If I don't need new strings, why should you get new drums?", Doug argued.

"Ladies, ladies, you're both beautiful", Jeff came between them. "And need I remind you, we're trying to get Eddie on board? Not double our expenses?"

"We're already over budget", Eddie said. "'Sides, we'd be taking my van to get there and old Bessie needs some work done too. 'Specially if she's gonna be hauling our stuff."

It wasn't that Eddie didn't want to go. He just wasn't particularly keen on following pipe dreams. Chicago wasn't far-far. But what were the odds of them going all the way there and hitting it big? It wasn't strictly a metal competition. There'd be rock and probably pop, maybe even country too, who knew. The point was, metal wasn't much of a crowd-pleaser unless the crowd was already primed for it.

He snuffed the joint in his hand and then lit up another one that they all passed around while coming up with get rich quick schemes. It started innocent enough with the suggestions. Blood donations (Doug hated needles, Eddie hated hospitals), garage sale ("Nobody wants our shit."), and even if they all somehow got like three part time jobs by tomorrow, they wouldn't earn enough to get Eddie on board with this whole idea.

The more they talked about it, the more Eddie got riled up. Why should they be left out of something just because they didn't have the money for it? That was bullshit! There were people out there drowning in money and between the four of them they couldn't scrounge up enough just to get them over the state line?

"Blame whoever you want, but the fact is, money's been in the wrong hands for too damn long!", Eddie said, jumping to his feet. "They tell us all the goddamn time that kids are starvin' in Africa but are they doing anything about it?"

"Not a damn thing", Gareth shook his head.

"Meanwhile, there's kids over here that are starving! And they're still not liftin' a finger to help", Eddie gestured with the joint in his hand, half finished between him and Jeff. "No, the rich fucks of the world don't give, they only take. So we've gotta take it back somehow."

"What? Rob a bank?", Jeff snickered.

The others snickered in return at the absurdity of the idea but Eddie was thinking. Of course not a bank heist. But there were people in Hawkins with money...yeah...for sure there was.

"Not a bank", Eddie said, starting to pace around. But there's a couple of rich bastards in town who could stand to part with their cash."

"You wanna rob the mayor's house or something?", Doug offered. He was on his third beer.

"Eddie's got the stealth of a newborn deer", Gareth said.

"Bad analogy, Gare-bear. Prey animals are notoriously stealthy, even from birth", Eddie grinned.

"Still though. If it's really valuable, we wouldn't be able to pawn it without painting a target on our backs", Gareth sighed.

"Wait, what if we did a ransom?", Doug said.

"Yeah, yeah", Jeff nodded. "We get somethin' valuable and basically sell it back to 'em."

Eddie grinned. "A ransom, huh? Now, stay with me boys, but what if-what IF we took someone. Someone important enough that his folks would go through hell or high water to get him back?"

The other three were silent as the realization dawned on them. Eddie could only be talking about one person.

"You're crazy man...", Jeff said, taking the joint from his hand to use it for himself.

"Like a fox", Eddie smirked.

----------------------------

When they talked about it after sobering up, it still sounded like a good idea. The target: Steve Harrington. Rich enough to have a big house, a nice car, and always have the newest things. Dumb enough that he should be easy to get. Sure, he probably had some muscle, being a jock and all, but Harrington notoriously didn't get into fights. Which probably meant he couldn't. But Eddie and his friends had been in scraps before. The perks of being an outcast, he supposed.

Getting him alone was probably going to be the hardest part of all of this. But Eddie happened to know that sometimes Harrington would come to the school's gym early to practice. It was the perfect opportunity.

It meant they had to wake up early on break and take Bessie and sit in the lot without the heat on, freezing their tits while they waited on Harrington to come out of the gym.

"Why are we w-waiting?", Gareth asked, shivering.

"Need him fatigued and all that", Eddie said. Despite the layers, his teeth were clacking. But if the motor was on, Harrington would hear and they'd lose the element of surprise. He reminded himself that this had to be the hardest part - waiting in the cold, especially when they left the van to be closer to the door of the gym. The masks they were provided only minimal warmth.

But after grabbing and bagging Harrington, they'd leave the note, his parents would get it and they'd have their money and return their hostage by Christmas. Easy peasy.

They didn't count on Steve actually being able to hold his own against all four of them. Maybe it was the fact that they'd been out in the cold, maybe it was the lack of muscle mass between them or general lack of coordination. Whatever it was, somehow, Harrington was wrecking their shit single handedly.

Eddie wasn't the best thinker when he panicked. But right now Gareth was holding his nose and Jeff and Doug wouldn't be far behind. So he ran. To his van.

He saw Harrington making a break for it and stomped down on the gas.

Eddie didn't really register what he'd done until he heard Gareth screaming.

"Shut up! Shut up man!", Jeff shouted back.

"Get him in the van!", Doug screamed.

"The note! Shit, the note! Put it in his windshield!", Eddie reminded him.

It was chaos until they were a good distance away from the school. Nothing could be heard but their panting. Steve Harrington was limp and unconscious in the back of his van. Eddie didn't stop until they were at Gareth's.

"How long are your parents gone for?", he asked as they tied Steve down to a chair in the basement.

"They won't be back until New Year's. My aunt just had a new baby." He was holding his nose again now that Steve was secure.

"How long until he wakes up, do you think?", Doug asked.

Steve's gasp as he suddenly sat up straight and struggled against his ropes answered that question. Thankfully, they all still had their masks on.

"Munson?"

"Well, fuck, these things don't work for shit", Gareth said as he pulled his mask off.

"Who the hell are you?", Steve raised a brow.

Eddie just barely held back the bark of laughter. This was stupid, this was so stupid! But they were in it now. And apparently Steve Harrington knew him by...by some defining characteristic.

"How'd you know it was me?", he asked as he took the mask off.

"Your hair's pretty distinct", Steve said. "What the hell is this? What's going on?"

Eddie grinned and bent over, getting into Steve's face. "Well, Stevie dearest, all you need to know is that you're going to make us very rich."

Part 2

[rafeovermorals]

joel braids your hair.

before you read: this includes a detailed description of readers hair being blonde, long, and straight. i kinda hate this but it came to me in a dream. just wanted to write some soft!joel fluff bc i miss him

you were sitting on the carpeted floor, nestled between joel’s feet with one of your arms wrapped around his calf. he sat above you in his chair, attempting to untangle the knots that had formed in your hair.

“jesus, girl, this is a goddamn birds nest.” he huffed in annoyance, spritzing the problem areas in your favorite green apple scented detangler spray. “what’d i tell y’about driving with the windows down?”

a lesson you should’ve learned by now: always tie up your hair. you had let it grow out all summer, currently laying right at the curve of your waist. it was so long that it was difficult to manage, especially when you didn’t bother to properly take care of it.

joel scowled you for that, offered to give you a trim on numerous occasions and promised to not cut it too short, but you refused. its length made it easier for him to grab ahold of though— pulling on it to rein you in whenever you stepped out of line, or while he was splitting you open on his cock.

you loved your hair, and so did he. it was naturally bleached a warm honey blonde from the texas sun, and felt like silk from your shampoo that smelled of a strawberries and cream dessert.

“i like the wind blowing through my hair! you wouldn’t understand, old man.” you teased, leaning your head back as he tugged the comb through a matted section. you let out an exaggerated whine— a burning, tingling sensation going to your scalp. “you’re bein’ rough on purpose.”

he grunted at your dramatic reply, “this is me bein’ gentle, baby.”

once your hair was smooth and he was able to brush without any snags, he started to split it off into an even part. “y’want french or fishtail today?”

“can you do pigtails, please?”

sure, you could’ve braided it yourself, but you preferred when joel did it for you. they came out looking better than yours.

“‘course, sweetie. you know that’s daddy’s favorite.”

he always kept a few hair ties on his wrist, just in case you ever needed one— which was all the time.

he divided the right side into three pieces to do the first braid, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose.

it was one of the many things he learned how to do while being sarah’s dad. he found comfort in being able to do it for you, too.

except he was much older now— probably too old to still be doing this. his glasses were perched on his nose, still squinting as his thick fingers threaded each strand together. he had his back hunched over, causing a strain that would definitely be hurting him in the morning.

he secured it at the end, leaving a bit undone for you to clip in a bow before he went onto the left side, only stopping for a brief moment to relieve the cramp forming in his hand. damn arthritis.

you played with the shoelaces on his work boots while he finished the second braid, your golden locks perfectly woven behind your shoulders. he gave you a small pat to signal that he was done, getting you to turn to face him with a smile before crawling into his lap.

“will you come pick some blueberries with me later? i wanna make a cobbler for dinner at tommy’s tomorrow night. and could we stop by the store on the way home? you know it tastes the best warmed up with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

joel didn’t hesitate for a second. “anything for you.” and he meant that, more than you would ever know.

[lesbianrobin]

ok so here is my pitch for my dream buddie catalyst:

eddie and maddie are trapped in some sort of likely-fatal time sensitive situation together (drowning related probably because it's Them) (have they overused it yes is it still thematically appropriate YES) where one person could potentially sacrifice themselves for the other to survive. i want eddie and maddie using their combined experience and ingenuity to survive together and discussing who should be prioritized which means they talk about parenthood and how they both feel they've failed their children by "running," how their lives have been so defined by trauma and they don't want to scar their children any further by leaving them again. of course they're doing everything they can to get out together, but as the situation deteriorates throughout the episode(s) (c'mon something like this could be at LEAST a two-parter) they can't help returning periodically to the world's most morbid debate.

i want buck and chim on the outside both going out of their goddamn minds. they know that eddie and maddie are stuck (wherever), know that they're probably alive, but aren't sure in what condition and if they'll stay that way. rescue operations begin as everybody walks on eggshells around buck and tries to comfort chim, who wants absolutely none of it. time is running out.

eddie says that he couldn't possibly let maddie sacrifice herself for him and look buck and chim in the eye afterwards. maddie says that she couldn't do that either. she says that at least jee-yun would still have her father, and eddie says that christopher would still have buck. maddie says that of course none of them would just abandon christopher if something were to happen to him but—

and eddie cuts her off and says it's in my will. if i die, christopher will have buck. buck will have christopher.

they just look at each other for a weighted moment. maddie makes a decision. she says ...i meant it, you know. that i couldn't let you die down here (wherever here is i don't KNOW okay i'm not here to think up convoluted emergencies i'm here for drama) and look my baby brother in the eye knowing that i could have changed it. eddie says i know, okay, but it's different, you're his sister, and maddie says, yeah, but you're his... and she pauses. and eddie says what? best friend? partner? that doesn't—

and maddie says you're his. eddie, you're his.

and eddie... i want to see something slot into place. i want to watch him understand as maddie spills everything she's been suspecting since the day that buck came out to her and maybe since before she and eddie even met. maddie says you know, when i first came to california, you were all he talked about? you're still all he talks about. you and christopher. you're his. i couldn't... eddie, you're out of your mind if you really don't think that losing you would break him just as much as losing me. he would forgive us both, because he's buck, but i couldn't... i'm no saint, eddie, i want to survive. i don't want my daughter to grow up without me. but i can't do that to him. i don't know if he'd survive it. even if he did, the guilt would eat me alive.

meanwhile. buck is barely holding on to his sanity as rescue efforts are underway and time is running out. chimney is keeping it together as best he can but there isn't much that he and buck can do. he can't let himself fall apart because buck is already a stiff breeze away from clawing his own skin off and somebody has to keep their cool. something goes wrong—suddenly, their short amount of time has gotten shorter, and they may only have enough of a window to get one out before it's too late for the other. buck, who has been ranting and arguing and screaming this whole time... is silent. he is silent, and he stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, and we know that no matter which way the scales tip, his soul will be destroyed all the same.

eddie regards maddie for a moment. grief, heartbreak, anger, all flicker over him, but what settles is determination. he says that neither of them are going to leave again. that they'll survive together, or not at all, or leave it to the universe to decide.

of course they make it out. by the skin of their teeth, they make it out, working together, clawing their way back to life and love and possibility. maddie makes it out first, and eddie sees buck as she falls into chim's waiting arms. he watches as buck sees his sister, and reaches out to take her hand with trembling fingers and white knuckles, but there is no relief, no happiness in his red-rimmed eyes. just a deep, unspeakable grief, until his eyes slide past maddie and meet eddie's.

finally: relief. and then he is in buck's arms, a perfect parallel to chim and maddie, and we see eddie's face over buck's shoulder, and we know. he is in love, and buck is in love, and eddie knows, and he sinks into his partner's embrace with joy and acceptance.

after that, who knows? maybe a grand confession. a moment of quiet understanding. a passionate post-rescue kiss. a chaste, tender kiss in some kitchen or other. maybe eddie panics later, or maybe he's found peace for once. maybe buck has realized something and he makes the first move. maybe it happens immediately. maybe it takes a while, takes discussions about how it'll affect work and christopher and whether it's worth risking all that they have for all that they want.

and maybe they'll ask whether it's even a risk at all.

[huntingingoodwill]

civil. (j.m.)

masterlist

desc: you can’t stand joel miller, and he can’t stand you.

pairing: enemies to lovers! joel miller x gn! reader

a/n: this is my gift for the pedrostories secret santa 2024 event!!! i had so much fun writing this for my giftee, @adora-but-ginger. thanks so much for introducing me to the absolute bop which is never let me down by depeche mode which inspired this lil fic. i really hope you enjoy it babes <3 happy holidays!

“You’re an idiot. A big, hulking idiot.” 

“You think I’m big and hulking?”

You could hear the smirk in Joel’s voice, which made equal parts of anger and embarrassment flare up inside of you. You could admit he was… well-built. Sickeningly, disgustingly so. And right now, you wanted to snap his well-built body in two. 

“I’m going to kill you.”  

“I’d like to see you try, but we’re a little tied up at the moment,” his tone was sardonic, his meaning literal - the two of you were in the bed of some raiders’ truck, tied up and blindfolded, being driven to who-knows-where. It was probably for the best, as the restraints around your wrists were the only things stopping you two from choking each other out. 

“And whose fault is that?” you hissed. 

“I’m glad you asked. Yours.” 

“Mine?!” you exclaimed, the anger pulsing through you growing stronger by the minute. “I told you we should avoid the cabin and you still dragged us right into this mess.” 

Joel had insisted the abandoned cabin would be a safe place to rest. The raiders had the same idea, and were quick to pounce on the both of you after coming across your horses outside. They had ambushed the two of you, deciding to bring you back to their camp to figure out what to do with you later - probably nothing too pleasant. They had left your horses behind, and you had overheard them saying they’d come back for them later. 

“Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep when you were supposed to be on lookout, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Joel muttered. 

You sighed, a dull knot of ache forming behind your eyes. It was true. You had fucked up. But he had fucked up too. If it were anybody else with you, the two of you may have been able to admit that, kiss and make up. But you and Joel never got along. You bickered and fought on every patrol you were forced on together, and this was your last straw. You were livid, and he was too. 

“We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you didn’t-“ 

“Enough with the goddamn lover’s quarrel!” one of the raiders yelled out from the cab. 

That shut you and Joel up sufficiently, but that word tinged the silence with a shy awkwardness. 

“Lover’s quarrel,” Joel scoffed. 

“Yeah. ‘Lovers’,” you mimic his veneer of nonchalance, poorly veiling the flustered tone in both your voices, “in your dreams.” 

“In yours,” he shot back, immediately rolling his eyes at himself. 

He was too old for this shit. Everytime he was around you, he acted like a petty teenager. You just ignited a flame within him, one that he mistook for the bitter burn of loathing, not knowing it was something else entirely. 

“So, how are we getting out of this one?” you whispered. 

“Why are you asking me? I thought I was an idiot?”

“I wish you could see the look I’m giving you right now, Miller.” 

He lowered his voice to a whisper, unheard by the raiders up front over the rumble of the engine. 

“Admit I’m not an idiot, and I’ll get us out of here.” 

“Oh, come on-“ you started, gritting your teeth with exasperation.

“Or, you can always spend the rest of the day with our new friends here.”

“...You’re not an idiot.” 

“And, who’s in charge?” 

“Oh, fuck y-” 

“I can always let you hitch a ride with these guys and see how you fare on your own,” his voice took on an annoyingly laissez-faire quality. You hated him.

“You’re in charge,” you assented.

“Correct. I hid my knife in my pocket. They missed it when they took away our weapons.” 

Maybe you didn’t hate him.

“Maybe you’re not as big of an idiot as I thought,” you smiled.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Get it out of my pocket, then cut my ropes. Then I’ll cut yours.” 

You shimmied close to him, trying to ignore how the proximity made the heat rise in your collar. You tried to convince yourself it’s a physical reaction to your hatred for him. Like an allergy. 

You managed to slide the knife out, only almost stabbing him in the ass once on a bumpy stretch of road. 

“Hands!” He had grit through his teeth.

“Please, there’s nothing back there to cut. You’re as flat as a board,” you had whispered, immediately blushing and following your words up with a quick: “Not that I’ve been looking or anything.” (You had looked. A couple times. But you’d die before telling him that.) 

Unable to see, you fumbled around a little, careful not to cut him as you sliced through the ropes binding his wrists together. Once free, he lifted his blindfold with careful, quick movements, sure to not let the men in the cab see him, before cutting off the remaining ropes keeping his legs tied together then doing the same for you. 

With the ropes loosened in heaps around your wrists and ankles, you whispered: “What now?” 

His voice was determined, but grim. “We pray.” 

“I gotta take a leak.” One of the raiders mumbled a mere 5 minutes later, after you both had replaced your blindfolds and were acting like two good kidnapees in the back of the truck, in hopes that the men wouldn’t look too closely at the both of you and discover you had freed yourselves. 

“Let’s hope our prayers have been answered. Do you trust me?” Joel asked.

“No.” 

“You’re gonna have to. 3…2…1.” 

The two of you ripped off your blindfolds. 

The scuffle was over in a few minutes. Joel’s chest heaved from the exertion of the fight as he cleaned the bloody knife off on his shirt. He had subdued one of the men pretty quickly, which gave you enough time to grab your gun from the cab and deal with the other. 

He had done a pretty good job, you had to admit, with hiding his knife and handling the raiders. Without him, you would have been royally fucked. You felt a twinge of gratefulness, and a pang of something else as you watched him, the slope of his nose and hardness of his jaw as he wicked the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He had saved you. 

Then, you looked down at the two dead raiders, and what glimmer of heroism that you saw in Joel’s figure distorted into frustration. 

You aimed your gun at Joel. 

“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?!” he yelled, the bullet whizzing past his head. 

“Cool it, Texas,” you huffed, “Now, hold still this time.” You aimed again. 

“I just saved your ass, and you try to shoot me because of it?!” 

“I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the cabin-” 

“Look who’s talking, sleepyhead!” 

You started to walk. 

“Where d’you think you’re going?” he called after you, his voice already receding into the distance. 

“Jackson. Back to the village of which you are the idiot of!” you screamed over your shoulder. 

“A bit of a convoluted way to put it, darlin’.” 

You refused to dignify that with an answer. 

You had only made it a few metres down the road when you heard the roar of the raiders’ truck, and the heat of the thrumming engine as it pulled up beside you. 

You stared straight ahead, feeling Joel’s gaze rove over you from the driver’s window as he cruised alongside you. 

“Get in,” Joel called out to you.  

“No.” 

“D’you know where you’re going? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t.” 

“I do. I think. I tried to memorise the turns they took while we were tied up.” 

“Well, you aren’t getting back to Jackson anytime soon on foot.” 

You ignored him, marching forward. The next few moments were clouded in silence as you stormed down the road, Joel driving slowly beside you all this while. 

“C’mon, get in. Please?” Joel’s voice was startlingly soft, a flash of vulnerability that you hadn’t expected that stopped you in your tracks. He said his words slowly, like it was difficult for him to articulate. It definitely wasn’t easy for someone as stubborn as him to seek help from you. “I can’t leave you out here alone, and I need your help to navigate.”

You turned to look at him, not expecting to find the sincerity scrawled over his face. It softened you. But you liked to make him suffer. 

“Who’s in charge?” you said. 

“Oh, c’mon…” 

“Miller. Answer me. Who is in charge?” 

“You are. Now get in.” 

You smiled in satisfaction, clambering into the passenger seat. 

“You’re in charge of navigation, I’m in charge of driving,” he mumbled beneath his breath. 

You chuckled at his comment. Suddenly his snarkiness, though annoying, seemed like a harmless dig after the events of the day. That laugh was utter release, a reprieve from the loathing for him that had been boiling your blood all day. 

Peeking over at you, you watched his confused face turn into one that mirrored yours. One of cathartic happiness. He let out a laugh, unable to help it. You had never noticed his laugh, his smile. Like a silver lining. You liked it. 

The rest of the drive passed in relative silence, save for your directions, though the air between you was different. Still electric in its energy, but not because of anger, or frustration. It was strangely warm.

The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and with a satisfying click, he flicked on the headlights, making a turn. The lights illuminated the cabin and your horses. Your heart soared. 

“Well, shit. You did it,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and more laughter bubbled from his lips. Laughing with Joel seemed so foreign after spending every patrol together arguing or in heated silence. It was pleasant.

From here, the two of you would be able to find your way back to Jackson, no question. The two of you mounted your horses and started your way back. He turned to watch you, the delicate turn of your head as you gazed up at the vast sky, drinking it all in. He felt that same pang he always felt around you, what he always thought was annoyance. It hit him with that same ferocity, but it was charged with a different energy. It felt kind of nice. 

You turned to lock eyes with him. 

“I’m sorry,” the both of you said in unison. 

You both dissolved into laughter. 

“Well, I’ll go first,” Joel chuckled, “I’m sorry. I really am. I should have listened to you-”

“No, I’m sorry!” you said. “If it wasn’t for me falling asleep… and I guess trying to shoot you wasn’t very nice.” 

“Wasn’t polite, was it?” he snorted, his smile reflecting your sheepish one. “Still, I fucked up. And the way you helped us find our way back… you saved our asses.” 

“I fucked up too. And if anyone saved us it was you. There was no way we would have gotten out of there without you thinking ahead and hiding the knife.” 

“I guess we make a pretty alright team, huh?” he said, the smile he shot you so hopeful and sweet you felt that hot, molten feeling in your gut again, though it definitely was not hate. 

“Yeah, we do,” you sighed. “I guess if your brother’s gonna keep insisting on putting us on patrol together, we could at least be civil to each other. I think we work together better that way. Deal?” 

“Deal,” he said. “You still drive me a little crazy though.” 

“Ditto,” you smiled at him, and the smile he flashed back made you feel strange and floaty, a similar sort of light-headedness from when you used to get so mad at him on patrols you wanted to scream. You were starting to realise that feeling may have been motivated by a different emotion entirely. He was definitely driving you a little crazy. 

“Where the hell were you guys? You missed the bonfire,” Tommy called out to Joel as the both of you arrived at the centre of Jackson, a dying bonfire crackling behind him. 

“That’s the least of our problems,” Joel huffed, dismounting from his horse as you followed suit, thrusting the reins into his brother’s hands. “You deal with that.” 

Tommy shrugged, leading the horses back to the stable. 

The two of you stood side by side, staring into what little was left of the bonfire, now a flame that licked up to around Joel’s knee-height. The crowd that was surrounding it earlier that night had fully dispersed, leaving just you and Joel alone before the fire. He turned to look at you, the fire glazing your eyes with orange and red hues, setting your gaze alight.

“I have an idea,” you said. Your smile meant trouble. “Let’s jump over it.” 

“What?” Joel asked, eyebrows shooting up incredulously. 

“I read it somewhere. It’s an old tradition, supposed to bring about good luck and new beginnings,” you smile at him, a smile that instantly wins him over. “We need all the luck we can get. C’mon Miller, indulge me. Be civil.” 

His laugh was hesitant, but when you reached for his hand he knew he could do it. 

“Do you trust me?” you grinned. 

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to. 3…2…1!” 

There was a moment there, with his hand in yours, at the very top of where the flames swirled, where it felt like the two of you were flying, suspended against the dark sky. 

Then, you hit the ground. 

You were lying beside each other in the dirt, panting in between gasps of laughter, the cuffs of your pants and the soles of your shoes singed. That electric warmth fired through the air, boiling your blood - definitely not anger. Something else. Passion and anger possess that same fiery quality. 

It burned so brightly within the both of you that he couldn’t help it. He leaned over to kiss you. The fire was warm by your side, the sky dark and electric above you as a storm gathered. The two of you were definitely going to be more than civil.

[paulyenvol6]

The Bolter

I really want to write a part 4 but I don't really know where this could go, so if you have any suggestions feel free to let me know :) Also, I cried while writing this so there you go.

Part 1 and 2

Contains: fluff, so much cuteness, mentions of pregnancy, reader giving birth to their child, description of pain and discomfort, Joel being a dream, soft and sweet Joel, established relationship

Wordcount: 5,113

Masterlist

5 Months later

"Joel, can you grab my mug for me real quick?" you said over your shoulder, your face tensing in pain at the slightest movement.

"Course, sweetheart."

You listened to his footsteps behind you with your eyes closed, then opened them as you felt the cushions of the sofa give way to the weight of his body as he sank down on them with an exhale.

"Here you go."

You gave him a smile, gratefully taking the cup of tea from his hand and brought it to your lips to blow some air over the boiling hot liquid.

"Thanks."

Joel smiled as well and then moved closer to you, a hand wrapping around your shoulders and his body offering you support with the way he slid behind you so that you could settle against his chest.

"That comfortable, darlin'?" he wanted to know, quietly whispering in your ear because he knew how much you currently hated loud noises.

"Yeah," you replied, shifting one last time to adjust your round belly and then sighing as you dropped your head to his shoulder.

"S'fuckin' killin' me, Joel," you mumbled and were so thankful for the way he knew you so goddamn well. You were at a state in your pregnancy where you couldn't stand too much physical touch which was why Joel kept his hands rested on your bicep, securing you so that you didn't have to hold yourself up, but not stroking patterns over your skin like he usually would. He was listening to you, paying attention to your words and the reaction of your body and you appreciated it so much.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry you have to go through this. Can I do anythin'? Anythin' you want, just gotta ask me."

You hummed, but shook your head while you scratched with the nail of your thumb over the rough fabric of his jeans.

"No. Just wanna sit here like his. Although… can you…" – you slightly sat up – "Can you give me a massage? The thing you do with your knuckles?"

His lips curled into a broad smile and happy to do something helpful, Joel brushed your hair over your shoulders to have access to your back.

"Sure. I told ya, whatever you want. Just needa ask me, baby…"

He began by pressing two of his knuckles into the skin between your shoulderblades, a treatment you had started to fall in love with over the past months. It was nothing more than a simple massage, but you enjoyed it so much, the tension in your body magically disappearing whenever he rubbed your back, that you had recently asked him to do it more often.

"Joel," you said while he worked on your back, your hands gently caressing your round belly and your eyes still shut.

"Yeah?"

"I'm a little bit scared."

He ran his eyes over your profile, his expression softening at the way you nervously sucked your bottom lip into your mouth.

"Of the pain? Or of what comes after?"

"Both, I think."

Joel thought about it for a second before swallowing to remove the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I can't tell you that the pain is nothing 'cause it probably isn't nothing, but what I can tell you is that you're fuckin' strong and brave and that I don't think there's anythin' in the world you can't do. I'm really sorry that you're gonna have to endure it and it's okay and normal to be scared of it, but I know that you're gonna do amazing."

He gulped again, looking at his fingers that were still carefully kneading your back and then continued.

"And about the after… I know s'gonna be fine. You know what my mother told me once? She said that right before she gave birth to me, she was so overwhelmed she thought all of this would be a total mess. She didn't know what she was doin' and neither did my dad and they knew nothing 'bout parenting and stuff. But they did it. Of course it wasn't always easy, she said that too, but she told me that the second she held me in her arms the first time she just knew that it would be fine. I don't think many parents feel prepared or ready before their child comes and maybe you just can't prepare yourself for it. At least entirely. I think you learn over time an' you… you know, you pick up skills and… and make experiences and then everything comes together."

Joel glanced at your profile again, the butterflies in his stomach excitedly fluttering at your shy smile.

"Are you scared?" you then asked and a quiet chuckle left his throat.

"Of course. I'm scared every moment. But I have you. We have each other an' we have all these other people like Tommy and Maria and…" – he laughed out again – "Ellie."

You joined in the laughter and opened your eyes to peek behind you, your eyes meeting and a warm shudder going through your body at his soft brown eyes.

"Can you imagine Ellie babysitting?" Joel laughed, the vibrations transferring from his hands to your body.

"Honestly, why not? I'd just be scared that she gives the child a gun or somethin' or tells horror stories."

He scoffed, quietly shaking his head and then pressed a brief kiss on your shoulder.

"Anyways, the point is that I'm scared as shit. And that I'm wondering what I'm doin' every moment of my life. But what's more important is that I know that we're gonna do this together. And – And I know you can't just switch these fears off like that, but you have to know that I'm never gonna let anythin' happen to you, I'm never gonna leave you alone or abondon you or – or let ya down."

Joel's hands on your back tightened like he wanted to prove something. "You have me."

You swallowed loudly, the lump in your throat thickening at the gravity of his words, quickly blinking a few tears away.

"Thank you, Joel. Seriously. S'kinda helpin', I think."

He nodded although you couldn't see it and then continued to silently knead your aching back until he heard your breath getting heavier a few minutes later and a quick glance at your profile showed him that you had fallen asleep.

He smirked to himself, gently caressing your shoulderblades and thought about it for a second before deciding not to wake you. You were exhausted and had a lot of trouble sleeping in your current state, so he didn't want to deprive you of a good night's rest even if he had to remain in this position behind you that started to feel uncomfortable for him.

Joel's legs had begun to ache, his thighs buzzing, but he knew if he moved a single muscles you, who had a very light sleep these days, might wake up. In the end, it wasn't even a question. Joel didn't move an inch even when his limbs started to burn and endured it until you eventually woke up at around 12pm, your searching hands reaching behind to see whether Joel was still there.

"Joel?" you mumbled, slightly turning in his hold which made his eyes flutter. He wasn't asleep yet, but had been close to dozing off.

"Yes, honey. You wanna go to bed?"

His mind was immediately wide awake, the sting in his numb legs returning and to his relief you nodded and attempted to rise from your position between his spread legs. Joel quickly put his hands on your hips, supporting you as you stood up with wobbly knees.

"Careful, pumpkin. Lemme help you."

You hummed, your eyes closed as the drowsiness threatened to pull you over the edge again at any moment and so Joel was fast to follow you, stepping behind you to lead you into the bedroom.

"There ya go…," he whispered, an arm wrapped around your shoulders so you wouldn't bump into the door frame and then guiding you to sit down on the bed.

"You need anythin'? Are you hungry or thirsty or cold?"

You shook your head as Joel pulled back the blanket for you to crawl under, tucked you in and then sat down on the edge.

"You sure, love?"

"Yes, Joel," you breathed, the exhausted expression on your face turning into one of love and affection as you felt his large hand cradling your head.

You smiled and leaned into his touch while your boyfriend was watching you through soft eyes, looking at you like you were the only thing in this room or perhaps even the world. His mouth was in a thin line, but not in the way that he was angry or upset, but rather a deep and grave longing, the fear of losing what was right in front of him because Joel knew that he loved again. And he had sworn to himself so many times to never allow it again, never let anyone under his skin, but here he was now and it felt so goddamn good and right.

It felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest, but in a beautiful and comfortable way. They were tender hands with soft skin that smelled like you that had taken his heart from him and somehow it felt like these hands were not only carrying it to somewhere safe, guarding and protecting it, but had also taken a huge burden from him that he hadn't even been aware of before.

Joel leaned down to kiss your cheek and when he straightened up again he believed that he could feel a tear rolling down his face.

"I love you," he whispered, the emotion showing in his voice and then cleared his throat as he walked around the bed to lay down as well. You hadn't replied, your chest rising steadily so you were probably already sound asleep.

The next day started pleasantly and somehow you felt better than you had in weeks. Perhaps it was the sun shining through the window or the fact that you woke up with Joel's hand holding yours, but for the first time in a month you hadn't opened your eyes with the urge to complain about your physical state.

You even crawled to your boyfriend who was hugging a pillow in his sleep and instantly felt your insides clench at the picture. Although Joel would probably sooner die than let anyone know, he was an extremely touchy and affectionate person who loved to have a hand on your waist or on your thigh or hug you as many times a day as possible or just sit with you snuggled up against his chest. And right now, with your pregnancy making you reluctant to get too close to anyone, he clearly missed having his arms around you, but of course he was too caring to let you know.

But right now he looked so comfortable and you longed for his closeness and despised the fact that he had wrapped his arms around a pillow instead of you, so you carefully took it away and replaced it with your own body leaning against his broad frame. You lay with your head on his chest, peacefully listening to his heartbeat and your hands grabbing his to toy with his fingers.

Although you had tried not to wake him, his eyelids fluttered after a few minutes, his mouth opening as if he wanted to ask something, but then he smiled at the wonderful view that you were offering him.

"Honey…," he whispered and blinked to get rid of the sleep in his eyes. He squeezed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and then bent his neck to kiss your hair.

"That's a nice thing to wake up to," he mumbled which made you smile from ear to ear and it only consolidated when Joel brought a hand to your belly to follow the curve.

"How're you feelin'?"

"I'm good, actually," you replied, turning your head to kiss his collarbone as a proof and then darted up to him.

"I slept well. Better than yesterday."

Joel pursed his lips looking at you, his eyes sparkling with so much warmth and depth, you just wanted to carve this picture in your head for enternity, restoring it whenever you craved his expression of pure love and he wasn't around. Which you hoped you would never need because you expected him to be around you every single second anyway.

"That's good to hear, honey," Joel whispered, his voice hoarse and husky from the sleep and his eyelids fluttering as the warmth of your body embraced him so wonderfully, he knew he could go right back to sleep.

Therefore the two of you spent a lazy morning, cuddling and dozing until the sun was high in the sky and even when the two of you decided to get up, you took all the time you needed and eventually had a long and extensive breakfast, or rather lunch.

It was 3pm when it started. It was a quick moment of pain that went as sudden as it had come but it had knocked the air out of your lungs.

"Joel," you warned, concentrating on your breathing, your hand pressed on your stomach.

"What is it, darling?"

He was immediately at your side, stabilising you, who had needed the support of the edge of the table to keep yourself steady.

"Contractions. I don't know, I – Fuckkkk."

Joel's eyes popped open as he watched your profile with concern. He felt you reach for his hand and clenched his jaw in pain as you squeezed it tightly, but didn't hesitate a minute to offer you his other hand as well.

"Okay, honey, do you wanna go to the hospital? I can take you there right now if you think  - "

"No we gotta wait. We gotta see how much time there is between the… Oh fuck, Joel, I…"

You couldn't finish the sentence and instead let out a long whine, that excruciatingly rang in his ears. He felt helpless watching you cringe and hunch over in discomfort and just wanted to do anything to make you feel better. Anything to make it more bearable and the fact that there was nothing he could do but hold your hand and wait for you to tell him what you needed nearly drove him insane.

"S'okay. We'll wait 'n' meisure the time. Just tell me if you need anythin'. And we can go to the hospital, it's fine. Even if the baby's not comin' yet, we can just go to check if – if everything's fine and maybe they can do something about the pain, n' give you some positions that are more comfortable..."

It turned out the child was in fact coming.

The rest of the day was a chaotic and overwhelming mess with your body experiencing contractions in short intervals until Joel drove you to the hospital and then everything was a fever dream.

You remembered Joel guiding you into a room, you lying down on the bed while he sat on a chair next to you and his hand never letting go of yours. And then there had been nurses scurrying around you and you had closed your eyes, a mixture of excitement and fear flooding your veins and when you had looked at Joel you had seen the same emotions in his deep brown eyes.

"It's gonna be fine, pumpkin. It's gonna be fine, I swear you're gonna do so well," he had whispered as he had pressed a kiss to your hand and then the doctor had entered the room.

Later, you couldn't remember everything. There had obviously been a lot of pain and a lot of blood, which had frightened you so much that you had probably marked Joel's hand for all time, but he hadn't even flinched with his lashes as he let you abuse his poor palm.

You were in labour until almost 11pm, which to you had felt like 2 days, but eventually you had done it. Your face was covered with tears, but by now the majority of them were tears of indescribable and intangible joy. Sweat pooled on your forehead and dripped down your temples, but you couldn't have cared less. Because you had done it. You had given birth to a sweet little baby girl that was now given to you from the doctor.

"Meet your daughter," she softly whispered and placed the little creature on your chest.

A broken sob went past your lips and you felt Joel's grip on your hand tighten as your exhausted eyes took her in. Her eyes were closed and her lips a little bit parted and she… she simply looked so beautiful. For all the evil and terror you had seen in your life, you had also seen a lot of beautiful things, but this… this little girl you were holding in your arms right now was surpassing everything.

"Hi there..." you said, a strange mixture of cry and laugh, as you lowered your face to press a gentle kiss to her scrunched nose. Joel to your left chuckled, but it had more similarities with a sob as well.

"Hi… you look so beautiful... So strong and so fierce… You're not scared of anything, are you? You're gonna move mountains, my sweet girl..."

You giggled again when she wrinkled her nose, but it was hard to make out a lot through the veil of tears that hung like a curtain over your vision. Still it was hard to take your eyes off your daughter, your perfect wonderful daughter, but you eventually did it to glare at Joel.

"Do you wanna hold her?" you cried, pressing your lips together as your body trembled and shook, your chest heaving with the joy and relief of it all.

And looking at him was giving you the rest. The man with whom you had created this beautiful life. The man you had met two years ago and you had believed it to be either a miracle or just a dream. The man who had then left you, causing you to fall into a deep and dark hole, but then had come back and you were never going to let him go. The man you thought about before you went to bed and the moment you woke up. The man who was so closely connected to you, your life's energy seemed to drain away when he was away from you. The man who had stolen your heart.

Joel nodded and if you had been able to see properly you would have seen the traces of old tears on his cheeks as well as the new ones that were creating a path across his face, shimmering like the bright first light of dawn.

"Yeah," he said like he was out of breath and then took his daughter into his arms for the first time with shaky hands.

All you could do was silently stare. Truthfully, you weren't entirely silent because you just couldn't stop crying and sniffling, but who cared. You watched his beautiful face contort, the purest form of love taking control of each muscle and fibre in Joel's face and drawing it to look the most tender and loving you had ever seen him.

"She…," he breathed, but couldn't end the sentence.

She looks so tiny in his arms, you thought, your chest clenching and your mind realising that these were the two most important people in your life.

"Yeah," you said, bringing a hand to your eyes to rub and wipe away a few drops of salty tears so you could see better.

"What do you wanna name her?" Joel asked without taking his eyes off her for a single moment. You hiccuped in response and then gulped as you chewed on the inside of your cheek.

"I was thinking…," you began with your thin voice. "I was thinkin' Tess."

Joel had told you a lot about his best friend from back then, about his adventures with her and Tommy and you knew how much she meant to him. Honouring her by naming your baby girl after her seemed fitting. Of course you had briefly thought about Sarah as well, but had quickly come to the conclusion that Joel might feel like he was replacing his daughter, so you had discarded that thought.

Now brown puppy eyes stared at you that seemed to make the world around you turn and tremble. All you could see was him, your surroundings blurry and unimportant as Joel drew his eyebrows together.

"Really?" he choked and chewed on his bottom lip as he was clearly trying to fight another wave of tears.

"Yes," you replied and then moved your daughter to lay on your chest again with hands that were trembling so hard, Joel obligingly assisted you.

Then he swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers intertwined and his eyes fixed on you as if to make sure this was real.

And then he slowly nodded while reaching for one of your hands, squeezing it lightly and feeling his lower lip twitch.

"Tess."

Three weeks later

It was a cold day with the wind outside howling as if it were singing a song, so you were especially grateful for your warm blanket when you woke up.

"Mhmmm," you made, rolling to your side to face Joel only to find… an empty spot.

You frowned and let out another sigh while running your eyes over the drawn back blanket.

Where was he?

It was so warm beneath the sheets, such a heavenly contrast to the cutting cold outside of the walls of your house and you had looked forward to spending the first few minutes of the day tucked in while cuddling with Joel, but now you found you had no choice but to get up and see why he had left the bed so early.

So you kicked the blanket away with your feet and then climbed off the bed with rather clumsy movements. Just as you were grabbing a sweater to pull over your pyjamas, you heard the first drops of rain fall on the veranda outside and regretted Joel's absence even more. Once you had put on the piece of clothing as well as some warm socks you opened the door to the bedroom and lazily searched the hallway.

"Joel?" you shouted and then listened precisely for an answer. Which didn't come.

"Joel?" you said again, louder this time and now there was a noise that made you purse your lips.

"In here!" his voice echoed against the walls and you realised he was in Tess' room.

Your feet dragged sloppily across the floor as you made your way to the door, your head still trying to fight off drowsiness and your eyes struggling to stay open. You carefully opened the door so you wouldn't wake your daughter in case she was still asleep but when you peeked inside the room your saw her in Joel's arms, gently rocking her from side to side.

"Hi pumpkin," he whispered giving you a bright smile and although his face lit up at the sight of you, you noticed that he looked tired.

"Good morning, Joel. Are you alright? How long have you been awake?"

He lifted his eyebrows and dropped his gaze to Tess again who softly gurgled in his hold.

"Oh, a couple of hours. I woke up because she was crying and then I went to her but she just wouldn't stop so I did the one thing that I know always helps and it did. I was just about to put her back in the cradle."

Your lips curled into a grin and you approached Joel to brush over your daughter's head.

"You played her something on the guitar?"

"Yes. At first, I didn't want to 'cause I was scared it'd wake you up, but I figured her crying would've woken you up anyway."

Joel smiled and then leaned in to kiss you.

"Sorry, my breath is terrible," you giggled and tried to wriggle away, but he grabbed the side of your face and held you close, devouring your lips until he finally pulled away.

"Don't ya worry about that."

You bit your bottom lip while Joel carefully put Tess in her cradle again and then crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"But you know you could've woken me up as well. You didn't get a lot of sleep, Joel and you know how I feel about you goin' on patrols and hunting and stuff without being properly rested."

He tilted his head and then approached you, grabbing your waist with his large hands and pulling you snugly to his body.

"I know. But I wanted you to sleep. You need a proper rest, too. An' I don't go on patrol today."

You furrowed your forehead and slid your arms around his head, toying with the babyhair in his neck.

"Really? I thought…"

"Jesse's going in my place. I..." - Joel smiled crookedly - "I think Tommy wants us to have a day just the two of us. He said Jesse will do the patrol and he said he and Maria will take Tess for the day so we can relax a bit."

You wore a toothy grin as your finger trailed up his jawline until it came to a stop on his cheek.

"Really?"

"Yes. They have Benji, they know what it can be like with a newborn. He said that's what he wished for sometimes in the first few months after they had him."

Joel tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and then gently turned you in his hold to guide you out of the room so you wouldn't wake Tess again now that she was sleeping peacefully.

"Let's have breakfast now. I made pancakes."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, your heart feeling like it was growing wings as you leaned into Joel's hand that was warm and comfortable on your waist.

"Really?" you breathed, thinking that there was no way he was real.

"Yeah. I made them before I brought her back to her room."

"Thank you, Joel," you whispered, the love you felt for him making you want to cry, but you somehow felt it wouldn't be fitting so you just gulped and put your own hand over his palm pressed to your side.

"I love you."

He briefly pressed a kiss to your messy hair. Joel marvelled that you always seemed so taken aback when he made a gesture like that. Didn't you know that he would do anything for you? Making pancakes, taking care of your baby girl so you could sleep… Yes, these were nice things to do, but how was it possible that you still didn't seem to understand that he would do so much more just to see a faint smile on your lips. Just to see this beautiful sparkle in your eyes or make your cheeks flush in excitement.

"I love you, too. And you're welcome," he whispered and then pulled you through the kitchen door.

"Sit down, baby, okay? I'm gonna make some coffee or do you want some tea?"

You briefly thought about it while sinking down on a chair but then shook your head.

"Coffee is perfect."

He was just about to turn around when he saw a suspicious glint in your eyes and as he obviously couldn't pass over it, he stopped in the motion and glanced down to you.

"Baby… What is it?"

Now your bottom lip was trembling, your fingers grabbing the edge of the table and your nose wrinkling as you tried to hold yourself together.

"You… You're so sweet," you stuttered and felt a single tear roll down your cheeks when Joel wrapped his arms around your body, firmly holding you against his chest.

"Oh, darlin'… No reason to cry. You know that I would do anythin' for ya."

"Yeah, b-but… you're so kind a-and sometimes I just… I can't believe s'real."

He chuckled, inhaled the sweet scent of your hair and then nuzzled his nose against your scalp as he gently cradled your head.

"S'okay… I love you so fuckin' much, honey and I sometimes can't believe you're actually real."

Your frantic breathing slowly began to steady until Joel pulled away from you, his face softening at the redness around your eyes.

"Oh pumpkin…," he breathed and traced your cheekbone with his thumb. "I love you. I love you so goddamn much…"

'I love you so goddamn much, it sometimes hurts,' was what he had wanted to say but he found that perhaps it would be a strange choice of words, so he kept them to himself.

It was true, though. Sometimes, when he looked at you his chest tightened and his heart pounded so loudly he could hear and feel his rapid heartbeat in every fibre of his body. And there was this quivering rumbling through his abdomen like he was getting sick, but of course he wasn't actually. It was the opposite and felt rather plesant. More like… butterflies that were swirling and twirling and tingling in his stomach and while Joel knew he couldn't do anything about the tension and excitement, which was sometimes so bad, it bordered on the uncomfortable, he wouldn't want it any other way. He wouldn't want it to feel any different.

Joel wasn't always great at telling you how he felt. He had gotten better at it, sure, but he was more likely to show his affection through gestures and actions or even just a gentle smile and a hand on your body. No one who knew him would probably consider him a very 'smiley' person, but with you… God, he sometimes felt like a teenage boy who was in love for the first time.

He wanted to get better at the other stuff, too, though. Telling you how he felt, verbally expressing his love because you deserved to know how you had swept him off his feet the moment the two of you had met and continued to do so every single day.

So you had taught him, you had opened up to him, shown him that it was okay to be vulnerable and that it actually felt good to share your feelings. Joel had a lot of learning and unlearning to do, getting rid of thick layers of ice that he had built up over many years to protect himself, but he really was getting better.

Joel took a deep breath, still touching and soothing the hot skin of your face, and then leaned down to kiss your lips.

"I love you," he whispered over and over again as you parted your lips for him, and when he pulled away and straightened his spine, you wore a big smile on your face.

"Let's get ya somethin' to eat now," he whispered, his pulse thrumming at the sight of your dimples.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @bbabycass @pascal-mynightlyobsession @zelena89 @orcasoul

[dreamermonica]

—gender neutral reader x bakugou, just a drabble escalating into a oneshot cause my brain's rotting with mha (mostly katsuki) pls save me from the dump called writing block errr also mild language cuz this is boom boy

“what the hell?”

a very bad word crossed your mind the moment BAKUGOU had entered your dorm room—following shortly is a silence so dense that you swore you heard your stomach drop.

the object that had piqued the attention of your visitor were perched right upon your desk. the very same object that could very well also be the reason you meet your demise.

your dynamight plushies and figurines,

yes. plural.

—were bared in display, to the very man you harbored a big fat crush on.

the silence enveloped your room like a tight veil. a shudder makes its way down your spine when you finally felt a piercing gaze burning onto the back of your head. you are so fucked.

“i—uhm, i can explain!” you break the silence, holding your hands up whilst turning around to meet his crimson eyes—scanning you over whilst you attempt to figure out an excuse.

let's do a quick throwback:

see, you were rather confident in your abilities and quirk—one of the best, you smugly think—but academics were still a great obstacle to overcome, even for an upcoming pro hero. it's a formidable force that's against your dream becoming reality! not really, but you get the point.

damned ectoplasm shouldn't be teaching math! your brain cells were always fizzled out like kaminari's after he used up all his electricity by the time whenever ectoplasm had left the room after a discussion.

a dark cloud looms over your head more often after a particular topic you're struggling to comprehend, the fact that you were called out earlier by ectoplasm and miserably failed to answer didn't hell—and you're sure your god-sent classmates have noticed it.

a few smarties had reached out already—like yaoyorozu and iida, offering their notes with a smile and promising a few tutor lessons if you were to accept. keyword: if.

even though you were tearing up at their kindness and thoughtfulness, you gently declined them before slapping a fist to your chest—

“i shall overcome this by myself! my failure to adapt is a known weakness of mine, and i shall defeat this boss known as calculus with my own strength, no matter what it takes!”

a distant 'how manly!' sounded throughout the room.

it's not manly, you mentally cry out to kirishima. you were just embarrassed to actually get help because you were one of the top students of the class. you need to uphold your image as a capable student, whatever it takes! not so manly now, are we?!

the top one and top two worriedly glance you over, reluctant at your reasoning, but they hadn't pushed it further thankfully, and wished you good luck.

you definitely needed it, you sulk.

your stupid declaration must've spread throughout the entire class, cause now a scowling bakugou katsuki is stomping his way over to you once classes had finished, stopping a few feet away from you whilst you were packing up your stuff.

“oi. i heard your dumb ass earlier—why are you refusing to ask for help?! you plan on getting behind all of us just because of that damn picture perfect image of yours?!” he yells, and you're now sweating, twiddling with your fingers.

you're not surprised that he approached you—he had declared you as one of his rivals (he called you a stepping stone to his victory but same thing!) ages ago and knowing his competitive nature, you surmised he was probably disappointed that you were stumped in such a pathetic way.

“w-what pride do you mean, bakugo? haha...”

“shut the fuck up. you know what i'm talking about,” a finger presses onto your chest as if to emphasize his point, and you just now realize the distance between you.

caramel wafts its way to your nose. heat crawls up your neck as you avert your gaze away from his chiseled face.

he hisses at your dazed look, “i'm beating calculus into your goddamn brain later tonight whether you like it or not, you got that extra?!”

you break out of your stupor when he leans away from you to gauge your reaction. of course he'd say something like that, even if he was just trying to help.

you shrink under his gaze, embarrassed and defeated at his intensity. if even the big bad bakugo thinks you need help, then maybe you really do.

“...okay.” you resign after a few seconds of contemplation, “thank you, bakugo.”

clicking his tongue, he gives you one last look before turning on his heels, walking towards the door.

you look around and realize that you were the only ones left in the classroom. did he offer his help in private so you would keep the image you're upholding? eh, whatever, he was probably the embarrassed one because he never offers help willingly to anyone.

you blink.

wait—he never helps unless someone would beg on their knees for him, so why—

“...you were always the one preaching about lowering my pride or whatever,”

your eyes dart towards the sound of his voice where bakugo paused his steps at the exit, glaring at you over his shoulder.

he huffs as he adds on, “cut that shit out, hypocrite.”

you blink owlishly and he's gone as he turned the corner, his loud footsteps echoing through the hall.

shaking your head, you pack your stuff up and rush out the door shortly after, eager to return to the comfort provided by your bed.

his words ring in your ears as you walked back to the dorms.

—now, baam, we're back to the present.

you're so fucked, if it wasn't mentioned earlier.

bakugou katsuki is now staring at you, silently demanding an explanation on why you have a row of mini dynamights, ranging from the winter version of his costume, to one of him wearing his signature black tank top—he hasn't even debuted yet as a pro-hero, so the amount you have is probably concerning. maybe even borderline creepy.

fuck being creepy—this probably looks horrifying!

“it's—uh...”

you hadn't had the chance to hide them before he so rudely, barged into your room carrying the materials needed for your study session.

“well, you're my idol, because you're so strong and—” inflate his ego! it's not like it wasn't the truth either with how much you compliment him during training, so maybe he'll be distracted enough and let it slide—

“did ponytail make these for you?” he asked quietly, ignoring your praises and walking past your panicked state as he got closer to inspect the tiny versions of him. he slowly took one from the bunch—a plushie of him wearing the suit he specifically used for a mission in otheon. “how the hell are the outfits so accurate?”

“...”

“answer my questions and i'll let this weird obsession of yours a secret, fuckin' creep.” he seems to like the way you took in his words, horrified, a smirk dancing on his lips as he turns away.

this sadist, you swear to all might...

“okay, okay! so uh...” you gulp as he continues inspecting the army of tiny bakugous, “yes, i had yaoyorozu make them. as for the outfits—i borrowed your blueprints, remember? it was to find some inspiration in enhancing my own costume, but i guess it also had some other uses...?”

he grunts in response to your explanation as his eyes move away from the desk and land onto your bed, where a few more plushies of him resided.

your face is definitely burning up by now.

“wasn't aware you were a fan,” you could hear the grin as he spoke, and you're one hundred percent sure he's never going to live this down, “well, i guess it's expected. i am amazing after all.”

“...yeah.” you agree, albeit cautious, trying to sound uneager to avoid inflating his ego anymore than you already have.

he moves to lean over your bed and grabs a plushie of him wearing his school uniform, squeezing it lightly, “but if you want me to be honest—this shit's kinda creepy.”

would he stop you if you just took a swan dive out of your window? should you get him to roast you alive right now? you wish all might would just united-states-smash you at this moment.

your hands shoot up to your face as you crouched down, too humiliated to even look at him even if he wasn't facing you.

“kill me now...”

“i've got plenty of chances to do that in the future, don't worry,” he's oddly calm for someone who's standing in a room practically devoted to him, “this is pretty adorable of you i must admit,”

you freeze. tickle my pickle! no fucking way he just called you adorable!

“you got a crush on me or something?”

ah.

this is it. you hope you've done enough good to end up in heaven atleast.

“well, if you're not gonna kill me, we should probably just study and get it over with—oh, we should also just go down to the commons—

“i told you to answer all my questions, didn't i!?”

“...”

the blonde finally turns, hands free of any plushies, crossing his arms over his chest as you stare up at him through the gaps of your fingers. he raises a challenging brow at your hesitation.

“well?” he urges on, “did you go mute from embarrassment or something?”

you say something underneath your breath and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“speak up, you idio—”

“i like you, bakugou katsuki.”

you stand up from your crouched position and situated yourself to your desk, bringing out your textbooks from a drawer as he stared on silently. the silence had grown thicker than the one before.

“let's just get this study session over with so you can go, okay?” you spin around your office chair to look at him with a small smile, as if you didn't just confess, “wanna go down to the commons? my room seems to be uncomfortable for y—

“i was joking about the creep shit, you dumbass.”

you stare at him in surprise when he holds you by the shoulders, gently pushing down to prevent you from getting up from your chair.

“bakugou...?”

“...i'll teach you here. no need to get up.”

“but—”

“shut up. get ponytail to make me a plushie of you so we're even, alright?”

confused, you're about to speak up again and he resolves it by squeezing your cheeks, resulting in only incoherent babbles from your mouth.

“bafhkugou—!”

“ugh, i like you too, if your dumbass hasn't gotten it yet.”

“ohfmayghodf—”

“shut it. no more words from you.” he waits a moment for you to calm down, and lets go of your burning cheeks. a smile grows on his face when you weakly glare up at him, but it quickly turns wicked in the span of a second.

“now...you were so eager to start studying earlier, weren't you?”

he unfortunately wasn't joking about beating the damn subject onto your brain. you could feel a mild headache from all the times he hit your head with a roll of paper.

but nonetheless, you know the hard work and pain paid off when you finally got a question right during ectoplasm's class.

bless bakugou, you'd kiss him right now if you could—

“so,” the boy in question starts as you discreetly hand him a plushie of you in your hero costume, he seems to brighten up at that, taking it nearly immediately, but attempts to appear unbothered as he moves his gaze back to yours.

“are we gonna talk about that body pillow last night or—”

“katsuki—no.”

“pfft,” he snorts, “suit yourself, fangirl.”

imagine your surprise when yaoyorozu snitches and tells you that bakugou practically threated her to make more plushies of you after he received the initial one